#Dick:… I feel like I’m missing something here

[songbirdseung]

𝑫𝑶𝑵𝑻  𝑫𝑶  𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺  2 part one, read here~ Sunghoon tries, really tries, but you're already gone in every way that counts. taglist: @daisyintherainsposts @enpshgirlyy0812 @maewphoria

His eyes dropped to the bag again, and for a second, you saw the panic. The realization that this wasn't a bluff. You weren’t trying to make a point. You weren’t being dramatic.

You were leaving.

“Wait,” he breathed, stepping closer until he was just a few feet from you, hands outstretched like he was afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. “Please. Just… wait a second. Talk to me.”

You held his gaze, jaw clenched. “I’ve been talking, Sunghoon. For weeks. You just weren’t listening.”

“I’m listening now,” he said, voice almost breaking. “I swear, I’m listening now. Just give me a chance.”

You shook your head slowly. “I gave you a thousand.”

He stepped closer again. “Y/n, baby”

“Don’t call me that.”

He stopped in his tracks. You saw the way it hit him, like a cold splash of water across the face. His hands dropped to his sides, useless. Like he suddenly didn’t know how to reach you anymore.

“I can fix this,” he said, softer this time. “I know I’ve been a dick. I know I’ve pushed you away. But I didn’t think it would come to this. I didn’t think you’d actually-”

“Because you thought I’d always stay,” you cut in, voice trembling. “Didn’t you?”

He blinked, once. Then again.

You grabbed the duffel and hoisted it over your shoulder. Heavy. But not as heavy as the silence between you.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, looking down at your feet, “but I can’t keep hurting myself for someone who doesn’t see me anymore.”

Sunghoon moved in front of the door before you could reach it, body blocking your path like that would be enough. His voice cracked when he said, “Y/n, don’t walk away. Not like this.”

“I already did,” you said, stepping around him.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t grab your wrist. He didn’t beg, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew.

If he touched you now, you’d break apart.

You walked to the front door, your hand on the knob. You glanced over your shoulder one last time.

He was standing in the hallway, eyes wide, arms limp at his sides. Small. Quiet.

“Goodbye, Sunghoon.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that, he was alone. Again.

This time, for real.

Sunghoon stood there, frozen, staring at the door like it might open again if he waited long enough. Like maybe you’d come back, say you didn’t mean it, say you were just testing him. He even counted the seconds in his head, just to give you time.

Five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Still nothing.

His legs finally gave out, and he sank to the floor right there in the hallway, back sliding down the wall until he was sitting with his knees drawn up, head in his hands.

He didn’t cry. Not right away. He never cried. But there was this strange, unfamiliar pressure in his chest, building fast like grief with no funeral. Like watching something die without ever getting to say goodbye properly.

The apartment felt too quiet.

Too clean.

Your shoes were gone from the entryway. That sweater you always left on the couch wasn’t draped over the back anymore. Your scent was already fading from the air.

And it hit him all at once:

She’s really gone.

He let out a shaky breath and ran both hands over his face, his hair, like he was trying to physically shake off the reality of it.

Then came the flood.

Every moment. Every conversation. Every soft “I love you” he brushed off too casually. Every night you curled into his side and he stayed quiet instead of saying he missed you too. Every time you asked, “Are we okay?” and he shrugged.

He thought you’d never leave. He was so sure of it. So used to you being the one to reach out first. To fix it. To care enough for the both of you.

But you weren’t coming back this time. He could feel it.

He got up suddenly, like something was choking him. Stormed into the bedroom and yanked open the closet.

Your side now empty.

Drawers? Half full. Your favorite hoodie? Gone.

He opened the nightstand and found one of your earrings, the cheap little star-shaped one you always wore on lazy days. He stared at it in his palm for a long time, lips parted like he wanted to say something out loud but what? Please come back? I didn’t mean it? I love you?

Instead, he slammed the drawer shut and threw the earring across the room.

It hit the wall and bounced onto the floor with a hollow little sound that made his chest ache even more.

He paced the room like an animal. No destination. No thought process. Just raw, frantic motion. He grabbed his phone. Opened your messages. You were still at the top.

He typed something “Come back. I’m sorry. Please.” and stared at the blinking cursor.

Then he deleted it.

Typed again: “I didn’t mean it. I was scared. I miss you.”

Deleted that too.

What was the point? Words hadn’t worked when you were here. Why would they fix anything now?

He sank onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The silence was deafening now, not peaceful. It pressed against his ears, his lungs, his chest.

He didn’t cry. Not yet.

But he felt hollow. Like something important had been scooped out of him, and now he was just sitting in the shell of the life he used to have, back when he had you.

And for the first time in a long, long time… Sunghoon was scared.

Because this wasn’t a fight.

This was the ending.

[jikookncity]

Haechan x Reader (Academic Rivals/smut))

WC: 3k, lollipop sharing, reader slaps hc and he loves it, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, etc.

Haechan and Y/n are academic rivals but is the tension something more?

Y/N always arrived five minutes early to class, color-coded notes neatly stacked, highlighters arranged by shade. She paid attention. She cared.

Haechan? Haechan strolled in fifteen minutes late, sipping iced coffee with extra vanilla and no apology, sunglasses still on, hair a mess like he rolled out of someone’s bed. He wore smugness like cologne.

What made it worse?

He was smarter than her.

No matter how hard she studied, no matter how deep she annotated every lecture, he still walked out with the highest grade in the class. Barely tried, barely blinked, and it drove her insane.

“You know,” she said one afternoon, slamming her textbook shut as he leaned against her table in the library, “you could actually study once in a while. Maybe put that brain of yours to use.”

He grinned lazily. “I do. Just not in ways you approve of, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You act like one.”

She stood, chest to chest with him, eyes blazing. “You’re a cocky, lazy, entitled—”

“Hot,” he supplied.

She bristled. “—bastard.”

He leaned in, lips inches from hers. “You forgot irresistible.”

She shoved past him with a huff, missing the way his eyes dropped to her hips as she stormed off.

Unfortunately being the two brightest in the class meant spending lots of time together, as the professors often thought they'd get along great on their projects.

“I’m sorry, was that your answer?” Haechan said with mock surprise, spinning in his chair to face Y/N in their shared study group. “I just assumed no one else would get that wrong.”

Y/N didn’t even flinch. She calmly lifted her highlighter, capped it, and set it down with exaggerated care before looking up at him.

“I’d rather get it wrong than cruise through life on raw talent and unchecked narcissism.”

“Ouch,” he grinned, shameless and lazy. “Tell me how you really feel, princess.”

“I hate you,” she snapped, voice tight with annoyance — and something else. Something electric.

“You sure?” he murmured, tilting his head, eyes flicking down to her lips. “Because you look at me like you want to ride me until I shut up.”

Her highlighter slipped out of her hand.

The rest of the group barely noticed, too busy whispering about the next quiz. Y/N glared daggers at him, cheeks warming. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re obsessed with me,” he replied smoothly, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand, like she was his personal entertainment. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you always trying to outscore me. It’s cute.”

She turned away, jaw tight. “It’s called ambition. Not everything’s about you.”

Haechan gave her a dazzling grin. "Sure it is princess. Sure it is."

A few days later, it happened again — she beat everyone in the econ quiz. Everyone except Haechan, who sauntered into class fifteen minutes late with a hickey on his neck.

Still got a perfect score.

She wanted to scream.

“I swear, one day your dick is gonna fall off from overuse,” she muttered as he slid into the seat next to her.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured back, voice low. “Still talking about it.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “You’re a goddamn menace.”

“Correction: I’m your competition. And your type.”

“Get over yourself.”

“Never,” he said with a wink. “Not until you’re underneath me begging me to do exactly what you pretend you don’t want.”

She kicked his shin under the desk.

He only smiled wider.

"Careful princess. Might need to bring you down from your high horse."

And now — it was all catching up with her.

Every smirk, every whispered insult, every filthy threat Haechan had ever purred in her ear was clanging in her head like a warning bell.

Y/n was at one of the frats college party's to unwind a bit after her countless hours of studying.

She was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, sucking on a red lollipop and pretending not to care. But her skin was hot. Her thighs were tense. Her nerves were a live wire.

And she felt him before she saw him — that heat, that presence.

“You love sucking on things, don’t you?” he said from behind her, voice like silk, amusement dripping from every syllable.

She didn’t flinch this time. “It keeps my mouth busy so I don’t scream at you.”

His breath ghosted against her neck as he stepped closer. “Baby, if you’re gonna scream, I’d prefer it be because I’m buried in you.”

She turned slowly, the lollipop still in her mouth, meeting his eyes.

And he grinned — cocky, confident, dangerous.

“You came all dressed up just for me, didn’t you?” he said, eyeing her legs. “Tight skirt, little heels, sucking on candy like you’re begging for my attention.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t have to,” he said. “You’ve been doing it for me. Every fight, every glare, every time you bite your lip after calling me a dick — you’re desperate for me to ruin you.”

She froze. Her mouth opened — but he was already reaching for the lollipop, fingers brushing her lips.

“Let me,” he whispered, and pulled it from her mouth.

Then he popped it into his own, his lips closing around it with a sinful hum, never breaking eye contact.

“You wanna know what I think about every time we argue?” he said, voice dark and soft, body now inches from hers. “You. On your knees. My belt around your wrists. My cock in your mouth while you glare up at me like you still have some kind of power.”

She was shaking now — with rage, with arousal, with want.

And he leaned in, nose brushing hers.

“Go ahead, Y/N. Fight me. I dare you.”

Her hand moved before she even thought.

CRACK.

The slap echoed through the kitchen, silencing everything for one impossible second.

Haechan’s head snapped to the side. His cheek turned red. Y/N stood there, chest heaving, hand still raised, heart thundering like she’d just jumped off a cliff.

She expected him to yell. Laugh. Walk away.

But he did none of that.

Instead, Haechan turned back to her with a slow, stunned smile — his bottom lip split just a little from the force of her palm. His eyes glinted, half-wild with something unhinged and hungry.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice a little breathless. “You really are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And then he lunged.

His mouth crashed into hers, tongue shoving past her lips, filthy and unrelenting. He kissed like he fought — with heat and fury and zero restraint. Y/N barely had time to breathe, let alone think, before his hands were yanking her skirt up, pushing her back against the counter, spreading her thighs just enough to grind the heel of his palm against the soaked fabric of her panties.

“You feel that?” he growled into her mouth, teeth grazing her lip. “All this fighting — you’re dripping for me, sweetheart.”

She gasped, hips jerking as he pressed harder, rubbing tight, teasing circles over her clothed clit. The friction was maddening — just enough to make her whimper, not enough to push her over the edge.

He reached for the lollipop — his lollipop now — and shoved it between her lips, holding her jaw tight.

“Open up. Be a good girl.”

And when she did — whether from shock, want, or pure defiance — he shoved it deeper, making her gag around it. She choked, spit pooling at the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah,” he grunted, eyes dark with lust, “that’s how I wanna see you. Mouth stuffed, eyes wide, all that attitude shut the fuck down.”

Then he pulled it out, tossed it across the room, and grabbed her face in both hands to kiss her again — rough, messy, teeth and tongue and filth. His fingers never stopped moving under her skirt, pressing, stroking, dragging her higher and higher until her knees nearly buckled.

She clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, pulling his curls, cursing into his mouth. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t sweet.

It was war.

And when she finally came — hot and sudden, her thighs trembling around his hand — he swallowed her moan like he’d been starving for it.

They stood there after, both panting, lips bruised, her skirt still hiked up and his hand slick between her legs. His fingers moved to his mouth — one by one — sucking her release from his skin like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop.

Y/N dragged in a breath. Her voice shook as she said, “This… this doesn’t mean anything.”

Haechan just gave her that same lazy, infuriating smirk, licking the last drop from his thumb.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said. “Whatever helps you sleep tonight.”

And then he turned and walked out, leaving her flushed, ruined, and absolutely furious.

Because she knew he was right.

A few days later — on campus

It was supposed to be a chill afternoon. The sun was out, students were sprawled across the quad, midterm results had just been posted. But of course, Y/N’s peace didn’t last more than five minutes before he showed up.

“Top of the class again,” Haechan said behind her, holding an iced coffee like he hadn’t just steamrolled her GPA again. “I’m starting to feel bad for you, babe. You’re trying so hard.”

She turned slowly, eyes narrow, temper already bubbling. “Maybe if you spent less time sleeping around and more time studying, I wouldn’t have to try so hard.”

He sipped his drink. “Sweetheart, I finished the exam thirty minutes early and still scored higher than you. I think your anger’s misdirected. Maybe what you really need is—”

“Your dick isn’t even big enough to be this cocky.”

Silence.

Haechan blinked once, the smirk slipping off his face for the first time in weeks.

Then something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

“Oh,” he said, stepping in close, voice low. “You sure you wanna find out?”

She didn’t back down. “I’ve seen your type. All mouth, no—”

Before she could finish, his hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked. Not hard, not painful — but firm, and fast. No one saw. Everyone else was distracted.

He dragged her behind the sports field, down the concrete path, and shoved her under the bleachers. The metal creaked overhead, voices echoing faintly in the distance. It was semi-secluded, enough to hide. Enough to sin.

“What the hell—”

“You wanna talk shit?” Haechan hissed, his voice hot against her ear. “Let’s test your theory, princess.”

Before she could respond, he’d already unzipped his jeans.

She froze.

Because holy shit, he wasn’t bluffing. He was big. Thick, veiny, heavy in his hand, already hard and flushed at the tip.

Her throat went dry.

“What?” he said, grinning like the devil. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you finally realizing how wrong you were?”

She hated herself for how fast she dropped to her knees.

The moment her lips brushed his tip, Haechan let out a groan — deep and filthy. She wrapped her mouth around him, sinking down until the weight of him pressed at the back of her throat, gagging almost instantly.

“Fuck,” he gasped, one hand gripping the back of her head, the other holding his shirt up as he watched with hazy eyes. “That’s it. Look at you. So cocky until you’ve got a real one down your throat.”

She pulled back, spit and drool already dripping down her chin, catching her breath before taking him deeper. Sloppier. Hungrier. Her hands clutched his thighs for balance, eyes watering as she gagged around him again.

“Messy little mouth,” he hissed, hips rocking slowly. “Drool everywhere. Just like I imagined. You like this, huh? Getting used like a toy.”

She whimpered around him, the vibration making him curse. Her spit slicked everything — chin, lips, fingers — and every time he hit the back of her throat, she choked, spit bubbling up and dripping onto her shirt.

He looked down at her like he was worshipping her — or maybe breaking her.

“Say it,” he groaned, guiding her rhythm. “Say I’ve got the biggest cock you’ve ever choked on.”

She pulled back with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to him.

“You talk too much,” she panted. “Let me work.”

