#Crowded Volume 3

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Part of growing up and maturing is accepting the fact that I actually do like math (which is a realization I had very recently, to be honest...)

[tonycries]

To Tame A Monster - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - and the…hottest, too. You, the cute nurse that takes care of him, and totally not his favorite prize, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! nurse! reader, underground fighter! Gojo, scarred Gojo, he wears a muzzIe, slight vioIence, he’s a little (very) ínsane, muscular Gojo, manhandIing, full neIsons, semi-public, thigh grínding, edging, Gojo goes FÉRAL, tummy buIges, creampíes, face-sítting (fem rec.), cúmplay, BIIIG stretches, running from it, making it fit, HEADLOCKS, chokíng, fighting talk, squírting, dúmbifícation, víbrators, marks (on him), L bómbs, Sukuna cameos, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. Happy 100 chapters on AO3!! Here’s a lil’ something for my hubby <3

They say that Gojo Satoru could take down the strongest of fighters with only six moves.

Audiences adored him, opponents insisted that the man wasn’t even human. And it was well known around these parts that one had to be brave enough that it inched into stupidity to ever even think about challenging him. 

Hell, they’ve had to muzzle him in thick leather just to give his opponents even the briefest advantage. 

Some trembled in fear at the very mention of his name - peering ‘round, making sure they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of those haunting sapphire eyes, or those scarred fists that left no evidence. No witnesses. Others scoffed at the exaggerations of what were obviously little more than sketchy underground scraps. A publicity stunt, surely.

That is, until they saw him.

And you have, too.

With the nature of your job, you had to constantly be present after rounds to tend to bruises, scratches and - if Gojo was involved -  broken bones, after all. 

Only…you were here for him.

“OH! King of Curses down- Six Eyes knees him in the ribs so hard that I’m sure you could hear it, ladies and gentleman! Is he the one who’ll take the Shinjuku Showdown grand prize tonight?!” 

You’re grimacing at both the booming volume of the eager commentator, and the cracking slam of flesh-on-flesh. Having your special nurse’s position smack-dab on the first row meant that you could see n’ hear everything. 

Everything. 

From the roaring cheers of the bustling crowd on their feet, to the way that Gojo was gritting through his dark Stygian muzzle and grinning. Wild. Gorgeous.

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily - despite the way the entire underworld had his name in their mouths, the one thing nobody ever disagreed on was how…hot Gojo Satoru was. 

A devil masquerading like an angel. All curtains of silky, sweat-slicked white hair, and muscles for daaaays. His skin-tight t-shirt was hanging off of him in nothing but rings of tatters, showing off a snowy happy trail that makes you gulp. Milky skin glistening in the beating stadium lighting, all decorated in as much battle-won scars as sultry, sultry veins. 

Gojo’s towering shadow falls right in front of where you were gawking up at him, and fuck- he makes a big show of letting the rest of his shirt riiiip—! with only a mere tug. 

Well, there was a reason he was your favorite patient.

And you swear he was so close that you could practically taste the scorching iron dripping between his lips, lacquering his pearly whites with a thin film. All red and raw when he turns to you and winks–

“HOLY SHIT! The King makes a comeback- he’s still on his feet! And he’s swinging wide at our monster Six Eyes.”

The thundering, thick stadium air simmers a few degrees tenser as Ryomen Sukuna crashes his meaty, closed fist right into the other’s right cheekbone. Shocked inhales ring out all around you - because if Gojo was the monster of underground fighting, then Sukuna was the curse.

The only fighter in history to ever get a solid few knocks on the other. Both massive.

And if this was anyone else, the sheer force would have made them pass out right then and there. If this was anyone else, then they wouldn’t be snickering-

“Cute.” Gojo’s deep sing-song voice is cold. Seething. Just barely audible enough that your buzzing eardrums can make out. He throws one arm over the stretchy fighting ring ropes, “But I gotta lady ta impress.”

Crimson eyes flicker to you for nothing but a split-second, but it was long enough for the other man to grow rigid. On edge for the first time.

Smugly, Sukuna spits right into Gojo’s face. “Heh- Hell yeah, that chick’ll be impressed in the locker rooms by a real winner later. Me.”

Just a word about you is all it takes.

A breathless gasp departs from your lips as something in Gojo grows…different.

Without another word, he’s drifting over a hand to one of the bulky bands wrapped firmly around his wrists. Unlatching them. So often mistaken for somewhat of a fashion statement, but after so long spent in fighting company, you knew what they really were.

They were weights. Yet another disadvantage. 

And they crack the ground as they fall.

“Weights? Weights?! OH- Gojo headbutts! The King of Curse’s is down-” He’s bleeding and accomplished, every trace of humor wiped. Every degree of a smirk clenched into a steely scowl, and suddenly you’re feeling that perhaps those rumors about him being superhuman are true. Perhaps. “SHIT! He snaps back with an elbow strike-”

Gojo’s big, beefy biceps tense and flex as he curls it menacingly around Sukuna’s throat into a fucking headlock - and your thighs clench.

“You- fucking-” He chokes out past the sculptured harness, cushioned palms coming to slam down on Gojo’s forearm. “For- for some girl-”

Tightening, “What was that~?”

“The King misses- oh, he’s in some real trouble now! Place your bets, you greedy watchers, there’s a reason they call Six Eyes ‘The Strongest’.”

And you knew that underground fights had no rules other than attempt not to die - or, at the very least, try not to make a mess when you do. It’s hard to get stains out of the felt. But Sukuna’s vein-popped face was going purple now, and Gojo was blank-featured through it all. 

Barely even flinching as his opponent grapples a hand into his ridged obliques, lunging and lunging. And yet, the strongest doesn’t even flinch. 

Doesn’t even notice, it seems.

His ghostly cerulean eyes drift to you, seated on the edge of your chair, and he slams a knee into Sukuna’s rugged face. Letting the man drop onto the frictional ground with a resounding thud! - before his fists continue. 

Once. Twice. Clawing at his throat-

“FUCK- CALL THE MEDICS. SIX EYES IS MAKING A SLAUGHTER-SCENE–!”

And no one needed to draw the count, for fear of getting near. Why would they risk death incarnate?

Continuing and continuing until Yaga barks at four- five other referees to even get Gojo to budge. They only just manage to throw a few arms ‘round his powerful ones, and pull him far back enough to giggle down at the carnage he’s created.

Voice octaves higher. Crazed. “Don’t you talk about my lady, ya hear?”

Yaga, as Gojo’s burly coach and former champion, is the one that dares break his harrowing eye-contact to shake him into a stand. Ordering the organizers to get the awards ceremony done as swiftly as possible lest they wanted one of their top-earning fighters down for the count permanently. 

“S-Six Eyes is the champion of Shinjuku Showdown! And in LESS than his signature six moves- oh what a fight it was! One for the books, folks!”

Of course, Six Eyes is declared the winner.

And as Gojo is handed a glinting winner’s banner - dominant arm being thrust in the air - you watch as Sukuna’s barely half-conscious firm slurs out a ferocious, “Rematch. T-tomorrow.”

Cash. A shoddy belt. Champagne.

Tens upon hundreds of reporters and photographers scramble and keen to get the most-selling shots of him. The glare of the flashing lights illuminating him into some sort of other-worldly figure. 

A fighter so dangerous that they claim he hides six eyes. And yet, they only remain on you.

Though, it’s not as if you’re any better - you can’t look away. 

He stands tall, proud. Button nose overspilling with a wisp of cherry-red, perspiration-dampened shorts clinging onto thick thighs and showing you a pretty tuft of white in a way that was unintentionally sexy. Gojo’s leathery mask now dangles haphazardly to show off such a wicked grin.

And Gojo points. Right at you. In front of everyone. 

“Later,” he’s mouthing, whilst interviewers scream for a quote. 

Oh…

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuuuck, Toru–!” Your mouth floods with sheer bucketloads of drool through each wailing whine n’ whimper, back arched like such a slut into Gojo’s bumpy, Herculean front- though, what else could you have expected when the great Gojo Satoru himself accompanied you to your dingy clinic above the fighting ring?

Ready for his real prize of the night.

And lo and behold, bandages and rubbing alcohol forgotten, you’re finding yourself draped right over his lap so prettily; struggling to close your jittery legs ‘round his huge, meaty thighs. 

The fringes of your teeth nip right along Gojo’s plush, scarred deltoids once he tugs on your nurse’s outfit and clings onto a good handful of your ass, draaaagging you to grind all over his quadriceps. Dribbling out a fresh line of candied slick that smears on top of every dip and curve of his bulging muscles.

Your drenched panties catch onto his velvety boxing shorts and you have to hold back a tiny sob. With a deep inhale of his musky cologne, you murmur, “T-Toru, I wan’ you ngh- so bad, y’know?”

“Awww, how cute~” He’s crooning from above,muzzle still on. The pointed curve of his nose tickling your throbbing pulse. Dangerous. Gojo breathes in your sweet scent until it’s all he can smell, “But yer gonna get us caught, mama.”

And he’s so mean.

He fought mean, and he teases you even meaner.

You’re frowning, kiss-swollen lips down-turning into a pout once the sensory pads of his stern digits rover up to your cheeks and smush them together. Crashing your jutted mouth into his frosty mask–

“C’mon now, gotta- gotta be quiet.” Gojo groans at the way you’re getting ever-more soaked when he’s toying with you like this. Lazily, he drops his muzzle to let his plump, bubblegum-pink lips tickle down your own, “Suck on my tongue, there- you can do better.”

So filthy.

Huffing out, your further unfastened jaw basically floods with the damp rivulets of saliva that just kept on watering out of you. When it rained, it poured - and Gojo finds himself smirking at the slop. “Yeah- yeahyeah, you got it. Theeere’s a good girl.”

Weepy pussy positively throbbing at the scratchy texture of his tongue like candy, you couldn’t help but let your fuzzy mind wonder how it would feel inside-

“Oi, nasty girl.” Your pitchy yelp fills the paper-thin walls as Gojo gifts the right of your ass with a rude spank, and then one more just to hear you make that cute noise again. Gruffing out, “Can feel ya getting wetter on top of me. S’like a damn waterpark.”

Before you have the time to even catch your breath, he slouches back sensually to watch you - letting your thin patient bed ring out with an ancient creak! 

And Gojo stares at you lecherously- oh, he was devouring you with his heavily half-lidded gaze. 

The way you’re pouring out syrupy sap with every urgent back n’ forth of your hips, the way all he has to do is hook a thumb past your gluey stuck panties to watch you pulse and quiver. 

Hazy, summer blue peripherals roaming all over your needy expression for a split-second before he’s tap-tap-tapping the doughy mound of his heel on the tile floor. Bouncing you with every motioned lurch, your puffed-up clit catches on one of his zig-zagging veins and you squeal.

Oh? Speeding up, you’re struggling desperately at his whims. One hand grappling onto Gojo’s dimpled back, and the other clawing at the starchy bedspread, no matter how much you were trying to regulate the tempo - he would just speed up more. 

And more. And more. 

Over and over he’s lurching just a few carnal inches off of your bedsprings to chase your sensitive nub. Reeling you down - hard - with a hand stuck to you like adhesive, to pap! against his thigh, letting white-hot bliss spark all that way from your pressurized clit and up your clammy spine.

“F-fuck!” You’re babbling away, fingers interlocking with the soft creamy curls at his nape. Clawing. “Toru– k-keep that up and I won’t…”

Gojo perks his calloused thumb to swivel over your sloshing mess and promptly plugs up your unfastened lips, muffling you. “Shhh shh sh- Wouldn’t wan’ any of those fucks to hear those pretty noises, my girl.”

He was brutal.

Your lower tummy was tumbling and spinning and doing gymnastics you didn’t even think existed. And it was times like this that the strongest from all those headlines peaked his head through. 

Swirling your tongue around his plummy fingerpad, he tasted so much like caramel salt that made your legs grow weaker. Cadence springing to jerky. To oversensitive. “P-please- ngh!”

“Now, what was that pretty lil- hey now, c’mere.” Your lungs cave with a soft ‘please’ as soon as an engulfing, bruised hand crowns your sweat-oiled scalp and holds you still. Gojo doesn’t even have to try, and yet he’s showing off a few sexy flexes of his biceps just for you to ogle at. 

Rutting his jerky leg up into you until your head throws back, he can’t help but leave a sweet, innocent peck right there on the tender spot of your throat. “Don’t run. Don’t run from me.”

Another wet kiss near your slobbery maw, and yet another swat of his thickly tipped fingers right over the slivery slope of your pussy. The sharp sting was just enough to get your glassy eyes to focus on him, “Yeah? Look at me- gimme a lil’ kiss, mama.”

Oh, he always was such a ruthless opponent. 

Because as soon as your spit-glossed lips are crawling towards his, Gojo’s prying them open and spitting inside with a soft coo. Watching as the treacly wad of splashing syrup slides allll the way to puddle the back of your throat. 

“T-tease.”

“I think you mean…champion.” He hunches you over until you’re slipping n’ sliding all down the ridged rollercoaster of his abs. The fragile points of your hardened nipples massaging into his sensual scars and driving you mad. Sweaty and needy. Boring dead-on into your half-shuttered heart eyes, “Now, tell me what you want.” He hums, still tugging on your bloated outer cunt, watching you gasp. “Tell me what’s got this lady here so fuckin’ wet.”

Your words choke with every viscid tear - tears of bliss. Close. “Want t-to-”

“Mhmm–?”

“To-” You’re just so far gone, your gushing orifice only getting soppier and soppier by the second. And before Gojo’s fourth and final spank comes slamming down on your clit- you’re crying. “Cum- fuck fuck fuck- m’so close. So- m’gonna cum–”

And as soon as it was about to happen - it’s gone.

Immediately, your lungs depart with a disappointed whine. “Nooo–!” Scratching at the pronounced back of his throat, you’re struggling to maneuver your body within his merciless hold. And the entire time Gojo only watches in amusement at his sheer display of strength, “I was so close- fuck! Was about to cum, Toru…”

“Nuh uh.” Gojo’s grinning - grinning. And oh, despite the way that makes his cheek indent with a cute, cratering dimple you already know this won’t bode well for you. “M’starvin’ after that match.”

Before you can dredge up enough brainpower to ask what that meant - he’s already showing you. 

Falling back onto the stark white bed until his head hit the pillows with a dull whoosh! and for the moment you’re simply admiring just how pretty he is. 

This wasn’t the Six Eyes that everyone knew and feared. 

With his ethereal locks splaying out on the cushion like a halo, looking oh-so-pale in comparison to the pretty pink that he was flushing all the way from forehead to neck. Irises half-lidded, crazed. Gojo’s broad, scarred chest heaves with every murked out pant he was whistling out. 

Twiddling over the shoulder strap of that tight lil’ number you called your nurse’s outfit. “Take this off f’me- show me my hah- show me my lady.” 

Oh, it would never get old when you do that.

The way that Gojo’s toes curl, the apples of his cheeks staining with a scorching whirlwind of blushing red. Fuck- his heavy tongue droops even heavier with a slick covering of watery spittle, just watching you in your matching set of bra n’ panties. 

All in light blue.

“Knew I’d win, huh?” He’s quirking a snowy brow smugly as he does away with your bra, too. “C’mere.” Gojo’s long lashes flutter up at you delicately, his crowning smirk plastered permanently across his handsome features. And as you’re tentatively making your way on top of him, he cups a roaming grope of your left ass-cheek. 

Squeezing for a second - two - before the strongest simply lifts you up to straddle his face. He doesn’t even waste a second. Doesn’t even hesitate. 

Setting you down gently - you think he of all people would even need to try to manhandle your pretty self this way?

No introductions, no welcome mats necessary - your throbbing pussy was already pouring out in torrentials of translucent sap right through your underwear. Copious, dolloping droplets that hit his readily awaiting pinkish tastebuds in claggy splats!

“Mmm—” He’s swirling his soaked muscle all ‘round the insides of his mouth to just savor your sugary taste. Through a sharp, three-second spank to your ass once more, Gojo grunts, “No need to be shy. Sit on my face, mama.”

And Gojo was always such a messy eater - not even the slightest bit afraid to get his hands dirty. 

No wonder all his opponents complained that he had the filthiest mouth. His tongue was lengthy, dexterous enough to slither past your panties with a sapping squelch! the very nanosecond your drooling core hits the tip of his tongue.

Oh- Gojo’s eyes agonize shut simply to memorize the pattern in which your strands of dangling slick slipped into his mouth. Lathering his chin all glossy, “Yeah like that-” His rugged palms stick to that perfect curvature of your spine. “-sit properly. Sit.”

You’re mumbling out something barely audible, cut off when he curls a firm hand around your throat and pulls you down onto his ravenous face. “Said- fucking sit-”

Sweltering hot breath strikes your geysering hole and makes you keen, your cracked eyelids open just barely enough to spot the way Gojo lands a shimmering glob of saliva right inside. And more when it only adds to the steadily-growing pool you were formulating on his pointed chin, his neck. 

Whimpering when your weight settles on a purple-ish spot on his cheek where Sukuna had caught him off-guard. 

“Watch this.” He’s moaning throatily, making such a show of letting your slippery slit streak out utter cascades all down his tongue. “Told ya- s’a fuckin’ heh- waterpark. Come ride my mouth, my girl- come- come.”

Your head tumbles back with a loud ‘fuck’ when his parched muscle bullies right past the rubbery ring of your entrance. And he takes the time curling his mazing tip into your slicked hole and streeeetching out a cute lil’ heart that makes you whine your poor heart out. 

With a scoff at the way whoever walked by your clinic definitely knew what was happening, Gojo’s slapping the tender skin of your ass raw. “Yeah yeah, louder n’ maybe that ngh- bastard Sukuna will hear.”

Slowly yet sensually probing his tastebuds into every mushy ridge and corner embedded inside of you, he was roaming so deep. Raking a thorough grip on your right ass cheek to gyrate your sodden cunt rougher.

Fucking you wiiildly with his tongue - so wide. Fast. 

He was impatient. 

“Y’know with you sittin’ and- nghh-” You’re mewling once he tapes off that sentence with a pinch of your perked clit between his plush lips. Hollowing out those attractive cheeks to tug n’ tug until you’re sobbing. “-and- and squirming in the seats tonight- this was alllll I could think about?”

He spits back a loaded wad of drool that slides away back down to your flooded hole, pushing the webbed mess right back with the fat crown of his thumb. “Couldn’t wait-”

“Ngh- Toru—” You’re recanting like your own personal mantra, the crackles in your voice following every flop of his textured tongue in and out in and out in and out. “Keep going- hah! Feels so gooood–”

“Mhm, I know.” Gojo bites back cockily, chewing on the squishy inside of his cheek to stop himself from fucking moaning outloud at how your pussylips were just throbbing. The very same pulse you felt in your tight throat. “Had to stop myself from- ngh- making out with this lady right ‘ere all in front- in front of those cameras.”

“Y-you would-”

THWACK!

Oh, he’s snapping at the stretchy elastic of your panties to let the slimy fabric spank your precise pussymound.

Taking the filthy, filthy opportunity while you’re thrown into a dumbstruck daze to skim a few strong fingers underneath your stringy panties, Gojo pulls-pulls-pulls until it’s torn cleanly off of your hips. Freeing you completely bare, and gifting him with the perfect scented fabric for him to draw up to his nose and sniff–

Your jaw dangles widely agape, the same greedy oh! that your dewy hole makes when setting it aside to dip a finger sloppily inside your cunt.

Stocky and long. And yet you take Gojo’s length middle finger with great gulping clamps of your dripping pussy, so much so that you’re hearing a growling “Fuuuck, mama- m-made for me.” from underneath you.

You just made the strongest…stutter?

And you’re just pouring wet from the idea, but before you can stupidly open your mouth to taunt the big, bad fighter below you - Gojo squeezes his hold on your neck and draaaags you further down. Until you’re so pushed against his hot maw that you don’t know where you end and he begins.

He’s spitting, there’s another pop! as he adds another girthy finger to scissor apart your treacly slit. Rovering and rovering. Your voice shatters into numerous pieces so cutely, and he can feel the way your core pulsates frantically once he’s smudging the doughy tops of his digits nearer to your g-spot. 

Hmmm, he’s snickering internally. Gojo’s swirlin’ his manicured fingernail right over your bulging magical spots with such ease. It was so cute how obvious you were. 

“Got such a pretty cunt.” You’re arching desperately on and off his vibrato of words, the very same vibrations curdling that tightness in your stomach. “Such a pretty- pretty…”

“Sh-shiiit, Toru–” You hiccup, warbling shrills filling up Gojo’s ears like his favorite song. And it was. Almost as much as the plap! of a fresh wave of sap spraying a sheen across his face as he slithers in a third finger.

Sliding his pearly whites over your neglected clit, “Tha’s my name.” Gojo’s mouth hangs open with every slop, slapping alllll over the hood of your nub before trying to squish the very mound of his tongue in past your overstuffed entrance. Stimulating you. Driving you insane.

He’s swatting your ass a few more times until the mere touch of skin-on-skin sends your eyes sliiiding all the way to the back of your head. Gurgling – wet. “Say it a lil’ louder f’me now.”

“Toru–” you’re raking your hands down his pecs, nudging your plump clit right into the very tip of his button nose. And oh, you’re feeling the frigid whoosh! of air once Gojo leans his head in and takes a deeeep breath. Tugging gingerly on his unruly hair and he groans-

“Louder.”

“T-To-”

“No stutterin’.”

And you don’t know if you could comply with all his mean rules even if you could, the locked vice of his warm palm jostling your watery eyes until they were dead staring at him. 

He was peering up at you through angelic, white lashes with such loving. Cerise lips swirling all over your beating clit, he could practically taste the rapid ba-dump–! of it coating his heated mouth. 

Starting to crawl straightly up but you don’t even mean to. All he has to do is grasp your throat until all the air drains from your lungs and you’re held there. Solely by his monstrous strength. 

Swallowing back the leaden lump that’s permanently branded on your throat, with a flex of broad arms you’re being lazily shoved sloppier and sloppier by each passing second. And as you’re resting your dribbling slit back on his sensual chin, a steamy cloud of Gojo’s giggles hit where you’re stretched the most tautly tight. 

Blinking eyes flickering with primal need, your bleary vision is just filled with the heavenly sight of him him him. Urging your rickety knees to knobble faster, he murmurs into your folds. “Say it.”

“P-please.” The outdated bed sings as you’re shivering. Shaking. And no amount of cute gasps that you intake is enough to stop your heart from racing. “Toru. Please l-let me ngh- cum.”

“Hmmmm. Good enough.” He’s leering mean-spiritedly up at you, that very same wicked curve of his lips glued to your pretty clit. Gojo lets off a strained growl that almost makes you shy – desperate. “Now…you’re gonna squirt f’me, mama.” 

Another hit thud! of hits at your g-spot, and another few steps closer to your inevitable high. So close, in fact, that you’re not even realizing what Gojo’d uttered until he lolls out his fat tongue like he was drunken, silvery slabs of spit hitting your inner thighs. “Spit.”

Fuck- the very same moment your glittery cobweb of saliva is hitting his sizzling tastebuds, you’re hitting your high. Well, more like crashing headfirst into it. 

And Gojo was right, the way you squirted your brain-shattered release was in the most vapid spurts of juices. Spraying out of you like a fountain, sploshing all over the top of his face n’ gravitating down to his chin. “Squirt on my face- yeahyeah fuck, squirt on my face.”

One that he loooooves. Oh, how he loves it. Loves you. 

“So sweet- fuck…fuck, always the fuckin’ sweetest, my girl.” His guttural syllables ring out and make your eyes immediately flap helplessly shut. Toes curling, “Thank you- was so fuckin’ thirsty after that fight. Thank you.”

Lets his swollen lips slip open to drink up the honeyed squirts in big, deep sluuuuurps–! Scraping near your g-spot to draw out more and more of those pooling splotches all over his face. Gojo knots his fingers ‘round your throat and shoves your pussy to cling to his mouth ruthlessly. You’re watching through the white-hot stars behind your lids at how obviously his prominent Adam’s apple bumps and propels. 

Fuck. 

Glossy layers of slick stick to your folds like a candied apple, and every lil’ suck Gojo leaves drives you craaazy. Soon enough, your thighs are twitching right on top of him, “Please, Toru–”

“Mmmm–?” He’s panting, positively blistered in sweat at this point. And even when he’s catching his eyes with yours, his own look…cloudy. Feral. Murmuring something like ‘round one’ into your outer pussy.

“Want you in me–” You’re babbling out the only few sets of words you know will work to draw him away from the sweet, sweet dessert he’s found between your legs. And you’re watching with bated breath as Gojo takes a sloppy second to consider, still nibbling his canines on your sensitive clit. 

Huffing n’ puffing cutely, you’re reeling your sweet cunt back– only for Gojo to squeeze his hold around your neck and pull-

“Just one more-” He’s contaminating the heady clinic air with repeated saccharine, saturated squelches after every peck upon peck. Like it hurt to part with your pussy - it always did, n’ Gojo made sure to leave her more than enough goodbye kisses.

“One more-” Stringy oodles of slick washing over his face, “One- one more.” Again. Just another French kiss. “One…” And again.

And again and again until you’re dipping your hands through his mussed-up bangs of cloudy white and tugging, all that it takes for Gojo’s achingly hard cock to twitch.

“O-oh.” His voice breaks so many multiple octaves higher as he pulls away with a final - final - slimy graze of his stinging lips. Head lazing in an angle downwards, as if he’d just noticed the painful, rock-hard bulge tenting his too-tight boxing shorts. 

And Gojo’s cerulean eyes widen, flitting from the slushy wet spot soaked through his dark pants, to the way your glistening hole was winking down at him. Needily - as if to beg.

The middle of your bowed spine tingles with the remnants of your orgasm as soon as Gojo opens his mouth to growl. Low. Rasping. 

Depraved. 

“On- on my cock now, mama.” He’s tracing his hands admiringly over your tummy, the edge of his thick thumb drawing a long line right across the middle and your teary slit - measuring you. Where he’d already memorized the sweet lil’ targets he’d be fucking deeeep inside. Could never forget. Gojo nudges his straight nosebridge between your dewy folds once more, “Gotta really celebrate w’my heh- lady here tonight.”

And as you’re scrambling on your still-tottering knees to slide yourself down his Adonis-like body, he scoffs. 

With a blunt roll of his eyes, Gojo’s cupping the curve of your slam-driven ass and manhandling you easily. Trawling your weepy pussy down, down, down over every one of the calloused scars on his front, every one of his bumpy abs - you counted eight - to sit all prettily beneath the snug waistline of his shorts. 

Gojo spies up at you through his chalky bangs, plastered to his forehead with perspiration until you’re barely making his greedy stare out. Eyes half-hooded, pupils darkly dilated until you couldn’t even see those irises. 

It’s then - only then - that you realize just how ruined he looked. 

With that blossoming injury from tonight’s match across his cheek, burnished and purple - though, not even half as bright as the flush that coated his pretty features. 

All red and raw. You were practically basking in the scalding heat that radiated off of him, melting the glassy sheen of slick that dripped off of him in globules, so fucking wet. 

And yet, Gojo only ever wanted more. Kissing you with his cutely pink lips, he heaves in great panting gusts. “Take- heh-” Massive, twitchy hands fall on your own and guide them to his thick hem, a viscous gumdrop of your sap trickles from the point of his nose. “Take ‘em off f’me, mama. Take a goood long look f’me~”

“So bossy.”

“Mmm— I’ll be fuckin’ that rude mouth shut soon.”

Gojo sits obediently manspread as you fumble your eager fingertips underneath his shorts and pull–

The first thing you see is a curly tuft of his white happy trail, glimmering and drenched through with his own buttery precum. 

And the second thing you see…fuck. He’s never been harder.

Swollen n’ aching. Gojo’s furiously reddened mushroom tip dribbles out a constant stream of syrupy pre, hitting your hands with a loud splash! And not just that– he was spilling out a murked milky few dewdrops as if eating you out had him on the very verge of cumming. 

He’s sprawling his swole, veined arms behind his head, letting you gawk and ogle as you please.

And how could you not?

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to just how pretty Gojo and his erect cock was. Damn past ten inches, it’s as if he grows every time you see him for a post-match ritual. 

And so does his rosy cockhead, the exact same shade of pink as his burning cheeks. So wide that your slippery hole clenches ‘round nothing at the sight. All bloated and over-decorated with so many lightning bolted veins, you’re feeling your mouth water at the mere notion of tasting him–

“Ah ah-” He tuts, pulling you away as he once more cradles your throat softly in one hand. 

You pout, “B-but…”

Nodding sloooowly so you understand, “Wanna fuck this pretty pussy. Ride me like a hah- good girl now, m’kay?”

Oh, he was so evil. He knew exactly how that lil’ nickname would have your mind pitching into a state of carnal frenzy.

The desire purely evident on your gorgeous face as you’re toppling your capped knees on either side of his firm, toned waist. 

One masculine hand wrapping around his bulky hilt - aligning it all ready to smooch your pretty pussy - he sliiiides his heavy head to sandwich between your bloated folds. Rocking upwards into a teasing little back n’ forth that leaves his rigid head swatting on your clit. Pap! Pap! Pap! 