He laughed. Dark and wrecked.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be like this. All bark in public, all mouth in private.”

She took him again, deeper than before, until he twitched and gasped and grabbed her tighter, bucking slightly into her mouth.

When he came, it was with a shudder and a hiss of her name, and she swallowed it all — messy and unashamed, licking her lips as she sat back on her heels, panting.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, adjusted her skirt, and gave him a look like she hadn't just gagged on his cock under the bleachers like her life depended on it.

Totally unfazed. Maddeningly nonchalant.

“Well,” Y/N said, rolling her shoulders back with a little smirk. “I’ve had worse.”

Haechan froze mid-zip.

His jaw ticked. His fingers twitched.

And then, as she turned and walked off like she hadn’t just wrecked him in every possible way, he let out a low, stunned breath. His head thunked back against the metal beam behind him, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“…I’m gonna marry that woman,” he muttered to himself, still a little dazed, still trying to catch his breath.

Not that he’d tell her that.

Yet.

Ever since she said it — that one devastating line — “I’ve had worse” — Haechan hadn’t been the same.

It haunted him. Mocked him. Played on a loop in his brain every time he closed his eyes. She said it like she wasn’t impressed, like she hadn’t just drooled all over herself for him under the bleachers.

Like she could take it or leave it.

And now? She was walking around campus with that casual little sway in her hips, all skirts and smug glances, like she owned him.

Because maybe, just maybe… she did.

“Still staring, Donghyuck?” she said one day, catching him mid-glare across the student café. “You know it’s creepy if you don’t blink.”

He gritted his teeth. “You’ve got a lot of mouth for someone who choked so pretty for me.”

She just smiled sweetly and sipped her iced coffee. “It’s not that hard to fake it.”

Boom.

He nearly short-circuited.

From that moment on, Haechan was obsessed. He flirted harder, leaned in closer, let his hands linger too long on her waist when they passed each other in the hallway. He sat next to her in every class, sent texts at 2 a.m., tried every trick in the book.

Nothing worked.

Every time he tried to fluster her, she just raised an eyebrow and dismissed him like he was some eager freshman who didn’t know how to kiss.

He was spiraling. Down. Bad.

And then came today.

They were in the music department hallway, empty between classes, the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows in sharp golden beams. She made some snide comment about how he only got good grades because professors liked his “face and flexible morals.”

That was the last straw.

Haechan’s laugh came out sharp, unhinged. He grinned like he’d finally snapped.

“You think you’re cute, huh?” he said, stalking toward her slowly, eyes blazing.

Y/N leaned against the wall, utterly unfazed. “No. I know I am.”

And that’s when he grabbed her — not roughly, but urgently — dragging her down the corridor into an empty hallway tucked between practice rooms. Before she could say another word, he was on her.

His tongue shoved into her mouth in a kiss so dirty, so possessive, it made her knees buckle. He kissed like he was trying to stake a claim, like he could tongue that smugness out of her. She kissed him back with the same fire — biting, teasing, smug as hell.

“I hate you,” she whispered against his lips.

“Yeah?” he panted. “You’re about to hate me harder.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

Right there, in the middle of the hallway, without warning.

He shoved her skirt up around her hips, yanked her panties down just enough, and buried his face between her thighs like a man starved. No hesitation. No teasing. Just messy, determined, tongue-deep devotion.

She gasped, one hand flying to grip the windowsill behind her for balance.

He groaned against her, lapping and sucking like she held the answer to all his problems between her legs.

“Still think I’m forgettable?” he muttered between licks, dragging his tongue up her slit, lips wrapping around her clit with a filthy pop. “Still think you’ve had better?”

Y/N was panting now, hips grinding against his mouth as his tongue fucked into her. Her legs trembled, her hand found his hair, yanking just enough to make him groan — the vibrations shooting straight through her.

“Say it again,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Say I’m not the best you’ve ever had. Say it with my tongue inside you.”

She didn’t.

Couldn’t.

She was already falling apart.

And when she came, shuddering against his mouth, he moaned like it was him getting off — like he needed to taste every second of it.

When he finally stood, lips shiny, hair wild, he leaned in close, mouth brushing her ear.

“Next time you say some shit like that,” he whispered, “I’ll have you bent over the piano bench.”

Y/N caught her breath, fixed her skirt, and met his wild eyes with a wicked little smile.

“Better be tuned, then.”

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[wongyuseokie]

Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g

Chapter 5: Forever Bonsai 'ed & Epilogue

Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut

Word Count: 7782

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!. 

Content Warnings: lots of emotions yn being a sad sap but its very much warranted, its soft actually lots of growing up. yn’s parents are the best and wonu is being a snappy little shit, bonsai’s ig are some sort of hazardous plant in this story, very wholesome and soft moments between the two. tension between wonwoo and yn and not the good kind but it heals over time.  Smut Warnings: mingyu being a horndog but who can blame him, they both are horndogs, unprotected sex, very longing and deep sex idk? praise, and big dick! mingyu because ofc. slight edging, soft aftercare, cumming inside, oral sex (female recieving) cum licking. fingering.  Author's Note 1: I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the lovely people who helped beta this monster of a story. thank you @lovetaroandtaemin @nebulousbrainsoup @strxwberry-skiess for your patience time and love thank you guys so much!! Author's Note 2: welp and with that! this series is done, thank you all so much to those who read, and gave me feedback, or yelled all of it was so appreciated, what a beautiful way to end my time here on tumblr, thank you all so much 🩷 🩷 🩷 🩷 🩷 🩷 (don't worry I'll still come here time to time maybe reblog gifs or something, but as for writing, I'm closing that book for now--see what i did there? HAHAH) Series Masterlist

The following morning, you wake up tangled in your sheets, the weight of everything sitting heavy in your chest. The apartment is too quiet, but your thoughts are louder than ever. Last night plays in loops—every word, every silence, every look that said too much and not enough.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your face. Your eyes sting. The air feels too still.

Without thinking too hard, you start packing a small overnight bag. Just a few essentials. A charger. Your journal. Something that smells like home.

It’s not an escape. It’s a pause.

You lock the door behind you and exhale, hoping it’s the first breath of many that finally feels clear.

When you finally emerged from your room, Joshua and Wonwoo were at the kitchen table, finishing breakfast. Joshua looked surprised to see you up and about. “Hey. Where are you going?”

You hesitated, shifting the duffle bag on your shoulder. “Home. To my parents’ place.”

Joshua’s brows knitted together. “Wait, for good?”

You shook your head. “Just for a while. I need some space... to think.”

Wonwoo glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Running away from your problems? Smart,” he muttered.

Joshua shot him a warning glare. “Wonwoo.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m not running away. I just... I miss them. I think I need a break from the city. From... everything.”

Joshua’s face softened. “How long will you be gone?”

You shrugged. “A couple of weeks, maybe. I have some annual leave saved up. I’ll figure it out.”

Joshua looked like he wanted to offer you a ride, but you shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll take a cab to the station.”

As you reached the door, Joshua suddenly pulled you into a tight hug. “Text us when you get there?”

You nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, I will.”

Wonwoo remained in his seat, his jaw clenched. “Not me. I couldn’t care less.”

The sting of his words made you wince, but you just nodded and slipped out the door before your emotions could betray you.

~~ 

As you waited in the lobby for your cab, tapping aimlessly on your phone screen, you heard someone behind you.

“Y/N?”

You turned—and of course, Mingyu. Tall, messy-haired, slightly out of breath like he’d rushed to catch you.

Why was everyone awake and functioning on a Sunday morning?

“Where are you going?” He asked, eyes narrowing at your bag.

“Uh… home.” You gave a small shrug.

“Wait—for good?”

You shook your head. “No. Just for a while.”

He looked at you for a long beat. “Why?”

You hesitated. “I think… I just need to get out of everyone’s way for a bit. I’ve been making a mess of things.”

Mingyu frowned. “Did something happen with the guys?”

“No. It’s not them. It’s me.” You pressed your lips together. “I’ve been a bit of a baby. I just… keep screwing things up and then wondering why no one’s patient.”

“That’s not true,” Mingyu said quietly. “You just... have a habit of realising things when it’s already too late.”

You nodded, eyes stinging.

“How are you?” You asked, just to change the subject.

“I’ve been better.” He smiled faintly. “But I’ve also been worse.”

“Can’t get a cab,” you said, staring at your phone.

“I’ll drop you.”

“Mingyu, you don’t have to—”

“Let me. It’d make me feel better knowing you got to the station okay.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating. “Can I blackmail you with the fact that you’ve broken my heart twice now?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You didn’t say anything else as he drove, except for the occasional sniffle that betrayed you.

“Is it cold?” He asked gently.

You shook your head.

“When’s your train?”

“1:30.”

“Perfect.” He pulled over and turned to look at you. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You didn’t.

“I know you’re crying.”

You finally glanced his way.

“You look like Rudolph,” he said, reaching up to wipe at your cheek. “You really want your parents thinking I’m the one who made you cry?”

You cracked the smallest smile. “They’d believe it.”

“Y/N,” he said again, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to apologise for everything.”

“But I should,” you whispered. “The bonsai, the article, the whole ‘I love you—wait, never mind’ thing.”

“I’m not mad,” Mingyu said, squeezing your hand. “A little hurt? Yeah. But it’ll pass.”

You didn’t trust yourself to answer, so you just nodded.

He parked the car and got out before you could argue, grabbing your bag and walking ahead like it was just the natural next step. You followed silently, letting him lead you to the platform.

“Lovely couple,” an old lady said as she passed, her voice kind and lilting.

“Thank you,” Mingyu answered automatically.

You blinked at him. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

He shrugged. “She seemed happy thinking that. Why ruin it?”

You were quiet for a moment. “You know she’s right, though. I will see you again.”

“Then stop crying so much.”

You smiled, even through the new wave of tears. “I’m glad I’m crying here. It’s poetic.”

He laughed, hand slipping into yours.

“I’ll pick you up from here when you’re ready,” he said. “Just let me know.”

You bit your lip. “Can I ask you for something selfish?”

“Anything.”

“Can you stay with me? Just until the train comes?”

“I wasn’t going to leave.”

You leaned into his side, letting his arm curl around you. The silence was warm this time.

“You’re not running again, right?” He murmured.

You tilted your head. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

“Maybe.” His thumb stroked your shoulder gently. “But it would suck.”

“Do I make you miserable?”

He didn’t answer, just held you closer. That was enough.

When the train pulled in, you stood, and he helped you with your bag. Before you could climb on, he peeled off his hoodie and placed it in your hands.

“You’ll freeze,” you said.

“My car’s right there. I have extras.”

“Why give me this one?”

“So you’ll come back.”

“I would’ve come back anyway.”

“I needed the insurance.”

You grinned.

“Sir, we need passengers who aren’t travelling to disembark in the next two minutes.”

Mingyu lingered.

“Text me when you get there,” he said. “I can pick you up. Or bring you back. Or both.”

You nodded.

“Y/N?” He said again, quieter this time.

“Yeah?”

He pulled you in for a quick kiss. “Take care, okay?”

Another kiss. One more.

Then he was gone, walking back to the platform with his hands in his pockets and a look on his face like he was holding it all together with string.

You boarded the train.

His hoodie smelled like laundry detergent and cedarwood. You wrapped yourself in it, closed your eyes, and let the city roll away behind you.

You were going home, for now. But it didn’t feel like running this time. Just a breather.

And maybe that was enough.

~~

You didn’t even realise how badly you needed to be home until you were wrapped in your mother’s arms. The second she opened the door, all the strength you had been trying to muster crumbled into a flood of tears. Your mother held you tightly, whispering reassurances even though she had no idea why you were crying.

You buried your face into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender from her cardigan. “I missed you,” you choked out, voice muffled.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Come inside. You’ll feel better once you’re settled,” she cooed, guiding you through the threshold.

As you made your way to your room, you caught sight of your dad, hunched over the dining table, scribbling into his crossword book. “Hi, stranger,” you called out, voice strained but attempting cheerfulness.

Your father looked up, eyes widening. “Y/N!” He jumped to his feet, wrapping you in a bear hug. “Who do I need to beat up for making my daughter cry?”

You couldn’t help but laugh through the tears. “No one, Dad. I just... I missed you guys.”

Your parents exchanged a look — one of those silent conversations that couples seemed to master after years together. Your mother nodded knowingly. “Go freshen up, honey. We’ll have some food and something to drink ready for you when you’re done.”

You nodded, grateful for the space to collect yourself. As you headed down the hall to your old room, the memories hit you like a tidal wave — the posters you never took down, the bookshelf crammed with your favorite stories, and the cozy quilt your grandmother made. You sat on the edge of your bed, breathing in the nostalgia, letting it ground you.

After a long, hot shower, you felt marginally better. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you saw Mingyu’s name on the screen. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, towelling off your hair.

“Uh, hi. You never said if you got there okay,” Mingyu’s voice was cautious, unsure.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sorry. I got here fine. Just... cried a lot when I saw them. I guess I didn’t realise how much I needed to see my parents.”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” Mingyu murmured. There was a pause, and you could almost hear him trying to figure out what to say next. “Cool. Um, I should go. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Before you could respond, the line went dead. You stared at the phone, fighting the ache in your chest.

Later that evening, after dinner, your parents sat with you in the living room, sipping on glasses of wine. Your father nudged the bottle closer to you, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you could use this.”

You gave a weak smile, pouring yourself a glass. You took a sip, savouring the comforting burn. “It’s my fault. I messed up. I acted like an idiot,” you admitted.

Your dad shook his head. “I didn’t raise an idiot. Stop calling yourself that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t even know what happened yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. Doesn’t mean you’re an idiot. Just means you’re human.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

You ended up telling them everything — from the article experiment to the fallout with Mingyu, and how your insecurities had led you to pull back when he said he was ready to love you. You left out the more intimate details, of course, but you could see the concern etched into your parents’ faces as you talked.

Your mom gave you a pointed look. “So why did you say you didn’t love him?”

You hesitated, swirling the wine in your glass. “Because I don’t. I mean... I’m not sure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sweetie, you love him. You may not know it yet, but you do. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have worked so hard to make it happen. You wouldn’t be sitting here, crying over him.”

Your father chimed in, his tone gentler than before. “Love doesn’t always hit you like a train, kiddo. Sometimes it creeps up on you. Just because you don’t have all the answers right now doesn’t mean you’re wrong to feel what you feel.”

You sniffed, wiping at your eyes. “Wonwoo said I’m someone who can’t take accountability. He said it’s hard to be my friend sometimes.”

Your dad’s expression softened. “It’s not easy, learning how to face your own mistakes. But the fact that you’re here, reflecting on it, means you’re trying. You’ve always been sincere when it comes to fixing what you break.”

You took a shaky breath, finally admitting, “I’m just scared. Of ruining things even more. Of hurting him. I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your mother placed a gentle hand on yours. “Take your time. Don’t rush it. Sometimes the best way to make amends is to give each other space to breathe. He cares about you — that much is obvious. But you can’t force him to forgive you. You can only be honest with him when the time comes.”

You stayed with your parents for a little over a week, letting the comfort of home wrap around you like a warm blanket. You started writing again, not an article to impress anyone, but one that was true to your own story — one that was raw and honest. You didn’t hide behind metaphors or clever phrasing. You just wrote how you felt — about Mingyu, about your mistakes, and about what it meant to be vulnerable enough to love someone.

Your dad caught you writing at the dining table one morning and smiled. “Looks like my writer’s back.”

You gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I think I’m ready to face everything now.”

~~

The suitcase clicked shut with a finality that felt heavier than it should have. You stood still for a second, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, just listening to the quiet hum of the house.

“You packed the snacks I gave you, right?” Your mom called from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mom,” you said, smiling softly as you stepped into the doorway.

Your father looked up from the newspaper. “Train’s in an hour. You want me to drive you?”

You shook your head. “I’ll cab it. I think I need the ride to... breathe a little.”

They both came to the door to hug you goodbye. Warm, lingering squeezes that told you without words that you were always welcome to run back, no matter how old you got.

“Text us when you reach,” your mom whispered against your cheek.

You nodded, throat too tight to answer.

By the time you were standing at the platform, duffel slung over your shoulder and your coat pulled tight around you, the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted—but your spine had straightened.

Tucked under your arm, nestled carefully beside your bag, was a tiny bonsai you’d picked up from a roadside nursery near your parents’ place. You figured if you were going to start over with Mingyu, it might as well be with a little on-the-nose symbolism.

You were going back. To Seoul. To the mess. To the people you loved and sometimes hated and often didn’t understand.

You didn’t know what you’d say when you saw Mingyu.

But you were done running.

You just had to show up.

~~

When you arrived at Seoul station, you barely had time to take a breath before someone startled you from behind.

“Boo!”

You jumped, dropping the plant in your hand, and watched in horror as it landed directly on Mingyu’s foot.

He yelped, hopping on one leg. “Seriously? Bonsai assault, part two?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tears pricking your eyes. “Sorry, sorry!”

Mingyu leaned down, picking up the poor, slightly cracked plant. “You have a knack for using these as weapons.”

You smiled, wiping at your eyes. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Of what? That you want to break my toes?”

“No,” you murmured, stepping closer. “That I’m always going to find a way back to you.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened, his hand gently brushing yours. “Yeah? I could live with that.”

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Mingyu asked, falling into step beside you as you both emerged from the station.

You shook your head, tugging your cardigan tighter around you. “Actually… I was thinking of just heading home. Kinda exhausted.”

He nodded, matching your pace. “Home-home or apartment-home?”

You looked up at him. “The latter.”

Mingyu grinned. “Cool. Mind if I tag along? I’m in the mood for comfort films and questionable snack choices.”

You smirked. “I was literally about to say Disney and popcorn.”

“Well then,” he said, mock-bowing as he opened the car door, “a perfect gentleman shall escort you.”

~~

“Shua?” you called as you stepped inside the apartment, slipping your shoes off. Mingyu trailed behind you, grocery bag in hand.

He glanced around. “No one’s home?”

You poked your head into the hallway. “Double date night for them. Joshua left a note.”

Mingyu’s answering grin was all teeth. “Thank fuck.”

Before you could respond, his arms were around your thighs, lifting you off the ground with ease.

“Mingyu!” you squealed, half-laughing as he carried you toward your bedroom.

“Don’t act surprised,” he said, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. “You know I’ve been thinking about this since the train.”

He sat down on the bed with you in his lap, one hand on your waist, the other already cradling the back of your neck as he kissed you, slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

You kissed him back, melting into his hold as his hands slipped under the hoodie you were still wearing. His breath caught.

“Wait—” His fingers brushed over bare skin. “You’re not wearing anything underneath?”

You smirked. “Laundry day.”

“And no bra either?” he groaned, leaning in again, voice raspy now. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You let him kiss you once more before gently pulling back, crawling off his lap with a sheepish smile. “Gyu… wait.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t press. “Yeah?”

“Just—can we slow down a little?”

Mingyu gave a small nod, lips still curved in a crooked grin. “Sure. I’ll behave. But I’m keeping the hoodie as emotional compensation.”

You rolled your eyes, heart thudding in that too-familiar rhythm he always managed to stir.

The room felt heavy with unsaid words and fragile hope, the kind of tension that kept your heart suspended between fear and longing. Mingyu’s hand on your thigh was warm, grounding, but the space between you was still filled with everything left unsaid. You took a breath, gathering the courage to break the silence.

“Mingyu,” you whispered, voice trembling despite your efforts to sound steady. “I know I hurt you. I know I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, like my words didn’t mean anything. And I hate that I did that to you.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened, but his gaze remained cautious. “You can’t just say you love me after saying you don’t. You have no idea how that messed with me. One minute, I’m ready to let go and just... fall for you, and the next, it’s like you pulled the rug out from under me. You can’t do that to someone.”

You nodded, your hands trembling as you rubbed your thumb against his. “I know, and I never wanted to hurt you like that. I was just... terrified. Terrified of how much you mean to me. I didn’t think I could fall for you, not like this. We were supposed to be casual—no—strings, just fun. But then it wasn’t just fun anymore. It became real. You became real. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Mingyu’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers squeezing yours gently, as if testing whether he could still hold on. “You always said you didn’t believe in love — that it wasn’t something you wanted. Then, out of nowhere, you just... say it and take it back. I didn’t know how to handle that.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back tears. “When I went home, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. I kept wondering what would happen if I never told you how I really felt — if I kept letting fear stop me from saying the one thing that’s been true for a while now. I love you, Mingyu. I love you so much that it hurts, and that’s why I was scared. Because loving you means I have something to lose. And the thought of losing you terrifies me more than anything.”

Mingyu’s eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion, his lips parting as if to say something, but he remained quiet, letting you continue.

“I went back home because I needed to figure myself out — to understand why I couldn’t just say it when I felt it. And I realised that I didn’t want to keep running from this, from you. I’ve been falling for you since the beginning, and it’s terrifying because it’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt. But I’m done being afraid. I just needed you to know that.”

Mingyu looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he took a shaky breath. “You really love me?” He whispered, almost as if he didn’t dare believe it.

You nodded, eyes watering as you squeezed his hand tighter. “Yes. I love you. And I’m so sorry for making you doubt that.”

He pulled you into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours. “I wanted to believe you so badly, even when I was angry. I kept telling myself that maybe you just didn’t realise it at first. I was ready to say it back that night — I was so ready, but then you just... took it back.”

You could feel the pain in his voice, and it broke your heart all over again. “I was a coward. I know that. I was scared that saying it would make it real, and that real meant risking getting hurt. But being without you was worse. I’d rather risk everything than lose you.”

Mingyu closed his eyes, pulling you closer, his lips pressing against your temple. “You really don’t know how much you mean to me. Even when I tried to be angry, all I could think about was holding you. I missed you so much.”

Your hands moved to his face, cupping his cheeks as your thumbs brushed away the stray tear that slipped down. “You don’t have to forgive me right away. You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready. Just... let me show you that I mean it.”

Mingyu let out a soft, trembling laugh, his fingers threading through your hair. “You’re so damn stubborn, you know that?”

You managed a teary smile. “You love that about me.”

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of everything he was still too scared to say. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, filled with something like hope. “We’ll take it slow, okay? I’m not ready to just jump back in and pretend everything’s okay. But... I want to try. I want us to be okay.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a cautious joy. “That’s all I want. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips, slow and tender. “Let’s just... be here. Together. No pressure.”

You let out a soft laugh, snuggling closer to him. “That sounds perfect.”

Mingyu pulled you into his arms, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back. You felt his chest rise and fall, steady and comforting, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to just be — wrapped in his warmth, feeling his heartbeat against yours.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispered into your hair, and you closed your eyes, savouring the moment.

As sleep tugged at you, you couldn’t help but think that this—right here, tangled up with Mingyu in the quiet of your room—was the kind of love you’d been scared of finding. And you were done running from it.

Mingyu’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, his lips brushing your forehead every few minutes, as if reassuring himself that you were still there. You breathed in his familiar scent, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe — safe enough to believe that maybe love didn’t always have to end in heartbreak.

Maybe, just maybe, this time you could get it right. ~~

“Can you stop fidgeting?” Mingyu groaned later that night. He was curled up in your bed with you, his voice heavy with sleep as you wiggled around in his arms.

“I’m trying to get comfy,” you whispered, your cheeks warm from the proximity.

Mingyu pulled you closer, his arm curling protectively around your waist. “You’ve been moving for like five minutes. What’s wrong?”

You huffed, squirming a little more. “It’s the shirt. I can’t sleep with it on. I just… need to wear something else.”

Mingyu made a noise somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. “Sit up,” he mumbled sleepily.

“What?” you asked, but he didn’t bother replying. Instead, his hands found the hem of the shirt, tugging it up and over your head before tossing it to the floor. You shivered as the cool air hit your bare skin.

“There,” Mingyu muttered, tugging you back against his chest. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling his warm breath on your shoulder as he pressed a soft kiss there. You couldn’t help but smile, though sleep still eluded you, especially now that your naked body was pressed against him. You could feel his heartbeat through your back, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

But you couldn’t ignore the way his half-hard cock was pressing into your lower back, especially as his arm shifted, his hand resting low on your stomach, fingers brushing the sensitive skin there. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay still, but it was no use.

“What are you doing?” Mingyu grumbled, clearly aware of your struggle.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice small.

He sighed dramatically. “Count sheep.”

You smacked his forearm lightly. “That’s not helping.”

“Ow!” He protested, his pout evident even without seeing his face. “It does work, you know. Smacking me definitely isn’t the solution.”

You didn’t answer, just turned in his arms and pressed your lips to his, catching him off guard. He hummed against your mouth, a low sound of surprise that melted into a soft groan when you rolled on top of him, straddling his thighs.

“Either we fuck, or I make myself cum,” you whispered, your nails tracing the outline of his cock through his boxers.

Mingyu’s breath hitched, but he shook his head. “No.”

You shot him a glare. “Then I’m using a toy.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Mingyu muttered, and before you knew it, his fingers were on your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Gyu—”

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh. “You don’t need toys when I can take care of you so much better.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he moved faster, his hands guiding your hips to line up with his. He pushed his boxers down enough to free himself, and you shivered when his cock brushed against your wet folds.

“I need you,” you whispered, shifting your hips to let him slide inside. He moaned low and rough, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he groaned, his breath shaky as he sank deeper. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You moved his hand from your breast to your neck, meeting his eyes. His brow furrowed, concern briefly flashing across his face. “You sure?”

You nodded, your lips brushing his. “Yes. Please.”

He gave a slow, tentative thrust, his hand lightly holding your throat. The pressure was just enough to make your head spin, your pulse racing. You whimpered, arching against him as he moved again—deeper this time, harder.

His hand loosened, his lips brushing yours. “God, you feel so good,” he whispered, kissing you softly as his hips kept moving.

You moaned, your hands finding his shoulders for support as you moved with him, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His breath was ragged against your neck, his voice low and rough as he whispered, “So good, baby. I’m not gonna last.”

You barely managed to murmur his name before you felt him tense, his grip on your waist bruising as he came, his warmth filling you.

Mingyu’s body relaxed, and he kissed your forehead, his hands gentle as he cupped your face. “You okay?”

You nodded, catching your breath. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He shifted, moving down between your legs. “Still feel like sleeping?”

You laughed softly, but the sound turned into a gasp as his mouth found your clit, his tongue moving in slow, precise circles. You whimpered, your fingers threading through his hair as his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you still.

“Gyu—”

“Just relax, baby,” he whispered against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. He sucked lightly on your clit, and you couldn’t hold back the cry that escaped, your back arching as he brought you to the edge and over, his hands steadying you as you came.

He kissed his way up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before lying beside you, pulling you into his chest.

“Mingyu?” You whispered.

“Yeah?” he replied, tracing shapes on your shoulder with his fingertips.

You hesitated, biting your lip. You wanted to say it—the words were right there. But fear kept your mouth shut.

“Shower,” you mumbled instead, pouting.

Mingyu chuckled softly and kissed your nose. “Come here.”

He scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured. “Whatever you need.”

~~

The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the room. You sat on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to gather your thoughts. Mingyu appeared from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his hair messy from sleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled, giving you a lopsided smile as he sat down next to you.

“Hi,” you replied softly, handing him a cup of coffee. Mingyu took it gratefully, breathing in the comforting aroma before taking a sip.

“God, I missed your coffee,” he murmured. You smiled at his familiar habit — the way he always inhaled the scent first. But he noticed your hesitation, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “You seem... a little off,” he said, nudging your thigh with his knee. “Do you regret last night?”

Your heart clenched at the question, and you immediately shook your head, reaching for his hand. “No, not at all. I regret nothing.” You squeezed his fingers gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “Actually... I’m really glad we talked.”

Mingyu let out a soft breath, relief evident on his face. “Me too. I was worried I might’ve rushed things, you know? I don’t want to mess this up.”

You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “You didn’t. I needed to hear it, too. I needed to know that you still wanted to try.”

Mingyu kissed the top of your head, his voice a murmur against your hair. “I’ll always want to try for us.”

The comfort of his presence made you feel lighter, like the weight that had been pressing on your chest was finally easing up. You spent the next few moments in silence, just savouring the warmth of him next to you, the familiar way his thumb traced circles on your knuckles.

After a while, Mingyu shifted, his playful smile returning. “So... do you want to go out today? I thought maybe we could do something fun—something that doesn’t involve heavy conversations.”

You nodded eagerly. “That sounds perfect. What did you have in mind?”

Mingyu grinned, his eyes brightening. “You’ll see. Just dress cute. I’m taking you on a date.”

~~

You didn’t know what to expect, but as you strolled through the bustling park with Mingyu’s hand firmly clasped in yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell. Mingyu had brought his camera, and he kept stopping every few steps to snap a photo of you.

“Seriously, Gyu? I probably look weird in half of those,” you protested, shielding your face from his lens.

He chuckled, lowering the camera just enough to see your pout. “You look beautiful. Besides, it’s just for me. I want to remember how happy you look today.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you gave in, letting him take a few more photos. Mingyu’s face lit up every time he captured your smile, and it made your heart race in the best way. After a while, he led you toward a row of food trucks, insisting on buying you your favourite snack.

As you sat on a park bench sharing the food, Mingyu turned his camera on himself, pulling you into the shot. “Smile,” he whispered, his face close enough that his breath tickled your cheek. You couldn’t help but laugh, and he snapped the picture.