“Ready–?” Gojo drawls out in husked syllables, licking his lips to lap up any remnant of you. Wordless, the only thing you can manage out right now is a shaken nod.

Before it feels like you’re being split apart.

You’re whining when your hole stretches out with a rowdy sluuuurp–! just the thickened tip of his length popping in past your entrance. And he’s so fat, you could feel every solid ba-dump–! of his prominent veins tugging your cunt apart. 

“Oh, f-fuck, jus’ look at you.” He’s spitting through gleaming clenched teeth, words hitting you straight into your saccharine sweet pussy. Biting down on his pouty bottom lip, “Just ngh- look at you takin’ me- taking that biiig stretch, fuck.”

Your glassy eyes roll all the way back at the way he wasn’t even halfway inside yet already made you feel so dizzy. Stumbling flailingly into his arms, “Wanna kiss, Toru–”

“S’so cute when you’re all cockdrunk” Gojo whispers as he leaves a stinging spank on your ass, the shock of the force makin’ you swerve your hips deeper down his thick shaft. 

But he doesn’t kiss you - not yet. Instead, he’s chuckling deeply at your adorable irritation, sharp hips bucking off the mattress just so that he could fit himself inside. Up. Up. Up. Probing and probing his pulsing crowned tip over and over to ease inside a few more solid inches. 

“T-Tooooruuuu–”

“Mhm–” He places a warm palm faced open on your tummy, searching for that familiar bump where he’d be ruining you all inside. Where his rounded head would be prying apart your gum-like walls in urgent impales. “I’ll kiss you if ya say ‘biiig stretch’ f’me, my girl.”

You’re squirming your hips impatiently, only to be locked down with only one of Gojo’s hands. Honestly, what did you think going against a fighting champion? “B-big-”

“Nuh uh.” Bearing you with a wild, animalistic smile that makes you shudder. All wide and toothy. He’s rudely slapping you once more - this time on your dripping cunt. Quivering. “Say it. Biiig stretch, mama.”

“B-big-” You wail out whimpers just as soon as your little mistake leaves Gojo’s swollen shaft inching out of your hole, a warning. Already making you feel so empty inside- “Fuck! Big- biiig- stretch mmpf-”

Before you can register it, a hand clawed into your throat pulls you to crash your lips onto Gojo’s soft ones - muffling the absolute trill you’re letting off when he finally bottoms out with one big push. Finally. 

“Now m’kissing you here, too–” he has the audacity to flush. 

His sensual mushroom tip scrapes a swiveling line allll down your gooey walls, swirling ‘round and ‘round until he’s following the map directly to your g-spot. Giving her a good long snog, you’re curling your toes at the swashing waves of pre that dribble out of him and straight onto that tender orifice. 

You’re so full that your mouth overspills with generous helpings of drool, slobbering right onto the valley between his pecs where you found yourself laid. 

The slick velvety walls of your cunt scoop him up gladly, and Gojo finds himself wearing such a dopey smile at the instinctual way your gummy walls clench. “Hmm– have I ever told ya how much I ngh- love you?”

And maybe it was the way his thick cock was reaching you everywhere, maybe it was the way Gojo stared at you with heart eyes. It could’ve been anything and everything - you simply found yourself cumming. 

Right then and there, with only a few vulgar bludgeons of his merciless cock. 

And Gojo?

Gojo looks like he’s in heaven. 

Startling out a slight puff of laughter while he careens his hips back to fuck you through your sudden high, and you can feel the way he pinpricks your insides with every thrust. Feel the way he strikes right at your most favorite spots - precisely. 

“Already? I really am winnin’ tonight- heh. Already won Round 2, too.” 

Round 2? What is he…oh. 

Oh, shit.

He’s talking about how many times he’s made you cum.

The sounds of his raspy praises make your ears buzz, head throwing backwards when you start to arch your back and rut yourself, attempting to meet his vicious pace. To run.

“Fuh-fuuuuck” You’re biting your tongue to try and fight back those pathetic pitches and mewls seeping from your lips. And all it takes is a slamming whack into your cervix to render that useless. “Fuck me- fuckmefuckme, Toooru–!”

“Now now,” he’s tutting, and oh you can feel your tummy lurch with anticipation at that dark tonality of his. Or maybe that was just the feral twitch of his battering tip. 

Through eyes saturated with a film of fat droplets of tears, you’re glancing down at the way your hips are suddenly pinned to his toned pelvis. Unmoving. With just his steady grip of your throat. “Runnin’s against the rules, mama.”

And suddenly, you’re moved so fast your cottony brain begins to wonder if maybe you’ve teleported. 

You’re whimpering as your fatigued back ends up laid over the crescent curves of his pectorals, his front digging into your mounds of flesh as Gojo pulls your clammy knees back back back back. Into a full nelson so mean that you don’t even realize he’s positioned his cock until he sinks allll the way back in–

“Atttta girl. Look at youuu–” His hoarse pants sizzle the tender lobes of your ear after every unapologetic pound you’re being graced with. You gawp at the full-length mirror that was right adjacent to the patient bed, shit- you forgot that was even there.  

And now that you’d taken a glimpse at the lecherous scene, you couldn’t look away.

Gojo was so staggering. Swole muscles bending you pliably, the only thing holding you upright enough so that your cross-eyed stare could lock with your fucked-out reflection in the mirror. 

Your dizzy pupils circling all over comically the more n’ more he jackhammered away. Vehemently. 

The girth of his shaft was so big that your head lolls stupidly back into the planes of his collarbones, “Takin’ care of ya favorite fighter.”

Five exact circumferences of his fingertips sway over to that large, cylindrical outline being oh-so-thoroughly fucked into you. A tummy bulge that he thumbs over, that mushroomy globular end.

“Takin’ c-care of me alllll ngh-” He massages down on that cute lil’ bump going back and forth back and forth back and forth. Driving himself just as crazy as he was with you. Groaning, “-here.”

And Gojo’s body was still aching from the aftereffects of his fight, he was still sore in places with soon-to-be bruises. Yet, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even slow down.

Hard and fast.

His crownhead an angry red that prodded your deepest, most tender insides. Pushing and pushing and pushing. So wide that both you and the rickety bed were singing with whimpers after every delving drag of his vein-covered length.

Strokes vulgar. Alllll the way from the very strawberry divot in the middle of his globular tip, to the massive circumference of his hefty base. And even though every pricking whack into your cervix was hard, Gojo took his lazy time pulling back out to make sure you felt every bump and bolt of his swollen veins scraping down your insides. 

“Watch this.”

“Wh-what- oh.”

You’re peering through the smoggy mirror at the way the strongest himself rovers up his big, beefy right arm to wrap neatly ‘round your neck. His hard-earned biceps bulging against your throat and blocking off your airway sexily.

Watching yourself, you swear you could count every vein thumping down his forearm, every flex of his rippling muscles caging against your neck. Oh…you only got wetter. 

“Saw you lookin’ at me. Could tell how much ya- haaah- liked this, mama.” Gojo titters, words sloppy and his strokes even sloppier. “Almost drenched the heh- seat didn’tya? Watching me? Ohhh you like this don’tcha? W’my big arms puttin’ you in a ngh- big headlock?”

Babbling. Gojo himself was drooling, a thin trickle of spittle that befell with every passing second he watched your sloppy slit swallow his inches. 

Yearning for more.

Begging for more.

You half-couldn’t believe that was you with your face tear-streaked and oh-so-ruined in the reflection. And once you feel that familiar fluttering from your pussy, you’re slithering down a hand between your legs–

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He was breathless. 

It was so easy for Gojo to trap both your unsteady wrists within only one of his, gruffly bringing you back into your cute headlock whilst pinning them so you could struggle allll you want. But he wasn’t letting up.

Clinging onto your swiveling with one hand, and keeping you manhandled with the other. He bucks his hips so your curved spine is rubbed all down with his sweat-glossed abs, he knew how weak you were for it. 

Smearing the stocky end of his thumb over your needy clit, “Not when ya have me, mama.” He breathes next to your ear, so close. Drawing circles. Hearts. His name. Mindlessly lapping away the pearls of tears running down your face, “Not when your d-dear ngh- ‘Toru’s’ here.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words scratching a carnal desire set inside of you. 

“Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming- ngh!” Your previous orgasms had already taken so much out of you that it was all you could to will yourself not to pass out right now and here. 

“Yeah? Yeah? Go on- I- ngh- win- round three- heh.”

Sharp stings of pleasure buzzing all the way from your throbbing pussy to your empty head, you draaag your nails all over his sturdy forearms. Your body slicks over with sweltering perspiration, glissading you smoothly up n’ down Gojo’s sculptured body. 

Gojo jostles you in his headlock to stare deeply into your eyes while he drags out your high, counting every filthy spank he was honing out. It’s not too far into your overstimulated high before his creamy tip showers your drenched insides with sprays of buttery cum.

You could hear yourself mumbling out faint nonsense with every ropey smack you felt pumped inside you, and it was as if Gojo was orgasming harder than he had his entire life. 

Cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop - didn’t even know if he could.

And it was so weighty, too.

You could feel the soppy splosh of his sap being bubbled all up inside you, every swab of Gojo’s leaking cockhead frothing it even deeper inside. You’re swearing the bumpy outline of your tummy bulge was only being cumflated, feeling like he was glueing your very walls together.

Naturally, a few slicked gumdrops of cum ooze their way out between your teary slit. His hips jolt at the primal sight, thick seed dribbling out of you like frosting, formulating so many rings upon rings that Gojo just can’t help but admire and muse as his most favorite ones. 

Shit, with a humid pop! he’s inching out just to watch the butter-covered sheen that stuck to his red shaft. 

Hooded, his sapphire gaze rips away from your reflection to narrow down at you. At the way your ancient patient bed was now completely destroyed; headboard split, standing on only three feeble legs. 

“Broke the bed, heh- tha’s a KO, my girl.” Gojo lets go of his headlock on you, nuzzling your cheek with his sweat-lacquered forehead whilst you still attempt to catch your breath. “Mmmm– really do love you, y’know- the fuckin’ b-best prize I could ever have.”

“I love you too–” You find your cartoonishly dazed smile directed up at him. “-Six Eyes.”

With a soft groan, he twiddles his thumb over to toy with the sticky seconds of his seed pouring out of you. Lazily.

Letting it scoop onto his fingerpads, shoving it back between your slippy lips. Repeatedly even painting a languid heart with it over your tummy bulge- before skidding the salted cream between your lips. 

With a fat few fingers stuffed into your dampening maw, overflowing with glutinous saliva, you’re letting your eyes stray back to the reflection in the mirror. Blinking back your vision-

“Holy shit.” You’re gaping - at everything from the way that Gojo Satoru had seemed to gain more red, red scratches and bruises all over his arms, back, and pecs from you than in an actual fight, to the way he seemed utterly content about it. “T-Toru, I gave you more marks than Sukuna did during the Shinjuku Showdown…”

“I know.”

.

.

.

“Aaaand welcome back, folks! To the Shinjuku Showdown 2.0!” 

You wince, Haibara’s commentating voice would never grow any less booming no matter how many times you sat here. Front row for yet another one of Gojo’s famed fights. 

Though, you squirm in your seat, you wished he could get here sooner. 

“Requested by our very own King of Curses- he’s quite a sore loser you see- oh, my mistake, Mr. Sukuna, sir. You are the underground’s most honorable fighter, of course of course.”

Ryomen Sukuna scowls even as the crows roar and yell rambunctiously around him, eyes falling on you - for the briefest, tensest second - before he tears away. Pacing around the barren ring like a tiger prowling for his prey.

Only, said prey wasn’t going down without making sure that Sukuna knew the true hierarchy here. 

“FINALLY! Hereee we have our monster of Japan, Six Eyes, making his long-awaited entrance tonight! Ohhh place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, tonight is going to be goooood!”

When Gojo Satoru entered the ring, everyone knew. Everyone held their breath.

It never got old seeing his generously over six-foot figure loom menacingly towards the ring, draped in a dark blue robe of crushed velvet. Which just-so-happened to be the exact color of your matching lingerie tonight…

Usual gloves on hand, a tiny, plastic remote in hand.

You’re shivering as he twiddles it over deftly, pulling down the hiked-up hem of your nurse’s outfit. Just praying that nobody could hear the bzzz–! of that hot-pink bullet vibrator lodged inside your sloppy pussy.

Meant to be there for the entire fight. 

The cutting stadium air was so tautly-pulled that you could hear every resounding thud! of his powerful footsteps as Haibara rattles off Sukuna’s introduction. Jumping swiftly and athletically over the ropes of the ring. 

“And in THIS corner, we have Six Eyes, The Strongest. Some fear to speak his name. Some think he isn’t human. With a winning streak ever since he arrived here, with so many knockouts that it’s said they created a new medical term for it. Challenge him and you challenge death. The man. The myth. The nightmare-” 

Then Gojo straightens- 

“-a monster that can never be tamed!”

-and he lets his robe fall.

All red, angry patterns of scratches on full display for the countless rabid photographers and watchers to gawk at. Down his back, down his arms, down his pecs.

Everywhere and anywhere for the eye to see, and to see Gojo- Six Eyes of all people to be so thoroughly claimed. As if he was thrown to the wolves - someone put a hand on him?

Oh, you could hear the reporters stumbling over their questions as they screamed for answers and relationship reveals. 

Though, all of them were answered once he turns straight to you. Miniscule remote calibrated to the very maximum before Gojo fucking throws it somewhere into the ringside. Even through his muzzle, you could tell he was grinning as you gasped at the lecherous vibrations pulsating to your g-spot. 

Over and over whilst media personnel - realizing your connection to the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - jostled you for more juicy details. Fuck- everyone was going to know about this. Everyone. 

Gojo turns back to a fuming Sukuna with a quirk of his ivory brow. 

“The monster has- has been tamed! Let the fight begin!”

A/N. FAWK I NEED HIM. Was this slightly inspired by all the boxing talk going on in my blog? Mayhaps. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[totalswag]

hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena. 

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest. 

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder. 

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows. 

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone. 

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you. 

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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[dakusan]

CRIMSON PACT

vampire!bang chan x reader | “you gave him your blood. he took your soul with it.”

🔞synopsis: You signed the contract. Gave your blood. Agreed to his terms. He promised protection, pleasure, and power. What he didn’t tell you? The contract never ends. You weren’t just a blood doll. You were chosen. And Bang Chan doesn’t share what’s his—not your body, not your blood, not your soul.

💌a/n: i blacked out. this is what happens when you play Cabernet and then think “what if bang chan was a vampire who tied me up, drank my blood, and fucked me until i forgot my name?”

🩸 he’s not your dom, he’s your religion. 🩸 you didn’t sign a contract—you surrendered. 🩸 yes, you came when he fed. no, you’re not okay.

those who know me know i can’t run into smut directly, so yes—there’s a bit of background first :3 consider it the slow poison before the bite. this one’s for the bloodlust girlies. the silk tie sluts. the “bite me harder, please” crowd. p.s. hope you brought holy water. p.s.s. rate, scream, moan in the tags. i’ll be watching.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW (18+) — bloodplay, biting kink, body worship, orgasm control, bondage (silk restraints), overstimulation, edging, marking, possessiveness, creampie, vampire feeding-as-foreplay, rough sex, filthy talk, praise + light degradation, dom!chan energy, sensory overload, manipulation kink, claiming/mating themes, emotionally manipulative tenderness™, aftercare that hits too hard, consent framed as control, he bites you and you come. you said “i can handle it.” he said “prove it.”

🎶now playing: "Red Lights" — Bang Chan & Hyunjin

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🩸 background

CAST

Vampire!Bang Chan Ancient, but looks late 20s. Charismatic. Seductive. Deeply calculating. Keeps up the façade of elegance, control, and civility—but beneath it lies an animalistic hunger. Treats his blood dolls like precious, exclusive possessions. You? His last. The only one he’s ever signed a lifetime contract with. He feeds slow. He fucks slower. But when he snaps? There’s no going back.

Reader (Blood Doll!You) You signed the contract voluntarily—but not just for the money. Maybe you were running from something. Maybe you were drawn to the dark. You’re inexperienced with vampires. This is your first arrangement. You said it was a business deal. He knew better. Your body begged the first time he bit you.

🩸what is a blood doll?

A blood doll is a human who willingly offers their blood—and sometimes their body—to a vampire, bound by a formal contract. In return, they’re protected, housed, and cared for financially, emotionally, physically.

It’s supposed to be a mutual exchange. But when the vampire is Bang Chan… it becomes obsession. Control. A covenant.

The elevator doors opened with a hush, spilling dim light across polished black marble. You stepped out, heels clicking softly like the tick of a countdown.

The penthouse was silent. Not empty—waiting.

Everything gleamed: obsidian floors, dark glass walls streaked with rain, gold accents warm against shadows. The air was scented faintly with something ancient—wine, cedar, and blood just barely gone dry. It didn’t smell unpleasant. It smelled like a memory you weren’t sure was yours.

He stood at the far end of the room, one hand resting on the back of a high-backed chair, the other cradling a glass of something red and viscous. He wasn’t dressed like a monster. He wore tailored black trousers, a silk shirt undone just enough to tease the curve of his collarbone, and no shoes. Just him—barefoot in his own cathedral.

Bang Chan looked up at you, and the world seemed to still for a breath.

"You’re punctual." His voice came low, warm, and polished with civility. But the cadence was too slow, too careful—like someone used to commanding rooms with silence, not volume. "Good."

You nodded, throat tight. “You said midnight.”

"I did." His mouth curled, sharp and soft at once. “And here you are. Come. Sit.”

The table was long and dark, minimalist, with a single folder placed at the center like a relic. When you lowered yourself into the chair opposite him, your legs barely brushed the underside before you crossed them tightly, trying not to look tense. But you were. Your skin buzzed with it. Not fear. Not exactly. Something older, hungrier.

“I assume you read the terms,” he said, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

You nodded again. “Twice.”

“Mmm. Still”—he reached forward, flipping open the folder with elegant fingers—“I like to go over the finer details… in person.”

The contract looked deceptively simple: black ink, pristine paper, heavy with embossed lettering and a dark red wax seal. Legal, binding. Intimate. You scanned it again, though you could recite most of it by now.

Clause 3: The Vampire shall provide financial, medical, and physical support to the Doll at all times during the bond. Clause 7: Feeding shall occur with full verbal consent. In absence of consent, no feeding is permitted. Clause 9: Sexual contact is optional. However, if initiated by either party, it must be fulfilled within safe and agreed-upon parameters. Withdrawal is permitted, but rare. Clause 11: A Doll who offers themselves for long-term service is to be protected as a permanent asset.

You paused at Clause 9.

“...Sexual contact is optional,” you said aloud, almost skeptical.

Chan’s eyes didn’t move from yours. “Technically.”

You raised a brow.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That clause was added after a rather… messy disagreement in Vienna. Some dolls think they can offer blood without intimacy. Some vampires agree. I don’t.”

You swallowed. “You mean you won’t feed unless—”

“No.” A beat. “I mean I’ve never wanted to separate them. Blood is pleasure. Pain is trust. Sex is… currency.” He tilted his head. “What are you willing to give to be kept?”

The silence draped over your shoulders like velvet. His words should’ve chilled you. But they didn’t. Instead, your skin prickled. Your thighs pressed a little tighter. You hated that he noticed.

“Let me see your wrist.”

You hesitated.

His eyes didn’t waver. There was no impatience in them—just certainty. Hunger, tucked behind a glassy calm.

You extended your arm, pulse fluttering like a ribbon in the wind.

Chan took your wrist with a gentleness that was worse than roughness. Reverent. He held it between both hands, thumb brushing the vein just beneath the skin. You swore you could feel his fingers in places he hadn’t touched yet.

“Hmm,” he said quietly. His voice dropped, low and rasped. “You’re trembling already.”

You hated that he was right. Hated that your heart had started pounding the moment you stepped into his domain. And he could hear it—you knew he could hear it.

“It’s not fear,” you said, too quickly.

“Oh, I know,” he whispered. “It’s anticipation.”

He released you, slow as syrup.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Chan reached for a fountain pen—black with a silver serpent wrapped around the barrel—and set it beside the parchment. “Go ahead,” he said, voice rich like candle smoke. “If you’re ready to surrender. If you’re ready to be mine.”

Your fingers wrapped around the pen. You wrote your name in long, fluid strokes—first name, middle, last, like signing your soul away required formality. The ink glided, but just as you lifted the tip from the page, it snagged—slightly. A prickle. Then warmth.

You hissed softly, looking down.

A drop of your blood rolled down your finger and splattered right at the base of your signature. Small. Bright. Stark red against the cream paper.

Chan’s chair creaked as he stood.

He leaned over the table, one hand braced beside the contract, the other reaching out—but not to you. Just the paper. His fingertip grazed the blood, collecting the crimson bead, then lifted it slowly to his lips.

He tasted it.

And closed his eyes.

“…You bleed beautifully,” he said, almost reverent.

When his gaze returned to yours, it was darker. Deeper. “No turning back now,” he murmured.

The signature was barely dry when Chan’s voice sliced through the quiet. “Come,” he said, stepping away from the table and beckoning you with a single finger. “We’ll begin tonight.”

You blinked. “Tonight?”

He turned his head slightly, a half-smile curving his lips. “Why wait? Your blood’s already calling to me. I can hear it… humming under your skin.”

You stood, slowly. Legs steady, voice not so much. “I thought the first feeding was scheduled—”

“I changed the schedule.” His eyes dropped to your neck. “You’ll find I do that often.”

He didn’t lead you to a sterile feeding room or a clinical space with straps and silver tools. No, he brought you to what looked like a bedroom. If vampires even slept. The space was soft with shadows—curtains drawn, the faint glow of amber sconces casting flickers across the walls. A plush velvet chaise rested near the window, flanked by shelves full of antique books and empty crystal decanters.

He gestured to the chaise. “Sit.”

You obeyed.

Chan knelt in front of you—not rushed, not showy. Just deliberate. Like a priest at a private altar. His hands, still cool from the glass he’d held earlier, gently took your knees and parted them enough for him to slot between. It was chaste. For now.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, brushing hair back from your neck with the backs of his fingers. “Unless you want it rough.”

Your breath hitched. He smiled.

“I thought so.”

He studied your throat like it was scripture. The pad of his thumb pressed lightly under your jaw—tilting your head, exposing the fragile, thumping line beneath your skin. His gaze sharpened.

“Heartbeat’s racing again,” he whispered. “Such a pretty tempo.”

You tried to speak, but your voice had vanished somewhere behind your teeth.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I won’t take too much. Just enough to make us… connected.”

You felt his lips first. They brushed against your pulse in a whisper-soft kiss, reverent and maddening. Then—the scrape of fangs.

Not sharp. Not yet. Just a threat.

“I need you to say it,” he said, voice vibrating against your skin. “Consent. Give it to me.”

You swallowed hard. “I consent.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I… I want you to feed from me, Chan.”

His eyes fluttered closed. The sound of his name on your tongue did something to him. When they opened again, they weren’t just dark. They were hungry.

And then—he bit you.

It wasn’t a stab. It was an invasion dressed as intimacy. The pressure sank in slowly, coaxing your skin apart, followed by a bloom of sharp heat. Your body arched without permission. A sound slipped from your throat—too soft to be a cry, too desperate to be a sigh.

Chan groaned against your neck.

You felt his mouth moving—drinking—his tongue sweeping across the punctures with devastating control. His hands gripped your thighs now, not rough but anchoring, grounding you while your body dissolved. Your pulse thundered in your ears, but your head felt light, floaty, distant.

Heat pooled low in your belly.

Your hips shifted without thinking.

That’s when he pulled back.

Blood glossed his lips—your blood. He licked them slowly, as if savouring the last drop of a rare vintage. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip, chasing the taste.

“…Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re sweeter than I expected.”

You were still panting. His thumb wiped a smear of blood from your neck with gentle precision. He pressed a kiss to the spot, sealing it closed with a trace of heat.

“You’ll start to feel… different,” he said, rising to his feet and towering over you now. “Feeding changes you. Makes you… sensitive. Addicted, some say.”

You looked up at him, dazed. “To you?”

He smiled. But it wasn’t comforting.

“No,” he murmured. “To this. To being wanted like this.”

He leaned down, eyes burning into yours. His voice dropped to a hush.

“And soon, you’ll want me too.”

You didn’t notice it at first.

The ache.

It started as a dull flutter under your ribs—barely there, easy to ignore. But as the days passed without Chan’s fangs in your skin, it grew sharper, more insistent. Like hunger, but not for food. Like arousal, but with no release. You woke up one morning with your sheets twisted between your legs, skin damp with sweat, heart hammering.

You hadn’t seen him in four days.

He said he had business. Said he wouldn’t be far. But the bond was forged now. His absence echoed through your body like a missing rhythm. A phantom touch that never landed. Your body knew he hadn’t fed.

And it wanted him to.

You tried to act normal. You showered. You ate. You answered emails. But nothing settled. You were restless. Your skin felt too tight. Your limbs, too heavy.

And then… the gifts started.

The first was a book. Left on your pillow. An old hardcover—The Picture of Dorian Gray. You flipped it open and froze. The margins were full of notes. Your notes. From university. From a copy you hadn’t seen in years.

You didn’t tell him about those annotations. He must’ve tracked it down somehow. Bought it back. The idea that he’d searched for something that touched your mind, not just your body—

You clutched it to your chest and pretended it didn’t mean anything.

The next day, it was a necklace. Silver, fine, weightless. A small black garnet hanging from the center. You found it on your nightstand with no note, but you knew. You put it on without thinking. The gem sat perfectly over your collarbone—right where his mouth usually went.

After that came the clothes. Silk robes. Cashmere sweaters. A pair of shoes that fit like they were molded for you.

He didn’t speak of them. Just watched you wear them with a look that was too satisfied, too sure.

You started sleeping in his bed without realizing when it began.

At first it was just because you couldn’t sleep. The scent of him on his pillows helped. The air in his room felt thicker, safer, like the shadows themselves bent around you to listen to your breathing.

You told yourself it was convenience. Proximity.

Then, one night, you woke with the feeling of being watched.

Your eyes fluttered open.

He was there.

Sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, legs crossed, one hand resting under his jaw. His shirt was unbuttoned. Bare feet on the rug. No sound. Just him, and you, and the silence between.

"How long have you been there?" you whispered.

He smiled faintly, fangs just barely visible. “Long enough.”

Your breath caught.

“You moaned my name,” he said softly. “In your sleep.”

Your cheeks burned. “That doesn’t mean—”

“It means you’re mine,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a declaration.

It was a fact.

The next feeding was different.

You didn’t wait for him to ask. You came to him.

You didn’t knock. Just opened his door, eyes wide, pupils blown, breath already trembling.

He didn’t say a word—just reached for you, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your throat.

This time, you felt everything.

His bite burned and bloomed, molten and euphoric. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your hips rolled instinctively in his lap. He didn’t stop you. He guided you. Hands on your waist, mouth on your neck, whispering filth between gulps.

"You're shaking." "Need it," you gasped. "I know. You were made for this. For me."

By the time he finished, you were panting and soaked between the legs, thighs twitching, vision fuzzy. He held you through the aftershocks, licking the wound closed with obscene tenderness.

"You’ll crave it more now," he murmured. “Soon, you won’t be able to come unless I’m inside you… or feeding.”

You should have told him to stop. That it wasn’t true. That you had control.

But the worst part was—you wanted it to be true.

The gala was held in a forgotten cathedral—repurposed and gilded in fresh vice. Glass chandeliers hung like dripping fangs. Shadows wore tuxedos and corseted gowns, wine swirled in crystal like blood, and the air vibrated with the undercurrent of hunger.

This was not your world.

Not really.

And yet—you were here. A blood doll, yes, but one under his protection. Marked, fed from, cared for. No one could touch you without risking war.

But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t look.

And you… you let them.

The vampire in question wasn’t particularly handsome, not like Chan. But he was bold. He offered you his hand during a waltz, and you took it. He leaned close when you laughed. You let his eyes linger on your neck—on the healed bite that still ached from last week. You didn’t move away.

You didn’t stop him.

And Chan saw everything.

From the gallery above, he stood like a statue—expression unreadable, drink untouched, fangs pressing into his tongue to keep the growl down. He watched you flirt with another predator, watched the flick of your lashes, the curve of your mouth, the bare skin of your throat on display.

He said nothing.

But his eyes never left you.

You expected him to confront you after. Maybe a whispered threat in the car, a sharp warning through clenched teeth.

Instead… silence.

Not a single word on the drive home.

Not one glance as you entered the penthouse.

You were halfway down the hall when you heard it.

The click of the door locking.

You turned.

Chan stood behind you, still and deliberate. He took off his jacket slowly, folded it, and laid it across the nearest chair. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms—veins taut, muscles coiled like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

You opened your mouth, but he spoke first.

Low. Lethal.

“Tell me,” he said, voice like black velvet soaked in wine. “Was he worth it?”

You blinked. “What—”

“You think you can offer this blood to someone else?”