When he showed you the shot, you couldn’t deny how happy you looked. Mingyu looked at it for a long moment, his expression softening. “I missed seeing you like this.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I missed feeling like this.”

Mingyu placed a soft kiss on your temple. “You know... I’ve been carrying my camera around more since you left. It reminded me of all the little moments I never want to forget. Like this one.”

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I want to be part of more of your moments.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then don’t leave again. Stay.”

You bit your lip, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. “I’m not leaving. I promise.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with easy laughter and more spontaneous photos, Mingyu capturing every playful moment — from you accidentally tripping over a crack in the pavement to your exaggerated eye roll when he insisted on taking yet another picture of you with ice cream on your nose.

By the time the sun began to set, you found yourselves sitting on a blanket by the riverbank, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. Mingyu’s camera rested beside him, forgotten for the moment as he pulled you into his side.

“Thank you for today,” you whispered, tracing the veins on the back of his hand. “I needed this.”

Mingyu leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Me too. I’m really happy right now. Just... being with you.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, and he smiled before leaning in to kiss you. It was soft, unhurried, and full of every unspoken word you hadn’t found the courage to say yet. When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“I’ll take it slow. However long it takes for you to feel safe with me again,” he whispered.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him in for another kiss, this one deeper, more certain. “I already feel safe. I just... I’m learning how to not run from that.”

Mingyu chuckled softly. “I’ll chase after you every time. You’re worth it.”

You smiled, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. “I guess I’m stuck with you then.”

His laughter filled the evening air, and you knew that no matter how long it took, you were ready to keep trying — to let yourself fall completely and trust that he’d catch you.

~~

After the date with Mingyu, your heart was still fluttering as you walked back to your apartment. The evening had been unexpectedly sweet — Mingyu taking candid photos of you, insisting that every angle was your “best one,” and laughing when you tried to hide behind your scarf. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so carefree.

When you reached the door, Mingyu pulled you into a soft, lingering kiss, his hands cupping your face as if he wanted to savour every second. “Take care of yourself tonight, okay?” he whispered against your lips, brushing his thumb over your cheek. You nodded, your heart swelling with warmth as he finally let you go, his eyes trailing after you as you stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet, but as you hung up your coat, you heard the faint hum of music coming from the living room. You tiptoed towards the sound and found Joshua sprawled on the couch, headphones on, humming to himself. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but before you could sneak past him, he looked up and spotted you.

“Hey! You’re back!” Joshua’s face lit up as he jumped to his feet and rushed over to give you a bone-crushing hug.

You squeaked in surprise, your laughter muffled by his shoulder. “Joshua, can’t breathe!”

He pulled back sheepishly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he took a good look at you. “Sorry, just missed you. You look... happy. Wait, where’s Mingyu?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “He just walked me home. We had a really nice date.”

Joshua smirked knowingly. “Yeah, I figured. I wanted to say hi last night, but I saw Mingyu’s boots by the door and thought... yeah, better not interrupt.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoved his shoulder playfully. “Nothing happened. We just talked.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Talked? You mean the kind of talking where I could hear muffled giggles through the wall? Sure, Y/N, just talking.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Okay, maybe some kissing. But really, we just talked. We needed it.”

Joshua’s expression softened, and he guided you to sit with him on the couch. “So... how was home? Did it help?”

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders finally easing as you curled up next to him. “Yeah, it did. I needed some distance to think. I finally told Mingyu I loved him. First, I wrote it, and then I actually said it out loud.”

Joshua’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face. “Seriously? You finally said it?”

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah. I was terrified, but I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t feel that way. He... he didn’t exactly say it back, though. He just said he needed some time. And that’s okay. I know I put him through a lot.”

Joshua wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Hey, that’s progress. You told him how you feel. That’s a big step, and honestly, it’s good that he’s taking his time. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t still be here.”

You leaned into his side, grateful for his reassurance. “Yeah, I know. I just... I really hope he believes me this time.”

Joshua nodded. “He will. He’s just cautious now. But trust me, he’s been way too mopey when you’re not around for him to just give up on you.”

Before you could respond, the front door creaked open, and Wonwoo walked in holding a grocery bag. “Joshua, they only had vanilla and pistachio,” he announced, making a beeline for the kitchen.

“Cool, thanks!” Joshua called after him before turning to you. “Seriously? Ice cream for breakfast?”

You snickered, but Joshua just shrugged. “It’s a Sunday. Anything goes.”

Wonwoo’s footsteps grew louder as he returned to the living room, and as soon as he saw you, his eyes softened. Before you could say anything, he crossed the room and pulled you into a tight embrace, nearly lifting you off the floor.

“Oof,” you mumbled, your face pressed against his shoulder. “Wonwoo?”

He didn’t let go, just squeezed you tighter. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and remorseful. “I was way too harsh before. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.”

You closed your eyes, sinking into the hug. “Wonwoo... It’s okay. You were right, you know. I wasn’t taking accountability, and I needed a wake-up call. I just... didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

Wonwoo sighed, finally pulling back enough to look at you. “I know. I was angry because I didn’t want to see you mess things up with Mingyu again. He’s my friend, but so are you, and it felt like I was stuck in the middle.”

You smiled faintly, your hands still on his shoulders. “I get it. I shouldn’t have said those things about you and Mia. I was being petty and defensive.”

Wonwoo gave a slight nod. “Yeah, but I still shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Joshua and Mingyu chewed me out for being too harsh. I didn’t realise how much it would hurt you.”

You reached up to ruffle his hair playfully. “Hey, it’s okay. I kind of deserved it. I’m just glad we’re okay now.”

Wonwoo chuckled, pulling you back into another quick hug. “We’re okay. Just... stop being so reckless with your feelings, okay?”

You laughed against his chest. “I’ll try. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

Wonwoo ruffled your hair in return. “It’s a full-time job, but someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

Joshua’s voice suddenly cut through the moment. “Oh, so we’re all making up now? Does this mean I can finally break out the wine?”

Wonwoo groaned, rolling his eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. But you’re not finishing the bottle this time,” you warned.

Joshua raised his hands in surrender. “Scout’s honour.”

The three of you ended up in the living room, sharing stories from your trip and poking fun at each other like nothing had changed. You knew things were still complicated with Mingyu, but right now, surrounded by your friends, you let yourself feel grateful for their support and the way they always found a way to put you back together.

As the night went on, laughter filled the apartment, and you realised that no matter how messy things got, you weren’t facing it alone. You had people who cared — and that was enough to keep you going.

The aroma of fresh flowers filled the cosy living room as you adjusted the string lights around the window. Mingyu’s apartment had changed a bit since those chaotic days — it felt more like home now, your home. Mingyu’s camera sat on the coffee table, surrounded by stacks of developed photos from his latest project, and you couldn’t help but smile at the candid shots he had taken of you: cooking, laughing, half-asleep on the couch.

You were putting the final touches on the makeshift photo wall when you heard keys jingle at the door. The familiar sound of Mingyu’s laughter drifted in as he walked in, carrying takeout and wearing that impossibly charming smile.

“Smells amazing in here,” he said, kicking the door shut and dropping his bag by the entrance. He shot you a lopsided grin, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how effortlessly handsome he looked.

“It’s just coffee and air freshener,” you teased, walking over to help with the bags. Mingyu pulled you into his arms instead, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll take it. Any excuse to have you smell nice,” he murmured against your hair, his fingers tracing patterns along your back.

You hummed contentedly and let him pull you closer, resting your head against his chest. After a few peaceful seconds, you whispered, “You’re home early.”

Mingyu kissed the top of your head. “Finished the shoot early. Figured I’d come back to you instead of hanging around the studio. Plus, I missed you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “It’s been six hours.”

Mingyu smirked. “Too long.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you,” he shot back, leaning down to kiss you again.

Once you were both settled on the couch, digging into the takeout, you noticed the glint of something on Mingyu’s wrist. A new bracelet. You squinted at it, reaching over to get a better look.

“Is that... my handwriting?” you asked, squinting at the little engraved plate on the bracelet.

Mingyu looked at it proudly. “Yeah. Had it made from that one note you left me before my last shoot — the one that said, ‘You’re enough.’ I loved your handwriting, so I thought... why not make it permanent?”

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest. “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered.

“I know. But it’s true, you know? You’re enough. More than enough.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, your hands cupping his face. “So are you, Gyu.”

Before you could say more, a loud knock interrupted you. The door burst open, and Joshua and Wonwoo walked in, each holding grocery bags.

“Guys, you still don’t knock?” You joked, getting up to help them.

“Why bother? This place is practically ours,” Joshua replied with a mischievous grin, setting his bags on the counter. Wonwoo rolled his eyes but gave you a quick hug before following Joshua’s lead.

Mingyu chuckled, stretching out on the couch. “What’s the occasion? You two brought food voluntarily.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “We figured you guys would forget to cook with all the lovey-dovey crap going on.”

Joshua snorted. “I still can’t believe you managed to get them to agree to that couple’s photoshoot for your exhibition, Gyu. They looked like two lovesick puppies.”

Mingyu’s cheeks flushed a little, but he tried to cover it up by busying himself with the takeout. You just laughed, remembering how awkward you had felt at first — until Mingyu made you laugh mid-shot, and the rest just felt natural.

As you all settled down to eat together, conversations flowing freely and laughter filling the room, you couldn’t help but glance at Mingyu. He caught your gaze and gave you a soft smile, his hand slipping into yours under the table.

Later that night, after the guys left, and the apartment was quiet again, you lay in bed with Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you. His fingers traced lazy circles on your shoulder as he spoke softly.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking... I know we’ve been doing this for a while now, and... well, what would you think about making it more... official?”

You turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat. “Are you proposing, Kim Mingyu?”

He grinned, his nose brushing yours. “Not quite... yet. But I want to keep coming home to you. Forever. I want to take photos of you laughing at my bad jokes and fighting with me over the last dumpling. I want this — you, me, our chaotic friends, and all of it. Officially.”

You couldn’t hold back the grin spreading across your face. “You mean... moving in together?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “And then... maybe someday, more than that. But let’s start there.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I want that too.”

Mingyu’s smile was so bright it could have lit up the whole city. He kissed you, slow and sweet, like a promise.

As you curled up into his side, sleep tugging at your eyelids, you thought about how far you had come — from messy, unpredictable encounters to this: comfort, laughter, and love. You had found your way to each other, despite the obstacles, and you knew that wherever life took you next, you would face it together.

And for now, that was more than enough.

The End.

[slut4sugu]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬- (dick grayson x black!fem reader)

౨ৎ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞. — 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 including: black!fem!reader • post-situationship tension • slow burn foundations • rooftop fights + emotional fallout • snark meets old scars. word count: 1.05k ౨ৎ: genre - fluff? + slight angst?

The air reeked of rust, gunpowder, and desperation.

Boots scuffed across concrete as you ducked behind a cargo crate, counting the seconds until the next burst of gunfire stopped rattling through the run down warehouse. Your pulse was steady—too many missions had trained that out of you—but your patience? Running on fumes.

“Left flank’s open!” a voice shouted from above. You glanced up to see a flash of blue and black dive from the rafters, escrima sticks in motion.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Of course he was here.

Here, in that damned suit—the one that still haunted your dreams some nights, no matter how hard you tried to forget. Midnight blue with matte black lining, clinging to him in all the same infuriating ways it had two years ago. The fabric shimmered faintly under the streetlights, stretched tight across his back like it had been tailored by the devil himself.

You didn’t need to see his face to feel the heat rising in your cheeks. His silhouette alone was enough to send your nerves buzzing. The sharp lines of his shoulders. The dip of his spine. The calm, quiet command in the way he stood—like he knew he didn’t have to try anymore.

You forced your eyes upward, locked them on a spot above his head, anywhere but there. Because one more second of drinking him in and you'd start remembering things you couldn't afford to.

The way he used to hug you like the world stopped spinning. The way he left like it never had.

The fight ended in seconds—quick, clean, brutal. You moved in sync without even meaning to, and that pissed you off most of all.

When the last thug hit the pavement, you exhaled and gave your bodysuit a lazy brush-down, more for something to do than actual need.

“Still stealing my takedowns, Grayson?” you said, coolly, as he landed beside you with a whisper of wind and asphalt grit. Not a hair out of place, not a breath wasted.

His smile was like velvet stretched over old wounds. “Still keeping score?”

“Only when I’m winning.”

He laughed—low, rumbling, annoyingly familiar. There was something in it, though. A hesitation. Like the laugh got stuck halfway in his throat.

“Then I must be losing by a mile.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when his eyes—those damned eyes—were already drifting down your frame. Subtle, but not subtle enough. He clocked the new suit, the brighter lines, the sharper silhouette.

“New look?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, voice softer now. “Not that the old one wasn’t... unforgettable.” You're new suit in question was a black body suit with pink accents, sleek and resistant. Thanks to Barbra

You smirked, but your stomach clenched. “Yeah, well. Had to keep up with the competition.” You turned before he could catch the traitorous flicker in your expression—satisfaction, defiance, maybe even hope.

From behind, you heard him exhale—quiet, almost imperceptible. Like he’d been holding something in since the moment he saw you.

“Nice work,” he said, and his voice had dropped—no more teasing, just that too-familiar warmth laced with something heavier. Regret? Maybe. Guilt? Definitely.

“Nice flips,” you replied, a little sharper than you meant to. Like you needed to remind yourself this wasn’t a reunion.

It was always like this. A battlefield carved into banter, masked by smirks and cutting quips. And you hated how much you missed it.

But there wasn’t time for nostalgia.

“You’re late,” you said, finally tearing your eyes away from his. “Intel’s already moving. I’ve got coordinates.” You started walking.

He didn’t move.

The silence behind you stretched—long enough for you to feel the weight of it settle between your shoulder blades.

“Then let’s go,” he said at last, the playfulness stripped away. His voice was all mission now—professional, efficient.

But his eyes?

They lingered. A little too long. Like he wanted to say your name but swallowed it. Like he was still chasing the words he never said two years ago when he walked out without looking back.

You knew that look. You’d memorized it once.

A few years ago, it would’ve meant something else—everything, actually. Back when you let your guard down. When his hands shook the first time they held yours. When your armor cracked long enough for someone to get in.

And when he left, it wasn’t just betrayal. It was a crater. One he never tried to fill.

You swallowed hard and blinked once, steadying yourself.

“I said let’s move,” you muttered, clearing your throat as you brushed past him. The shoulder contact was brief, electric—stupid. Your body remembered more than your mind wanted to.

“We’ve got work to do.”

He didn’t follow right away.

You felt it—the pause behind you, thick as smoke. Like he was still standing in the rubble of everything he broke, trying to decide if he deserved to speak.

But Dick Grayson had always been good at timing. And even better at letting moments pass.

Good. You didn’t come here for apologies. You didn’t come here for closure.

You came to work.

౨ৎ

The silence between you stretched for a beat too long before his footsteps finally echoed behind yours, measured and quiet. He was falling back into rhythm—yours, not his.

Smart choice.

The warehouse door creaked open into the night, cold Gotham air rushing in as if to cool the heat that still clung to your skin. You tapped your comm.

“Oracle, we’ve cleared the site. Sending intel package now.”

“Got it,” Babs’ voice crackled through your earpiece. “Good timing too—new target’s live. A gala downtown. Tight security. Trafficking ring’s using it as a cover for an auction.”

Your eyes met Dick’s.

Of course it was a gala. Of course it involved rich bastards and tighter-than-skin tuxedos. The kind of torture you'd be subjected to in hell.

Barbara continued, “We’ll need a pair. Deep cover. Married. You in?”

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him. And for a second—just one—he looked at you like he already knew the answer.

Like he knew you'd say yes.

Not because you forgave him. Not because you missed him. But because you never walked away from a mission.

"What's in it for me?" you asked coldly, never breaking eye contact with Dick.

He didn’t flinch—but you saw the flicker in his expression. A crack in the perfect mask. Like he wasn’t expecting you to be that detached. Like some foolish part of him hoped the past still gave him weight in your present.

Barbara hesitated over the comm for half a beat before responding. “Aside from taking down one of the biggest trafficking operations on the East Coast?”

“That’s not enough,” you replied, still watching him. “I want full access to the encrypted buyer list. Every name. Every alias. I want a clean shot at the bastard running this, and I don’t want to answer to anyone once I’m inside.”

Dick finally spoke, voice low. “You planning to go rogue before we even zip the dress up?”

You tilted your head, lips curling just slightly. “I’m planning to finish the job. Completely.” He stepped closer—too close—and in a voice only you could hear, said, “You’ve always been good at that.”

You didn’t blink. “And you’ve always been good at leaving before it’s done.”

The comm went silent.

Barbara cleared her throat. “You’ll have access. All of it. If you’re both in, I’ll loop in Alfred to prep the cover IDs. The gala’s in 72 hours.”

You finally looked away from him, your heart strong yet still hurt, though your tone was nothing but sharp. “Then I guess we’re getting married.”

next up: chapter two- annoying jewels.

[gothamite-rambler]

Stephanie: Hey Cass, I heard a story about how you became the leader of the League of Assassins and killed a lot of people.

Cass (eyes downcast, slowly putting her phone down): You cut right to the chase with that.

Stephanie: Yeah, but don’t worry I’m not judging. We all have dark pasts. I just want to hear about it cause I'm curious. What started it? How did you get your wake-up call? What happened in between or afterwards.

Cass: You’ve heard of Slade Wilson, right?

Stephanie: That goof? Yeah. Did he attack you during all of this?

Cass (starting the story): I wanted a father figure, and Bruce was missing…

After an hour of hearing the depressing story of brainwashing that her best friend (and future girlfriend) had been subjected to, Stephanie stormed down the halls. She was searching for some special people, knowing immediately where they'd be: the Batcave.

Cass chased after her, pleading for her to calm down.

Cass: Stephanie, hold on, we've buried the hatchet years ago.

Stephanie had already tuned her out, stomping down the stairs to the Batcave, striding past Jason, Tim, Damian, Kate, and Bruce until she found Dick.

Stephanie (enraged): HEY, NIGHTWING!

At first, Dick turned around, a smile brightening his face at the sight of her, but that smile vanished in an instant when she delivered a stinging slap to his cheek.

Dick (eyes wide, shocked): OW!

Stephanie: You… You! Penis! You absolute penis! How dare you mistreat Cass while she was going through all that? I knew you were too nice; something had to be buried in that chiseled jawline!

Barbara: Chiseled? Steph, it's more chipped-

Dick (over his shoulder to Barbara): You stay out of this, ex. Stephanie, what—

Stephanie lightly swiped her hand across Dick's face. It didn't have the same impact; it still wasn't something he liked receiving, but Stephanie was feeling fiery at the moment.

Dick (brows furrowed, annoyed): Quit it!

Stephanie: I'm not done giving you what for! You absolute penis, I get you were distrusting of newbies, I remember you were a bit of a penis to me, but Cass! Cass was going through true... shizz and and you .. you are a penis!

Dick (cupping his sore cheek): Stop calling me a penis!

Stephanie: Stop being one!

Dick: Bruce, you can step in at any time!

Bruce (pretending to talk to Kate): Um, I'm talking to my cousin about something.

Kate (lying to keep watching the spectacle): Just a meeting. You can handle this on your own.

Stephanie (blocking Bruce by standing in his direction): Nah, don’t look at him for help. You’re being called out for being a jerk to Cass! You could’ve made her turn to the dark side again, or, goodness, she couldn’t have taken her anger out on you. Would you feel good about that, tubby?

Dick (hugging himself, hurt): Tubby? These insults are so specific and mean! Don’t call me a penis again!

Jason (doubled over laughing): I feel bad for laughing, but this is priceless.

Bruce: I shouldn’t be laughing either, but at least it wasn’t me. What’s happening here?

Cass (hurriedly explaining as she fidgeted her hands): Steph wanted to know about the time I went insane like Jason and became the leader of the assassins. I mentioned my issues with Dick, but we made amends. I sort of didn't hold back on the tension and arguments we had. She—

Stephanie: Is pissed at this eejit!

Stephanie flicked Dick on the forehead making him wince.

Kate: Should we step in?

Bruce: Nah.

Kate nodded in agreement.

Damian (surprised): Did you just call him an idiot with an Irish inflection? You are mad.

Dick (taking accountability): I… she… this is so old! I admitted I was a jerk back then, but I'm not anymore. And stop assaulting me!

Huffing angrily, Stephanie lowered her hand as Dick instinctively took a step back.

Stephanie: You know what? Dick, I get that you didn’t want her to kill her deadbeat dad or Slade. We don’t kill, well, except Jason, but I’m starting to understand him more!

Jason nodded, continuing to read.

Stephanie: But how you treated Cass during most of her redemption journey... such a penis move!

Dick: I wasn’t… she killed… And Barbara snapped at her sometimes! Why the hell won’t you slap her?

Barbara (having silently watched the spectacle): I apologized and she likes me more. Plus I taught her how to read and write more so there.

Dick: I apologized too!

Stephanie: After Alfred stepped in! You—

Dick: You know calling me a penis cause you can't say the word dick hurts my feelings!

Stephanie (stomping): That's why I'm saying it!

Dick: Alfred is usually the voice of reason, I'm obviously going to agree with him. It's a good thing he did step in or I would've won a fight against Cass.

Cass walked over, stepping between them and lightly pushing Stephanie away with a warm smile.

Cass: Dick, first humble yourself. I would've won that fight. Second, Stephie, I admire you defending me, but Dick and I have made amends. We replaced it with sibling bickering, and I’m not completely innocent. I did throw him out a window, which was wrong… even if I still think he deserved it a tiny bit.

Dick (raising his eyebrow): That’s the closest you’re going to admit it was wrong?

Cass: Yep.

Dick (nodding sadly accepting this: I’ll take it.

Stephanie sighed, stepping away from Dick and thinking silently.

Stephanie: Jason, can Rose stab her father for Cass?

Bruce: Excuse me for interjecting, but do you mean to kill or just maim?

Kate (chuckling): That’s legitimately a good question.

Stephanie: I want so badly for her to kill him or for you to kill him. But respecting my code and Cass’s wishes, can she just stab him to hurt him?

Jason: She might actually have a better method. I’ll get back to you on that.

Jason pulled out his phone and texted Rose. He walked away to handle this in private.

Kate (to Bruce): Aren't you glad he found someone for him?

Bruce: Shut up.

Stephanie (to Cass): It’s a start… right?

Cass: He won’t die? It’s not me plunging the knife, but I’d rather not have phantom blood on my hands.

Stephanie (placing a hand on Cass’s shoulder): I can make sure Rose lets him live afterward. Bruce, if you try to stop this, I'm sending my ma after you with a heel in her hand.

Bruce: Just make sure he lives. That’s all I ask.

Stephanie: Got you, B-Man. You can fire me again if I go against my future girlfriend’s rule.

Kate laughed more and walked upstairs to excuse herself, with Bruce following her for a drink after that show.

Dick: Right... I'm not sure how I feel about this—

Stephanie (pointing at the man): Dick, I’m not too happy with you, so your opinion means diddly squat!

Barbara (laughing, but also reasoning with Stephanie): Steph, you have to understand that we were all going through hell back then. You were there, and Dick could be a bit of a… penis.

Dick groaned as he rummaged for ice in the fridge underneath Bruce’s deck. Jason could be heard laughing at the insult, joined by Damian's snickers. Even Barbara couldn't hold back on laughing although she felt a little sympathy to Dick.

Tim mostly remained silent, deciding it was wiser to stay neutral and embrace his role as Switzerland rather than take a side.

Stephanie: I get that, and now that I’ve delivered the slap of righteous divine retribution to him, I’m cool with him. Unless he angers her again, then I’m kicking him in the penis while wearing a pointed heel.

Barbara (siding with her surrogate daughter Cass): That's a fair trade off.

Tim: Oh wow. Um, I'm going to step in front of him.

Tim walked up in front of Dick, positioning himself as a buffer. Dick appreciated the gesture, grateful for the support in the heat of the moment.

Damian (enjoying the chaos): That’s very funny to think about.

Stephanie (to Tim and Damian): As for you two… Tim, Cass actually had a lot of nice things and wild adventures to say about you. You’re cool with me too. Damian… eh, not anything scandalous.

Damian (satisfied): Alright, that’s great to hear.

Tim (hand on his chest): Cass, thank you.

Cass: It was just me being honest and venting. I tried to make it unbiased.

Dick: Didn’t work! She slapped me! Ow, by the way!

Stephanie (indifferent, crossing her arms): Sorry or whatever.

Cass: I’m sorry as well. When I spoke of our feuding, it wasn’t to paint you as a villain. I only wanted to give accurate details and I got my payback when I replaced your human shampoo with dog flea and tick shampoo.

Stephanie (surprised): You what?

Dick (shouting with a triumphant tone): I knew it!

Barbara (chuckling): That’s why your hair smelled like oatmeal for a month.

Dick: Jokes on her... that was great for my hair and I used the rest for Hayley! And yes, that is a flex for me. Cass, I forgive you. Stephanie, I choose to forgive you for now. To make it up to you both, I’ll take us all out for dinner.

Stephanie: You should probably have that wallet with you, then, cause we’re going to Applebee's.

Dick: At least it's not Ruth Chris. I’m going to rest for the next hour. Barbara…

Dick lightly slapped Barbara on the back of the head and then ran off. Barbara laughed, relieving any tension.

[ghost-bxrd]

ooh i’m now thinking about the court intrigue part of your dragon au, and dick and jason being smack dab in the middle of a power struggle. bc there’s a faction of ppl who don’t want dick as crown prince; he’s foreign opinionated, popular, and not as easy to control. and so when jason comes along looking like the spitting image of bruce, and seemingly shy and manipulatable, they seize onto him. and jason’s obviously super smart, but he’s not used to the underhand way the court works, and starts to trust many in that faction bc they’re kind to him( bonus points if they have some servants working for them, bc jason trusts the servants way faster as fellow common ppl)

and dick isn’t an idiot, so he sees what’s happening and sees his little brother who he loves but doesn’t know that well, start to befriend all the people plotting against him. and he can’t call him out on it and look jealous (even though he is super jealous bc here comes this adorable kid, who could be bruce’s real son and isn’t perpetually a foreigner, coming along and stealing his father’s love and trying to undo everything he’s worked for). so he instead tries to befriend jason more, while always half being on guard for a knife in the back. jason picks up on weird vibes but has no clue what’s happening bc he’s a kid and the court is filled with so many weird vibes lol.

and jason grows increasingly entrenched in that faction, and then dies in a way that looks like he turned traitor but it went wrong and he got killed (not what happened, but the evidence is very convincing) (the anti-dick faction is also upset bc darn there goes their heir). and bruce and dick are heartbroken (bruce especially since he was blindsided since dick never told him any of his suspicions since he didn’t think bruce would believe him). but they don’t spread the news of jason as a traitor bc he was a kid and they don’t want to do that to his memory, and there’s like a tiny kernel of hope that maybe there was a mistake. but then jason comes back to life on the dragon of the tyrant, and immediately begins gunning for the throne (via attacking the heirs to the throne, tim and dick). and dick is heartbroken all over again, bc his little brother really does want him dead and to steal the crown. jason has 0 clue about any of this and is hurt and confused why his brother is calling him a traitor. cue much angst

Omg the MISUNDERSTANDINGS I am THRIVING

Dick and Jason would inadvertently end up in a downward spiral of hate and betrayal, with Dick convinced Jason is trying to usurp the throne and Jason thinking Dick never loved him and took the first chance to get himself a new little brother. One that isn’t common folk 😭

But also, Dick could think that he could sacrifice himself to keep Tim safe.

Jason wants him after all, right? He might be angry at Tim, but it’s Dick who he wants dead. The crown prince. Because if he’s gone, Jason will be next in line for the throne. And if Dick is smart about this, he can strike a bargain that will ensure Tim gets to live��.

[frogaroundandfindout]

[julilentille]

.

[screampied]

PUFF, PUFF, ASS! s. ryōmen

ৎ୭ sum. puff puff pass, girl — not puff puff ass! you wanted to smoke one last sesh before winter break but sukuna smokes something far sweeter instead - you.

wc. 8.4k

warnings. fem! reader, plug! roommate sukuna, college au, both are in early 20s, unprotected, substance consumption, slooowish burn, virgin! sukuna, switch reader, quickies, pining, sukuna’s a loser fratboy with no game, p whipped sukuna, creampīes, edging, cowgirl, big dick kuna, he lasts 0.5 secs, blōwjobs, dry humping, shotgunning, spīt, dirty talk (he tried), use of "good boy", praise.

“the usual, ‘kuna.”

ah, those three pretty words.

your roommate and all-time favorite plug, sukuna never got tired of hearing it. of course though, not in a million years would he admit the fact—let alone admit that you juuust might be his favorite clientele.

sukuna was the plug.

most of the other students on campus, including you would always buy from him. he was known for selling the best of the fuckin’ best.

despite you having the luxury of sharing a whole dorm with him, he never gave out free handouts, no half off deals, nothing. “what do you mean you won’t be here until january?”

oh shit.

he didn’t like how clingy he sounded.

not one bit.

sukuna mentally grumbles, burying his hands in the pockets of his gray sweats before you respond. “oh, yeah. for break, i’m going on a skiing trip,” and as you’re rambling, his eyes avert toward your lips.

glossed - they brightly shimmered in the flickering dorm room light, and he struggled to focus on what you were even saying.

you spoke every word so sweetly. sukuna even studied the corners of your lips and they’d cutely crease within each syllable—with your brows slightly furrowing at every passing second. “uh- are you even listening, sukuna?”