The room dropped ten degrees.

You backed up a step, heart tripping. “It was nothing. Just—just dancing.”

He moved closer. Slow, stalking. “You let him look at you.”

“I didn’t—”

“You let him imagine tasting you. Touching you. Filling you.” His eyes gleamed now—obsidian, deadly. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Your back hit the wall.

Chan leaned in, bracing his palm beside your head. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

“You wanted to see what I’d do.” His other hand slid to your throat—not squeezing, just resting. Claiming. “You wanted to test me.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice rumbling from deep in his chest. “I feed from you. I fuck you. I care for you. No one else touches what’s mine.”

He leaned in closer—lips brushing your ear.

“Now… get on your knees.”

Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, silk pooling around you like an offering.

Chan stood above you—barely restrained, chest rising with quiet fury, his jaw tight. He looked down at you like a king surveying his most treasured possession, soiled by another’s gaze.

“Open your mouth,” he said, voice low and lethal.

You obeyed—lips parting, tongue already peeking out slightly like a plea. He hummed, pleased, and reached down to cup your jaw. His thumb traced your lower lip once. Then again—pressing harder until you had no choice but to let it past your lips.

“Suck,” he ordered.

You did.

He watched you, unmoving, as your mouth worked over his thumb, soft and obedient. Your tongue swirled, your lips hollowed, and when he pulled it out, it left your chin glistening.

“Good,” he muttered. “You know how to behave when you’re on your knees.”

He undid his belt with one hand, the metallic sound of the buckle snapping through the air like the start of a ritual. You swallowed hard. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively—already soaked, already wanting.

His cock was hard. Thick. Veins prominent. You barely had a second to breathe before he grabbed the back of your head and fed it to you.

Slow at first—his tip dragging over your tongue, a groan rumbling from deep in his chest as your lips closed around him.

“You take me well,” he breathed. “But you’re not gonna get it easy tonight.”

His hand tightened in your hair.

Then—he started thrusting.

Not shallow. Not gentle. He fucked your mouth like it was his right—like it was the punishment and the reward. Your throat burned, your eyes watered, but you took it. You moaned around him, the vibration making him curse above you.

“Look at you,” he growled, glancing down. “Choking so pretty on my cock.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth. He didn't stop. Didn’t slow. His hips moved with brutal rhythm, driving deeper every time until your throat gave in, welcoming the violation.

“You think anyone else could do this to you?” he snarled. “Think he could use you like this? Own you like I do?”

You whimpered around him, lashes fluttering. You tried to answer—but you couldn’t speak. You could only take.

And he loved that.

Finally—he pulled out. You gasped, coughing, spit trailing down your chin.

He grabbed you by the jaw and forced you to look up. His eyes glowed now—hungry. Ferocious.

“Say it.”

You blinked, dazed. “Wh-what?”

His thumb smeared your spit across your cheek.

“Who do you belong to?”

You swallowed.

“You. I’m yours, Chan.”

He exhaled like that was the first thing that soothed him all night.

“Good girl,” he rasped, eyes trailing over your flushed, ruined face. “Now get on the bed.”

You stumbled to the bed, still breathless, throat wrecked and wet. Your legs trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer force of want pooling between them, slick and desperate.

Chan stood back, watching.

Commanding.

You crawled onto the mattress, knees sinking into the soft black sheets. You didn’t even make it all the way before his voice stopped you.

“Don’t lie down,” he said darkly. “I want to see it.”

You froze on all fours.

He prowled toward you—slow, deliberate. A predator savoring every second of the hunt.

His fingers caught the strap of your dress. “This,” he murmured, dragging the silk down your back, “wasn’t for him, was it?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The dress slid from your body like water.

And when it pooled at your knees, revealing what you wore beneath—it wasn’t silence that followed.

It was a growl.

Black lace. Barely there. Garters. Sheer cups that lifted your breasts just enough to tease. A tiny diamond charm hanging between your ribs. Skin flushed. Bite marks healing.

Chan let out a sharp breath, almost like it hurt to look at you.

“You look…” he stepped closer, eyes dragging down every inch of your spine, “fuckin’ divine.”

You felt him kneel behind you. Fingers hooked into the lace at your hips and ripped. The sound tore through the room, and your body jolted, arousal dripping from your core onto the sheets.

Then—fabric tightened around your wrists.

Your head snapped back. “Wh—”

“My tie,” he whispered, knotting it expertly behind your back. “You wanted to be played with. Now you don’t get to touch. Or beg. Or finish… unless I say so.”

He spread your thighs apart with both hands. Sat back on his heels to admire the way you glistened.

“You’re already dripping,” he muttered. “Pathetic. You want to be used.”

You whimpered. “Yes—please—”

He pressed his thumb against your entrance. Collected the wetness. Smirked.

“Then you’ll wait.”

He brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it clean, slow and deliberate, groaning softly like he’d just tasted something indecent.

Then he looked up at you from behind—eyes black with hunger, lips parted just slightly.

“So sweet.”

Without warning, his hands clamped around your thighs, dragging you down so your knees slipped wide, your back arched deeper, your ass and cunt perfectly exposed. He didn’t give you a second to breathe.

He dove in.

His mouth landed on your soaked pussy like it was salvation—tongue flattening against your slit, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, filthy stroke. You choked on your own breath, body lurching forward, but your tied wrists left you helpless to do anything but take it.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, voice muffled by the obscene wet sounds between your legs. “You taste even better when you’re desperate.”

He buried his face in deeper, tongue pushing inside you now, slow and thick, swirling with maddening precision. His nose pressed to your ass, his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He moaned into you—guttural, low, possessive.

Every time he pulled back to suck on your clit, he made sure it was loud—sloppy and wet and absolutely wrecking. You could feel his fangs graze close to your skin but never break it, teasing you with the threat of another bite you weren’t allowed to beg for.

Your thighs trembled.

Your breath hitched.

Your entire body was on the verge.

“Chan—” you whimpered, voice high, ruined. “Please, I—please—”

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, chin slick with your arousal.

“Please?” he repeated mockingly. “Didn’t I say you don’t get to beg?”

You whimpered again, hips twitching back toward him instinctively.

He spat on your pussy—warm and obscene—then licked it up without hesitation, sucking your clit between his lips with a deep groan that vibrated through your spine.

“Look at you,” he muttered, tongue flicking wickedly. “Already about to come and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back.

“Feel it?” he growled against your cunt, licking long and slow. “That edge? Right there?”

You nodded frantically, tears starting to sting the corners of your eyes.

“Good. Now stay right there.”

Then he stopped.

You screamed—a strangled, broken sob of frustration.

Chan chuckled darkly and rose to his feet behind you. You could feel the heat of his cock against the back of your thigh, hard and heavy.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, running the head along your dripping folds. “You’ll get to come.”

A pause.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“But not until I feed.”

He leaned over you slowly—caging your body with his, forearm braced beside your head, the other gripping his cock as he dragged it through your soaked folds again and again. Not entering. Just teasing.

The head nudged your entrance. Slipped up to your clit. Down again. Wet noises filled the space between your ragged breaths.

"Feel that?" he rasped, grinding against your slit, hips rocking just enough to make you ache. "How badly you want me? How wet you got just from my tongue?"

You gasped, squirming under him, wrists still bound behind your back with his silk tie.

"Please," you whimpered.

“Not yet.”

His mouth dipped lower—pressed to the curve of your shoulder, tongue tracing the skin like a map he already knew by heart. He kissed it once. Then again, slower.

And then—fangs.

You tensed, body electric, just as he whispered:

"Mine."

He sank his teeth in.

Deep.

You cried out—part pain, part unbearable pleasure—as heat burst through your entire body. His cock thrust into you at the same time—slow, thick, stretching you open inch by inch as he drank from your shoulder. The rhythm matched—the draw of your blood, the press of his hips—every thrust perfectly timed with every pull from your vein.

It was too much. Too intimate. Too raw.

You keened, back arching, legs trembling.

"You feel that?" he groaned against your skin, licking the blood that trickled from the bite. "This is what you need. My cock. My bite. Nothing else will ever satisfy you again."

He began moving in earnest—fucking you deep and steady, the slap of his hips echoing through the room as your slick coated his cock with every thrust.

He licked your bite clean.

Sealed it with a kiss.

Then his hand curled around your throat and pulled you back against his chest, fucking you from behind with filthy precision. His cock hit so deep, dragging against every sensitive spot that had already been teased raw.

"Look at you,” he growled in your ear. “Taking me so well. Making such a mess.”

You sobbed, drool slipping down your chin, tears lining your lashes.

"Chan—can't—gonna come—"

“No,” he said darkly, slowing just to the edge of cruel. “Not yet.”

He angled his hips.

Hit that spot again.

And again.

His fingers pinched your clit. Once.

You screamed.

"Now," he breathed. "Now you can come."

And your body obeyed. You shattered around him—tight, pulsing, crying out his name as your orgasm crashed through you, white-hot and endless. But Chan’s grip tightened around your waist—and he kept going.

Thrusting. Hard. Unrelenting.

Your cunt, still pulsing, still wet and raw, clung to him as he fucked into you like he was chasing something deeper than pleasure—possession. You cried out, your tied wrists flexing behind you.

“Chan—ah—please—!”

He growled behind you, low and dangerous. “That wasn’t enough.”

His pace slammed into you now—each thrust brutal and perfect, his cock dragging against every spot that made your spine melt. The sound of skin slapping skin, your wetness, your sobs—it filled the room like music.

You were incoherent. Wrecked. But your body still begged for more.

He leaned over you again, chest pressed to your back, and this time—this time—his lips went to your neck. The untouched side. The one he hadn’t bitten yet.

“Gonna take more,” he whispered, voice fraying. “Need to feel you.”

And then he bit.

Sharp. Deep. Devouring.

You screamed, the pleasure so sharp it cut straight through your nerves. His cock slammed into you as he fed, synced perfectly with every draw of your blood—each thrust harder than the last, deeper, until you were delirious from it all.

You felt yourself unravel again—another orgasm building too fast.

Your thighs shook, overstimulated. Your moans cracked into sobs.

“Such a good girl,” he growled against your throat, voice thick with your taste. “Bleeding so fucking sweet for me. Coming so tight around my cock.”

You sobbed his name, broken and blissed-out, body on fire.

And he snapped his hips again—deep, grinding into your soaked cunt until you felt the thick stretch of him press so high inside, you swore he touched your soul.

You shattered.

Again.

This time, harder. Your orgasm tore through you, so violent your vision went white. Your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching so hard he groaned, fangs still buried in your skin.

And still… he didn’t stop.

He growled low, deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hips slammed into yours, cock thrusting through every pulse of your orgasm, every tight squeeze of your overstimulated cunt. You were shaking—wrecked—but he chased his high like a man possessed.

“Fuck—just like that,” he snarled, mouth full of your blood, voice shredded and animal. “Fucking perfect—so tight, so fucking good—”

Your walls were spasming around him, dripping down your thighs, your pussy fluttering like it was begging for him to fill you.

And Chan—he gave in.

With a final, brutal thrust, he pushed deep—as deep as he could go—his cock pressed against your cervix as his body shuddered against yours. His fangs slid free from your neck, blood smeared down your skin, and he roared your name as he came.

Thick.

Hot.

Endless.

Spilling into you in long, staggering pulses, flooding you with his cum. It filled every clench of your pussy, every slick, swollen fold, leaking around the base of his cock even as he stayed buried inside, grinding in slow, final strokes to make sure it stayed in you.

You gasped, boneless, melting into the sheets beneath him.

He didn’t move. Not for a long moment.

Just held you—cock still buried, cum dripping, his breath ragged against your neck.

“…Mine,” he whispered again, quieter this time. Like a prayer.

Then he kissed the bite mark gently.

Twice.

One for the pain. One for the promise.

You weren’t sure when the tremors stopped. Or if they ever really did.

All you knew was this: you were limp, boneless, your body melted into the sheets with Chan still buried deep inside you—his cock softening slowly, his cum thick and warm where it leaked from your spent cunt.

Your skin was covered in blood, sweat, his mouth, his hands. The bite on your shoulder throbbed. The one on your neck pulsed. And your wrists—still tied behind your back with his silk tie—twitched weakly as you tried to move.

You whimpered.

Immediately—immediately—he responded.

Chan’s breath caught. He pulled out of you carefully, slowly, like withdrawing from something fragile. His hands—no longer demanding—were tender now. Reverent.

“Shh…” he whispered, voice low and raw. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You felt the weight of his body shift, then his fingers—trembling slightly—began to undo the knot binding your wrists.

“You did so good for me,” he murmured, loosening the fabric. “So fucking perfect.”

The silk slipped free. Your arms fell forward limply, and he caught them in his hands, pressing kisses to your wrists where the skin had reddened.

“I didn’t mean to hold you that tight,” he whispered.

You could barely answer, barely move. But your breath hitched at his voice, at the gentleness of it, and that was enough.

Chan leaned forward, turning you slowly onto your side, then carefully—like lifting something too delicate to breathe on—gathered you into his arms. He sat against the headboard with you in his lap, pressed chest to chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other cradled your head to his shoulder.

His scent surrounded you again—cedar, wine, and the faintest trace of blood.

“You’re okay,” he whispered again. “I’ve got you.”

His hand slid through your hair, combing it back, and he pressed a long, warm kiss to your forehead.

Sometime later, you felt yourself being lifted again. Carried.

Chan’s arms under your back and knees.

The lights dimmed automatically as he crossed the room into the bathroom. He tapped the marble edge of the tub with his foot, and the bath began to fill—perfect temperature, gentle steam curling into the air like a cocoon.

He set you down carefully on the edge.

You didn’t resist when he peeled off what was left of your lingerie, brushing your skin softly where it stuck with dried sweat or blood. He climbed in behind you, drawing you into the water between his legs, your back to his chest. Warmth surrounded you. So did he.

He reached for a soft cloth and dipped it in the water.

“Let me take care of you.”

He began with your neck.

He cleaned the bite marks with feather-light precision, dabbing away the blood without pressing too hard. Then your shoulders. Your thighs. The inside of your knees. His fingers brushed your folds just once, so gently it made you shiver—but not from arousal. From how safe it felt.

He kissed the back of your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, “you don’t flirt with anyone else.”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Noted.”

He chuckled against your skin, arms tightening around you. “I meant every word. You belong to me.”

You turned your head, eyes meeting his. “And you belong to me?”

His gaze softened—but the hunger never left.

“Always.”

He kissed you then—slow, deep, claiming in a new way. Not as the monster who fed from you. But as the one who would never let you go.

The next evening, you found the contract, the same contract you had signed. Folded neatly on the black marble desk in his study, next to a glass of untouched wine and a blood-red fountain pen.

You hadn’t seen it since the night you signed it. Since you bled on the page and gave him everything.

Curious, you reached for it.

You flipped through each clause slowly—Clause 3, Clause 7, Clause 9... and then your eyes landed on one you hadn’t noticed before.

Clause 13: This bond is eternal. Should both parties fulfill the covenant, termination is not permitted.

Your breath caught.

“Covenant?”

You turned—heart thudding—just as Chan appeared behind you, silent and barefoot.

He didn’t look surprised. Not even guilty.

Just satisfied.

“I was wondering when you’d find that,” he murmured, stepping close. “You skipped the fine print.”

Your lips parted. “You said it was a contract—”

He cut you off with a smirk, eyes gleaming dark.

“I lied.”

He reached for your waist, pulled you flush against him. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered:

“You didn’t sign a contract, sweetheart.”

His hands slid down your back.

“You signed a covenant.”

Your heart stuttered. “What does that mean?”

His lips found your neck. The spot he hadn’t bitten yet tonight. The one that ached for it now.

“It means you were never going to leave me,” he whispered. “Not after the first feeding. Not after I marked you. Not after I filled you.”

He kissed your pulse once, slow.

“It means you’re not just my blood doll.”

He kissed lower.

“You’re my chosen.”

Lower.

“My mate.”

Then—fangs.

He sank them in slow. Gentle. Not like before. This time… it was intimate. Sacred. Your breath caught as your body melted against his, cunt already throbbing, slick already dripping and making a mess of your panties from the sheer gravity of his presence.

And then—you felt it.

His hand slipped between your legs, beneath the panties, two fingers sliding through your soaked folds like he already knew exactly what you needed. And of course he did.

He fed.

You arched.

And just as he groaned from the taste of you—you came. Shaking, gasping, crying out his name as he held you, bit you, fed from you like you were his first and final meal.

Your body clamped around nothing, but it didn’t matter.

You weren’t cumming for friction.

You were cumming for him.

Because now, it wasn’t just about being claimed.

It was about being kept.

When he pulled back, blood on his lips, eyes wild and reverent, he whispered against your skin:

“You’re mine.”

Then kissed the wound one last time.

“Forever.”

[tojisun]

!! smut - minors dni; this is fuckin nastyy so look away or smthn; breeding kink :’3

mmm but simon not realizing he has breeding kink until someone brings it up

they’re out in a bar, chatting quietly even amidst the sheer volume of the weekend crowd, before johnny snorts and bumps his shoulders to simon’s in a teasing manner.

“especially LT,” johnny says, scottish accent even thicker now that he’s intoxicated. “he probably can’t wait to see his bonnie lass swollen with his kids. would probably retire jus’ for the very reason of makin’ her a momma.”

john snorts at johnny’s slurred words while kyle chokes on his drink, coughing quietly, almost politely, until john takes pity on the kid and smacks his back with measured thumps. johnny laughs, loud guffaws blending well with the buzz in the bar, but it’s not like simon noticed.

how could he focus when his mind’s feeding him images of the way you’d look heavy with a babe? or how he’d make it so that you are?

the way he’d fuck you until it takes; your pussy leaking and gaping and full of his cum. the way he’d keep you on his bed for hours, make a routine out of it until he’s repeating it for many days because he wouldn’t risk the chances. then, he can’t stop thinking about the way your body would change, building fat to cushion your belly, your sharp edges turning into soft and pudgy corners. the way you’d be so sensitive, so dependent on him.

fuck.

simon gets yanked back into the reality when he hears john chuckle, low rumbles of disbelief spilling from the puffs of his laughter. simon’s eyes flick up towards his captain and all john does is give him a pointed stare, his eyes crinkled in a surprised delight, before the older man tips his drink into his lips and finishes his bourbon.

simon’s fist closes around his glass of whiskey, and he tries his best to ignore the growing tightness of his jeans.

he can’t wait to file for a vacation leave.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

young ladies shouldn’t waltz with vampires

a/n: happy halloween!!! here's the fic you guys voted on and shaped a few weeks ago

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

summary: “so, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…” 

warnings: vampire!bucky barnes x innocent!reader x vampire!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, historical au (1840s), mind control/vampire compulsion, blood, biting, age gap, ball, dancing, polyamory, threesome, first kiss, kissing, loss of virginity, somno, cockwarming, dirty talk, size kink, pain kink, pussyjob, overstimulation, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, unprotected sex

word count: 3511

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“I have to admit, out of every rose here, you’re the most breathtaking.” 

Glancing up from the table before you, cluttered with crystal glasses brimming with refreshments, your eyes flickered to the man now standing beside you, his own piercing blue stare firmly directed at you and no one else in the buzzing ballroom. 

Your stunned lips parted slightly before the gentleman boldly spoke up again, “how come I’ve never seen you before?” 

Feeling your breath hitch, you managed to babble, “oh, it’s probably because this is my first time at a proper ball. I haven’t really previously been allowed to come stay at my family’s London estate and–, I’m sorry…” you swiftly stopped yourself, sensing the heat that had ridden in your cheeks, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this…”

“Well, lucky us that you got let out of your cage and the rest of us finally get to gaze upon your beauty,” he flashed you a dazzling smile before his eyes flickered to someone behind you, “if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I recognise, but would you perhaps grant me the pleasure of a dance a little later?” 

Averting your gaze, a smile tugged at your lips as you uttered, “you’d have to ask my brother.” 

“But I’m asking you,” he dipped down to catch your vision, “would you care to dance with me?” 

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but let out the truth.

“Y-yes.” 

As a smile swiftly tilted his lips, the gentleman then bowed slightly before you as he plucked up your gloved hand and pressed his lips to the back of it before disappearing into the merry crowd. 

Feeling slightly dizzy, you finally snatched up the drink you’d originally wandered to this corner of the chamber to fetch. 

Though as you granted yourself a small sip, fingers suddenly grasped your arm and yanked you deeper into a corner. 

“Sister!” you blinked up into your brother’s eyes as he’d evidently spotted you from across the ballroom and, judging by his tone, not approved of what he’d seen, “what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Ripping your arm free, you furrowed your brows, “what are you talking about? I was just getting some punch.”

“No,” he hissed at a hushed volume, “why were you talking to him?”

A confused scoff then bubbled out past your lips, “I’ve talked to plenty of men at this party, with and without you at my side, so why is he any different?”

“Because, sister,” he leaned down a bit further, “he’s not a man. He’s one of them,” his eyes scanned your own before he spelled it out, “a vampire.” 

Though you’d never previously encountered one yourself, you still weren’t so naive to not be aware of the known influential status such creatures of the night had in the society you lived in. Them being in attendance at a fine ball was nothing compared to the other privileges they had achieved over the centuries. 

“Really?” you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder, though didn’t spot the bloodsucker again. 

“God,” your brother groaned quietly, “I know mother and papa have kept you rather sheltered compared to myself, but trust me, you have to stay away from them. They’re monsters, killing is in their nature,” with a hand on your cheek, he guided your gaze back to his, “promise me you won’t speak to one ever again.”

Blinking back at him, you then uttered sincerely, “I promise.”

“Good,” a visible weight then faded from his shoulders as he let go of you and straightened back up to his full height. 

As you stayed on the outskirts of the party, one of your fingers curved to trace the lines of the fine glass still clutched in your grasp. 

Soon your eyes flickered up from the liquid remaining in the goblet and landed on the other guests. Elegant crinoline gowns swooshed and swayed to the music emanating from the small string quartet in the corner, acting as a heartbeat for the lords and ladies of London as they danced the night away. 

“Well, as I live and breathe,” a voice then found not only your brother’s ears, but yours as well. 

Twisting slightly, you watched as a wide grin swiftly stretched your brother’s lips, “Thomas!” he spread his arms out for the redheaded man nearly within his reach. 

As they pulled each other into a tight hug, your brother’s friend chimed in his ear, “how you doing, old chap?” before withdrawing from the embrace, though still kept one palm fast on your sibling’s shoulder. 

“Not bad, not bad–, oh, Tommy,” your brother then suddenly glanced back at you, “this is my little sister,” gesturing betwixt you both, “sister, this is Thomas, we went to boarding school together.”

Extending a hand, you smiled politely, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he shook your palm before casting his gaze back upon your chaperone, “would you mind if I stole your brother for a moment?”

“Uhm,” you glanced to your sibling before uttering, “no, of course not. Go, have fun, catch up.”

And before the pair slipped away, your brother leaned down to whisper in your ear, “be good till I get back,” to which you offered him a nod in return right before they both vanished from your sight and left you alone at the edge of the dance floor. 

Though as you slowly began to wander along the perimeter, your gaze once again affixed upon the sea of swaying pairs in the centre of the ballroom, your gentle stride then abruptly halted as a bulky figure shifted to pass you, though as the stranger attempted to, the two of you collided and the remainder of the drink in your hand splashed across his jacket.

You both froze as you slowly peeled your wide eyes up from the stain of your drink, that lightly dripped from his clothing, and instead flickered up to find the stare of the aristocrat you’d accidentally bumped into. 

“Oh god…” your heartbeat swiftly hammered in your ears, deafening out the elegant music that filled the chamber, “sir, I am so sorry, I-I wasn’t looking at where I was going and–”

“It’s alright,” he hastily put an end to your blubbering as he eyed the soaked patch, “it’ll dry,” he uttered, running a broad palm down over the wetness. Though as his gaze flickered back up to find yours, a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he then said, “well, spilling your drink on me, the least you can do is offer me your name so that I know who to warn about to the people who actually are precious about their attire.”

“Lady Y/n Y/l/n,” you averted your gaze as your knees bent in a gentle curtsy, “delighted to make your acquaintance, even under the circumstances–, again, I am so incredibly sorry…”

“You’re a lady but with such lack of grace? Well, now I understand why you aren’t on the floor dancing with someone,” he jested in a teasing tone. 

The heat that had already crept up in your cheeks fiercely worsened, “I am a great dancer, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh really?” a smile dazzled his features, “I think I’ll have to see that to believe it,” he spoke as the current song came to an end and he extended a hand out to you, “shall we?”

For a moment, you let your glance flicker about the chamber in search of your brother, though when you couldn’t spot him, you found your own palm thinking for itself and gliding into the man’s standing tall before you. 

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, the palm he slid across your waist, and used to guide you a smidge closer to his own frame, caused a shy gasp to slip past your lips long before your feet began to shift below your poofy plum coloured gown. 

“Well, I guess you weren’t lying after all,” you soon heard him note after you’d danced for a minute, your movements having been nothing short of perfection since the very first step. 

Blinking up at the blonde man holding onto you tight, you finally asked, “what is your name, sir?”

“Lord Steven Rogers,” the title rolled off his tongue as his own gaze kept yours captive, “at your service, my lady.”

“Are you from here? You don’t sound it,” you commented on his accent, “but are you?”

“That’s a good question,” a slight tilt found his head, “London is one of my favourite places and I have spent many of my years here, but it’s not where I’m from, no.”

“So, you’ve travelled a lot?” you asked as he spun you an arm’s length away from himself. 

“You could say that…” he smirked as he twirled you back into his hold, “are you?”

“Am I what?” you found yourself slightly dizzy, though not from the dancing. 

“From London?”

“Well, my family does have a place here, but I haven’t spent much of my time in the city. At least not yet, I’m hoping I can begin to now that I’m grown, though to be quite frank, I have no idea where to start.”

“I could be your guide,” his offer caught you off guard, “it might have been a few years since I last called this city my home, but I still know it like the back of my hand.”

Mouth shyly agape, you simply blinked back at him a second before uttering, “perhaps if my brother came along as a chaperone.”

“I thought you said you were grown,” the tone he used to deliver his teasing seeped directly into your bones and made you thankful of his firm grip on you as the pair of you continued to sway to the music, “a girl asks for permission and can’t be trusted on her own, but a woman however, takes exactly what she desires and doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way…” his smouldering stare then briefly dipped before you heard him murmur, “so, what are you? A little girl or a woman?”

“I–…” you blinked back at him, struggling to navigate the exhilaratingly foreign situation you found yourself in. However, before you could stammer any further, the song came to a close and the surrounding couples parted ways. 

Though before you could take even one step back, his hand kept you close a moment longer as he dipped down for his breath to tickle the shell of your ear. 

“Meet me in the garden,” he whispered, causing even more goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “then you can give me your answer...” 

The cool night air kissed your cheeks as your glance flickered away from the candlelit terrace you’d abandoned only moments prior in order to stand beside the bushy mouth of the dark hedge maze further down the expanse of the estate’s garden. Faint music still found your ears as it echoed out the open windows of the grand manor where the ball still boomed. 

Then suddenly, as you were lost in your thoughts of disbelief at what you were doing, just before you could talk yourself into returning to the party, you felt your hand be grabbed before your eyes fluttered up to find the lord you’d been awaiting, his arrival haven been so sudden that it nearly caused you to jump straight out of your skin. 

Without a single word, Steve began to drag you into the maze, far away from any prying eyes and where the darkness could swallow you both whole.

“Where are you taking me–,” you attempted to ask, though as the man then abruptly stopped, what he did next stunned you to your very core. 

Pulling you close, closer than you’d ever been to any man before, he then pressed his lips to your own, sufficiently shutting you up before you could elaborate your question any further. 

The kiss was abrupt, fevered and entirely your first, leaving you dazed and reeling to catch up to the reality, to the dream you were finally expecting.

When Steve finally felt you relax into him, his feet began to shuffle and shift you back till your spine was pressed up against the denseness of the hedge behind you. 

But just as a shy whimper from you vibrated against his tongue and your fingers drifted up to whisper around his silky necktie, the snapping of a twig suddenly found your ears and caused you to jump away from your dance partner. 

Casting your glance over Steve’s broad shoulder, you spotted as the dark-haired gentleman, that your brother had so fiercely warmed you about, slithered out from the embrace of the shadows. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” the man smirked, folding his arms across his wide chest as he continued to stare. 

Eyes wide, you then began to stammer, “Steve,” lightly patting your partner’s arm as he hadn’t yet shifted to protect you with an air of understanding, “h-he’s a–” 

“A vampire?” the aristocratic creature raised an eyebrow, “how about you take another look at the lord that just had his tongue down your throat.” 

Your panicked glare then fluttered back to Steve in front of you, however, before you could manage to push him away, his hands flew up to either side of your face and he dipped down to stare into your eyes with an intense you’d never witnessed before, somehow locking you up in his gaze as he then compelled you, “don’t scream,” and under the moonlight, you swore you saw his pupils briefly dilate as his wish slithered into your soul, “stay calm.” 

Continuing to cup your cheeks, Steve then kissed you once again. Even though his previous words had turned you completely docile in his hold, the sensation of his lips as they soon pecked away from your own, on a determined journey down over your jaw, caused you to melt away that much further.

The neckline of your deep purple gown was so wide that it exposed not only your shoulders, but also crept down scandalously low on your chest. 

Your eyes fluttered shut once more as his kisses tickled in their path down your neck, the sensation shooting straight down between your thighs. However, as soon as Steve’s lips were devouring the tender spot where the base of your throat blossomed into your shoulder, a sharp pain suddenly caused your eyes to snap back open as the vampire had sunk his teeth into you. 

You winced slightly as blood began to trickle free, your gaze locked with the other man’s as he took a step forward and closed the gap. Standing directly behind Steve, his hand then raised up to stroke your hair.

“So, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…” 

Though you’d barely gotten to sleep an hour, you began to stir as the vampire sprawled out in front of your slumbering form kissed down your neck and swiftly sank his fangs into your shoulder. 

Wincing awake and still weak from the blood the two lords had already drained you off, your hiss soon faded into a mumble, “Buck…”

Tilting his chin back a bit, Bucky lapped up the crimson that trickled down from the bite before he whispered, “shh, you can just stay asleep…” and you noticed his hardness straining against you below the covers, “it’s okay, I don’t mind…”

You couldn’t fathom how the vampire still wasn’t satiated after everything that had happened that night, things a lady such as yourself had never dared to even imagine possible. Even now, you were still slotted in between the two naked men under the canopy of a bed in the grand estate they’d taken you to, your virgin blood still staining the sheets, or the little of it that they hadn’t lapped up for themselves to savour. 

Though the restless one before you had stirred you for another taste, Steve was still sleeping like a rock. He was laying directly behind you, his burly chest still pressed up against your spine as earlier, when he’d impulsively tried to stretch out your ass, made the decision to do something about that impossible tightness and have that little hole warm his intimidating girth while he slumbered. It made it difficult, to say the least, for rest to come to you as the sensation of his fat cock plugging you up was nearly too much for you to bear. 

“Oh, what is it?” Bucky chuckled lowly at the wince you let out as he began to nudge his dick against your puffy pussy, “are you sore?” he asked in a mocking tone, grinning wider as you nodded hazily in response, “but you like it, don’t you?” he torturously tapped the weight of his length against the creamy mess between your thighs, the sensation causing both your holes to throb and clench, making Steve’s cock still embedded deep within you seem that much more enormous, “you like it when it hurts, when the sting of pain mixes with pleasure…” he then caught your eye and compelled you, “tell me that you like it.”

“I like it,” you hear the desperate word flow out your lungs, “please don’t stop, please keep hurting me, keep biting me, drink every drop of my blood, use me however you wish, it all feels so good–, ah!” the pleas he’d made you utter were then cut off by a rippling moan as his bulbous tip suddenly caught your entrance and greedily slid back into your warmth. 

The fierce rhythm Bucky swiftly found rocked you so roughly that the movements didn’t just split your poor pussy open as he bucked up into you, but it also caused your frame to shift back against Steve and sink you down that much further on his cock, letting his heavy sack nuzzle tightly against your slick skin. 

As your whimpers filled the room and mingled with Bucky’s own grunts of pleasure, you felt the girth in your ass twitch and rapidly grow painfully hard before the arm the slumbering bloodsucker had slumped around your waist tightened as he stirred with a low rumble directly in your ear. 

“Mmm… having a little midnight snack, are we?” Steve groggily hummed from behind you as he nuzzled his nose into your tousled hair, “you know she’ll pass out soon if we keep drinking like this.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky then slid his palm down the length of your arm, plucking up your hand till his lips ghosted against it. However, just as you let yourself hope that he’d just plant a peck upon your palm, his teeth instead pierced the flesh, right below your thumb. Although, the vampire did show some restraint as he only offered you a little nip before ripping your hand away from his mouth and holding it out for his partner to grasp, “here, you look parched,” blood already began to pool like a little puddle in your palm from how it slowly oozes out of the wound. 

Accepting the delicacy, Steve first dragged his silky tongue over the bite, before he let his fangs sink into you with a deep groan, the taste of you only making him harder. As he began to drink from your palm, his hips greedily began to rock, making you tremble between the two lords of the night from the dizzying manner they both now fucked you. 

As your moans filled the night air, Bucky’s fingers found your face in a caress before he leaned in to snuff out your sounds and let you taste the tangy iron of yourself on his tongue. Soon, his kisses began to dance down over the column of your neck, till his face was buried in your heaving tits, leaving a blossoming trail of hickeys to mark his path as he moved down to capture your nipple between his lips.  

“I know we usually only keep our dinner till the morning comes,” Bucky muttered as he nipped at your boobs, only pausing to briefly glance over your shoulder at the man behind you, “but there’s something different about this one, don’t you agree, Steve?” 

“She’s fucking delicious…” you heard him purr in your ear, “maybe you could be more than just a quick bite to eat…” both of their cocks continued to rock in harmony, filling your holes up to more than the brim, “maybe you can be our girl…” 

Sucking in a shaky breath, you tilted your head to catch both of their eyes, “for how long?” 

Keeping his neck tilted, Bucky blinked up at you and uttered, “…forever,” before he buried his teeth into the soft peak of your tit.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[dunmeshistash]

Ryoko Kui Exhibition & ''Delicious in Dungeon'' Exhibition

"Delicious in Dungeon" Artwork

Cover illustration draft, vol. 1

Since this was the first volume, I tried out a few different drawings and had the editor and designer choose which ones they wanted, then made small adjustments. I personally liked the top-down draft, and the one of the cooking processes (back cover) the best. But looking back, I sincerely think it's good that we didn't go with those. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 2

The format was decided for volume 1. So, volume 2 came together quickly. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 3

I thought it might be cool to make the character Chilchuck darker in the foreground, and the background brighter! But it didn't quite work out the way I had imagined. I think it could have been a bit better. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 4

I remember that the overall shape of volume 4 came together very quickly. The character Senshi's hands didn't fit nicely, so I moved them backwards and to the side. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 5

I thought people might start to think "how many have I bought?" so I wanted to create a slightly different impression with this volume. I decided to put the character right in the center and try putting it together all in blue and green hues. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 6

With the Red Dragon defeated, have we reached the halfway point in the story? With this in mind, I thought of how many volumes were left to go, and the number of characters, and decided to pair up the characters Namari and Shuroiro. In hindsight, it would have been fine to have them on one cover each. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 7

The image is of focus lines converging on the character Izutsumi. This is the kind of cover, with upside down characters, which I've always wanted to try once(?) I submitted it as a trial, thinking that at this point the cover wouldn't dramatically influence sales. However, in the end, we decided it would be better not to have it upside down. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 8

I tried blurring the mushrooms in the foreground, then I accidentally saved over it, and couldn't go back to the original. I remember apologizing that it was probably tacky, when I submitted it. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 9

I don't think snake meat is marbled at all, but if it has an unfamiliar look, people might not recognize it as meat… so I made it look like beef to make it easier to understand. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 10

I thought it might be interesting to have more than one of the main characters on the cover again, so I added the character Falin. I remember it wasn't badly received, but it still ended up just being Thistle on his own. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 11

I wanted this cover to be covered in shiny gold. After I finished it, it didn't have enough color, so I painted the tablecloth green, and it ended up looking like Christmas colors. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 12

Up to this point, the covers have featured one of the main characters holding cooking utensils in the foreground and a monster in the background, but I thought it might be interesting to reverse the format just before the final volume, so I drew this cover with that in mind. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 13

volume 13 was meant to be the final one, but it was too thick to be published as a single volume, so we decided to split it into two. The question of “so, what should I draw next!?" may be at the forefront of volume 13. (Kui)

Cover illustration draft, vol. 14

I had decided that the final cover definitely needed to have everyone eating together on it, but because I was publishing two books at the same time I was pressed for time, and it was difficult to have a cover with so many characters on it. I also submitted a rough for an illustration that didn't need me to draw any crowds, but such obviously easy ideas are never adopted. (Kui)

TV anime "Delicious in Dungeon"

About the ending illustration.

I drew these based on the director's instruction "This kinds of pictures." I hardly ever have the chance to draw color illustrations, so it was a valuable experience for me. (Kui)

[Kui's commentary is from the english pamphlet]

[suliigwp]

MASTERMIND

Lando Norris x reader

SULI: ITS FINALLY HERE I KNOW I KNOW - I love this man so much just look at him. Uhhh not proof read so... If there's any mistakes ignore it! Text messages and a singular Instagram post! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 tbh idk if I want to make this a series or univers or what because there Is a Series coming soon with lando and all I can think about is them so - let me know!

Based on 'mastermind' by Taylor swift I bow down to you queen - Stream Mastermind!!

Warnings: bestie's a bit crazy here, depressive childhood on readers part, uhhhh none?

You weren’t on the guest list.

You knew that from the moment you slipped out of the cab and took in the scene—a velvet-roped entrance, tall security guards in sleek black suits, the unmistakable pulse of deep house music rolling up from the rooftop of the Monaco hotel like heat waves off asphalt.

But you also knew how to get in.

A friend of a friend had owed you a favor. A whisper here, a mention there, and a little calculated charm had bought you more than access—it bought you control. You didn’t walk in like someone hoping to be noticed. You walked in like someone who had already decided who would notice you.

Inside, the rooftop glowed with warmth—glass lanterns, the shimmer of city lights below, and a skyline sliced by jagged cliffs and moonlight. It was glamorous in that effortless way only Monaco could pull off. Champagne glasses glinted in the hands of people who had never worried about paying rent. Women with glossy hair and gowns that slinked like second skin. Men with sports team money and sharp jawlines. Everyone either wanted something—or someone.

You didn’t smile. Not yet. You walked slowly, the click of your heels barely audible over the music. A silk dress, cut low in the back, clung to you in just the right way. Your hair—undone, deliberately imperfect—caught the wind, strands falling over your shoulder as you made your way toward the balcony.

That’s where you positioned yourself. Strategic. Peripheral. A place with the best lighting, the best view, and most importantly—the best sightlines into the crowd. You didn’t check your phone. Didn’t sip the drink you’d accepted minutes ago. You were too focused.

The room buzzed behind you: the clinking of glass, the pitch of laughter rising, the occasional cheer when someone from a team entered. You knew he wasn’t here yet.

And then—

A shift in energy.

It was subtle at first. The way the volume changed—not louder, but sharper. The kind of silence that hummed just before a chord dropped. You turned your head slightly, only enough to glimpse him without looking eager.

Lando Norris.

A navy suit jacket, sleeves slightly wrinkled, hanging off one shoulder like he’d forgotten to care. A white shirt, just slightly rumpled. Tan skin that shimmered in the lights, curls tousled in a way that could only be natural—or perfectly styled to look that way. His smile was easy. His walk was casual. But people moved for him.

He greeted a few friends with lazy handshakes, leaned into someone’s ear to say something that made them throw their head back in laughter. He was magnetic in the way boys sometimes are before they realize how dangerous they’ve become.

He didn’t see you. Not yet.

That was part of the plan.

You let the moment stretch. You adjusted the strap of your dress with your opposite hand, slow enough to catch the corner of someone’s eye. Not his. Yet. Your profile was lit by candlelight—delicate, composed. Just a girl alone at a rooftop party. Not watching. Not waiting.

And then, as if on cue, you felt it.

The weight of his stare.

You turned, not sharply, but with the softness of someone caught in a passing thought. Your eyes met. And you looked away.

You let a breath slip through your lips. Not a smile, not quite. Then you looked away. Dismissed him like he was just another boy at just another party.

Three seconds. And looked back at him.

His brow twitched. Interest piqued.

You looked away again.

He blinked.

You saw it in your periphery.

He turned to say something to a friend, but his body shifted an inch in your direction.

It had begun.

The fuse was lit—not by touch, not by words, but by calculation.

A gaze, a posture, a silence sharper than speech.

Your fingers ghosted over your untouched drink. You didn’t need to sip it.

Because this party, this crowd, this night—you didn’t crash it.

You orchestrated it.

And Lando Norris had just stepped onto the board.

You didn’t follow him right away.

That would’ve broken the rhythm—no, your rhythm. The entire night was a sequence, a carefully choreographed dance of almosts and maybes. So when Lando turned his back after that first locked glance, laughing again with friends, brushing curls off his forehead like he wasn’t aware of you watching—you didn’t move.

You sipped your drink slowly. Still unsmiling. Still unreadable.

But your eyes tracked him through the crowd, every turn of his shoulder, every lean of his body. He didn’t linger in one place. He wasn’t anchored. He never was. You could tell by the way he kept scanning the room—lively but detached, floating through conversations like they were just enough to keep him occupied until something more interesting came along.

And you knew—you were the something.

Minutes passed. Music pulsed. Laughter sparked and faded. He moved farther into the crowd.

Then, as if fate tipped its hand ever so slightly, the path between you cleared. A gap in the bodies. A breeze from the open sky. And through it—you saw him. Full view. His head tipped slightly, like he’d just heard something intriguing. The side of his face you’d studied from press interviews and podium photos was now just... real. Dimmed by lantern light, sun-kissed from the day's practice laps, brows furrowed not from stress, but curiosity.

You knew the moment he saw you again.

Because this time, he didn’t just look.

He really looked.

There was something different in his eyes now. Not just appreciation—recognition. Like a piece of a puzzle had just clicked in his head.

She’s not just another pretty girl at a Monaco party.

He turned his full body toward you. His expression changed so subtly, so deliberately, you almost missed it.

A smile—lopsided, slow, the kind of smile that starts from the corner of the mouth and rises like the first breath after a long swim.

But it wasn’t a smile that said “come here.”

It was a smile that said “I see you.”

And it knocked the wind right out of you.

Not because it was flirtatious. But because it wasn’t. It was something quieter. Smarter. A knowing curl of his lips that said “So this is how we’re playing it.”

That was the moment you knew he had caught on.

To the rhythm.

To the space between glances.

To the way you hadn’t smiled back—not once. Not even now.

Your heart thudded with quiet, invisible triumph. Because that smile? It wasn’t just a reaction. It was his first move.

You didn’t need him to chase you. You needed him to engage you.

And he had.

You finally turned your body toward him—just a few degrees. Acknowledgment, not invitation. Your eyes met again across the dim-lit rooftop, and this time, you let your lips twitch—barely—a microexpression of amusement. Then you looked away, letting the moment hang in the air like perfume.

Behind you, the party drummed on.

But the game had begun.

A quiet check. Not mate yet. But the board was set.

And all he’d done...

Was smile.

You didn’t go to him.

Of course not.

You returned to the railing, drink in hand, letting the music fold around you like a veil. Behind you, people were laughing louder, the evening deepening, the wine flowing easier. The sky above was violet now, pinpricked with stars. Monaco glittered beneath it, a jeweled tray of secrets and stories. And you—perfectly still in the middle of it all.

You knew he would come to you.

And when he did, it wasn't loud. There was no grand entrance, no purposeful stride. He simply… appeared beside you, like a current that had always been there, now close enough to feel against your skin.

You smelled him before you heard him.

Warm cologne with something sharp underneath—leather maybe, or pine. Clean and expensive, but still like him. You didn’t turn. You let the silence sit, breathing it in like a challenge.

Then:

“So,” he said, soft and amused. “Do you always do that?”

Your heart skipped once. Just once. But your face didn’t change.

“Do what?” you asked, not looking at him. Your voice was velvet wrapped in steel. A soft echo against the music.

“Look at someone like they’re not worth your time,” he replied easily. “Then stand perfectly still so they can’t stop watching you.”

Now you turned. Slowly. Eyes meeting his. Up close, he was more boyish than he looked from across the room. But that boyishness was dangerous. Mischief painted in golden skin and a grin that had probably undone better women than you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I did?”

He leaned on the railing, facing you fully now, one arm slung casually over the ledge. “Oh, definitely.” He nodded. “And it worked. Obviously.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

He shrugged. “Not sure I liked being the math problem, though.”

That earned the faintest flicker of amusement from your lips. You still hadn’t smiled, not really. Just the ghost of it. The idea of it.

“Did it bother you?” you asked, turning slightly, shoulder brushing the edge of his jacket. His was tailored—well-fitted, slightly creased from being shrugged off and on all night.

Lando tilted his head. “Not exactly.” He paused. “I think it just threw me. I’m used to different kinds of looks.”

You studied him then. The way his knuckles grazed the edge of the railing. The way his curls curled tighter near his temples in the humid night. There was a flicker of boyish charm in him, but muted—held in check by something more watchful. Like he knew when to perform and when to hold back. Right now, he was doing the latter.

“You didn’t seem thrown,” you replied quietly.

He smiled at that—just a little. “No,” he agreed. “I’m quick on my feet.”

“That’s what they say about drivers.”

“And what do they say about girls like you?”

Now you looked at him fully.

His tone hadn’t been mocking. It hadn’t even been flirtatious, not in the obvious way. It was curious. Almost careful. Like he wasn’t sure if he was touching something sharp.

You didn’t answer right away. Let the question settle in the silence.

“They don’t usually get the chance to say anything,” you said finally. “I don’t stick around long enough to listen.”

Lando nodded slowly, as if filing that away. His eyes dipped to your hand on the railing, where your fingers toyed with the condensation on your glass, and then returned to your face. Noticing things. Reading you. Trying to.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, “I knew you were going to be difficult.”

You raised a brow. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” His expression flickered, a little grin threatening. “I just didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

Your breath caught—but not because of the words.

Because he said them without trying to impress you.

Because he meant it.

And for the first time that night, you really looked at him. Past the suit, the fame, the boyish face sharpened by stubble and speed. Past the way everyone else in the room looked at him like he was already theirs.

He was still standing there, waiting for your response.

But you didn’t give him one.

Not yet.

Instead, you picked up your glass again and said only: “Are you staying long?”

He blinked. The question caught him off guard.

“In Monaco?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

And eventually, he got it.

“As long as I need to,” he said softly. And then—“Are you?”

This time, you smiled.

Just a little.

And walked away.

With the kind of confidence that doesn’t ask for attention—it simply commands it. Her perfume still lingered faintly in the air, something complicated and cold, like bergamot with a shadow underneath.

Lando stood there for a beat too long, staring at where she’d been. His drink was untouched. His mind, not so much.

He’d had conversations like this before. Witty girls. Sharp-tongued charmers. But this wasn’t that. She wasn’t trying to be liked. She wasn’t performing. If anything, she’d been sizing him up—like a puzzle she’d already mostly solved.

And yet… she smiled like she was holding something back.

He blinked, rolled his shoulders like he could shake off the chill she left behind, then turned on his heel. He scanned the room for the one person who could give him answers—Luca, the host.

He found him by the bar, mid-conversation with someone in a pink blazer. Lando stepped in with an apologetic nod.

“Sorry—mate, quick one,” Lando said low, his voice casual but too precise to be accidental. “The girl I was just talking to. Who is she?”

Luca glanced past him. “Oh, the tall one? Red lipstick, doesn’t smile unless she means it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s dangerous territory, mate,” Luca said, half-laughing, half-warned. “You sure?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “What’s her name?”

Luca hesitated, then said it...

It landed in Lando’s chest like something heavier than it should be.

“And?”

Luca shook his head. “She doesn’t usually come to things like this. Barely RSVP’d. I think she knows someone from Red Bull’s strategy team—or maybe Ferrari. I don’t know. She’s not… in this scene. Not really.”

Lando nodded slowly, processing.

“Do you have her number?”

Luca gave him a sharp look.

“What?”

“I’m not gonna do anything weird,” Lando said, lifting his hands. “Just—look, I’ve never seen her before. I just want to talk. Properly.”

A pause.

Then: “You’re serious?”

Lando met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Luca sighed, pulled out his phone, thumbed through contacts. “I’ll text her first. If she’s okay with it, I’ll send you her number.”

“Fair enough.”

Lando gave a nod and turned back toward the balcony. But he didn’t feel triumphant. He felt like something had shifted. Like someone had noticed his move on the board… and let it happen anyway.

She hadn’t told him anything about herself, but somehow, he already knew:

She wasn’t an accident.

And he wasn’t going to let her be a one-night mystery.

...

The car door shut with a soft click, sealing her away from the noise of the party. It was late, the kind of late where the streets were mostly empty and the sky had turned velvet.

She exhaled, leaning back into the leather seat. The interior still smelled faintly of her perfume and the faintest trace of smoke on her coat. One heel was already off, foot tucked beneath her. She had no music playing, no voice navigation, no rush. She just sat there in the silence, eyes catching her own reflection faintly in the rearview mirror.

Then her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

She glanced at it—Luca.

One eyebrow arched before she even picked it up.

She stared at the screen. A heartbeat. Then another.

Her lips curved slowly—not into a smile, not yet. Something smaller. Sharper.

She let the anticipation play out, letting the weight of the moment settle. The silence inside the car made it feel like time had paused just for her.

She didn’t even reply immediately. Instead, she picked up her phone, tilted it slightly in her hand, and let herself feel it—the inevitability. The way he had watched her, curious and cautious. The way he had lingered when she walked away. Like he didn’t want to lose sight of her too fast.

Like she had left him with a question he couldn’t stop trying to answer.

She hit send. Then locked her phone and tossed it gently back onto the seat.

Her smirk bloomed wider now. A quiet, satisfied thing.

Checkmate.

She leaned her head against the headrest, eyes half-lidded. The night wasn’t just a success. It was a confirmation. The fuse had been lit, and the dominoes were already falling, one by one.

And Lando Norris—darling, golden boy of the grid—had no idea what game he’d just walked into.

...

Lando got the message from Luca just past midnight.

He was lying in bed, scrolling through nothing. The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made him restless.

His phone buzzed again.

He sat up.

There was no hesitation in his fingers—but there was care. A weight. He stared at the name on the screen, his thumb hovering over it.

He could feel the static of her again. The red lipstick, the look in her eyes that didn’t flinch. She didn’t flirt—she calculated. And he kind of liked it.

He opened the message app and typed:

Not sure if this is brave or dumb, but hey—

It’s Lando.

Thanks for not vanishing entirely tonight.

He stared at it.

Deleted “brave or dumb.” Rewrote it.

Hope it’s okay I’m texting.

It’s Lando.

You left before I could finish being intrigued.

Too much?

He deleted that one too.

Started again.

...

He hit send and immediately dropped the phone beside him like it was hot. Pulled the covers over his face.

What are you doing, mate.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then, across the city, her phone lit up inside her dark apartment.

She was brushing her teeth, her bare feet cold on the tiles. She glanced at the screen. And when she saw his name, that familiar curve returned to her lips.

She dried her hands on a towel, padded barefoot into the living room, phone in hand, unread message glowing on the screen.

She read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

“You made the room quieter after you left.”

That one hit differently.

She curled up on the armrest of her couch, not even bothering with the full seat. The city twinkled behind her windows. Her thumbs hovered, thoughtful.

And then she typed:

Then tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside her.

She didn’t need to wonder if he was smiling.

She knew he was.

...

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Lando stepped inside. It was late morning — warm enough for a hoodie but not enough for sunglasses, though he wore them anyway. The streets of Monaco shimmered in that gentle, curated way: expensive, slow, quiet. He wasn’t looking to be seen.

This place was tucked into a corner near the marina. Not the trendy side. Not the side where people wore designer for attention. It was the other kind — the kind where the older locals read newspapers, where the espresso was sharp and the staff didn’t care about his name.

He walked to the counter, ordered a flat white, and turned around—

—and froze.

She was there.

Perched in the corner booth like she'd been painted into the scene hours ago. One leg tucked beneath her, head bowed over a book with the page held lightly between her fingers. Her hair was pulled back in a lazy bun, but lipstick still painted her mouth in that same unmistakable red. An espresso cup rested beside her hand, only half-drunk. She turned the page with care, as if she had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look up right away. But then—like she sensed him—she slowly lifted her head.

And smiled.

Not surprised. Not even smug. Just amused. Cool, unreadable, familiar.

“Norris,” she said, shutting her book with a quiet snap. “You’re either stalking me… or the universe is starting to play favorites.”

He let out a laugh, walking over with his cup.

“I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Sure you were.”

He slid into the booth across from her without asking, stretching one arm over the back of the bench. She didn’t object. Instead, she tucked her book away in her bag like she was always planning to make space for him.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“When I want to be alone.”

She said it dryly, sipping what was left of her espresso. He raised his brows.

“So this is my fault, then.”

“A little.”

But there was no bite to it. She was… relaxed. At ease. Even as she looked at him like she was still trying to decide if he was worth her time.

“You read?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“I plan.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He laughed again, setting down his cup. He felt light. Curious. Like something interesting was unfolding and he didn’t know the ending yet — but she did.

They stayed in that booth far too long. Talking about coffee, cities, bad headlines. She never gave too much, and he didn’t push. But by the time she stood, dropping a few coins on the table, he looked at her like he didn’t want her to go.

“So… accident?”

She slid her sunglasses down.

“If it was, it was a beautiful one.”

And then she walked out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a knowing curve on her lips.

That night, when his phone buzzed with her message, he reread it three times before answering.

The sun beat down on the paddock in Barcelona — not mercilessly, but sharp. The air buzzed with movement: cameras, team radios, fans screaming at gates. Lando adjusted the sleeves of his fire suit as he made his way past the McLaren garage, nodding briefly to a few familiar faces.

He wasn’t expecting her.

He never was.

And yet — there she was.

Standing just outside the Alfa Romeo hospitality tent, fingers wrapped around a cold bottle of water, oversized sunglasses on, phone in hand, not really using it. Her hair was twisted into a braid today, neat but not soft. Her black blazer cinched at the waist, pinstriped, powerful.

She didn’t smile when she caught his eye. She didn’t wave.

She simply looked.

Long enough to make him stop. Short enough to make him question if she had actually looked at all.

“You good?” his trainer asked.

“Yeah. Thought I saw someone.”

He didn’t explain.

But later, when he passed through media duties and slipped into the shaded side of hospitality for a minute of quiet, he found her again — this time alone, sipping something fizzy, twirling her straw without interest.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, standing in front of her.

“And yet,” she said, not looking up. “Here I am.”

“You always this lucky?”

“Luck,” she murmured, finally glancing up, “is for people who don’t prepare."

He watched her for a long beat.

“Did you come just to watch?”

“Are you worth watching?”

That made him grin.

But she stood before he could answer. Walked past him, deliberately brushing his arm. Not enough to cause a stir — just enough to stay in his mind for the rest of the weekend.

And that night, when he scrolled through his photos, there was one from the paddock. Behind him, blurred in the background, was the unmistakable silhouette of her — standing just out of focus.

Madrid skyline. Rooftop. Someone’s private event for a sponsor he barely remembered signing with. The music was low, the city lights were warm, and everyone was dressed in shades of silk and champagne.

Lando leaned against the balcony railing, watching the glitter of the city below. His glass sweated in his hand. He wasn’t really talking to anyone — not really there.

Until she laughed.

Not loudly. But enough that he felt it.

He turned, and there she was. Walking in like a headline — short black dress, heels that didn’t seem to touch the ground, red lips, a drink already in her hand.

“You’re starting to make this a habit,” he said as she reached him.

She tilted her head.

“You think I knew you’d be here?”

“I know you knew.”

“Mmm.” She sipped her drink, then looked up at him through her lashes. “What gave it away?”

“The perfume. Same one you wore the first night.”

She smiled slowly. Not caught — seen.

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

The night stretched around them like silk. They didn’t leave each other’s side. He introduced her to no one. She didn’t ask.

And when the party began to thin out, he followed her down to the car. Held the door open.

She paused before getting in.

...

She hadn’t meant to stay this long.

They were supposed to grab a drink — casual, low-stakes, a passing thing. But now it was nearing midnight, and they were still sitting together on the rooftop of the hotel where some F1 post-event gathering had wrapped hours ago. Most people had already filtered out, the distant hum of engines below replaced by the hush of a sleeping city.

She sat on the stone ledge, her heels abandoned beside her, toes barely brushing the empty air below. Lando was beside her, arms loosely crossed over his knees, watching her more than the skyline.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

She gave a soft, half-smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe I just like listening to you.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and shook his head like he didn’t believe her.

“No one just likes listening to me. They usually listen so they can talk.”

“Do you mind that?”

“Not with you.”

That made her chest stutter.

She shouldn’t be affected by him. She reminded herself of that often — every time she caught herself watching him too long, or felt her stomach do a slow, ridiculous turn when he smiled at her like that. This had been her game. Her idea. Her strategy.

She had planned the first meeting.

Planned the second.

Planned the glances and the conversations and the way she leaned just a little too close at dinner, just enough to make him wonder.

But now?

Now he was saying things like that, his voice thick with something soft and careful, and it was her heart that felt like it was spiraling.

The wind picked up. He turned toward her.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “You just did.”

He laughed, and then he looked at her — really looked. The kind of look that made her sit up straighter. The kind of look that saw more than she was used to showing.

“Why me?”

That stopped her.

“Why you?” she echoed, buying time.