“yeaah yeah. stupid skiing trip, nice.” he shrugs, feeling a weird feeling bubble up inside him.

with you being gone for two weeks - he’d have no one to annoy, no one to get high with, no one to-

“don’t be a baby. i’m not leaving until in like-” you pause, pulling up your wrist and squinting at your wristwatch. “two hours. in the meantime, we can just have one last sesh together if you want.”

yes, yes, yes!

“fine, whatever.”

it was just an ordinary sunday.

usually, sukuna would be out at some frat party. every year during the winter, there’s this annual gathering before the break where all the years are invited.

you went once during your sophomore year in college with a few friends, and to be honest - it was pretty shitty.

loud crappy music, stale refreshments, the whole college experience shebang.

you stopped attending a while ago, and you probably didn’t really miss much though.

besides if anything—you’d much rather prefer getting high than going to some overrated end-of-the-year party.

“mmh- thanks,” you sigh, desperately needing something to take the edge off.

with finals finally being over, getting blitzed was just what you needed. the two of you sat on the lower spacey bunk bed, and your eyes stared at sukuna’s fingers. he was so focused, claret pupils entirely fixated at the pre-rolled blunt in his hand.

with a near pout, you shrug your shoulders before finishing your sentence, “—and by the way ‘kuna, i can roll one y’know.”

“yeah riiight. last one you rolled was like a kazoo,” he gruffs, snatching a fresh hollowed blunt wrap from his pocket.

from your recent purchases, sukuna always knew your favorite flavor . . cherry rush.

he snickered at the cute ‘lil frown that would soon stretch across your lips, but you knew that was true. sukuna placed the pre-rolled blunt back in his pocket before turning back toward you.

you struggled a bit at the rolling part, but in your mind - you were a pro at taking hits.

“i’ll teach you one day how to master the art of rolling like me. it’ll cost ya extra though, roomie.” sukuna continues, making sure the materials perfectly stuffed inside. he already did the basics.

preparing the flower, chopping down the bud, breaking everything down, and a bunch of other steps. .

it was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours..

sukuna had to mash up the substance a bit, churning it with a tiny metal tool before then using the grinder to flatten everything up inside the wrap.

making sure it’s not too bulky, he then starts sprinkling a bit of the green substance inside the center and all around the other parts of the blunt evenly.

he’s neat and precise, making sure it’s enough for two instead of the usual one.

and finally, sukuna’s rolling it..

“watch me,” he hoarsely instructs, and your hands are placed in your lap. his fingers slither toward one end, carefully tucking a piece of the wrap around the substance. stubby thumbs of his that were melting with a bit of stickiness rolled around the sides. he’s shaping it, molding it into its right size so it’s nice and even. “the shapin’ is always important,” and you could already feel yourself starting to get bored.

just shut up and roll it.

is what your intrusive thoughts were trying to get you to blurt out, but you stayed quiet. as you’re still observing, sukuna slightly sticks out his tongue and starts to lick near the dry cracks.

oh.

you couldn’t lie—whenever you saw sukuna licking at certain parts of blunts whenever you two smoked together, it did something to you.

always, dirty thoughts would plague at the very front of your mind, wondering what else he could do with his tongue.

speaking of, sukuna’s tongue’s super duper long too. you could feel your breath hitching the more you watched, silently admiring how his lashes briefly closed each time he blinked.

you wondered if he could lick-

“ahem.” sukuna rolls his eyes, and he wasn’t even licking it anymore. he’s been stopped.

and now, he’s openly staring dead at you, a pink slit brow raised to further express his annoyance.

“sorry, what?” you reply, feeling a hot wave of embarrassment shiver down your entire spine.

oh girl, you’re so fucked.

he definitely saw you staring.

with a disappointed sigh, sukuna gives the chubby rolled blunt a soft pierce with two of his thumbs. “i said, why do you think i’m licking the blunt? tell me why that step of rolling is important.”

“um-” you pause, your mind not at all thinking about the smoke sesh anymore.

all you were thinking about sukuna’s long pink tongue.

you were squeezing your thighs shut the entire time. your knees were folded, digging into the squishy bed frame before you tried to gather up a good answer.

“you lick the sides to…uh-” you stammer, mind blacking out straight away. “…to get a quick taste before it burns?”

“tch. sometimes i wonder why i even get high with you,” sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. as he spoke in that same, husky tone—you could hear a bit of laughter trying to suppress from the back of his throat. “no, girl. i’m licking along the dry areas to help moisten it.”

“oh..” you blink, your mind all in the gutter.

the blunt’s earthy scent starts to fill up the dorm within no time.

it’s that same, strong cherry smell that’s always been your favorite. it’s wholly sweet, and the aroma was just so candied in the air that you could almost taste the tartness already on your tongue.

its smell was quite loud - hence why it was always your preferred choice out of his other flavors.

the scent was sweet but the taste was far sweeter, and the wrap never failed to leave you unsatisfied.

“oh,” sukuna mocks your single response, crimson eyes subtly flickering back into a roll once more. for a moment, you could feel sukuna’s gaze shortly taking in your appearance.

like usual, you wore some nameless brand university t-shirt with shorts on.

maybe you’re batshit crazy, horny- hell, maybe even both, but you could’ve sworn sukuna was gawking at your thighs.

your legs—they were neatly folded back as you sat on your knees. a bit of skin poking from your shorts had slight rips in them and he noticed it straight away.

the cute squish of your thighs coming together every few times you sat upright - so so pretty..

“anyways,” he clears his scratchy, itched throat, burying the image of your thighs away in the back of his mind. you were so close to him that he could practically smell the scent of your shampoo. “ah- you remember how to light, right?”

“mhm.” you gave him a nod, leaning in closer.

the fat blunt remained glued against his fingertips that pressed deeply into the sides. you reached near your nightstand to pull out a lighter, bringing it toward his lips.

sukuna’s viewing you closely, and you felt your weak pulse starting to quicken within seconds.

even though it’s just a small, tiny gesture, sukuna tilts his head down further toward you to reach your level.

sexily, you’re met with his red, darkened stare. pink, overlong bangs were already starting to run down his brows, nearly occluding his vision of you before he swipes his hair away from his face with a hand.

with a clicking, ‘flick!’ the flame brightly ignites, and you start to carefully glide the lighter back ‘n forth under the seam.

then, you start to go around the rest of the blunt, making sure all the parts get lit. sukuna watches as you bring the flame toward the very end of the stick. the smell’s getting even stronger, and sukuna’s stare at your decent lightning work gets him intrigued.

there was a sharp silence, and the only things that could have been heard were outside the dormitory. continuous chatter of other roommates and some pop songs playing in the ambience.

once you two start to actually smoke — you’re both taking turns, sat next to each other and allowing the euphoric high to slowly take over.

puff, puff, pass..

it was simple.

the two of you each got two tokes. since sukuna rolled, it was etiquette that he took the first few hits - then you.

“ugh,” you land on your back against the springy bed, drawing in a sharp breath. your lungs were heavy, and your chest slumped once you started to absorb the lemony puffs of air.

each sucked breath was deep, and every few seconds, you allowed yourself to recuperate from the strong hits.

“been a while,” sukuna speaks again, his voice dripping with a rasp. his throat - it sounds almost grating.

he lies his head back against the bed with you too, slightly craning his head to face you. “gettin’ high with you, i mean.”

passing the blunt back to him, you sleazily grin. “don’t tell me you’re gonna miss me.”

“tch. don’t be stupid, never said that,” he instantly replies, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit.

you talked so sly, and he noticed how your eyes were starting to droop already. sukuna’s jagged breathing hitched once your head softly thumped against his shoulder.

damn.

“it’s just annoying,” he continues, taking a second to inhale through his nose. a cloud of smoke exits through his nostrils and it’s always satisfying to witness.

your head rubs against the fleece of his sweatshirt before he lets out another dull inhale. once that short milisecond of tunnel vision occurs in his sight, sukuna exhales again—his shoulders slackening.

“ ‘m not gonna have anyone to smoke with for two weeks. and yeah, i could get high by myself but it’s… better with you.”

oh?

you glance up at sukuna’s whose eyes are glued to you. there were faint, noticeable bags underneath his eyes as his eyelids started to become heavy.

his entire face — it’s turning flustered once he realized what the actual fuck he just said.

shit. shit. shit.

“oh… my god,” you cheekily grin, grabbing the burning blunt from him. inhaling for two seconds, you place it between the arc of your fingers. “ ‘kuna, you could’ve just said so. well, if that was the case, i could’ve just canceled my flight and booked for tomorrow morning.”

“really?”

“uh- no, i was joking. do you know how much plane tickets cost? in this economy? please.”

sukuna rolls his eyes at your sass before grumbling. “whatever,” and he’s watching your hits turn into more than just two.

he raises a brow, staring at your pursed lips that were twitching every second as you blew out excess smoke. “oi- stop hoggin’ it. you always do this shit.”

“make me-”

he scoffs, narrowing puffy eyes at you before reaching over.

sukuna’s beefy arm extends to grab the blunt but coincidentally enough - he ends up falling flat on your chest.

you look down at him and there’s a loooong, eerie silence.

nothing was exchanged except intimate, prolonged glances and a subtle loud silence. sukuna gawked at you with fiery pupils occasionally flickering toward the rolled stick that was tightly gripped against your fingers.

he then looks at your lips… so shiny, you rubbed them against each other once you noticed his gaze before taking one more hit.

he stays quiet, watching you inhale before exhaling. “i didn’t know the blunt was on my ches-”

“shut up,” sukuna carps, cutting you off with a sharp tone. he leans in closer—and at that, you start to feel the speed of your heartbeat accelerate. sukuna brings a dry thumb toward your chin, gingerly smearing a circle around your skin before huskily murmuring. “fuck- can i . .”

“do it,” you breathlessly reply, already knowing what he was trying to say. the intense high was swarming you both mildly, and your senses were heightening from each elated breath being drawn.

you didn’t have to tell him twice.

instantly, sukuna’s lips crash firmly against yours.

it’s so quick - you barely have time to react, moaning once his tongue dips inside of your mouth. swiftly, sukuna snatches the blunt away from your hand, making his way on top of you.

your arms wrapped around his torso—pulling him closer as you both shared rushed, airy breaths. the cherry flavor lingers in both mouths, tangling with glutinous, sappy saliva and all. “mmgh-” you start to recline back, your left leg slinking around his slim torso.

a throaty groan scratches out of sukuna’s tongue as you hear the occasional ‘claps’ of both lips smacking into each other. every few seconds, it’d pitch louder and louder, and sukuna just couldn’t help himself.

just from his hungry lips, you could tell he’s been wanting to do this for the longest.

he just didn’t want to admit it.

“god-” he grunts against your lips, the tip of his nose softly rubbing against your skin.

yet again, foreheads were stacked right on top of each other, and he felt remains of smoke waft back into his mouth. you tasted so sweet, sweeter than anything he’s ever smoked by a long shot.

“mmh- sukuna,” you moaned, feeling his body in between your wrapped legs starting to grind into you.

it’s slow - his sweats were so soft, nearly tickling against your thighs before it then rubs against something very hard.

that ‘something’ was prodding through his grey pants and he prowls lowly into your neck, sucking against your freely exposed skin. “if.. you wanted to hump me all this time, should’ve just said so.”

“ugh-” he glares, the pink shade gradually painting over his vexed expression clearly betraying his annoyance.

sukuna was a big guy, and the size difference was very much apparent.

his body..

it towers over you, even with you being nearly smushed underneath him. his hips pathetically rolled into you steadily, and he grunts again but this time it’s huskier..

as your legs continued to cage him in with its secure grasp, you feel him stop. “fuck!” his head falls into your chest, and you could see a pout shortly tugging against his lips.

your brows twist into a furrow as you feel his body still itself. sukuna’s hardened bulge still rests between the front of shorts — but it’s . . wet.

heavy, deep pants could be heard from him and then that’s when you started to feel a damp splotch soak near the center of his sweatpants. as you’re still trying to catch your breath, you let off a sheepish, “heh.. ‘kuna.. did you just-”

“yeah, i fuckin’… came,” sukuna grumbles, slit brows contorting as he spoke with such distaste.

his pointed chin rests between the soft valley of your chest before he pinches his forehead. “look- i’m a virgin. i’ve never-”

with a soft-hazed expression, you pat his head. “it’s okay. it happens dummy. don’t uh- feel bad about that,” and his embarrassment leisurely subsides.

you obviously weren’t expecting him to say that.

you figured otherwise.

on campus, sukuna’s highly well-known and very popular. he’s usually seen around frat clubs and parties but wasn’t much social now that you thought about it.

he kept his circle small, and with you being his roommate he grew to get sort of used to your presence whenever the two of you smoked together . . sort of.

“just.. let me,” you quietly reply, shifting your body before getting on top of him. sukuna huffs faintly, placing the blunt near the nearby nightstand before staring at you.

now, you’re straddling him with your perked ass sitting directly above his abrupt cum stain that bled through his sweats. “is this okay? if you don’t feel comfortable we can just finish our sesh.”

“it’s fine,” sukuna swallows, admiring your body before him. even the shorts you wore were such a tease, maybe an ever bigger tease than you.

his eyes ran across the fabric, watching as it perfectly exposed just a nice amount of your ass.

he’s still so hard, and you sitting right on it was only making him ten times more needy. “i want- i want you, screw the damn blunt.”

“okay,” you coo out - your voice sounding like mere heaven.

as sukuna takes a gulp, the roused tent in his sweats pokes out further the more you shimmy your hips around him. closing the distance between you both—you place a wet kiss down the slope of his neck.

he shivers at your touch with one hand trying to reach toward your swaying waist. with a soft ‘whack!’ he scoffs, feeling you swat his hand away. “ah, no touchin’ ‘kuna. you want me to do all the work, remember?”

through gritted teeth, he snarls out a stubborn, “finee,” and he’s already feeling himself starting to melt through his sweats.

you being on top of him - straddling him, it made sukuna sweat bullets. “just- hurry up. ‘m so fuckin’ hard..”

“yeah, i can feel it,” you hush, fishing a hand near his sweatpants.

with a single hand, you yank on the knotted white tie and it quickly becomes loose.

sukuna’s whole physique…

you got a glimpse of his boxers that peeked above his waistline and fuck..

he was ripped, jacked in every way. the ideal fratboy.

the sharpened line of his pelvis looked like it could prick the tip of your finger. “mmh,” you hold in a breath, swerving your hips against his bulged crotch. “are you always this hard whenever we smoke together?”