He nodded, expression unreadable. “You’re… not exactly easy to read. But you’ve stayed. You keep showing up. And I can’t help wondering why.”

She turned her face away, staring out at the water. For the first time, she didn’t have a line ready. No quip. No clever dodge.

“I guess,” she said slowly, “you surprised me.”

“How?”

She hesitated. Then:

“You’re kind.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

“You say that like it’s rare.”

“It is.”

The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Like the edge of something unspoken.

Then, quietly:

“Can I kiss you?”

Her head snapped back toward him. The words hit her like ice and fire at the same time. She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to decide when this happened — after a few more dates, after she made him fall harder, after she felt less exposed.

But now here he was, asking.

Not claiming. Not assuming.

Asking.

She nodded. Barely.

His hand came up, almost hesitant, brushing her hair behind her ear — his knuckles featherlight against her skin. She watched him the whole time, her breath stuck somewhere in her chest.

He leaned in, slowly, his eyes flicking to hers like he was waiting for any sign she’d pull away.

And then their lips touched.

God.

It was nothing like she imagined — and she had imagined it, many times, in far more calculated ways.

But this…

This kiss was soft. So soft it broke something open inside her.

His lips moved over hers with infinite care, like she was something fragile, precious. His hand cupped the side of her face, grounding her as she melted under his touch. There was no rush, no hunger — just quiet reverence. His other hand brushed her knee, an anchor in the moment.

And all she could think was: He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me.

Because he was gentle. Too gentle.

And that was the thing she never planned for. That this — his warmth, his sincerity, the safety she felt when he was close — would be what undid her. Not power. Not pride. But kindness.

His lips moved against hers slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. His hand came to rest gently at her jaw, thumb barely brushing her skin. She melted into him before she even realized it — her hands rising, clutching at the front of his jacket, pulling him closer because God, no one had ever kissed her like that before. No one had ever made her feel like the kiss was about her.

It was tender. It was warm. It was undoing her.

She felt the heat crawl up her spine, the way his breath hitched slightly when she deepened it — the smallest shift, but he followed, like it was instinct. And when he finally pulled away, just an inch, she chased after him without thinking, like gravity had shifted beneath her.

He let out a quiet laugh against her mouth, forehead pressing to hers.

“That okay?” he whispered.

She blinked, dazed. Her lips were tingling. Her whole body felt lit from within.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Too okay.”

He smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, still so close.

...

SIX MONTHS LATER

It was one of those quiet late evenings when the world outside seemed to hold its breath.

The flat they were in wasn’t hers, wasn’t his — a borrowed place in Milan between races. Wide windows, soft lighting, the kind of space that muted everything sharp. Rain had tapped at the glass earlier, and now the streets below were slick and glowing, stretching into the distance like rivers of liquid gold. Inside, it smelled faintly of cedarwood and citrus from the candle burning on the sideboard.

The TV murmured in the background, low and forgotten. Neither of them had been watching it.

Lando was lying across the sofa, his head resting comfortably in her lap. He wore a grey hoodie, soft from years of wear, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He looked unusually still — not in the lazy, teasing way he often did, but heavy, like something was pulling him inward. She could feel it in the silence, in the way his hand barely moved against her knee.

Her fingers trailed lightly through his hair. The gesture had started absentmindedly, but now it felt like something else — something steadying.

“Long week?” she asked softly.

He nodded, his cheek pressed to her thigh. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the TV without seeing it.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. Instead, she kept running her fingers through his hair, combing back soft curls, brushing her nails gently against his scalp. A grounding rhythm. Something quiet and wordless to say I’m here.

Minutes passed like that. No need to fill the space.

Eventually, he sighed. Not the dramatic kind, but a slow release of breath like his body had finally started to uncoil.

“You make it stop,” he murmured.

Her fingers paused for just a moment.

“What?”

“Everything. The noise. The pressure. When I’m with you, I forget to worry.”

She didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t. Because something in her chest cracked open like a secret she hadn’t meant to keep.

She looked down at him. His lashes curled slightly at the edges, dark against his skin. His lips were parted just a little, brow relaxed now. He looked nothing like the image most people saw — no cameras, no tension, no lights. Just a boy curled into her like she was the safest place on earth.

And all she could think — all she could feel — was how obsessed she was with him.

Not just the way he looked. Though God, he was beautiful. It wasn’t just his laugh or his hands or the way he’d started leaving a toothbrush at her place without ever saying it out loud. It was the way he saw her. The way he leaned in when she talked, even when she was pretending not to say anything important. The way he never pushed but always stayed.

It hit her, in that stillness, that she had done all of this — spun every web, pulled every string, laid every trap — just to have this.

To have him.

She had noticed him before he ever noticed her. Months ago. Maybe even years. Not in a fangirl way, not like the others. She saw something in him — something good. Something soft. Something rare. And she wanted it.

No. She needed it.

So she played the game. Showed up. Set the stage. Built coincidence into destiny.

And now he was lying here, curled into her lap, trusting her with the weight of his world.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, tilting his head enough to see her.

She blinked. Realized she’d gone still. Her hand found its rhythm again in his hair.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked softly.

She hesitated. For a heartbeat too long.

Then smiled.

“About how this started.”

He smirked faintly, eyes dropping shut again.

“You mean the part where you kept magically running into me?”

“Exactly that.”

“And now look at me,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to nuzzle closer into her leg. “Wrapped around your finger.”

She watched him for a long second.

I planned this, she wanted to say. Every step. Every glance. I built a masterpiece just to be this close to you.

But instead, she whispered, “I like you here.”

He hummed. A low, contented sound. His fingers slid into hers where they rested on his chest, intertwining loosely. A gesture full of trust. Full of home.

She stared at him. At the little freckles near his jaw. At the softness in his mouth when he wasn’t performing. At the way he gave himself to her so easily — when she had spent years clawing control out of chaos.

And suddenly it wasn’t about winning anymore. It wasn’t about strategy or seduction or proving how smart she was.

It was about him.

And how, somehow, she’d fallen in love with the very thing she thought she could control.

Her other hand came up to brush his cheek gently, just once.

He didn’t stir.

“Checkmate,”

But this time, it wasn’t a triumph.

It was a prayer.

...

THREE MONTHS LATER

The night had a quiet sort of heaviness to it. The kind that settles over two people when the world outside has gone still — long after dinner, after the laughter, after the teasing. The soft hum of a movie played in the background, flickering faint blue light across their faces. But neither of them was really watching it.

She was curled up on his couch, legs tucked under her, head tilted just enough to rest against the back cushion. Lando sat next to her, one arm slung comfortably across the back of the couch, his other hand lazily drawing circles over the blanket covering her legs. They weren’t even touching skin to skin, but his presence grounded her.

Until something in her shifted.

It started with the way her eyes stopped flicking toward the screen and instead stared through it. Like something old and rusted had creaked open inside her chest.

Lando noticed. He always did.

"You okay?” he said softly, almost tentative.

She didn’t answer right away.

“yeah I ... I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, her voice low.

“Yeah?”

She took a breath, slow and deliberate. It felt too vulnerable already. She hadn’t meant to let it rise to the surface, not tonight. But something about the stillness — the safety of his company — made it hard to bury again.

“When I was a kid,” she began, carefully, “I didn’t have friends.”

The sentence sat between them, a simple truth, and yet it felt like shattering glass.

Lando’s fingers stopped moving. He didn’t say anything. She was grateful.

“Not in the way people usually mean it,” she continued. “I had classmates, and people who tolerated me when we were assigned to work together. But no one invited me over. No one sat next to me at lunch unless the tables were full.”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

“There was this spot behind the science building. No one went there. I used to sit on the concrete steps and eat alone. Every day.”

Her voice didn’t crack. It wasn’t sad in tone — just distant. Like she’d gotten used to carrying the memory like a stone in her pocket.

“I remember thinking that if I pretended I was invisible, it would hurt less. Like if I stopped expecting to be seen… it wouldn’t matter that no one saw me.”

Lando’s hand gently moved to cover hers.

She stiffened — not because she didn’t want the comfort, but because it startled her. She wasn’t used to people reaching toward her when she showed the ugliest parts of herself.

“That’s why I plan everything now,” she said, her voice a little faster. “Why I read people, why I control the board. It’s all I’ve ever had. Strategy. Calculation. Making myself useful enough to not be ignored.”

She finally looked up. Her gaze met his.

“That’s what this was, at the beginning,” she admitted. “You weren’t an accident. I noticed you before you saw me. I learned your schedule, knew where you’d be. I… orchestrated everything.”

A pause.

“And now I’m terrified, because I don’t think I can do this if I don’t have control. I’ve never done this before. Not really.”

Her voice softened, broke just slightly at the end.

Lando’s expression didn’t change. There was no shift into discomfort, no flicker of judgment. He just looked at her like she had just told him the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing he’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to plan anything with me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room. You don’t have to earn me.”

She looked away. Her throat was tight.

And then he said it.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. It wasn’t declared like some cinematic moment. It was real. Gentle. Grounded.

Like it had lived inside him long before he had the words.

She stilled completely.

“You don’t,” she said, breath catching. “You love what I let you see.”

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “The you who’s scared. The you who sits behind science buildings. The you who still wonders if anyone really sees her. I see you.”

Her lip trembled, and she turned her face away, angry at herself for letting him in this deep. For needing to believe him. For wanting to.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

He leaned forward, forehead brushing hers, nose to nose, soft and steady.

“I love you.”

She didn’t cry — not then. But she blinked fast, like the weight of his words filled her lungs too full to breathe.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it,” she said, almost as if trying to scare him away.

“I do,” he said. “More than I even understand yet.”

She let her eyes close for a moment, his warmth surrounding her.

“You’re ruining me,” she said with a half-laugh, tears shining in her lashes.

“Or maybe I’m just showing you you were never broken."

landonorris

Liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1.580.777 others.

lando The Shakespeare twins couldn't describe how much I love you 🧡 my girl.

comments.

maycombcountry: RUE WHEN WAS THIS?

yourusername: Lanlan❤️(Shakespeare was one man)

❤️ liked by author

lando: 🧡(I'm saying if it were twins know it all🙄 I need to teach you humor)

maxverstappen1: congrats mate👍

❤️ liked by author

hippogriffcrackk: Babyboys so in love

oscarpiastri: So happy for you both🫶

❤️ liked by author

carmenmundt: Finally we can go shopping without hiding all the time!

❤️ liked by author

lando: let me have my girlfriend for a bit please?

alexandrasaintmleux: not a chance brit

lando: @/yourusername they're bullying me

carlossainz55: Mama said she's invited to the dinner on Sunday

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yourusename: oh thank you miss!

charles_lerlerc: My favorite couple❤️

❤️ liked by author

hamiltonthemusilabvv: Oscar and max sharing energy in the comments

lucatheone: Youry welcome for the photo and for the whole relationship btw

❤️ liked by author

lando: in depth with you mate

landonoonefan: He looks so happy🧡🧡

See all comments.

[maxtermind]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

★ : summary :: when he cheats on you ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst ★ : word count :: 5k ★ : a/n :: please remember that all of this is fiction! anyway, enjoy the angst <3 cheating is not a slip up but a statement and i will not be writing a part 2 where they get back together :) as usual requests are open for other endings if you're interested (maybe she ends up with someone else on the grid to make it hurt more lol) ★ : gifs :: @\f1-stuff @\userhamilton @\slowestlap @\tyrannosaurus-maxy

Max Verstappen

Max and you had a pretty healthy work schedule. Thanks to your flexible remote work, you could travel with him and support him in person. But there were times when you were needed back at the home office but despite the distance, Max made sure to keep you in the loop.

From video calls, to texting whenever one was free, to random pictures shared, you were always pretty aware of what the other was doing. So imagine your shock when minutes after hanging up on a call after congratulating him on his win, you failed to get a hold of him before pictures of him started going viral.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory as you stared at the damning evidence on your phone. Pictures of Max, smiling and carefree, dancing with another woman in a crowded club, her arms wrapped around him possessively.

Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images, each one a painful reminder of the betrayal you never saw coming. And then, there it was, the blurry photo that confirmed your worst fears - Max and the other woman locked in a passionate kiss.

The world around you seemed to blur as well as tears welled up in your eyes, hot and bitter against your cheeks. Without thinking, you began to dial Max's number, your fingers trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

But each call went unanswered, each voicemail left unheard. With each unanswered ring, your heart broke a little more, until you could no longer bear the weight of your pain.

It was an hour later when you were in your bed, crying your eyes out when your phone finally lit up with Max's name, the screen casting a harsh glow in the dimness of your room.

As much as your head told you to hang up and let that be the final answer, you picked it up and whispered a low. ”Hi?” Your voice barely a whisper, choked with emotion.

”Y/N,” Max’s breathy voice came. It was enough to throw you off again and new tears gathered in your eyes.

”Where were you?” The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, raw with hurt and anguish.

”Baby…” Max's voice wavered, and you could hear the weight of his guilt in every syllable. It spoke volumes, you knew what had happened and he knew that. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the pain of his deceit threatening to consume you whole. And then, without warning, a strangled sob escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

You could hear Max's sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, a sound that only served to intensify your grief. But you were beyond caring about appearances now, your heart laid bare for him to see.

”I trusted you,” you choked out between sobs, the words a bitter indictment of the love you had once shared. ”Why would you do this to me?”

How could the man that made you feel like the only girl in the world for him do this to you? Did he even love you or was he just a really good actor?

Your voice quivered with pain as you struggled to maintain your composure,”You've broken me in ways I didn't even know were possible.”

Max's voice wavered as he tried to find the right words to express his remorse,”I never meant to hurt you, it was the biggest mistake of my life.” 

The life he has made sure he spent with someone not you. His voice cracked further and you realized that he was also crying on the other end. ”I can't bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

There was a long pause, as if Max was searching for the right words to say. But what words could possibly undo the damage that had already been done, the trust that had been shattered beyond repair?

Your words cut through him, echoing the pain he had caused,”Did… did you even love me, Max?”

”Of course, I love you!” He spoke, his voice carrying a sense of hurt. As if questioning the audacity to even ask that and that angered you. It made you so mad because this was on him. He did this.

”I wish I could turn back time and make things right, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Max's breath hitched as he spoke before you could. The wounds he had inflicted too deep to be healed with a simple apology. ”I never meant to make you doubt my love for you.”

And as you listened to his voice crack with emotion, you knew that there was only one thing left to do. ”I don't even recognize the person I fell in love with anymore.” You whispered with finality, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Was this really the man who had promised you a future filled with a family and laughter? The man who just made your heart bleed out?

Max caught on and rushed to get the words out,”Please, Y/N, don't hang up. I need you more than ever, I love y-”

You hung up because how dare he say that after what he did. He called you again and again after that and if you weren’t half dying in your apartment, maybe you could’ve scoffed at how the roles were switched.

However, all you could do was switch off your phone and wonder how the man who once kissed all your scars better, could leave deeper ones in their place. Leaving you to do the work to mend them all alone.

Lewis Hamilton

It had all started the day you had foolishly decided to set up lunch to have the two most important people in your life, your bestfriend and your boyfriend, meet.

Lewis seemed genuinely enthusiastic about finally meeting the person who had been such a solid support in your life. Little did you anticipate that this innocent gathering would unravel into a scene of deception.

The signs were subtle at first. A quick exchange of numbers, a glance shared behind your back– easy to dismiss as innocent. But why would you look for such signs? When it included your most trusted humans on the planet?

But then came the slips, the accidental mentions of knowing each other's whereabouts better than you did.

”I don't think she'll pick up, she said she had an afternoon meeti-” Lewis caught himself on time before shrugging and ending with a: ”She posted it on her instagram, did you miss it?”

You laughed it off though it irked you. You were just glad that they were close before...

After an especially tiring day, you finally entered your house. Surprised to see the sitting room empty, where Lewis waits for you every time he's home early.

You sighed, instinctively petting Roscoe before moving inside the house. Desperate for a shower and clean clothes to get the day's stench off of you.

So imagine your shock when you walked into your bedroom,to discover Lewis and Rachel entwined in your bed, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. In your bed.

It took a second for you to process it while they both scrambled to get their clothes on. You just stared in disbelief while Rachel cried on the bed under covers and Lewis frantically wore his clothes while saying… something?

You felt like you were underwater for a second because you saw his mouth moving before his words started registering and tears started to pool in your eyes. The pain felt tangible, like a weight pressing down on your chest, as you confronted the unthinkable reality of their infidelity.

”Baby, let me explain. Ple- Please, this isn't what it looks like... I-”

You tore your eyes away from him before looking over at Rachel who was crying because she probably understood exactly what was happening.

You wanted to ask what exactly Lewis thought was going on but decided not to because your throat was closing up. The image of them together was burned into your brain. You just shook your head as tears fell from your eyes before turning around and walking out of the room.

As Lewis desperately jumbled to dress himself, his hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, he pleaded with you, his voice cracking with desperation.

”Y/N, please, you have to listen to me. This isn't what it looks like, I swear,” he implored, his eyes wide with panic as he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched away as if his touch burned. Feeling disgusted and deceived.

”What do you mean it's not what it looks like?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with damage and betrayal. ”I come home to find you two... in our bed, na- naked!”

Lewis's face contorted in anguish, his mind racing for the right words to say, but nothing seemed adequate in the face of your devastation.

”It's... it's a misunderstanding, Y/N, I promise,” he stammered, his voice strained with emotion. ”Rachel and I... we didn't plan for this to happen. It's just... things got out of hand, and we never meant to do you wrong.”

You shook your head in disbelief because you didn’t know what else to do truly, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath you. ”How could you do this to me, Lewis? I thought you… that you loved me,” your voice turned in a whisper.

All the times he had discussed the future rushed through your mind. He wanted to retire and repeatedly told you how he wanted to marry you. Your hands trembled as you suddenly remembered asking Rachel to be your bridesmaid.

Suddenly, the pressure on your chest got worse.

Lewis's eyes pleaded with you, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. ”I don't know, Y/N. I don't know what came over me. I love you, you have to believe me. Please don't leave, we can work through this together.”

But his words fell on deaf ears as you turned away from him, the pain in your heart too raw to bear. ”I trusted you, Lewis. I trusted both of you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As you moved towards the door, every step heavier than the last, Lewis's voice trembled with desperation, his hands reaching out to grasp yours, pleading for your attention.

”Y/N, please, don't leave,” he begged, his voice cracking with raw emotion. ”I messed up, I know I did, but I love you. Please, let me make it right.”

You paused, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. ”How can you say you love me after what you did?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, thick with pain.

And with that, you turned away, leaving behind the shattered remains of the life you had once shared, the echoes of Lewis's pleas fading into the emptiness of the night. Swearing to never put your trust in anyone else ever again.

Carlos Sainz

You had sworn off of relationships for so long after your last one that it was honestly a miracle, as your friends and family put it, that you agreed to go out with Carlos. But he was the perfect gentleman to you. The person who gave you hope for a better future. Giving you hope that maybe all the ‘cheesy’ discourse was for you too.

He knew how you were hurt the last time and reassured you about how special you were to him and how you were always enough. Enough for him.

It slowly became a running joke once you guys hit the two year mark. You were finally at a stage where you had a loving partner that you could trust blindly.

So to say that you were blindsided would be an understatement…

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through Carlos's phone, your heart racing with each new message that appeared on the screen.

You never thought you'd be the type to snoop, but the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach had become too much to ignore. He was so distant lately and so secretive about his phone, it was slowly killing you.

There it was, undeniable proof staring back at you in blue and white. Messages from an unknown number, filled with suggestive language and promises of secrecy. Your breath got caught in your throat as you read through the damning evidence, your heart sinking with each word.

‘Hey babe, can't wait to see you tonight ;) xoxo’

The message hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Carlos do this to you? You thought you had something special, something worth fighting for. But now, all those hopes and dreams lay shattered at your feet.

You tried to push down the rising tide of emotion, to find some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But deep down, you knew the truth – Carlos was cheating on you.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were waiting for him, phone in hand and tears in your eyes. And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

”Carlos,” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy in the air as he stepped into the room, his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you.

You weren’t really sure why you weren’t screaming and thrashing things around already. It was like you were frozen on the spot.

”What's wrong?” he asked, concern etched into his features as he took in your tear-streaked face and the phone clutched tightly in your hand. Though, when you looked at him, all you could see was how he was your everything. How you had given him your everything.

And you still weren’t enough.

You struggled to find the words, to articulate the emotions coursing through you. ”I found... I found something on your phone,” you finally managed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Carlos's expression faltered, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he took a hesitant step closer. ”What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. ”Messages,” you began, your voice barely audible as you held up the phone, displaying the incriminating evidence for him to see. ”From someone... someone you've been seeing behind my back.”

Carlos's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the screen, his hand instinctively reaching out to take the phone from you. ”Y/N, I swear, I can explain,” he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. Why was he reaching for the phone and not your hand?

But the words fell on deaf ears as the full weight of his betrayal hit you like a ton of bricks. ”Explain?” you echoed, your voice trembling with disbelief. ”How can you even explain this, Carlos? How could you do this to me?”

He reached out to touch you, to offer comfort or reassurance, but you recoiled, the sting of his infidelity too raw and painful to bear. ”I trusted you,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face as you backed away from him. ”How could you-”

Can love like this be lost too? You’ve been on your knees begging the universe to grant you one love that wouldn’t be snatched from you. Thinking all your prayers had been heard only for him to do it too.

Carlos's expression crumbled as he watched you retreat, his own anguish mirroring yours. ”I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. ”Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make things right.”

As Carlos pleaded with you, his words heavy with desperation, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His promises of love and devotion clashed with the evidence on his phone, leaving you torn between the man you thought you knew and the painful truth staring back at you.

You met his gaze, seeing the desperation etched into his features as he struggled to make you believe him. ”Can you hear me?” he implored, desperation lacing his words. ”You are always enough for me. Please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything, Y/N.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing you to give him another chance. But deep down, you knew that trust once broken was not easily repaired.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his plea bearing down on you. ”I hear you,” you replied softly, nodding through your tears, your voice tinged with sadness. ”But it's not that simple, Carlos. I want to believe you, but...”

Carlos's grip on you tightened, his body pressing against yours as he sought solace in your embrace. ”Please, don't leave,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make this right, to prove to you that you're the only one for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled away, the pain of betrayal still raw and agonizing. ”No,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the sound of your breaking heart. ”You did to us. You made me believe… I'm leaving. This is goodbye.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Carlos standing alone in the wreckage of your brutally murdered relationship.

Charles Leclerc

You had rushed back home because for the first time in what feels like forever, your boyfriend was back home. Charles was a man of many charms. Despite being with him for so long, he still had you blushing and getting butterflies every time he was around.

He was busy when you got home so you decided to wash up but as you paced back and forth in the living room, your heart racing with anxiety, you didn’t know what to do to figure out what exactly Charles was doing.

Charles had been on the phone for what felt like hours, his voice hushed but urgent as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. Normally, you wouldn't think much of it, but something about his tone tonight had set off alarm bells in your mind.

You tried to focus on a book, anything to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. But every word you read seemed to blur together, your mind consumed with worry.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. With trembling hands, you set the book aside and made your way to the kitchen, where Charles was still on the phone.

”...I can't risk it tonight,” you heard him say, his tone strained ”She's coming home soon, and I don't want to risk it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Who was he talking about? And why did he sound so nervous?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept closer, straining to hear the other end of the conversation.

”...I know, I know,” Charles continued, his voice growing even more frantic. ”But I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to you.”

Your blood ran cold at his words. What did he mean, ‘not fair to her?’ And who the fuck was he talking to?

Before you could process it all, Charles abruptly ended the call and turned to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes wide with shock and hurt.

”Y/N,” he started, his voice wavering as he took in your expression. ”I... I didn't realize you were there.”

You struggled to find your voice, your mind racing with a thousand questions. ”Who were you talking to, Charles?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles' eyes flickered with guilt as he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. ”It's... it's nothing, Y/N,” he stammered, but you could tell he was lying. ”Just a friend.”

But you weren't buying it. Not after what you had just heard. ”A friend?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger and hurt. ”Is that what you call my replacement?”

Charles' face paled at your accusation, his eyes widening in shock. ”Baby, it's not what you think,” he protested, but you could hear the desperation in his voice. He looked so scared, as if he knew he was gonna get caught up into lies.

”Then what is it, Charles?” you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. ”Enlighten me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours as if unable to meet your eyes. ”It's... it's complicated,” he finally admitted, but his words offered little comfort.

”There's nothing complicated about cheating on someone you claim to love.” You were trying to compose yourself, not show him how deeply his words had cut you but your hands were trembling and your voice was cracking. Face pale and eyes glassy.

Charles winced at your words, his guilt written plainly across his face. ”You’re the only person I love,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. ”It's just... things got out of hand.”

You felt like you had been punched in the gut. How could he stand there and try to justify his betrayal? How could he expect you to forgive him after this? Why the fuck was he the one looking distort?

”I trusted you, Charles,” you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. He shouldn’t be expecting you to treat him as a victim too when he was the one guilty. ”I thought we had something special.”

Charles' expression softened, his eyes brimming with remorse. ”We do, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I love you, more than anything. Please, you have to believe me.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by his infidelity. ”How can I believe anything you say after this?” You scoffed bitterly. Angry at yourself for crying in front of the man who has probably been sleeping with someone else for months now.

Charles reached out to you, his hand trembling as he brushed a tear from your cheek. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. ”Just give me a chance to prove it.”

You whispered, your voice heavy with resignation,”There are no second chances for cheaters.”

Lando Norris

Because of multiple torments inflicted by past lovers, you were always resistant to fall head first in any relationship. Hesitant to give your heart knowing recovering was going to be the absolute worst.

Comes in, Lando. The man who broke through all your barriers, took down the walls you put around yourself and had you love struck in a matter of time.

For a moment, everything was amazing. He was the best person you could've asked for. He looked at you as if you put the stars up in the sky.

Who could've thought?

Who could've thought that the same fucking man would have you breaking down at a family event in front of everyone.

The room buzzed with conversation as you sat at the dinner table, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air.

Lando's hand found yours under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. ”Are you okay?” he whispered, concern etched in his voice.

You forced a smile, nodding faintly. ”Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping to brush off your unease. Why was everyone looking at you with such pity?

But Lando's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. ”You know you can talk to me, right?” he said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

Before you could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room, drawing your attention to the commotion across the room. You followed Lando's gaze, your heart sinking as you saw him make eye contact with one of your cousins, their faces morphing as if they were having a whispered conversation.

”What's going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as dread coiled in the pit of your stomach.

You have seen this scene before and you did not like where this was going. Feeling overwhelmed, you got up and excused yourself from the table. Slightly glad to have Lando do the same.

This was all a confusion. You repeated in your head before standing outside the venue, away from distressed eyes and hushed gossips.

Lando's grip on your hand tightened, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. ”I... I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice strained with emotion.

Your heart plummeted as you watched him fidget, every step feeling like a weight bearing down on your chest. ”What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Lando hesitated, his eyes darting away from yours as if unable to meet your gaze. ”I... I don't know how to say this,” he began, his voice faltering.

Just then, your cousin appeared at his side, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. ”Y/N, we need to talk,” she said, her voice tinged with remorse.

They exchanged another glance and something in your mind stopped working.

Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the truth hitting you like a sledgehammer to the chest. ”No...” you whispered, the word barely a breath as tears welled in your eyes.

Lando reached out to you as you took a step away from them, his voice a desperate plea. ”Please, let me explain,” he begged, his eyes brimming with regret.

But you pulled away, the sting of deceit too raw and painful to bear. ”Not you too,” you choked out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”How could you do this to me?”

There were no answers, no explanations that could erase the pain of their breach of trust. They both just watched as you started crying softly. Apparently everyone in your family knew too.

As tears welled in your eyes, Lando's pleading voice cut through the air. ”Y/N, please, just give me a chance to explain.” His hand reached out towards you, but you recoiled, his touch now feeling like a betrayal.

”Explain what?” you retorted, your voice laced with disbelief. ”That you cheated on me with my cousin?”

Lando's eyes widened in panic but instead your cousin's voice broke through the tension, filled with regret. ”Y/N, I'm so sorry. It was a mistake, it shouldn't have happened.”

Anger surged within you at her words. ”Sleeping with my fucking boyfriend was a mistake?” you shot back, incredulous at the audacity of her apology.

Lando stepped forward, his expression a mix of remorse and longing. ”I never meant to cause you any pain, Y/N. Please believe me,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your trust had shattered along with your heart. 

His voice quivered as he spoke again, desperation lacing his words. ”I love you, Y/N. I made a stupid mistake, but it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by their adultery.

”If this is love, I want no part of it,” you declared, your voice filled with anguish. Knowing deep down that you meant it.

Your cousin reached out to you, her eyes brimming with tears. ”Y/N, please, you have to understand...” But understanding felt beyond your reach, lost in a sea of pain and betrayal.

”Understand what?” you cried out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”That my own sister betrayed me with my… my boyfriend?”

Lando's plea echoed in the air, his voice thick with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

But the chance had already been squandered, lost in the wreckage of their infidelity.

”You had your chance, Lando, and you blew it.” You wish you could be angry and put them to their places but your chest was hurting so much that it was almost dizzy.

You felt sick and on the verge of passing out.

”I'll do anything to make things right, Y/N. Just tell me what to do.” But there was nothing they could do to undo the damage that had been done, no words or actions that could mend the broken pieces of your heart.

They have insulted you in front of your whole family.

”There's nothing you can do to fix this, Lando. You've ruined everything,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned away, the weight of their betrayal too heavy to bear.

As you walked away, their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heartbreak. And as you stumbled out into the night, the stars above offering no solace, you vowed never to let anyone break you again.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[demie90s]

And The Crowd is…Concerned?

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ UConn!Team X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST

Part 1, Part 3

⭑ pairing: UConn!Team x reader (funny!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: Geno tries to do a safety meeting, but the team can’t focus after watching your unhinged late-night driving rant go viral. Again.

⭑ genre: comedy, hood wisdom, full delusion

⭑ warnings: chaotic energy, unfiltered language, Geno’s rising blood pressure

⭑ word count: ~

It’s the first week of preseason and Geno’s already fed up.

The whole team’s stuffed into the film room—hoodies up, edges sweated out, breakfast burritos halfway eaten. Nobody speaks. The screen up front says “2025 UConn Preseason Safety and Conduct Review.”

Azzi’s already whispering. “Watch, he gon’ bring up my milkshake in the cold tub again.”

Geno walks in. Silent. Clicks the remote.

“This year,” he says, slow and tired, “we’re doing it different.”

The projector blinks. First slide? “DO NOT DO THIS.”

Then: photos.

KK nearly busting her knee on a Bird scooter.

Aubrey in mid-air falling off the bench while TikToking in socks.

Paige with a Hot Cheeto bag balanced on her leg mid-stretch like a sorcerer of chaos.

Then it hits.

Your photo.

Full 4K, unholy clarity.

You. On Instagram Live. Driving. One hand on the wheel, the other out the window flipping someone off. Pinky up. Sunglasses on. Mouth mid-rant.

The room EXPLODES.

Nika drops her protein bar. Ayanna starts wheezing. KK screams “NO WAY.” Geno? Geno clicks again. It’s a video now. Volume up.

You on live:

“Y’all so today I’m going shopping—”

HONKKKK

“—and you just gotta be true to yourself cause—BITCH HIT MY CAR I DARE YOU. I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU. I’MA BE ON YO ASS LIKE STANK ON SHIT.”

Another honk. Tires screech.

You: “Anyways y’all but yeah, no. Life’s really about gratitude.”

Geno doesn’t even speak this time—he just rubs his eyes and mutters, “Lord, give me strength.”

On the screen: a screenshot. YOU. Mid-sentence. Mid-swerve. Edges laid, lashes still on from yesterday, UConn hoodie zipped halfway and one AirPod in. You look beautiful, dangerous, and legally unfit to operate a vehicle.

The caption on your Instagram Live?

“driving 2 heal ❤️‍🩹”

The clip plays:

You: “So y’all I was at Target right, and this man—THIS MAN—gone reach across me like I was a damn display. I said sir… sir, don’t do that. I am not the lotion aisle. I will fold you like a fitted sheet—”

HONKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

You: “—BITCH HIT ME IF YOU WANT. I BEEN WANTIN’ SOMEBODY TO TRY ME TODAY. TRY ME SO I CAN PRAY IN HANDCUFFS. I’M READY TO MEDITATE IN THE HOLDING CELL. AIN’T NOBODY IN THERE BUT ME AND MY SPIRITUAL GROWTH.”

camera shakes violently

You: “Oh wait… Chick-fil-A on the left lemme—” tires screech “—LORD IF I HIT THIS CURB I’M STILL GONNA EAT GOOD.”

The team is absolutely done.

Paige is crying in her hoodie. Nika wheezes and grabs your leg. Azzi says “nahhh” so many times it starts to sound like a remix. KK’s on the floor. Ayanna is filming them filming you.

Geno? Geno’s standing in the front like he’s witnessing the fall of Rome.

He yells, “WHO IS HOLDING THE PHONE WHILE DRIVING? WHO?!”

You: “First of all… why am I under attack?”

“You were LIVE.”

“I was telling a story!”

“You hit a curb!”

“And I bounced back. That’s resilience.”

The video keeps rolling. You’re now mid-lane-switch with no signal.

You: “Sometimes y’all just gotta stop arguing with people and run them over with grace. Like—gracefully. Not petty, just powerful. There’s a difference. Be the bigger person but also make sure they know you’ll stomp they ass out behind a tinted window if needed.”

honks in the distance

“Anyway y’all, I’m healing.”

⸻

The comments under the clip are unhinged:

“She the MLK of hood wisdom.”

“Not ‘meditate in the holding cell’ 😭😭😭”

“If she’s not mic’d up for every game I don’t want it.”

“Geno bout to have a stroke fr.”

“This the female IamZoie but make it D1.”

“You were wearing UConn gear. Public Instagram. Driving like it’s Need For Speed: Hood Edition.”

“Freedom of expression,” you shrug.

Later that day, the UConn media team posts the clip with dramatic violin music under it. The caption reads:

“Preseason Conduct Review: Certified Hood Behavior ❌”

The comments are already insane:

“She said ‘life’s about gratitude’ while threatening to end a man’s bloodline.”

“No but she’s the main character fr.”

“UConn got the craziest athletes I fear.”

“WHERE’S THE FULL LIVE FOOTAGE 👀”

“Geno is gonna retire early cause of her.”

You repost it to your story with a halo emoji and “healing journey 2025💕.”

[wonderful-rp-resources]

42 character development questions!

Please specify which muse for multimuse blogs!

PHYSICAL PRESENCE AND GESTURE.

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy? 2. How much physical space do they use, active and at rest? 3. How do they position themselves in a group? Do they like to be the center of attention, or do they hang back at the edges of a crowd? 4. What is their size and build? How does it influence how they use their body, if it does? 5. How do they dress? What styles, colors, accessories, and other possessions do they favor? Why? 6. What are they like in motion–in different environments and in different activities? What causes the differences between these? 7. How do they physically engage with other people, inanimate objects, and their environment? What causes the differences between these? 8. Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell? 9. How do they manifest energy, exhaustion, tension, or other strong emotions? 10. What energizes and drains them the most? 11. How are they vocally expressive? What kind of voice, accent, tones, inflections, volume, phrases and slang, and manner of speaking do they use? 12. How are they bodily expressive? How do they use nonverbal cues such as their posture, stance, eyes, eyebrows, mouths, and hands?

DISPOSITION AND TEMPERAMENT.

13. How do they greet the world — what is their typical attitude towards life? How does it differ in different circumstances or towards different subjects? Why do they take these attitudes, and why do they change? How do these tend to be expressed? 14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed? 15. What kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives? 16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like? 17. Are they more shaped by nature or nurture — who they are or what has happened to them? How have these shaped who they’ve become as a person? 18. What kind of person could they become in the future? What are some developmental paths that they could take (best, worst, most likely)? What would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? What paths would you especially like to see, and why?

CONNECTIONS WITH OTHERS.

19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why? 20. What kind of individual relationships do they have with others, and how do they behave in them? How are they different between intimate relationships like friends, family, and lovers versus more impersonal relationships? 21. What kind of relationships do they tend to intentionally seek out versus actually cultivate? What kind of social contact do they prefer, and why? 22. How do people respond to them, and why might these responses differ? 23. How do they respond to difficult social moments? What makes them consider a social situation difficult? 24. How do they present themselves socially? What distinguishes their “persona” from their “true self”, and what causes that difference? 25. What do they need and want out of relationships, and how do they go about getting it? 26. How do they view and feel about relationships, and how might this manifest in how they handle them if it does?

ACTIVITIES AND PREFERENCES.

27. What do they strongly like and dislike in any category? Why? 28. What are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? Why? 29. What kind of activities, interests, and hobbies do they have? What significance and impact do these have in their lives, both positive and negative? 30. What is their preferred level of activity and stimulation? How do they cope if they get either too little or too much? 31. Is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why? 32. Do they have any “props” that are a significant part of their life, identity, activities, or self-presentation somehow? What are they, how are they used, and why are they so significant? How would these props’ absence impact them, how would they compensate, and why?

THINKING AND LEARNING.

33. How do they learn about the world? What is their preferred learning style? Hands-on learning with trial and error? Research, reading, and note-taking? Observation or rote memorization? Inductive or deductive reasoning? Seeking patterns and organization? Taking things apart and putting them back together? Creative processing via discussing, writing about, or dramatizing things? 34. How do they understand the world–what kind of worldview and thought processes do they have? Why? 35. How and why do they internalize knowledge? What effect has that had on them? 36. How much do they rely on their minds and intellect versus other approaches like relying on instinct, intuition, faith and spirituality, or emotions? What is their opinion on this? 37. Have they had any special education or training that colors their means of learning about or understanding the world? Conversely, do they lack some kind of education considered essential in their world? What kind of impact has this addition or lack had on them? 38. Is there anything they wish they could change about their worldview or thought processes? What, and why? 39. What sort of questions or thoughts recur in their lives, either specifically or as a theme? Why are these never answered, or answered permanently to their satisfaction? 40. What do they wonder about? What sparks their curiosity and imagination, and why? How is this expressed, if it is?

FREE FOR ALL.

41. What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors, or motifs? Why? 42. I have a question of my own!

[wosospacegirl]

Penalty box - Leah Williamson x Hockey player! reader

Summary: Leah knew hockey was rough- she just didn’t know her girlfriend led the league in penalties.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: (+18) Smut. Leah has a rulebook, Y/N is hot-headed and a sore loser. Includes fingering and oral (r giving).

a/n: Really enjoying writing this dynamics!

Masterlist

..

.

Leah Williamson had never been to a hockey game before.

Well, not until she met Y/n.

Now, here she was–front row in a bitingly cold Boston arena, sitting stiff-backed on a plastic seat that vibrated slightly from the sheer volume of the game, bundled in one of Y/n’s oversized navy and white hoodies she had stolen from the girl’s wardrobe.

She had a thoroughly annotated rulebook lying open on her lap, highlighted, tabbed, and scribbled in, because, of course, she had one. How else would she be able to understand the game?

Leah had just flipped to the “Minor Penalties” section when, with a loud whistle and a collective groan from the whole crowd, one of the referees raised her arm.

Again.

Leah didn’t even have to look at the Jumbatron. Her eyes moved to the ice, already knowing exactly which jersey number was being called.

Y/n.

Her girlfriend, aggressive, fast and annoyingly good, was skating toward the penalty box, tossing her stick onto the ice angrily.

The pure fury in her eyes wasn’t new to Leah–it was the same look she got when she lost her phone for the fifth time that week or burned her toast and blamed the toaster.

Y/n was a hockey player for the Professional Women’s Hockey League in Boston. She was aggressive, fast and technical–and sometimes, a little too physical while playing.

“What do you mean elbowing?” Y/n yelled at the ref as she passed her. “She was the one who launched her rib into my arm–that’s fucking different!”

Her voice echoed off the walls of the rink. She was still muttering under her breath in what might have been a mix of bad words and growling when she slammed herself onto the penalty bench, arms crossed.

Y/N was on that bench again–she had spent more time in the penalty box this period than on the ice.

Leah just sighed, holding the bridge of her nose. She didn’t even flinch when Y/n ripped her helmet off and nearly chucked it at the floor.

Next to her, one of the other players’ girlfriends, wearing a bright blue Boston Fleet beanie, leaned over.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” she said, sipping from a thermos. “When I saw one of Andrea’s first games, I thought she was going to leave in an ambulance–I had to take a break in the bathroom.”

Leah cracked a small smile. “Oh, I’m not worried about her getting hurt,” she said. “I’m more nervous she’s going to hurt someone else.”

The girl laughed, just as Leah reached up and tapped the glass in front of the penalty box.

Y/n turned her head and spotted her girlfriend in the front row, hoodie hood half-up, eyes sparkling behind her smug expression.

Leah lifted three fingers slowly.

“Really?” she mouthed through the glass. “Three times? Want me to start keeping score?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring Leah.

She turned away, arms crossed, boots tapping furiously against the floor of the box. But Leah caught the way her jaw twitched, how her lips threatened to curl up at the corners. She was trying not to smile.

Good.

Just thirty-four seconds left. Not that Leah was counting.

..

Y/n stormed into the hallway. Her hair was soaked from the post-match shower, still dripping down the back of her neck, and her duffle bag thudded against her hip with each furious step.

“That ref was a fucking–”

“Section 67, Rule 3,” Leah cut in smoothly, not looking up from the book in her hands. “Cursing out an official is a minor penalty.”

Y/n glared. Leah smiled.

Y/n stopped in her tracks, stared at her, jaw slightly unhinged. “Are you actually quoting the rulebook at me right now?”

“You know I am,” Leah replied sweetly, finally looking up with a smug, innocent smile. “You gave me the book. You can’t get mad when I use it.”

“I gave you that book for studying purposes, not to throw it back in my face every time I do something… unintentionally!”

“Four penalties,” Leah raised her eyebrows. “Are we sure they were all unintentional?”

“Don’t patronise me,” Y/n said impantiantly

“I’m not pat–”

“I got put in the box four times, Leah! Four! And I didn’t even play the full game!” Y/n interrupted her, dropping her bag with a loud thud and pointing at herself dramatically.

“I know,” Leah said, perfectly serene. “I was there. Front row. Freezing my ass off, mind you.”

Y/n let out a loud groan, raking her fingers through her damp hair as she started pacing. “They were all bullshit calls. That last one? Saying I hit her leg with my stick? I wasn’t even looking at her! I was protecting the puck!”

“Ah, yes,” Leah said, tilting her head. “Because whacking someone’s shin with a hockey stick It's a complete clean way to play.”

“You weren’t there!”

“I was literally there.”

“Yeah, but not in it. Hockey is more physical than football, you don’t get it!” Y/n huffed, storming ahead, leaving Leah a few steps behind

Leah sighed, pressing her lips together. She recognised this version of Y/n. It wasn’t just about the box time–it never really was. Y/n could handle getting sent to the penalty box. Hell, sometimes she liked it. No, this wasn’t about penalties.

This was about losing

“You are a little angry,” Leah said carefully, as if stating a fact.

“I hate hockey,” Y/n declared, throwing her arms in the air. “I hate the refs. I hate the cold. I hate the box. I hate–”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do!” she insisted, volume rising with each word. “It’s a stupid sport! And all I do is try–like actually try to play clean, and we still lose to fucking Minnesota?!”

There it was. The real burn. The real reason.

Y/n’s shoulders were shaking slightly, her face flushed, her brows drawn so tightly together that Leah was scared she might burst a vein.

Leah caught up, her footsteps echoing softly on the concrete.

“No,” Leah murmured, as she stepped closer, sliding her arms around Y/n’s waist and tugging her gently in. “You don’t hate hockey. You’re just frustrated.”

Y/n didn’t fight it. She sank into Leah’s body like it was instinct. Her forehead pressed against Leah’s collarbone, and she exhaled one long, tired sigh.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered, voice muffled by Leah’s hoodie. “We trained our asses off for this game, we came up with a plan, I actually tried to keep my cool and we still lost.”

Leah ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “I know, baby.”

Y/n grumbled again, arms wrapping tightly around Leah. “It’s not even the penalties, I don’t care about that…okay, maybe a little–but I hate sitting there in the box while everything goes to shit. Everyone’s watching me like I fucked the game. Like I let us lose.”

“You didn’t,” Leah said firmly. “You didn’t let anyone down. You played your heart out. And anyone watching that game knows it.”

“But it’s not enough!” Y/n practically yelled, pulling back just enough to look at Leah. Her eyes were glassy now, frustration mixing with anger, sadness and guilt. “What’s the point of doing this? This is like… the second game we lost.”

Leah cupped her face gently, brushing a thumb under her jaw. “The point is you gave everything in you. The point is you showed up, even when the calls were bullshit and your temper was boiling.”

“Sometimes teams go throught bad seasons, it’s normal,” she continued. “Expected even. Especiallyin a competitive league like yours.”

Y/n sniffed, trying to pretend she wasn’t crying, she wiped her face on the sleeve of Leah’s hoodie. “I hate that you always know what to say.”

“I know,” Leah said softly. “It’s part of my charm.”

Y/n let out a half-laugh. “I’m still mad.”

“You can be mad.”

“I’m gonna be insufferable for the rest of the night.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Y/n looked at her for a long second, eyes tired but soft. “You still love me?”

“Of course I do,” Leah whispered. “Even when you were the first one to initiate a fist fight in the history of the league.”

Y/n groaned. “I think I have an anger problem.”

Leah grinned and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Good thing you’ve got a girlfriend who knows exactly how to calm you down.

“I’m very lucky” Y/n smiled, melting fully into her again.

By the time they made it out to the nearly empty parking lot, Y/n had burned off just enough steam to stop ranting aloud…but her silent fuming might have been even louder.

She stomped ahead toward her car, keys already in hand, her wet hair sticking to her neck, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up.

Leah trailed a few steps behind, arms folded, watching the show unfold. Poor thing- she really thought she was going to be the one driving.

Y/n clicked the unlock button and went straight for the driver’s side, tugging the door open.

“Nope,” Leah said flatly.

Y/n blinked at her over the roof of the car. “What?”

“You’re not driving.”

“I am driving,” Y/n said, like Leah had personally insulted her. “It’s my car.”

Leah raised one eyebrow and walked slowly toward her, hand outstretched. “Keys.”

Y/n scoffed. “Leah. I can drive a car, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I’m saying you shouldn’t. You’re way too angry.”

“I’m not–” Y/n started, then stopped herself. Her nostrils were literally flaring. “Okay, I’m a little angry. But I can drive!”

Leah didn’t budge. She just stood there, palm open, face blank, waiting.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

There was a long pause. A car passed by with a crunch of snow under the tires. 

Y/n looked at Leah. Looked at the keys. Looked back at Leah.

Then, with the world’s most dramatic groan, she slapped the keys into Leah’s hand.

She stomped around to the passenger side and threw herself into the seat. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, and out fully engaged.

Leah slid into the driver’s seat, quiet for a second as she adjusted it.

“You have the opportunity,” she said casually, “to be a full passenger princess. You can eat in the car. Choose the music. Control the temperature. And you’re still pouting.”

“I wanted to drive,” Y/n muttered without looking at her.

Leah smirked, glancing over. “I was afraid you might spot someone from the Minnesota team and try to run them over.”

Y/n gasped. “I would never!”

Leah didn’t say anything, just raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe if it were one of the refs,” Y/n added after a pause, tone completely serious.

Leah blinked. “Right. Cool. Now I’m officially concerned.”

Y/n leaned her head back against the seat with a sigh, arms still folded. “I’m just mad. We lost. I don’t like losing. Especially not to them.”

“I know,” Leah said, soft again now. She started the engine, heat flooding through the vents. “Let’s get you home, get you in a hot shower, and see if we can wash off whatever foul mood you’re currently in.”

Y/n grunted.

Leah glanced at her, reached over, and grabbed her hand gently, lacing their fingers together. “You can pick our dinner”

“…I want fries.”

“We’re stopping for fries.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment.

“…Can I also get a milkshake?”

Leah smiled. “Now that’s the passenger princess spirit.”

The car ride was mostly quiet–save for the occasional crunch of fries and the occasional muttered “bullshit” from Y/n as she relived the game in angry fragmented.

Leah let her get it out, throwing in a few well-timed nods and one “Yeah, that ref clearly hadn’t read Section 52, Rule 7”, which earned her a rude pinch to her arm.

By the time they pulled into Y/n’s driveway, the anger wasn’t sharp anymore, just dull, heavy, and annoying.

Leah unlocked the door with the spare key, stepping into the warm, familiar space like it was hers–because for the past few days, it kind of had been.

Her coat went on the same hook, her trainers lined up neatly next to Y/N’s. And her suitcase sat in the corner by the stairs, exactly where Y/n had left it when Leah arrived earlier that week.

It was small. Compact. The kind of suitcase you pack when you know you’re only staying a few days.

Y/n’s eyes landed on it, and the weight in her chest shifted. Heavier. A little more real.

Just four more days. Then Leah would be back on a flight to London. Back to club duties. Back to FaceTime and time zones and waiting for off-seasons.

Leah noticed the pause, her gaze following Y/n’s to the suitcase.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Instead, she stepped behind Y/n, wrapping her arms around her from behind, nose brushing against the side of her neck.

“Shower,” she mumbled softly. “You stink.”

Y/n leaned back into her a little, letting herself sink. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t. Not tonight”

They stood there for a moment longer, still wearing their snow coats. Just holding onto something solid. Something that wouldn’t be there next week.

Then Leah pulled back, nudging her up the stairs with a gentle tap. “Go. Shower. And don’t punch the shampoo bottles.”

“No promises.”

“I’ll be right behind you, just need to get a glass of water.”

Y/n stepped into the steaming shower stall and let the hot water wash away the last of her frustration.

For the first time in hours, she felt the tension in her shoulder alleviating.

Suddenly, the curtain slid back and Leah slipped in beside her. Y/n opened her eyes, watching her soft, naked body. Leah’s hair was a little wet from the snow, which had started to melt.

“Too good to let you have all the warmth,” Leah murmured, stepping closer so that her arm rested lightly along Y/n’s back. She tilted the handheld shower head toward them both, letting the water cascade over Leah.

Leah reached a hand up, brushing Y/n’s wet hair away from her face, thumb tracing along her cheek. “You okay?” she asked, voice gentle over the hiss of water.

“Yeah,” Y/n whispered, leaning back into her. “Much better.”

Leah pressed a slow kiss to Y/n’s temple, then to her shoulder, warm droplets sliding over their skin. “Let me,” she said, taking the shampoo bottle from Y/n’s grasp and squeezing a dollop into her palm.

Her fingers worked through Y/n’s hair with careful tenderness, as if she were smoothing the girl out.

Y/n’s arms slid around Leah’s waist. “I love you,” she said softly, water sliding off her lips.

Leah smiled, pressing her forehead to Y/n’s. “I love yo,u too,” she answered.

Then she wrapped her free arm around Y/n and rested her head against her shoulder, letting them both stand quietly under the warm spray.

Later, back in the bedroom, Y/n tugged a soft T‑shirt over her damp hair and wriggled into her pyjama shorts. Steam still curled off her skin as she watched Leah pull on a pair of worn-in joggers. Her joggers.

Y/n slipped into Leah’s arms before her T‑shirt was even fully on. “Come here,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Leah’s collarbone.

Leah caught her wrists gently. “Not tonight, love,” she said softly, though a playful glint still flickered in her eyes.

Y/n huffed, shoulders rising. “Seriously? We just got out of the shower–”

“I know,” Leah interrupted, brushing a finger down Y/n’s jaw. “But come on.” She paused, letting Y/n look into her eyes. “You. Are. Exhausted.”

Y/n pushed at Leah’s chest, trying to break free of the affectionate hold. “I’m not that tired,” she insisted, though her words came out slower than she meant. “I just… want you.”

Leah’s expression softened. She leaned in, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to Y/n’s lips. “I want you too,” she whispered, “but rest is just as important. Tomorrow, I promise.”

Y/n crossed her arms, stubborn as ever. “You’re making me go to bed mad.”

Leah chuckled, stepping closer until Y/n’s back was against the wall. “Can’t be mad when you’re yawning mid‑complaint.” She smoothed a hand over Y/n’s hair. “Let me tuck you in.”

Y/n blinked…her fight gone as quickly as it had flared. “Okay… fine.”

Leah gathered her into a soft hug and guided her to the bed. As Y/n settled under the covers, Leah kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, stubborn girl.”

“Goodnight,” Y/n mumbled, eyelids fluttering shut.

Leah switched off the light and stayed beside her until the steady rhythm of Y/n’s breathing told her she’d finally fallen asleep. It didn’t take long, Y/n was really worn out, she just hadn’t realised it before.

..

The morning light seeped through the blinds, gently brushing across the room. Leah was tangled in the sheets, her face nestled into the pillow, the warmth of sleep still wrapped around her. But she wasn’t going to get to stay in that peaceful slumber for long.

Y/n was fully aware of the quiet peace in the room, she couldn’t help but take advantage of the moment.

She leaned over Leah’s sleeping form, pressing soft kisses against her cheek, her neck, and then down to her shoulder, trailing a slow, teasing path.

“Mmm...” Leah murmured in her sleep, instinctively shrugging away from the intrusion. But Y/n wasn’t having it. She kept pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin, determined to get what she wanted.

Leah groaned, pushing her face into the pillow and mumbling, “Five more minutes, love…” Her voice was thick with sleep, the promise of rest still tugging at her.

Y/n ignored her.

She moved to Leah’s neck, kissing the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“But you promised,” Y/n whispered, her lips lingering against Leah’s skin. “You said we could have sex today...”

Leah groggily blinked her eyes open, barely catching the words. She squinted at Y/n, the corners of her lips twitching upward.

“Did I?” she mumbled, voice thick with amusement.

Y/n's lips curled into a playful grin, not giving up the chase. She slid her body closer to Leah’s, gently brushing her hand over her bare ribs.

“You did,” she confirmed, her voice dripping with teasing sweetness. “You said, ‘Tomorrow, baby,’ remember?”

Leah opened one eye just enough to catch Y/n’s gaze, the spark of mischief already in the girl’s eyes. She shifted in the bed, resting on one elbow and giving Y/n a half-smile.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Y/n leaned closer, her lips brushing against Leah’s ear, her breath warm against her skin. “Please?” she whispered softly.

Leah let out a dramatic sigh, finally pushing herself up against the headboard, her arm pulling Y/n into her.

She looked at her with a mixture of exhaustion and affection.

“Alright, alright,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “What do you have in mind, then?”

A satisfied smile spread across Y/n’s face. She moved her lips down to Leah’s collarbone, nipping lightly at the skin before slowly pulling away to meet her gaze.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered, voice heavy with desire, her breath catching in anticipation.

Leah’s eyes fluttered as she processed the words, her lips curling into a knowing grin.

“Consider it breakfast, then,” she said, her voice thick with teasing heat.

Without another word, Y/n leaned in again, her lips catching Leah’s in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow at first, a deliberate teasing of each other’s lips.

Leah let out a soft sigh, her hand sliding up to cup Y/n’s cheek, deepening the kiss with a gentle but confident pull.

Y/n responded, her hands roaming over Leah’s body, feeling the familiar curves and warmth that had become her comfort.

Her mouth moved from Leah’s lips to her neck, pressing soft, heated kisses there as she slid lower, trailing her lips over the sensitive skin of Leah’s chest.

Leah let out a soft breath, leaning back against the pillows, her hands threading into Y/n’s hair, pulling her closer as she shivered under the touch.

The anticipation built between them, each kiss more desperate, more intense than the last.

As Y/n’s lips made their way further down, Leah’s body responded, hips instinctively tilting up. Y/n kissed Leah’s breasts, her nipples, her sternum, then she moved to her belly, to her hips–until she got where she wanted to be.

Leah was ready for her already. Her cunt completly wet, almost glimering with need. She looked pretty, all spread out for Y/n to do whatever she wanted.

Y/n kissed her inner thighs, small, innocent kisses. Her hand was each cupping one of Leah’s breasts, playing with her nipples gently, without any rush.

Y/n’s lips met Leah’s clit–it was just a peck, but she was so wet already that the just a simple touch already made a mess of Y/n’s mouth and chin. Y/n decided to put Leah out of her mysery, sucking on her clit.

Leah's hands gripped the sheets, pulling at them as if she couldn’t get close enough. “Baby…” Leah murmured, her voice barely above a breath, thick with desire.

Y/n looked up at her with a smirk, her eyes darkened with want.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered against her cunt, her voice a promise as she slowly closed the distance, taking her time to savor every inch of Leah’s skin–ever inch of her core.

Y/n continued eating Leah out, very slowly, very gently, relishing about the way she tastes, trying to memorize the sweet falvour of her pussy, knowing very well than in last than a few day, Leah would be gone and Y/n wouldn’t be able to wake up to her by her side, her cunt on her face.

She needed to enjoy it, and make sure Leah would enjoy it too. Y/n might have lost yesterday’s game–but she was good at other things, giving head being one of them.

Y/n sucked Leah’s clit harder, feeling that she was close, she left one hand on her hip, keeping Leah in place.

In less than a minute, Leah was painting on the bed, enjoying the high of her orgasm. But Y/n wasn't completely done.

She dipped a finger on her pussy, teasing at the entrance first in slow, measuring circles–before sliding it inside, brushing against the slick heat within. Leah’s back arched, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Too much,” Leah whined, trying to move her hips away, but Y/n held her down.

“Shh, I know you,” Y/n said, moving the finger ever so gently. “It’s okay.”

Y/n kissed Leah more deeply now. It was messy, dirty, and rushed.

“Fuck–,” Leah urged against Y/n’s mouith “God, don’t stop.”

So Y/n didn’t. She worked her finger in and out, adjusting the angle until Leah was writhing beneath her touch, every exhale a tremor of need.