“haaah? don’t be . . ridiculous,” he pauses, his head tilting back. “fuck- yeah, like thaaat,” sukuna’s voice slows down, and it pitches so low that his mere voice made you throb.

the strip of his boxers was a darkened shade of red, complimenting his maroon eyes. “god- you’re bein’ a tease. just fuck me already, girl.”

as your hand reaches near his boxers, you feel his body shake - erupting violently like an active volcano.

it’s a cruel shudder, with multiple shivers running down his slouched spine as you continue to move on him. your hand was delaying the damn inevitable, taking its time before finally slipping inside his ruined boxers.

“let me touch you- c’mooon,” sukuna continued to speak, his gruff whiny babbles falling on deaf ears. you raise your chin, gifting the bottom of his chin with another kiss. silent ‘mwah’ after ‘mwah’ and it only makes him more frustrated.

as your dominant hand starts to get a good feeling—you wrap your palm around his now pulled-out shaft and he groans.

sukuna’s throat bobs instantly, and you could feel an excited vein prod down a side of his thick cock. “f.. fuck, keep touchin’ it. touch me.”

“you still wanna touch me?” you murmur hotly, his high, drooping eyes filled with cloudy mist returning your glance.

he’s so eager too.

sukuna responds with a nod, coral brows raising in anticipation. “mhm, fine. go ahead.”

with a rough hitch of his breath, sukuna’s callused textured palms finally attach their way toward your hips.

he’s gentle yet firm, rocking you back into place before he moans at the tepid skin-to-skin contact.

you look down at his exposed cock and it’s just so pretty..

sukuna’s shaft was covered with veins - veins, veins galore. your thumb plays with a bit of foreskin, watching it peel back to expose the head and he shuddered from your touch once more.

“mmh..” he sighs deeply, your tender touch nearly hypnotizing him. the top part of his cock’s glans bruised with brightened shades of pink and rosy, hot red.

sukuna’s ridge was tapered too, and you felt yourself sporadically throb once between your open thighs as your curious thumb glided over the long hooking curve.

to top it all off, it’s got a lean to it too.

sukuna’s dick was so big that it could barely hold itself up. you watched as it sort of drooped over.

a tiny, attractive detail that made you release an elated sigh. as sukuna still feels your hand tending to his shaft, he lets out a low grunt. “don’t . . hah- know why we never did this before.”

“because you’re a chicken.”

“tch. girl fuck you.”

“no, fuck you. and i’m going to, relax pretty boy.”

♡ ♡ ♡

you were definitely somethin’ to be reckoned with.

sloppy, chaste kisses created a vertical path down his bare chest. sukuna held up his sweatshirt with one hand as your lips glued against his rock-hard abs that were all on display. you kissed down, down, down..

his abs were just perfectly sculptured - akin to a greek god with how they were just so naturally carved into chiseled, muscular pecs.

the cool air continued to set against his skin as he kept his sweatshirt raised. as your bridge of kisses resumed—sukuna groaned, preparing to sigh once your lips trailed and trailed . . until they eventually stopped at his dick.

it stood tall - slightly tilting forward with how heavy was. squinting a bit, you stared at the tiny hairs of pink that scattered around his stuffed base.

“is this alright?” you mumble through glittery glossed lips, your words so soft it sound like a raspy whisper. his tip was still covered with wetted drips of pre, tearing away at the sides with various white globs.

“ffuuuck- yeah, just do whatever. use your mouth, whatever you’re supposed to do,” sukuna grunts, feeling his core stomach tightening.

the two of you were sitting on the bed with him lying fully down. sukuna’s pants were pulled off now and he’s feeling his dick twitch every time your warm breath fans against his tip.

“mhm, okay,” you reply, rolling out your dripping, wet tongue. sukuna’s eyes immediately lock against you, peering as your tongue hungrily swirls its way around his pulsating crown.

slurrrp after slurrrp, you’re licking up the runny droplets of pre that were racing down all sides.

sukuna shivers, mumbling out a faint ‘ohhh shit’ before drawing in a long breath. each time he did, it felt like his lungs were being pinched from the inside.

you took his breath away,

figuratively and literally.

after all the times he’s smoked, nothing could ever compare to the way your tongue made him feel.

“s.. shit,” sukuna groans. your hand’s wrapped around his dick, and it was a bit limp. it only took you a few seconds (which felt like hours) to lap up his pre-cum before sliding your salivating tongue toward his mushroomy tip.

it’s so colorful - flushed with a burning, bright pink near the very capped head.

you even give it a little kiss, moaning once translucent strands of his pre creates a sloppy concoction with your saliva.

so filthy..

the two words that ran through his mind as he watched your plump-shaped lips.

as you continued, sukuna’s hand found its way toward the top of your head, ogling as you then puckered your lips.

slowly, he stares as your mouth opens up a bit to where it’s agape. you make your way down with his tip brushing past the parched roof of your mouth. he gutturally moans, feeling the scaly-like texture greeting his cock before nodding.

“mmh- your throooat . . feels so fuckin’ good,” he tilts his head back, adam’s apple still bobbing through the center of his larynx.

with sukuna being so big, you couldn’t exactly fit all of it inside.

with your hand still gripped around his hefty-made shaft, your scrunched wet lips gradually made their way to where your fingers rested.

your head’s starting to bob bob bob, and sukuna’s grunting his head off. the slippery, risqué noises were just downright wet - you’re gripping his cock before he feels you angle it further down your throat for a better stretch.

“mmph-” you let off a muffled whine, making sure to wet around his entire cock.

sukuna’s thighs already felt so heavy - they glued down to the bed as your head went up and down, and he just couldn’t look away from you.

the two of you were always smoking together when you both could’ve been doing this instead?

that same question — it kept running through sukuna’s head like a loop.

your mouth.. it kept sukuna’s dick so warm, so wet..

it was just something about the way your head bobbed with those pretty lashes of yours sticking to your eyelids. even your lids were starting to sag, preparing to snap shut at any moment.

your raving rhythm had him getting dizzy within seconds, and sukuna gave your hair a light tug.

“ngh-” you grump, your head pulling forward and it’s almost cute.

sukuna pauses, sheepishly scratching his head. “shit, sorry.. was i-”

“harder, dummy,” you interrupt his apology, saliva dribbling down the center of your chin as your lips briefly departed from his sheen-covered cock. sukuna moans at the lewd sight of you and how you were slobbering all over his cock.

this was the type of image he’d probably fantasize about whenever you weren’t in the dorm and he was by himself. “yank it.”

“eh. f.. fuckin’ kinky girl- fine,” and sukuna manages to grab a good amount of your hair. giving it a nice solid yank like you wanted, your head jerks forward. “mmng-” his nostrils flare for the second time.

sukuna grunts, hearing the wet little ‘ptou’ sounds of you spitting on his tip and lapping it right up.

you’re sucking him off — making him bite his lip, and he starts fucking back against your face until there’s even more glossy drool pouring down your chin.

much to your surprise, sukuna starts to raise his hips into your mouth, hearing strangled moans leave from your throat time and time again. after a few sloppy thrusts of his rolling hips, you took a second to start kissing around his dick again.

torrid, wet kisses ghosted all around his dick and sukuna could already feel his body starting to levitate from your wet lips.

your head - it’s similar to a bobblehead with the way it goes up ‘n down, movements entirely unpredictable.

you use your hand to slovenly twist around his shaft as you suck harder, moaning hoarsely once his bruised tip slams its way against the back of your throat.

it greets your fleshly uvula, and you let off a sweet gargled sound that makes sukuna’s dick twitch.

the single vein that runs down his cock dances against your tongue and you hum, batting your lashes.

he could never deny at all at how pretty you looked.

your cheeks were all puffed - stuffed all because of his dick that’s plugging in and out of your mouth.

sukuna lets off husky grunt after grunt at the back of your tongue skimming over his dick’s top. you’re getting his entire dick wet, not caring at all at how rivulets of your spilling saliva streamed down your chin. not just your chin, but near the cracks of your mouth.

your lips were perfect - they were stretched all out, shaped into a wide circular ‘o’ as you continued to take him down your tight throat.

“hng-” you’d moan, snaking a hand between your legs. sukuna gasped, eyeing you closely as you brought a few fingers of your own toward your puffed, neglected cunt.

you’re soaked, all through your panties too. you reached inside of your shorts, past your underwear before giving your pussy a loving squeeze.

as your mouth’s still occupied, you swiped a thumb over your pulsating clit that’s sobbing for attention.

“f.. fuck, didn’t know you were this nasty, roomie,” sukuna mutters, almost in awe at how you were just playing with yourself while he’s inches deep down your throat.

the downright dirty, racy noises echoed through the thin, dry walls of the dorm — and you prayed no one would hear.

to be specific, you prayed no one would hear sukuna because he was just groaning his lungs out as if he was belting an F5 high note. his voice indeed sounded rough, but every now ‘n then you heard a few cute cracks from your tongue work.

your head still bounces up and down, etching the tip of your tongue down a lightning-shaped vein.

sukuna’s stretchy girth damn near pried your mouth open even more on its own. you’re making sure not to use teeth, moaning at the feeling of your own fingers maneuvering circles against your clit. “ugh- good girl.. good- fffuck,” sukuna praises, feeling his tip stimulate way back toward your uvula for probably the umpteenth time.

he’s in alllll the way, watching as you breathe through your nose. “hah- throat’s just.. perfect for me. thaaaat’s … it, suck it, roomie. suck my.. p- penis.”

oh.. he can always work on dirty talk later.

sukuna’s cock was still sensitive - so much so that he doesn’t even realize that his orgasm’s approaching yet again. it’s a toe-curling feeling that threatens his ego, and a whine slips out.

you’re just so unapologetically sloppy - making out with his tip, slurping up the sides that rained with glittery beads of your spit.

“ahh,” you pop out his dick from your mouth, running your tongue around his tender frenulum.

right there, that moment right there was all it took for sukuna to cum and you knew it too.

“f- fuck, oh fuuuck, ‘m fuckin’ cummin’,” sukuna bites down on his jaw, fingers still dug into your scalp. your head sinks back down as his plump head pounds into your throat before you remove your fingers from the inside of your shorts.

first the tight shortness of breath comes — then, comes the actual release.

sukuna’s shooting down your throat, sprinkling creamy drops of cum on your flatly laid tongue as you look at him with those pretty, fogged eyes.

he already took the initiative to pull his leaking shaft out of your mouth, softly starting to then spank his tip against your greedy tongue.

“mmh-” you hummed again, a purr caught in your throat. it’s raw - and voice sounded a bit raspy, which had of course aroused him even more. this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and as your tongue lays flat — you nod your head. “good, keep hittin’ your tip against my tongue, mhm.”

“tch..” sukuna kisses his teeth, complying with your sinful request.

your lashes prettily fluttered as he’s still spurting out milky strips onto your tongue. the taste was bittersweet, and judging by the pout on your lips once he removed his cock away from the flatness of your tongue, you only wanted more.

panting heavily, sukuna’s abs clench through his fraternity-made sweats. “what?”

“c’mere,” you breathe, every breath you take becoming more strained as air tries to fill into your lungs. sukuna leans his head down to where you were, and his eyes immediately land on the remnants of cum that dribble a bit near the corner of your lip. “lick it off me.”

“hah- you’re a . . nasty little roommate.” sukuna snickered, a hand gently wrapping around the back of your neck. he pulls you in, pressing his lips into yours at full speed.

both lips were like speeding cars — they rammed into each other, the turbo being both lips quickly slamming against ajar, opened mouths.

sukuna grunts, vehemently running his tongue around the side of your mouth that’s covered with a few pearly tears of his cum. the sourly sweet taste again, makes him moan in your mouth, feeling your teeth playfully nip near his bottom lip.

as foreheads forevermore pressed against each other, sukuna drags his tongue near your chin which is also covered with sleek wet slicks.

as sukuna blindly guides his lips back towards your mouth, the open-mouthed kiss lasts for a while, to say the least. he even started sucking on your tongue, savoring the treacly cherry poppin’ taste that scattered all over your tastebuds.

you were a new high sukuna didn’t mind smoking.

♡ ♡ ♡

sukuna was still struggling to breathe - every breath felt more and more raspy with each singular puff.

pink, puffed lips of his were all swollen from your filthy make-out sesh. also though, his dick - his tip specifically, felt like it was on fire.. and the veiny sides were already starting to dry up with pasty splotches of cum.

you had to admit, sukuna looked kinda cute like this..

submissively underneath you with a pout, dripped in sweat everywhere on his body, sinewy muscles tensing with his cock just aching for more..

sukuna’s pink hair was unkempt and ruffled, messed up, and a tiny bit matted.

his once cocky and arrogant ego thrown was straight out the window all because of your throat and the way your raucous hips made him cum through his sweatpants.

sukuna knows you, and he knew you’d never let him live that down for as long as you two were roommates.

“your hoodie,” you bring a thumb above your vaguely dripping chin, smearing it around your sheeny lips. sukuna’s still laid back, and you’re now hovering over his sensitive cream-covered tip. “can i wear it while i ride you?”

“pft. no, it’s a frat-”

“kuna.”

“ughh- fine. better not ruin it,” he grumbles with a glowering scowl, raising his arms.

you help him take off the piece of clothing before putting it over your head, pulling down your t-shit from underneath.

as you do so, sukuna watches intently, feeling yet another vein prod against the right side of his dick. it was just something about seeing you in his clothing, straddling him too.

you’re wearing his fleecy-made frat hoodie as if it was your own and fuck did you look good in it.

sukuna’s breath nearly choked him as he openly stared at you, noticing how it was a bit oversized and practically covered over a nice portion of your thighs. “lie back more.” you utter, a hand grabbing the shared blunt that still rested idly on the nightstand. you’d almost forgotten about it.

right away, sukuna leaned himself back against the lopsided cushioned pillows that squished behind him.

there was just enough room to where your head didn’t hit the bottom of the top bed stacked above.

your hand grabs his hefty curved cock, aligning it against your sopping entrance before pausing. “tell me if it’s too much,” you mumble, bringing the stout blunt toward your lips.

sukuna’s completely shirtless now - and it suddenly gets so quiet that you hear him gulp in anticipation.

“j- just fuck me already,” he prowls rashly, his words turning into an impatient hiss once his beefy arms wrap around your torso.

with an ‘oof,’ you end up landing flat into his chest.

sukuna’s poor creamy tip was crying - it was starting to sob from the very reddened tip with rivulets of precum.

the wait was antagonizing - you were antagonizing.

he just wanted to be inside you, to feel what it’s really, really like.

sukuna fantasized about this exact scenario in more ways than he could count. he was far too stubborn to ever admit that he was too shy to actually be intimate with someone.

but with you, it only felt right.