Then, because Y/n wasn’t about half‑measures, she slid in a second finger, letting Leah’s body stretch around them both.

Leah cried out, hands fisting the sheet as her hips began to lift into Y/n’s hand. “Oh, baby… shit…”

With a final curl of her fingers, Y/n brought Leah close to the edge, then slowly withdrew, leaving Leah trembling with need.

Two orgasms before eight o’clock. They were up for a good day.

Leah lay back on the cool sheets, chest heaving, eyes fluttering closed against the afterglow.

Her fingers threaded through the pillow, her body still trembling from the wave that had just passed through her.

Y/n pressed a soft kiss to Leah’s temple, then to the corner of her mouth, murmuring, “You’re perfect.” She smiled against Leah’s skin before settling down, head fitting neatly into the hollow just above Leah’s heart.

Their bodies moulded together.

Y/n’s arm draped over Leah’s ribs, legs tangling against Leah’s—warmth radiating between them. The only sound was the gentle rise and fall of their breathing.

Y/n leaned up slightly and let her lips trail over Leah’s collarbone, down to the swell of her breast.

With delicate tenderness, she brushed her mouth against the nipple.. Leah’s eyelids fluttered open, a soft moan slipping out as Y/n’s tongue flicked in slow, lazy circles.

“Shh,” Y/n whispered, pressing a kiss to the space just above, then sliding her head back down so her ear rested on Leah’s chest. “Just relax.”

Leah’s hand came down to cradle Y/n’s head, thumb stroking her hair. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, every word a soft tremor.

Y/n smiled against Leah’s skin, breathing in the steady thump of her heartbeat. “Never,” she whispered. “I could stay like this forever.”

..

A/n: hope you guys liked!! Let me know what u guys think <3

I loved writing this little one-shot 

tag list in the comments.

[dakusan]

On The Hard Days, Stay.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, soft angst

🌙 synopsis: Everyone has days where it feels like too much. These are the ones where you fall apart—and they choose to stay. Eight moments. Eight ways love shows up when the world feels too heavy. No grand gestures. Just quiet understanding, gentle hands, and someone who refuses to let you carry it all alone.

💌 a/n: This is for when you're not okay. Each of these pieces is a love letter to the quiet kind of support we often need but don't know how to ask for. If you're going through it, I hope this feels like a deep breath. To anyone struggling: you're not alone, you're love, you're enough and you're doing enough 🥺. Enjoy the mini shots!

📍credits: Just wanna credit @cafekitsune for the divider BCZ IT'S SO FUCKING CUTE... okay, i'm fine :3

🎶 Now Playing: "ONLY" — LeeHi

Bang Chan x Reader | “I’m Here, Okay?”

You didn’t mean to break down at his place. You really didn’t.

But something about the way he opened the door with that easy smile—tired, but genuine—made your throat close up. Maybe it was how he said, “Hey, you made it,” like he was actually relieved to see you. Or how his arms opened just a little like he was waiting for you to fall into them.

You didn’t. Not yet. You just kicked off your shoes, mumbled something about traffic, and followed him to the couch.

He didn’t press. Just let you sit in silence, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists. You stared at the TV without watching it. He noticed.

“You alright?” he asked, turning the volume down.

You nodded. Paused. Shook your head.

“No.”

It came out quieter than you meant. Then the tears hit—hot and fast. You covered your face with your hands like that would somehow keep it all in.

You felt the shift before you saw it—Chan moving closer, careful, like he didn’t want to crowd you.

“Hey… hey,” he said, voice low. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head again, frustrated with yourself. “Sorry. I didn’t wanna cry. I’m just—”

He didn’t wait for the rest. He just reached out, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and gently pulling you into his side. You let him. Didn’t even fight it. Just let your head drop against him, breathing unsteady.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “You’re allowed to cry, you know.”

You didn’t say anything. But your fingers gripped the fabric of his sleeve tighter.

“I get it,” he murmured. “Life gets heavy. Like… it just stacks and stacks until you can’t breathe.”

You nod, barely.

“I’m not gonna pretend I can fix it. But I can sit here with you. However long you need.”

He didn’t try to cheer you up. Didn’t tell you to smile or be strong. He just stayed. His hand rubbed slow circles into your back, and when your breathing finally slowed, he looked down and gave you a small, tired smile.

“Just… let me be here, yeah?”

You nodded into his chest. You didn’t feel better. But you didn’t feel alone. And that? The idea that you weren't alone? It was more than enough.

Lee Know x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Say Anything”

You didn’t even know why you were crying.

It wasn’t one big thing. Just a pile-up of small, stupid things that somehow tipped over the edge today—too many deadlines, not enough sleep, a comment that hit too close. And now you were sitting on Minho’s couch with your knees pulled to your chest, blinking hard at the ceiling like it would stop the tears.

He noticed the second you walked in. You’d said you were fine. He didn’t believe you.

Minho didn’t ask questions. He just handed you a glass of water, sat down next to you, and turned on the TV without saying a word.

It was a comfort thing—noise in the background, something familiar. He didn’t hover. Didn’t touch you. Just… existed next to you. Quiet and steady.

You finally mumbled, “Sorry. I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

He glanced over, then leaned back into the cushions.

“You don’t have to know.”

That was it. Just that.

You didn’t say anything for a while. But eventually, you let your head drop onto his shoulder.

He let it happen, didn’t make a big deal of it. Just shifted a little to make you more comfortable. You felt him breathe out, slow and even. Like he wanted you to match his rhythm.

“Some days are just crap,” he said quietly. “Don’t need a reason.”

You nodded against his hoodie.

He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t tell you it’d all be okay. He just sat there with you, letting the silence stretch in the safest way.

A little while later, he got up, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with a bowl of rice, kimchi, and eggs. Nothing fancy. Just food you didn’t have to think about.

“Eat,” he said, setting it down in front of you. “Then we nap. You look like you need a nap more than a pep talk.”

And weirdly… that made you tear up again. But softer this time. Because you didn’t need someone to rescue you. You just needed this. Someone who saw you falling apart and didn’t try to make it pretty.

Changbin x Reader | “You Don’t Gotta Pretend”

You’d barely made it three steps inside his apartment before your shoulders dropped.

Changbin was in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up, something half-cooked on the stove. He turned at the sound of the door, his face lighting up at first—until he caught your expression. That quiet slump in your posture. The way you didn’t even try to smile.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just turned the stove off and wiped his hands on a dish towel.

“Come here.”

You didn’t argue. Just walked into his arms and let your forehead rest against his chest. He wrapped you up tight—arms firm around your back like he was trying to hold you together. You hadn’t cried yet. But your body felt like it could give out at any second.

He didn’t rush you.

Minutes passed like that. Then his voice, low and careful:

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Just everything. Work. Family. Myself. I don’t know. It’s all too much.”

He let out a breath through his nose. Not annoyed—just frustrated on your behalf.

“You’ve been trying to keep it together too long, huh?”

That got you. You nodded, and then the tears came. Silent. Exhausted. You felt embarrassed, but his grip never loosened.

“Hey,” he said softly, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head. “You don’t gotta pretend with me, alright?”

You tried to speak, but it all came out as a whisper: “I feel like I’m failing.”

Changbin pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice steadier now. “You’re not failing. You’re just tired. And overwhelmed. And human.”

You sniffled, lips trembling. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to power through all the time. Just let yourself fall apart here. I’ll pick up the pieces with you.”

His words weren’t polished. They weren’t some poetic comfort. But they were real. Raw. And exactly what you needed.

“Now sit,” he added, nudging you toward the couch. “I’ll finish cooking. You’re eating, and then we’re watching dumb YouTube videos ‘til you laugh or fall asleep.”

You gave the faintest, watery smile.

That was enough for him.

Hyunjin x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Go Through It Alone”

You didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet until he asked.

“Hey… what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You were sitting on the floor of his room, back against his bed frame, legs stretched out. He was next to you, sketchbook open, pencil tapping against the paper. Music played low from the speaker. Everything looked normal. But it didn’t feel normal.

You sighed. “I’m just tired.”

He glanced over at you. “Tired like… need-sleep tired, or tired like everything-is-weighing-on-you tired?”

You gave a weak smile. “Second one.”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a second. He just set the sketchbook down beside him and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Come here.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You crawled over and leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around you like he’d been waiting for you to give in. His chin rested on top of your head, and you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he mumbled. “And I know I can’t fix it. But I want to.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie. “You don’t have to fix it. I just… needed this.”

He held you tighter.

“You always carry so much,” he said quietly. “You act like you’re fine, and everyone believes it. But I see you. I always see you.”

That hit harder than you expected. Maybe because he said it so gently. Maybe because he meant it.

“I feel like I’m falling behind,” you whispered. “Like everyone else is moving forward and I’m stuck.”

Hyunjin pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes soft, expression serious.

“Life isn’t a race,” he said. “Even if it feels like it is. You’re not behind. You’re just… overwhelmed. And that’s okay.”

Your lip trembled. He noticed, reached up and brushed his thumb under your eye before the tears could fall.

“You’re allowed to feel like this. You’re allowed to have bad days. Just—don’t do it alone. Not when I’m right here.”

You nodded, and he leaned his forehead against yours.

“No pretending with me, alright?”

Han Jisung x Reader | “You’re Still You”

You didn’t say much when you got to his place.

Just dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and quietly flopped face-first into his couch cushions. Jisung popped his head around the corner from the kitchen like a curious cat.

“You alive?”

You gave a muffled groan.

He walked over slowly, tossing a bag of chips on the coffee table before plopping down beside you.

“Rough day, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m so burnt out,” you mumbled. “And I feel like I have to keep pretending I’m okay because no one really wants to hear it.”

Jisung didn’t say anything right away. He reached over, grabbed the remote, and put on some random YouTube video of a guy reviewing the world’s worst frozen pizzas. It filled the silence.

A minute passed. Two.

Then, softly:

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You turned your head toward him. He was still watching the screen, but his tone had shifted—lighter, but serious.

“I mean, I joke around a lot, but like... I notice stuff. I know when you're not okay.”

Your throat tightened a little. You didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not now.

“I just feel like I’m failing,” you said. “Like I’m trying so hard and still falling short.”

He finally looked at you.

“Falling short of what, though? Whose standard are you trying to meet?”

You shrugged, and it came out half-defeated. “Everyone’s, I guess.”

Jisung leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You know, I do that too,” he said. “Think I have to be a certain version of myself for everyone. The funny one, the productive one, the ‘doing great’ one. But sometimes... I’m not. And that doesn’t make me less me.”

He turned back to look at you.

“And it doesn’t make you less you either.”

You swallowed hard.

“I hate feeling like a burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” he said instantly, voice firm. “You’re someone I care about. You showing up like this? That doesn’t make you a burden. It makes you human.”

He let the silence settle again.

Then: “I also bought three different flavors of ice cream in case of a breakdown, so like… if you wanna cry and eat cookie dough straight from the tub, I’m fully prepared.”

That finally got a laugh out of you. It was small, a little cracked—but real.

Jisung smiled, leaned back with a soft “There we go,” and tossed a pillow at your face like he hadn’t just lowkey saved your life a minute ago.

Felix x Reader | “I’ve Got You”

You’d been holding it in all day.

Smiling when you didn’t feel like it. Nodding through conversations you couldn’t focus on. Pretending like your chest wasn’t tightening with every hour that passed.

And then Felix texted you. “Wanna come over? No pressure. Just… if you need to breathe.”

You replied, “Okay.” Just that.

When you showed up at his place, he didn’t say anything. Just opened the door and pulled you into the softest hug you didn’t know you were craving.

You stood there for a while. His arms wrapped around your waist, your forehead pressed into his shoulder. The kind of silence that made it okay to not speak.

Eventually, you let out a breath. It came out shaky.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” you said, voice muffled. “I feel so… overwhelmed. Like I’m on the edge of something, but I don’t even know what.”

Felix didn’t say anything dramatic. He just hugged you tighter.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said softly. “You’re just human. And tired.”

You nodded against his shoulder.

“I’m trying so hard to keep it together.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m proud of you for even getting through the day.”

His voice was low, gentle, like he was afraid too many words might break you. He guided you to the couch, pulled a blanket over both of you, and didn’t let go of your hand the whole time.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he whispered. “You just have to let yourself be. And I’ll be right here.”

You didn’t cry. Not exactly. But your eyes stung, and your fingers curled tighter into his. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t offer solutions.

He just held you like you mattered. And for the first time in days, you believed that maybe you still did.

Seungmin x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Prove Anything”

You didn’t even mean to start venting.

You’d come over for lunch—normal stuff, nothing serious. But halfway through a conversation about your week, it just… slipped out.

“I don’t think I’m doing enough.”

Seungmin blinked. “Enough of what?”

“Just… everything.” You laughed a little, but it came out wrong. “I feel like I’m always falling short. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s not good enough. For work, for people, for myself—whatever.”

He took a sip of his iced coffee, totally unfazed.

“Sounds like you’re burnt out, not useless.”

You gave him a look.

“I’m serious,” he said, shrugging. “You think pushing yourself past your limit means you’re not doing enough? That sounds backwards.”

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “I just hate feeling like I’m behind.”

He leaned back in his chair, looked at you for a long second.

“You’re not behind,” he said. “You’re just… stuck in your own head.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “That’s my ‘I-care-about-you-and-I-don’t-want-you-to-self-destruct’ opinion.”

You cracked a small smile at that.

Then, softer, he added, “You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to not have your shit together sometimes. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It just means you’re human.”

You looked down at your drink. Your fingers fidgeted with the straw.

“And if I’m tired of trying?”

“Then stop trying to prove something to people who already love you,” he said. “Including me.”

It was quiet for a second. You glanced up—and yeah. He was serious.

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him with a tight throat and blurry eyes.

He looked back, totally steady. Then added casually, “Now hurry up and eat before I finish your food too.”

And somehow, that very Seungmin line made the tension in your chest crack just a little.

Jeongin x Reader | “I’ll Stay”

You hadn’t meant to stay this late.

But hours passed while you sat on Jeongin’s bed, hoodie wrapped tight around you, scrolling on your phone in silence while he sat across the room, doing the same. No pressure to talk. Just quiet company.

Eventually, he looked up.

“You okay?”

You hesitated.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I think I’m just… numb.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just set his phone down and leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking it through.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked. “Or just sit?”

You looked over at him. “Can we just sit for a bit?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Of course.”

A few minutes passed.

Then, your voice broke the silence. “Everything feels like too much lately. But I also feel like… if I say that out loud, it makes me weak.”

Jeongin tilted his head slightly.

“It doesn’t,” he said. “It makes you honest.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers tightening around the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I feel like I’m supposed to have it together by now.”

“You don’t have to,” he said simply. “People act like there’s a deadline for figuring life out. There isn’t.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how calm and certain he sounded.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small.

Jeongin gave a soft smile and moved closer, sitting beside you now, shoulders touching.

“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t always know either. But I’ll stay. Even when you don’t have answers. Even when you’re falling apart.”

You glanced over. His expression was gentle, but steady. No pity. Just care.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He nudged your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… let me be here, yeah?”

You nodded, and leaned your head on his shoulder. The silence returned—but it felt different now. Safer. Warmer.

And you started thinking that yeah, yeah maybe that is exactly what you’d needed all along.

[bunniebarnes]

sweetest secret

pairing: avenger!teammate!dad’scoworker!Bucky x femStark!reader

summary: where Bucky Barnes falls for Tony Stark’s daughter, and she falls too. 💞

content warnings: mentions of father’s death, slight grieving, implications of sexual activity. other than that, all fluff because we love sweet, soft Bucky. <3

a/n: FIRST FIC, YAY!!! no but, tbh, this is a terrible blurb i couldn’t stop writing while creating for a cai bot, so it became too long and decided to post it here 🥰 bear with me, i’m still getting the hang of this.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You’d always had a thing for your dad’s coworker.

It started when you were fourteen. He was the new addition to the team—quiet, brooding, always lurking in the corners with eyes that had seen too much. You knew he was older. Much older.

But that didn’t stop the flutter in your chest whenever he spoke near you, his voice low and gravelly, like a secret only you got to hear.

Bucky Barnes had that effect on people. But on you? It was different.

At first, it was silly—just a teenage crush. The way you’d stammer around him, the way your pulse would quicken if he so much as looked at you.

He always smiled softly, amused but kind, never crossing a line. Never inappropriate. He kept his distance, respectfully so.

But when you turned eighteen, everything shifted.

The tension you’d always felt became something more. Something magnetic. Something electric.

You noticed it in the way he would clench his jaw when you walked by in your training gear, how his eyes would flick to your lips when you talked, how his metal hand would twitch slightly, like it ached to touch you but knew it shouldn’t.

You noticed, too, how he was always near. Always watching. Always protecting. His hand would hover near the small of your back in crowded hallways.

He’d position himself beside you on missions. He’d wait until you were safely in your quarters before going to his. It was subtle, but it was Bucky—and subtle for him meant volumes.

And then your father died.

Everything changed again. You broke.

But Bucky? He was there. Not as a soldier. Not as your dad’s teammate. As himself. He sat beside you at the funeral. Held your trembling hands through sleepless nights. Whispered comforting words when the grief clawed at your chest.

He never pushed, never asked for anything. Just stayed. One night, after hours of crying in his arms, you felt his lips barely graze your hairline. Not lustful. Just… aching.

Something bloomed in you then—trust, maybe. Or love. Maybe both.

You started spending nights in his room when the loneliness got too loud.

At first, you’d fall asleep in his bed, his hand smoothing over your hair, his chest warm against your back. But eventually, things changed again.

One night, you kissed him. He kissed you back. And that night, for the first time, he let you see the softness in him—the man beneath the weapon.

You gave yourself to him, and he gave himself to you. It was desperate and tender all at once, like the two of you had been waiting years for that moment. And maybe you had.

From then on, those nights became frequent. Needed. Secret.

No one could know.

Not Tony’s daughter and the ex-Winter Soldier. The man who had murdered your grandparents. Not the Avengers who were left, not the Thunderbolts, not the public. The headlines would write themselves.

The betrayal. The scandal.

So you kept it hidden. Your stolen kisses. His fingers tracing lazy circles on your back in the dark.

The way he whispered “baby” into your neck like it was a prayer. The way you loved him more with every breath.

Because he wasn’t just your dad’s coworker anymore.

He wasn’t just Steve’s best friend.

He wasn’t just The Winter Soldier.

He was your Bucky.

And in a world full of chaos, secrets, and haunted pasts—you had each other.

And that was enough.

Always.

⸻

One night, long after the world was asleep, you lay tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest, fingers trailing slow shapes over the metal lines of his arm.

He broke the silence first, voice husky and low. “You ever think about the future?”

You looked up at him, heart doing that fluttering thing it always did when he spoke like this—unguarded. “All the time.”

His thumb brushed over your bare shoulder. “I mean… us. What this is.”

He paused, then added, “What it could be, if we ever stopped hiding.”

You blinked slowly, letting the words settle. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to not worry about who’s watching. To kiss you in front of the others and not care what they think.”

His smile was small but aching. “They’d tear us apart, you know. Not just the team. The world. I’m not… the guy people want for you.”

You reached up, touching his jaw with gentle fingers. “But you’re my guy.”

He exhaled shakily, like your words were both healing and dangerous. “God, I want a life with you. I want mornings with you in my arms. I want to take you out and not look over my shoulder. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up knowing I can keep you forever.”

You swallowed hard. “Then let’s want it. Even if we can’t have it yet. Even if the world doesn’t get it.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not afraid?”

“Terrified,” you whispered. “But I love you more than I’m scared.”

And he kissed you then—slow, deep, reverent. Like he was promising you a forever, even if the world wasn’t ready for it yet.

⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔

a/n: okay, this is not my favorite thing but it’ll do because i have been wanting to post a blurb here, so enjoy, i guess 🥹 reblogs & comments are very much appreciated 🤍

[azzinator3000]

Locked Doors 

Word count: 2K 

Content: Friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, intense sexual tension, college basketball AU.

Warnings: Mature Content (Minors DNI)

Pairing: Pazzi

CHAPTER 3 - How to Lose All Control

So, yeah…Azzi was definitely a little drunk.

Actually, Paige was pretty sure Azzi had crossed the “little” line about two rounds ago. Normally, this wasn’t a big deal. They’d go out, get drinks with the girls, maybe sneak in a few kisses in dark corners while everyone pretended not to notice — their usual thing.

But tonight?

It started like every other night, their regular bar, packed for New Year's Eve, the usual chaos of spilled drinks and too-loud music. Ice ordering shots for everyone, throwing them back with a gleeful whoop and Aubrey following up with a round like she had something to prove, her competitive streak extending even to recreational drinking.

But Azzi… Paige could tell early that Azzi was chasing something tonight.

She was laughing a little too loud, tipping her head back a little too fast, swaying a little too loose on her feet and Paige couldn’t take her eyes off her. Every time Azzi spun on the makeshift dance floor, or threw her head back in a peal of laughter, Paige’s gaze snagged, unwillingly captivated.

The skirt wasn’t helping. That tiny skirt, barely there, all soft fabric.

Azzi’s brown skin glowing under the bar lights, the way her curls were perfectly falling over her shoulder, the way her smile kept landing right on Paige and nowhere else. All a direct hit to Paige’s already frayed composure.

It was a sin. It was genuinely unfair and completely distracting. Paige was supposed to be keeping a low profile, celebrating with the team, not having an internal meltdown.

“She looks insane tonight, huh?” KK yelled over the booming bass, elbowing Paige and smirking, a clear challenge in her eyes.

Paige dragged her hand through her hair, trying to feign annoyance, trying to regain some semblance of control. “It’s a problem.” She couldn’t even summon genuine exasperation, just a helpless admission.

KK just laughed, a loud, booming sound that made heads turn. She didn’t even try to hide it because everyone could see it now — Paige was fully cooked.

She was a walking, breathing, blushing mess, and Azzi was the chef.

And Azzi was not making it easier. She was doing that thing she knew Paige loved, trailing her fingers up Paige’s arm, a feather-light touch that left a searing trail, tugging her closer, brushing her lips right against Paige’s ear and whispering, “You’re so pretty, P.”

Like it was just a casual thing to say, like it didn’t blow Paige’s entire brain apart, scrambling her thoughts into a nonsensical mess of want and terror.

The heat of Azzi's breath, the soft brush of her hair, the way her body leaned into Paige's side—it was a sensory overload, a deliberate assault on Paige's carefully guarded control.

Usually, they’d keep it subtle. A quick hand squeeze under the table, a stolen kiss in a deserted hallway, a shared glance across a crowded room that spoke volumes.

But tonight, Azzi wasn’t waiting for dark corners, she was pressing up on Paige in the middle of the room, her hand sliding low on Paige’s back, fingers just brushing the waistband of Paige’s jeans, her lips brushing the edge of her jaw — and the girls were loving every second of Paige’s slow collapse.

Ice was openly grinning, her phone probably ready to capture any incriminating evidence, while Jena just watched, her eyes wide with amusement.

Paige clenched her jaw, her entire body rigid with the effort of holding herself back. “Azzi, babe. Chill.” The endearment slipped out automatically, a soft counterpoint to her desperate plea for decorum.

Azzi just giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something undeniably feral. She leaned in closer, her voice a purr against Paige’s ear. “You love me like this.”

Which was true. She did.

Every ounce of this reckless, bold Azzi was exactly what Paige craved, what she dreamed about in the quiet solitude of her dorm room.

But then Azzi blinked up at her, her eyes unfocused, swaying a little, and the playfulness drained out of her face. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

The sudden shift from intense desire to genuine concern was instantaneous.

All thoughts of flirting and public displays evaporated. “Let’s go,” Paige said instantly, grabbing her waist, her grip firm and steady, steering her toward the bathroom while KK hollered behind them, “Good luck, P!”

The bar bathroom was a nightmare of stale beer and cheap disinfectant. Azzi was a little teary, clinging to Paige, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over while Paige held her hair back and rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles.

The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum with judgment, but Paige barely noticed. All her focus was on Azzi, on warming her trembling body against Paige’s arm.

“It’s fine,” Paige kept saying, her voice soft and reassuring.

And it was.

It should’ve been gross. It was vomit, for crying out loud. But all Paige could think was how weirdly domestic this felt. How naturally she’d fallen into the role of caregiver, like she’d do this a hundred times, a thousand times, without a second thought.

Once Azzi was done, looking pale but a little steadier, Paige led her out of the bar.

The crisp New Year’s Eve air hit them, a welcome shock. Getting an Uber on New Year’s was a special kind of hell, but eventually, one pulled up. Paige practically bundled Azzi into the back seat. Azzi’s legs were draped over the seat, her short skirt riding up dangerously high, giving Paige a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, toned thighs. Paige had to focus all her energy on not looking, on not letting her eyes linger, on not letting the raw desire take over.

She pulled it back down carefully, her heart hammering in her chest because damn, this girl was going to ruin her. Azzi, in her drunken state, barely registered it, just leaned her head against the window, murmuring, “So cold.”

When they got home, the dorm hallways were blessedly quiet, most people still out celebrating.

Paige helped her undress, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s warm skin, trying to keep her touch impersonal, professional, failing miserably. She ran her a quick shower, the steam filling the small bathroom.

Azzi swayed under the spray, her eyes half-closed, and Paige had to steady her, her hands firm on Azzi’s waist, the slickness of wet skin making her shiver. Azzi kept mumbling, “You’re so pretty, P,” the words slurring, but the sentiment clear.

Paige just laughed softly, the sound a little breathless. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” Azzi pressed her forehead to Paige’s shoulder, her whole body leaning into her, completely reliant. “You’re so pretty. I’m sorry I’m being so messy.”

“You’re not. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” The words came easily, naturally, a promise Paige knew she would always keep. She carefully toweled Azzi dry, the soft terry cloth against her skin, a quiet intimacy that made Paige’s heart ache with a tender longing.

She got Azzi into one of her big t-shirts and boxers, the soft cotton warming Azzi’s cold frame, making her look impossibly adorable.

Paige tucked her into bed, pulling the covers up, and went to leave, but Azzi’s hand shot out, catching hers, her grip unsurprisingly strong.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep and remnants of alcohol. “Stay with me.”

“Okay.” Like she was ever going to say no. Like she had ever said no to Azzi, not truly.

Paige showered quickly, the cold water a welcome shock, clearing her head just enough to process the chaos of the night. She crawled into bed next to her. Azzi immediately curled into her, like a magnet to metal, her head resting on Paige’s chest, her arm flung lazily over Paige’s waist, her legs tangling with Paige’s beneath the covers.

“I really like being with you,” Azzi mumbled, sleep heavy in her voice, her breath warm against Paige’s skin. “Like, I really want this. I want this, P. Like for real.” Azzi shifted, nuzzling closer “I think I love you. I really do.”

Paige just stared at the ceiling, her breath caught in her throat.

The words hung in the air, echoing in the quiet room, reverberating through every cell in her body. Azzi, drunk and vulnerable, had said it first.

Azzi’s breathing slowed, soft and steady against her, a peaceful rhythm that belied the earthquake she’d just caused in Paige’s world. Paige could feel how much she meant it. Even drunk. Especially drunk. When the filters were down.

She looked at her, at the soft curl of her hair against Paige’s t-shirt, at the peaceful way she fit there

And Paige smiled. The kind of stupid, giddy, male-protagonist-in-a-90s-romcom smile. The kind where you see the girl, the one who’s been right in front of you all along, and it just clicks. The kind where you turn to your best friend and say, “Hey, you see that girl? I’m gonna marry her one day.”

It was that kind of smile. The kind that made her entire face ache and cheeks blush with the force of it.

It was the “Azzi” smile

Eventually, the first hints of dawn filtered through the curtains. Paige carefully, reluctantly, slipped out of bed, leaving Azzi curled in the warm spot she’d left behind.

She found KK in the kitchen, already up, already scrolling on her phone, coffee mug in hand.

KK looked up, a knowing glint in her eye. “How’s Azzi? Survive the night?”

“She’s good. Just sleeping” Paige managed, trying to sound casual, trying to erase the goofy smile from her face. It was impossible. Her cheeks felt hot.

KK squinted at her, then slowly, deliberately, put her phone down. “You’re blushing.”

“No” Paige’s face was burning, the heat spreading down her neck.

“You are” KK’s smirk was back, full force, but there was a softness underlying it, a genuine affection.

“It’s not—” Paige started, but the words caught in her throat.

“It is,” KK cut her off, her voice firm, no longer teasing. “You’re in love with her, P” She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “It’s written all over your ridiculously red face. And honestly, it’s about damn time.”

Paige tried to fight it, but her face gave her away completely. She couldn’t stop smiling.

The embarrassment was there, but it was completely overshadowed by the overwhelming rush of happiness.

“You’ve been in love with her since you were, like, fifteen. It’s actually so embarrassing how obvious you two are.” KK shook her head, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “I swear, every time Azzi’s name comes up, you get this stupid look on your face, all giggles and blushing like some middle schooler. It’s pathetic.”

“I can’t help it,” Paige whispered, the admission a quiet, liberating confession.

She pressed a hand to her burning cheeks, unable to look KK in the eye. It was true. Ever since they were kids, the mention of Azzi’s name, a fleeting glimpse of her on the court, a text message it all had this visceral effect on Paige.

“Yeah, no kidding,” KK said, her voice softening. She pushed off the counter, walking over to Paige, and clapped her on the shoulder. “She likes you too, you know. She wants this. She’s just… a little more paranoid” KK paused, then added, almost gently, “You just have to say it.”

Paige looked down, chewing her lip, her chest still tight from Azzi’s drunken words earlier. I think I love you. I really do. The memory was a warm, insistent pressure against her heart. Azzi’s vulnerability, her innocent honesty, had shattered all of Paige’s defenses.

“You love her,” KK added softly, her voice an unexpected comfort in the echoing kitchen. “Just say it already. For real. Don't let her think this is just messing around for you. She's scared, P”

Paige bit back a giddy grin, shaking her head, a soft, involuntary laugh bubbling up. Her heart felt impossibly full, ridiculously light.

[saerotonins]

NOBODY KNOWS

ft. sylus x fem!reader

— when there’s danger in secrecy, Sylus is always ready to challenge it.

word count: 6.1k 

content warnings: smut, angst if you squint, quick xavier cameo, jealous and possessive Sylus, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (f! receiving), mirror sex, creampie, use of nicknames (doll, sweetheart, darling), reader is a bit mean to Sylus, very slight spoilers/implications from his myth card (it’s not even that obvious), i suck at endings

note: this is my first ever full-blown smut fic, and hopefully more to come as i improve along the way <3

song inspo: nobody knows by kiss of life

—

The mask on your face feels hot and annoying. Out of all the themes the Hunters Association would go after for the annual party, they chose the one that could be a bit of a hassle for everyone else. It would not make any sense since the association is fairly small and most of you knew what each other would look like. Nonetheless, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. 

Well, you were, too.

You felt utterly stunning, donning an off-shoulder burgundy red dress that hugged your curves just right, gloriously exposing your figure despite the chill air hitting against your neck and the exposed part of your legs courtesy of the slits on the side of your clothing, combined with accessories that you could only wear once in a while.

You felt great.

Not until you see a very familiar figure amongst the crowd.

There is no denying it. That tall figure, those broad shoulders, the annoying smirk seemingly permanently etched across his lips, and those red, dark, and fiery eyes.

Sylus.

Your mood instantly becomes sour, and more importantly, you feel your hands get clammy, beads of sweat forming on your forehead as you see him take steps in your direction.

Is he crazy?!

“Fancy seeing you here, doll. Looking gorgeous, aren’t we?” You did not even notice him get closer to you until you felt his hot breath against your ears. His voice purred against your skin, undoubtedly full of yearning. After all, it has been a while since he has last seen you.

“Are you nuts? What are you even doing here?” Ignoring his compliment, you gritted your teeth as you seethed with annoyance. 

You knew he was always thick-skinned, but risking his identity being discovered and your occupation is a different kind of stupid. 

“Can’t the owner of their business visit their place from time to time?” He slyly replied. 

Your eyes immediately widen, “you own this place?” but all you get as a reply is an annoyed tut as he sips on his wine glass. Sighing at his response, or lack thereof, you rolled your eyes out of annoyance. It should not be a surprise, a man of his caliber would no doubt own any possible business or land there is.

“Whatever, you certainly can’t attend here without any invitation, especially when you’re not even a part of the association-'' your sentence was cut short when you felt Sylus’ hand wrap around your waist.

You feel your breath hitch, though your dress was an unfortunate barrier between your skin and his palm, you feel electricity dance against your spine.

“For the record, I am invited. Your gracious captain wanted to thank the owner for giving them a huge discount and gave the invitation through the manager.” Sylus fixes his posture, standing proud as another smug smile spreads across his lips.

As you were about to retort, you heard Xavier call for your name. Panic reaches your system and you hurriedly take Sylus’ hand away from you. Scowling, you look at him one last time before leaving, but not without a warning, “better behave and pretend you do not know me,” you say as you turn your back on him, walking towards Xavier’s direction.

“Who was that?” Sylus hears Xavier ask you once you reach him. Despite the mask covering half of your face, your body speaks volumes. You are nervous, afraid that people might find out that you are sensuously involved with the one person your association is after. 

“That was nothing,” he hears you lie. A lame answer if he says so himself but it was enough for Xavier to not ask any more questions. 

You could make a better excuse than that, doll, he thinks. 

Throughout the whole event, Sylus finds himself observing you. Every interaction you had, every sip of champagne, and every laugh that you managed to let out, he sees it all.

However, one thing that bothers him the most is how close you and Xavier were the whole time. Sylus is not a jealous man himself, he is confident in everything he does and how he expresses himself to you.

But the way he can see Xavier’s hands linger against your back, the look in his eyes, he knows what all that was about.

He knows about it because he himself has done it. 

Sylus lets out an annoyed tut, his eyebrows furrowing tightly, barely concealing the fact that he is beyond displeased and irritated. He is a rational man by all means, especially when it comes to you, but when someone tries to get ahold of something that is his, a fire ignites within him.

Begrudgingly, Sylus quickly swipes up a champagne glass by a passing waiter. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he walks with hurried steps towards your direction, each step becoming even faster as his annoyance catches up on him. 

“I can stop by your unit for tomorrow and bake you egg tarts- what the fuck!” your scream echoes around the area as you hold your now champagne-soaked dress. Looking up, you see Sylus and his shit-eating grin.

Bastard, he’s done this on purpose. What is wrong with him?

Trying to maintain your composure, you breathe in your vexation to avoid any trouble that you already are facing. 

“My apologies, my lady. My hand must’ve slipped, it was my fault for being clumsy.” To the untrained eye, Sylus’ apology might have sounded genuine but you know he is putting on an act. The undertone present in his voice is nothing but evident, the slight upward of the corner of his mouth did not go unnoticed either.

Through gritted teeth, you reply, “It’s no problem at all. Sorry, Xav, but I need to clean up,” you did not wait for his response as you hurriedly went to the nearest comfort room, trying your best not to stomp your feet too much as to hide the anger bubbling up in your chest.

Your body feels sticky and disgusting, with each step, you feel the remnants of the champagne trickling down the exposed part of your thighs and down to the rest of your leg, its slits on the side of your dress making it vulnerable to any spill, thanks to a special someone. 

Once you reach the comfort room, you huff as you push the door, eager to wash off the mess all over your body. But even before you could close it, a large hand stops it.

Sylus and his annoying ass again.

Rolling your eyes, you did your best to force it close, but to no avail, Sylus managed to open the door before you and lock it the moment he barged in.

Not having any will to hold on any longer, you let your anger get the best of you.

“Are you a fucking lunatic? Do you know how dangerous this shit is?!” You scream, all rationality leaving your body as you explode at the man before you. 

“Calm down, sweetheart—”

“You don’t get to tell me to calm down when all you do whenever we meet in public is jeopardize my job!” Your eyes begin to sting as frustration fills up your body, and your hands begin to have a mind of their own, trying to push Sylus away. 

Before he can even try and console you again, your sobs slowly fill up the space and your feeble attempt on pushing him grows more and more weak as you go. You feel your tears fall down your face as you decide to clutch onto his dress shirt.

“You never take me seriously, Sylus, it’s frustrating,” your words become more incoherent as you force yourself to push him away, your efforts have gone in vain as he catches hold of your wrists.

His hold, however, feels light and comforting. Contrary to his demeanor earlier, he seems gentle, treating you as if you were a fragile China doll that is going to break anytime soon if he is not careful enough.

“It wasn’t anything like that, sweetheart.” Sylus’ low and raspy voice vibrates through your entire being, it is tender and calm, yet laced with regrets and guilt as he caresses your arms.

“It was stupid and irrational,” his voice trails off as his body feels the shame for the first time. 

Sylus knew he was acting brash and immature for someone like him who is usually calm, his being wrapped with unshakeable confidence as he walked through the crowd. But when it comes to you, his resolve easily crumbles-

He becomes human. 

A concept that was foreign to him until you entered his dark and mysterious life filled with risks and countless dangers, enemies, and threats.

“What was that about then?” You try and push for an answer, “Please, Sylus, talk to me—”

“I was jealous,” he says. 

Your eyebrows immediately furrow as confusion wraps around your brain.

“You mean Xavier? Baby, he’s just a friend—”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Sylus closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh, “I was the same. I trust you, sweetheart, but seeing another man have his eyes on you like that just…”

“—I just want to be yours, I want you to use me, and only me.” 

You knew this was Sylus’ way of declaring his love to you. But the way he bares his feelings to you, letting himself be vulnerable this way, feels endearing. Though he was nothing but shy about his emotions towards you, seeing him jealous like this made you feel somewhat giddy.

Sniffling through the last of your tears, you cradle his face with gentle hands, “Has anyone told you you’re kind of stupid sometimes?” 

Sylus lets out a sound of disapproval, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “No,” he says as he slouches and snuggles himself deep into your hands, feeling your palms against his skin bringing some kind of solace in him.

“Well, now you do— because you are being stupid.” your pointer and middle finger reach out to his forehead, playfully pushing him away. With his physique, however, he hardly even budged.

“Well, god forbid a man gets jealous sometimes. Right, sweetheart?” 

Disappointment became evident on his face when you removed your hand to put it on your waist, “I didn’t like how you acted. It was dangerous, Sylus, you know this.” 

Despite the firmness and the stern tone on your voice, the worry swirling through your stomach shows through your eyes. 

He looks away, the glint of mischief in his eyes seems to disappear, “I’m sorry, darling, that wasn’t very nice of me, was it?” he sighs as he possessively wraps an arm around your waist as his free hand finds its way on your face. It might be the alcohol’s doing but you sense a bit of playfulness in his voice, but nonetheless, his sincerity is shown.

Sylus’ rough and calloused hands touched your face, dancing across your eyelids, cheeks, and eventually, the bottom of your lips. Devotion is apparent to the windows of his soul when he sees your disappointment gradually dissipate, replaced with love and longing for not seeing him for so long.

How long has it been since you last saw him anyway?

And then, it all clicked.

Bombarded by constant tasks sent and given by the association left you busy for the past few weeks and made you have barely enough time for yourself, let alone for your lover. The realization made you sick to your stomach, your heart, wrenching at the thought of neglecting Sylus for that long, albeit accidentally. 

You remember all the times he had reached out, only for you to reply with a rejection caused by your hectic schedule, and not being able to attend his invitation to dates or galas due to exhaustion. You feel your stomach drop as you realize that you have been brushing off his attempts to spend some time with you.

However, you commend his patience and understanding towards you. Knowing how demanding your job is as a hunter, he knows where and when to put distance and understands why you haven’t been spending your time with him.

It made you feel like a terrible partner.

“Sylus, did you miss me?” You quip, but you know well that it was laced with sincerity enough for Sylus to notice the honesty of your question. 

His eyes widened, caught off guard by you. Suddenly, the corners of his lips quivered as he let out a quiet snicker, “You could say that, yeah.” His eyes dilated as you felt his arms hold onto your waist tighter. 

“I missed you… so much,” you felt his hot breath leaning in, his lips slowly brushing against yours, the little restraint that he has in his desires for you disappearing into thin air.

Your breath hitched as the distance between the two of you grew closer, “wanna show me how much?” you challenged him.

Not even a second passed and his lips met yours. You could taste the remnants of his favorite red wine on his lips, tasting sweeter than usual. Feeling his tongue moving languidly against your lower lip, you open your mouth for him. Sylus’ grip tightens around you, the feeling of you against him makes him dizzy, all thoughts out of the window as he ravishes you like it was the last time.

Dazed and hypnotized by the feeling against his lips, it barely fazed you when you felt him lifting you up by your thighs and wrapping them around his waist. You feel his tent growing against your core as your wanton moans occupy the room. “Sylus, more, please— ngh, hah, n-need you so bad,” you beg, wanting him to claim you sooner.

“Patience, sweetie, I’ll give you what you want, yeah? Won’t you be a good girl for me?” His breathy plea manages to reach your ear as you feel your senses dulling, every fiber of your being wanting to be occupied by him. 

Your protests are caught in your throat when you feel the cold marble of the bathroom sink against the back of your thighs. Sylus’ hands busied themselves by grabbing your thighs, pulling them close to him, desperate for some kind of friction against his growing cock as his needy mouth explores yours. Moans, dangerously growing loud as he slowly devours you.

His lips then find their way to your neck and chest, leaving marks that will undoubtedly bloom dark once the morning comes. His hands come precariously lower to your thighs, opening the slits that cover little of it?/them?, deliciously displayed in plain sight.

Sylus feels himself drool in his mouth, eyes blown wide when he sees a pleasant surprise before him. 

A pretty little pair of black laced stockings that stops on your upper thigh, fat spilling against the tight garter that hugs around them, and if he goes further, he can see the peek of the black laced panties that he gifted to you as a set. 

He feels himself grow hotter by the thought of you wearing his pretty gift in secret, hidden beneath your red dress just for him to see and consume with every fiber of his soul. 

You feel both of his hands slide your dress wide open, your thighs on full display as he traces every detail of your lacy surprise. 

His lips meet your upper thigh as he tastes the remainder of the wasted champagne that was thrown (by him) on your dress earlier.

A happy accident if he says so himself.

“Never thought champagne would taste better against your skin, sweetie,” Sylus says as he laps on your exposed skin, slowly pulling on your stockings, the feeling of his tongue sliding against your thigh bringing shivers down your spine. The view beneath you is sinful, but if heaven even was real, you would like to think this was a blessing given to you on a silver platter.

Sylus, the big bad Onychinus leader is on his knees before you. It surely is a sight to see.

Once both of your stockings and heels are thrown elsewhere in the room, Sylus holds up your feet and starts putting back the Louboutins that he gifted you on your anniversary.

Confused and panting and with a mind clouded with lust, you question him, “Why are you putting them back?” He can clearly hear the whining of your voice, eagerly waiting for him to take you whole. But he holds back, he knows how frustrating it is to be waiting for this long. He knows that feeling too well, especially for the past few weeks.

So, who is he to deprive his lover of their needs?

He kisses your ankles once he puts your heels back on, “just thought you would look better in them,” he does not wait for your reply as you immediately felt the cold air hitting in between your thighs he pushes your dress wide open, making your clothed pussy put on full display before him.

Sylus feels himself drool once again, the vision before him absolutely makes him want to ravish you. Your panties ruined by the wetness pooling in between your thighs makes his mind go crazy, the tiny and intricate details of every lace ignored because he knows what's underneath them is what makes it even better.

And it’s who wears them that makes them enticing.

He feels himself gravitating towards you and you feel his breath against your core. Your thigh instinctively pushes close but Sylus’ large hands stop them before you do. His eyebrows raised, “you wouldn't want to deprive your lover of such a gift, would you, sweetie?” 

You shake your head vigorously, mind hazy with thoughts of him, as if to eagerly tell him, “Do whatever you want, I’m yours.”

He kisses your cunt before pulling your panties to the side, you feel him closer against you as he whispers, “This is my way of apologizing,” his lips touch your slit before lapping on your labia, the tip of his tongue brushing against your clit, the sensation shooting electricity through your body.

Fuck, it has been a while.

Like a man starved, deprived of any food for days, Sylus’ mouth works its wonders, burrowing his tongue in your depths as he flicks your clit. He ravishes you like you were his last meal, like it was his last day on earth.

His ears were red, he could feel his pants tightening even more every second that he busied himself in between your thighs. The sinful sounds of him slurping the wetness of your core along with your breathy moans ringing through the bathroom walls. 

It was all perfect until he realized that you were holding back your moans, being careful as to who might hear the sin that was going on behind the closed doors. With a last gentle kiss to your cunt, he looks up at you, eyes fogged with lust, lips glistening as clear liquid drips from his chin.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine at the empty feeling underneath you, impatiently urging Sylus to continue. You’d wince at how desperate you sound right now but you know he’s just the same.

“I want to hear you loud and clear, darling, can you do that for me?” Shame starts to fill you immediately, but thinking further, you feel yourself wanting the thrill of getting caught, the thought of people seeing you and your lover vulnerable whilst he gives you the pleasure you absolutely deserve. 

You nod as you feel your voice caught in your throat, “y-yes.”

“Atta girl,” he praises before ravaging your pussy once again, nipping at your clit as he immediately finds it, your nerves sparking with pleasure as he slithers his tongue underneath you, “always such a good girl just for me, aren’t you?”

His voice, muffled by the pleasure that you’re getting, but you nod anyway in a desperate attempt to answer him. You feel your senses getting foggy as you feel his hands roaming on your thighs as his mouth plays with your wetness, tongue skillfully sucking on your clit, making you see stars upon the dark sky.

Your breathy moans along with the ungodly sounds that Sylus makes under you harmonizing along the room, making a music only the both of you can find pleasure in. You then feel yourself bite back a groan as you feel the length of his finger entering your cunt, the delicious stretch it already gives you makes you wetter.

Heat rises on your face, the embarrassment of making such sounds coming from you almost covers up the gratification he gives you at the moment, “all of this just for me, kitten? I must show you my gratitude for giving me this generously,” Sylus hums against your pussy, the vibration reaching to your core making you let out a loud cry of desire. 

“That’s it, let me hear you out loud, sweetie,” he says as he gets back into eating you out. 

You feel him add another finger, and then another, preparing you for what’s about to come. 

You don’t have it in you to hold back anymore, shame be damned, you let yourself go and release every sound of pleasure that you felt every second his tongue gilded against your folds, together with his fingers thrusting inside you. 

“Sylus, hngh…close, p-please, hah,” you pant, every syllable comes out with a struggle, battling against the moans that come out of your mouth. 

“Hmmm…Can you hold it out for a lil’ while f’me, sweetheart?” your heart almost dropped when his honeyed voice asked for such a favor, but for him, you would.

You at least owe it to him.

“O-okay,” combined with your frantic nods, Sylus understood your consent.

You whine when you feel your cunt suddenly devoid of his digits, the empty feeling makes you sigh in frustration. 

“Was that a complaint I’m hearing?” you can hear the smile against his lips, one would think it would be out of teasing but both of you know he’s delighted that you want him as much as he wants you the moment.

Your labored breaths make it hard for you to bite back, a pathetic whimper escapes on your lips instead.

He tuts, “good things come to those who wait, angel, be patient,” Sylus coaxes you to relax as he stands up and starts to unbuckle his belt.

As he’s about to remove his trousers that seemingly have a wet patch around the crotch, he feels your hands against his.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” his breathy voice fans against your forehead, curious as to what you are up to.

You look up to meet his eyes, his orbs swimming in desire as he awaits for your response.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” the words came out of your mouth almost like a plea.

He has been making you feel good for a while now, you wanted to bring back the favor to him, make him feel the pleasure he gave you moments ago. Sylus has been very patient and very understanding, he was you beck and call, always around the corner to help you to whatever concerns you have. Surely, he deserves this little treat before the real thing, doesn’t he?

“I appreciate the thought, darling, really, but…” Sylus closes the space between you and you feel his hot breath beside your ear. 

“If I don’t get to take you right now, I’m gonna go crazy, hah—” he did not even get to finish his sentence completely as you feel him grinding the tent on his pants against your thighs, hopelessly trying to feel the little friction he craves.

“At least let me feel you first, please?” You make sure to elongate the last word, bringing your charm to the table, something Sylus could not deny even if he tried.

“Ngh— fine, you’re lucky you’re very adorable,” suppressing his desires and trying to give himself a little bit of patience, he rests his head on your shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest ragged as he waits for you.

You ran through your hands delicately against his trousers, gliding along the evident dick print as his cock aches to be let out. “Well, for someone who preaches patience, aren’t you excited?” you tease, feeling his dick twitch against your touch the moment he hears your sultry voice. 

A husky laugh escapes from his throat, “only you have that privilege.”

“Oh, do I?”

Before Sylus could even reply, he feels your hand squeeze his hard on, making him lose his balance and hold onto the bathroom tiles behind you. “Fuck, baby, be careful,” he can hardly retain his breathy moans as he feels your fingers dance against his leaking tip, staining his trousers even more.

“Fuck, all of this just for me?” You parrot his statement earlier, indulging and taking advantage of the smidgen of control he has given you.

Sylus lets out a groan and almost loses himself in the process, mind dizzy with the effect you had on him just by touching his clothed dick. “Shit, sweetheart, easy there, hah— I need you,” he nuzzles his head on your nape, feeling him place longing kisses along your neck and shoulders. 

Taking advantage of the distance, you bit on his ears and put a firm squeeze on his dick. 

“That’s it,” Sylus lost all control, devouring your lips against his all over again, each bite soothed with a lick, his tongue exploring the wet cavern of your mouth as his moans got muffled against yours. 

He feels your hands on his belt, taking it off as he hears the clinking of the metal thud against the tiled floor, falling together with his trousers. His boxers seemingly fell more victim in his precum by the second. With a beat, you take the last and the only clothing acting as a barrier between the both of you.

You hear Sylus hiss when he feels the cold air hitting his cock that has sprung against his abdomen. His tip glistened, evident of his arousal. 

Sylus breaks the kiss, a bridge of saliva forming between your “missed you so much.”

Letting out a playful scoff, you look at his hard on and back to him, “yeah, I can tell.”

Placing a chaste kiss on your lips, he looks into your eyes with concern, “you sure you can take me alreadyr? It’s been a while after all.”

Oh sweet, considerate Sylus, always putting your needs before his. 

“Yes, I am, Sylus, enough talking and just fuck me already.” You say with a light humor in your voice.

“Always a demanding and greedy kitten, huh? Fuck— always had the right to anyway,” placing a kiss on your cheek, Sylus lets himself go and lines his cock against your entrance, slapping his tip against your clit before finally entering you.

His cock stretched you out deliciously, the dull ache mixed with pleasure brings ecstasy to your brain, fogging up any logical thinking. 

“Ngh— Sylus, fuck, ‘s too big,” a whine leaves your lips  as you let yourself adjust to his girth, filling you up.

You realized how much you missed this, him. How he always puts your needs before him, making sure you’re well enough to take him fully.

“I know, baby,” Sylus coos, his hands running through your hair comforting you as he slowly lets his dick in inch by inch. “But you can do it, can you? You’ve taken me so well, haven’t you?” 

Dizzy in lust, you find yourself lost in words as you settle on a nod instead. “That’s my girl, s’good just for me, yeah?” 

His praise does things to you, you feel your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Fuck, baby stop clenching on me or I can’t go all the way,” Sylus struggles as he feels you clench on him, the pressure on his cock making it harder to control himself. “Just relax for me, darling… that’s it, uh huh, good girl.”

Sylus finally succeeds on slipping his cock in with the help of your wetness, ragged breaths leaving both of your lips, “You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Sylus,” your voice stern as you say his name.

“Yeah?”

“Just move and fuck me already,” you spat, eager to feel all of him.

“Hah— such a feisty little kitten,” a smirk formed on the corner of his lips, one you want to smack out of him.

“Fuck of– AH!” your fury has been cut short as you feel Sylus slam his cock into you.

“Hah— ah! Mngh— s-so good…” you feel your eyes go to the back of your head as Sylus thrashes himself into you at a delicious pace, not too fast, not too slow but enough to hit the spot that you’ve been aching to satisfy.

His dick brushes against your cervix delectably, your screams bouncing off the bathroom walls, rationality no longer present in your bones as you feel him go deeper inside of you.

“You feel so great, darling, always been, hah—” groans flow through his lips like music, harmonizing with the sounds that escape yours. 

Your thighs slapping against each other fill out the room, Sylus never misses a beat as he continuously rams himself, “missed you so fucking much, baby,” you feel his hands squeeze your thighs, one that would surely bloom bruises by the next day.

“Been waiting to feel you for days, mngh— you have no idea how much I’ve been holding back,” his hand traveled to clasp onto your neck, lightly squeezing the sides of it. The slight pressure intensing the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Then don’t— take me as you want, Sylus,” the confirmation from your lips is enough for him to go crazy. 

His rhythm hits your thighs, burning in delight as he makes his pace faster but never failing to hit your sweet spots. 

Sylus feels your nails rake against his shoulders. You hear him hiss, the sharp pain combines with his heightened desires to make you feel good.

“Sylus, ‘m so close, ngh— please,” you whine in between your moans, the knot on your core desperately wanting to be unleashed.

“I know, baby, shh, I know, but hold it f’me one more time,” Sylus tries to calm you down, his hands rubbing your thighs as he coaxes you.

Despite your pleas, you oblige anyway. You feel Sylus urge you to move and guide you in front of the mirror above the sink.

You see the fucked out state of your face but Sylus can tell that you’re glowing. The mascara smudged around your eyes, your red lipstick fading and smeared all around your mouth, the tear stains result from the pleasure he’s been giving, despite all of that, Sylus still finds you the prettiest when you’re like this.

“Look at you, darling,” Sylus gives your neck some attention, feeling his teeth lighty dig onto your skin and giving it some gentle lick. “You look good and taste good.”

You feel the zipper of your dress get undone, the top part loosening, “now that’s better,” you swear you hear Sylus purr when he sees your tits slightly bounce as he completely lowers down the top of your dress. You feel his warm and large hands hold onto your right breast, squeezing it ever so lightly.

“My pretty girl,” Sylus sighs against your ears as you feel him resume his previous movements.

Slowly, you see your tits bounce on the mirror as Sylus fucks you with even more fervor, his hands gripping against your waist and the other placed delicately on your next.

Your mouth hangs open as his thighs meet against your ass, the continuous slapping becoming louder with each thrust as he goes. You arch your back as your head tilts up with the intense pleasure, “mngh— more, p-please,” you whimper, eyes rolled back to your head once again as you feel him full inside of you.

You feel Sylus’ hot breath beside you, words incoherent in his mouth as he tends to your needs. His teeth clench as he rams inside of you. 

He’s close.

“Hah— baby, ‘m close please mngh—” you wail as you feel your release coming.

“Fuck! I’m close as well, darling, come with me, yeah?” His words are met with desperate whines and a frantic nod.

He was almost about to let himself go when he heard you.

“Cum inside of me, please, hah—” you plead, desperate to feel him fill you up.

Sylus feels himself getting more heated, delighted to hear you wanting to take his seed.

“What my lady wants, my lady gets,” he says as he slams inside your puffy pussy for the last time, “make sure to take each drop, yeah, sweetheart?”

You feel his cock twitch inside you, pumping you full of his seed. You squeal against as you reach your own high, breaths unsteady as he fucks the remains of his release inside of you, while both of your essence drip on your thighs.

“You take me so well, darling,” he says once he eases with his breathing, placing a sweet kiss on your cheeks. “I love you,” he declares as he snuggles his head on your nape with a sigh of relief as he slips his cock out.

You delicately hold his chin up to your face and give his lips a peck, “I love you, too,” your eyes shine as a smile etched to your lips.

“But next time you miss me, do it in private,” you jest.

Sylus pretends to ponder and shrugs, “not promising anything, though,” you smack his arm as he lets out a boyish laugh, “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Sylus helps you clean up, tissues thrown onto the trash as helps you with your dress.

Zipping you up, he hears you yawn, “‘m sleepy,” you say as he sees your eyes drooping, fighting off the drowsiness.

Not missing a beat, Sylus carries you bridal style before opening the bathroom door. “Close your eyes, I’ll wake you up once we’re finally home,” without a protest, you drift into slumber, your head snuggling against his chest as you let out quiet snores.

Sylus looks at you with stars in his eyes, his lips forming into a smile before kissing your forehead and stepping out.

Not even ten steps in, Sylus is met by one of his bodyguards, face red. Obviously aware of the activities the both of you have engaged in a while ago.

“Sir,” his bodyguard bows, “anything you need?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Keys,” one word is enough for the guard to understand him.

Handing out his car keys, the bodyguard bows as Sylus strides towards the parking lot.

The ride back home was quiet, your snores acting like white noise as he drove back to the base. It was mundane, driving you both home to enjoy yourselves and rest under the roof of his luxurious home, but it was one of the things that he enjoys indulging with you.

His life was nothing but rough: constantly dealing with enemies, and the danger that comes when you live in the N109 zone, but when he met you, when you came back to his life once again, you were that one constant that keeps lighting up his world.

You were the only comfort he knew, building a home in a place full of violence, one he never fathoms having when he’s used to being ferocious, bringing fear along his presence to his enemies’ system and making them crumble to their knees.

You were the only source of solemnity that he knew and he would not dare to imagine you being ripped apart from him. 

Placing you on his king-sized bed and changing you into the pajamas that you left in his place, he placed a longing kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering there as he inhales your scent.

One day, maybe he would be able to proudly boast to the world how happy he is to have you back in his life without repercussions. 

But now is not the time, not when your life is in constant jeopardy, not when he’s technically a fugitive on the run. For now, he’s content in indulging you in the privacy of your shared home (or sometimes in public).

Sylus would make the world a safe place for you first, come hell or high water, he would ruin each obstacle that comes to your relationship and finally, finally, he could be as loud as he wants.

He’s never letting you go again.

—

dividers from @/cafekitsune