“let me take another hit first-” you giggle, seeing the glare forming on his face. “geez, okay, okay.”

sukuna kept his eyes on you as you placed the cherry-flavored blunt in between your teeth.

it’s still securely rolled and fat - and you felt one of his hands creeping toward your ass within no time.

you steal another bit anyway,

and with a single addicting puff, a gust of wind whirls its way into your lungs and down your passageway. “f- fuckk..” you sigh, one hand positioning his teary tip against your drooling, drooling slot.

a cloud of smoke emits from your mouth once you breathe out, and sukuna sucks in a raspy drag. “mmg- hurry the fuck up,” he clenched down on his jaw tightly, bottom lip thoughtlessly quivering.

he’s so sensitive—with endorphins crashing through his veins, they sent rocketing shockwaves all down his spine. your cunt was just dangerously slick, and he knew you were teasing just by the way you rubbed your pussy back ‘n forth against his poor cum-dripping cockhead.

“hah- fuckin’ . . put it in- ngh-”

“ask nicely.” you whisper, wrapping a hand around his thick throat.

oh.

sukuna would’ve probably been lying if he said that didn’t turn him on.

your wet cunt was gradually sliding itself against his cock that rested against his tummy.

a big hand then grips onto your bare right ass cheek before he growls under his breath.

“fuck me, or else.”

“no.”

“fuck me, or else…please.”

“still no. also, speak up.”

sukuna glares at your audacity, seeing a small simper preparing to crease against your lips before he sighs in defeat. you were probably even more stubborn than him..

his shoulders slump before he clicks his tongue, clearing his throat. “okaay, roomie. you win- fuck. please, ride me. i- i need it,” and for a moment there, its a bit of vulnerability in sukuna’s tone.

his baritone-pitched voice, it cracks and you could see his left eye twitching.

you’re killing his pride.

but part of that made him more aroused.

“i need . . you.” he concludes, shaky labored breaths leaving from his lips. sukuna groans, feeling you slide a hand down his hardened chest.

the tips of your padded fingers circle his pecs, outlining each vein that decorated his sculpted body.

sukuna was like a candle melting from just your blazing touch. his body was the wax and your fingertips were the flame. his hoodie that you wore only made the entire scene sexier too.

he allowed his crimson gaze to follow toward your chest. the three-letter logo of the fraternity he was in finely stitched against the fabric. it hugged your body flawlessly, and his eyes never left your frame, not even for a minute.

“good boy,” you hum, hearing him nearly choke at your praise.

good boy.

sukuna’s ears perked before he groans, hearing the long-awaited squelch of your pussy ‘slap’ down on him.

your warmth from the inside surprises him, and he whiiiiines out a sweet, elongated mewl of your name. “ugh- fuck,” sukuna hisses, feeling you sink yourself down.

it’s a tight fit at first with an even bigger stretch!

sukuna’s rounded tip alone could barely lodge its way inside, and you had to use both hands just to guide it in the right direction. with the blunt still buried underneath your teeth, you blow smoke in his face. “mmph- open your mouth,” you airily mumble.

taking in the sugary scent—sukuna moans, bringing his lips apart.

once you’re starting to move, it’s over -

with your head going closer toward his face, you take the rolled stick from your lips to blow more smoke… this time, into his mouth.

your hips started to wind up, and he was already bottomed out inside. “taste it,” you whisper, feeling sukuna’s questing tongue already trying to swash around the inside of your cheek.

smoke pours into the right sukuna’s mouth, traveling within both pairs of full lungs before he kisses you deeply.

you’re each sharing smoke between twisted tongues and it’s so filthy..

your warm breath continues to slide against his sukuna’s—feeling his tongue eagerly dip its way inside your mouth.

the sweetened taste of cherry lingers against your buds and his, and between sloppy kisses, you moan. “mhh- there we go, good. just hold my hips again.”

“f.. fuck,” sukuna clicks his tongue, drowsy eyes already rolling back in such immense pleasure.

your pussy had such power - power that even he couldn’t handle because he felt like the entire bed was about to snap into two.

your hips had sukuna hysterical, and he starts fanning himself too. “p- phew, shiiit..” he groans, pink brows curving into a desirous furrow.

you’re swerving, tightly gripping back against his cock like velcro as you started to cling onto the bed’s railing for better leverage. “damn- goddamn, fuuuck me then.”

the high surrounds you both and it’s just pure bliss..

it was like a trip you didn’t want to end, and sukuna felt like he was floating every time your ass wetly slammed back down onto his lap. you’re making his head spin in the best way possible, dozens of gears turning in his empty brain.

“haah- ‘kuna,” you’d moan, hot breath landing against his chin and tickling the tiny hairs that stick against his skin. you’re clenching down on him from the inside, hearing every sticky plap! of skin clash amongst each other.

sukuna was a bit awkward with his hands - they didn’t know where to go.

one moment, they’re glued to your hips and the next, they’re traveling down your thighs. his favorite part though, was your ass.

as you continued to move, sukuna couldn’t help but thumb a few clammy fingers toward the sides of your jouncing rear.

harshly - he gives it a needy squeeze before spanking it, hearing the cute gasping whines drag from your throat.

he’s getting the hang of it.

“c- careful,” you wheeze, watching as he’s taking a puff now. sukuna’s nude chest was already starting to gloss gloss gloss with gallons of sweat. sure—you’ve seen him at the gym but never this sweaty.

with your arms tossing over his tensed shoulders, your weeping cunt flops right against his cock with a few sloppy single thrusts, earning a loud grunt from him. “now ‘m really startin’ to think you’re in love with m-”

“just…shut up.” sukuna grumbles, silencing you with another deep kiss. it’s rough - and out of the many, many kisses you shared with him tonight, this felt more . . different.

sweet, pathetic whimpers elicited from you as your ass repeatedly whacked against his pelvis. sukuna’s lean cock sloppily digs its way through your cunt and you squealed at each vigorous curve.

riiiight thereeee-

he’s found the spot and he didn’t even know it.

your cute little shriek was all that told him though, because as his teeth were sharply striking against yours—he hit that same beloved g-spot again, and again, and again..

“o-ooh!” your back prettily arches like a cat, tangled colorless strands of saliva reluctantly pulling away from each pair of lips.

sukuna’s tip was vast and huge, it easily ran through the taut barrier of your entrance and you drool every time he kisses near your clit.

it’s just so tender..

your pupils were starting to enlarge with your eyes crossing. sukuna’s got the same eyes too from the overwhelming high… but his eyes were a bit bloodshot.

your hips were just so nasty, and he’s grunting every time your sopping pussy sucks him in before spitting him right back out, then in, then out again — a repeated loop of pure fuckin’ filth.

“mmn- ‘m gonna cum,” you whined, gasping once sukuna’s hands grabbed your waist. you both exchanged a look of utter blitzed lust, and sukuna darkly exhaled. your hips buckled in and out, in and out until your hips were just stuttering over him. “k- keep hittin’ me there, baby~ fuuck-”

baby.

sukuna felt his cheeks heat up - the small pet name making him wonder if the two of you were really more than just smoke buddies, more than just roommates..

“hng- me too,” sukuna rasps, feeling the sultry head of his cock burning up to such a smoldering degree.

he’s not just hot there—but all damn over.

you’re maintaining your rapid pace, moaning at the nerves pulsing through your body that steadily got provoked by sukuna’s deep, pivotal thrusts. “god- so fuckin’ perfect. ride me.. hah- ride it like you own it then, ugh-”

your continuous bouncing on sukuna’s lap even has his eyes rolling back too. it’s undeniably sexy, and you felt the sticky grip of his thumbs starting to lessen its hold against your rocky waist.

sukuna’s cock was starting to stiffen within seconds and your cunt was just so swollen, dribbling from every weeping orifice with syrupy amounts of juices.

it’s an all-around mess, and not before long, the smell of your own arousal mixes in with the feeling of your highly anticipated fervor..

the entire dorm was clouded - fogged, bathed in a mix of all scents. scents of pleasure, of cherry, and lots ‘n lots of sweat.

it was hard to see anything except for the two of you and the windows were just covered with steam.

your thighs practically glued to sukuna’s, and as his dick’s still pumping in and out of you, you let off a clamoring squall.

right then - that’s when it happens.

you cling onto him steadfastly, sensuously bucking your animalistic hips into him weakly as your body starts to slow. everything happens in almost slow motion - and if it was one thing for sure, your pussy had sukuna hypnotized.

sukuna’s angered cockhead swabs its way around your beloved g-spot about three more times before he groans too.

much louder than you, and he suppressed his nose (or at least tried to) by delicately biting into your shoulder. your skin’s softness had his tongue hungry, and he was lapping at your skin until it was turning wet all because of him..

the blunt ended up falling out of his mouth, landing on the wooden floor with a faint ‘thump!’

but sukuna could care less though-

he had far more important things to care about,

like how he was shooting literal blanks inside of you, painting your pretty clamping walls with his ivory-white color that hugged him oh-so tight.

sukuna’s gutturally groaning in your ear, moving his mouth away from your shoulder while leaning against your cheek.

you both came at the same time and it almost didn’t even feel real.

your teeth shatter as your hips finally stop moving, and sukuna falls back against the bed.

you’re whimpering loudly, creaming all down his cock as your body’s met with abrupt currents of rippling waves.

instead though—the only wave was your orgasm, crashing down down down..

“ugh-” he moans, lips quivering once more once he feels such wads spitting out of his tip.

it comes out so slowly, thin ropes of cum that leisurely bubble into pearly ribbons of stripes.

sukuna’s heart’s beating out of his chest - pound after pound so loud that he hears the melody through his ears like speakers.

as he’s still trying to get over his most recent finish—his first instinct was to wrap a burly arm around you.

you’re caught off guard by the sudden gesture, but you don’t complain.

he’s still snugly inside so deep, flooding your pussy with a feverishly hot batch of cum that even starts to ooze down between your legs.

you’re both breathing stiffly, sharing labored delayed pants before sukuna cups your chin. “what... are. we.”

“what?” you blink.

sukuna deadpans, a chastened pout compressing his lips before he brings a sloppy two-second kiss to your mouth.

you return it, quietly moaning at the stickiness currently slimed between your cracked-open thighs.

“i don’t.. know,” sukuna pants, bringing a palm near his forehead to wipe a sheet of perspiring sweat away. “this.. us- whatever.. this is,” he waves a hand around to exaggerate. “friends- er- smoke friends don’t just… casually cum in each other.”

“yeah, that’s true,” you jeer, leaning in while sukuna’s still buried swollen balls deep. inching close, you kiss his neck before sweetly whispering. “maybe we’re more then just friends and maybe you’re more than just my plug.”

sukuna scoffs. “hmph. well- you’re still payin’ by the way.”

with an eye roll, you reach near your burgundy-colored nightstand. with a loud ‘whiiir’ it opens, and you pull out a twenty dollar bill of what was the usual price of your purchases.

a bit overpriced but again, you didn’t have the energy to complain.

not when you were so stuffed - leaking with sukuna’s cum drizzling out of your cunt.

“here.” you hand him the crumpled-up dollar bill. sukuna takes it, and his entire face is just flushed.

for once — you see actual color in his usually stoic, emotionless face. who knew it was all because of you and your hips.

sukuna grunts something under his breath, watching as you slide your panties and shorts back on. scarlet eyes did a slow pan from up to down at your body, glancing at his hoodie that you still had on before you grabbed your suitcase underneath your desk.

“wha- you’re leaving?”

“yeah, i’m gonna miss my flight.” you reply, watching sukuna’s lips form into the nth pout of the night. two hours went by so quick, he forgot all about your dumb trip.

not to be dramatic (except sukuna probably was being dramatic) but two weeks without you felt like an eternity.

especially with how good you just made him feel, the replay of the entire scene that just occurred had his mouth shamelessly watering.

going toward the side of the bed where sukuna lay, you press one final wet kiss against his lips.

he grunts, leaning into your tender touch, gasping once your free hand gives his twitching cock a few ‘goodbye’ pumping strokes.

“mmg- don’t go.” you heard him grumble between your lips.

with a soft wet ‘smack’ — both lips hesitantly depart, and you whisper against his ear before leaving. “i’m keeping the hoodie by the way.”

[goofygubegubler]

𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑶𝒏𝒆?

Inexperienced doesn’t mean incapable—especially when you’re bent over and begging him to go deeper.

wc: 2k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, mild dominance/submission dynamics, inexperienced but eager Spencer, praise kink, slight hair pulling, deep penetration, overstimulation, mild dirty talk

A/N: I’m obsessed with the big useless dick trope from @esote-rika, so here’s my take—featuring a big, useless dick and a loving, overthinking, but oh-so-giving doctor. (not proof read)

Spencer had been so inexperienced when you first got together—hesitant, unsure. Just two partners before you, neither of them pushing him beyond what he knew. He was sweet, generous, and completely devoted to your pleasure, but he was stuck in his patterns. The same three positions, over and over. Missionary, him on top, or you on top—maybe a leg up if he was feeling particularly bold. It wasn’t bad. Far from it. His big, beautiful cock, thick and flushed at the tip, always left you satisfied. But satisfaction wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted something deeper. Something rougher. Something primal.

You kept thinking about last week—when Spencer had lost himself for just a second. The way his fingers wrapped around your throat as you came, his hips snapping into you harder than usual. The look in his eyes after, that flicker of something raw and untamed before he shoved it back down, had haunted you. Left you craving more.

And yet, here you were again, pinned beneath him in missionary, Spencer sweating above you, his breath ragged as he buried himself inside you with careful precision. His movements were deliberate, controlled—too controlled. You could feel the effort, the sheer determination to make you feel good, but somewhere in his need to perfect, to please, he was missing something vital. His strokes were measured and rhythmic, but they lacked the wild, desperate edge you ached for. His eyes were shut tight, damp curls sticking to his forehead, lost in his own head instead of here with you. You loved him—God, you did—but you needed more.

"Sp- Spencer," you gasped, hands trembling as they found his face, fingers pressing into the sharp angles of his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. He nearly stopped, concern flashing in his dark, lust-blown eyes, but you shook your head quickly, tightening your grip just enough to keep him there.

"No, no, keep going," you urged, your voice a smooth plea, even as pleasure curled hot and tight in your belly, stealing your breath. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his breath, the slight tremble in his jaw as he obeyed. A soft, unbidden whimper slipped from him, the sound vibrating against your touch, sending a molten shiver straight through you.

His rhythm faltered, just slightly, when you spoke again. "Spencer, can we try something new?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features as he leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. He hesitated—that hesitation so inherently him, always second-guessing, always calculating.

But not tonight.

You didn’t give him the chance to overthink. In a swift movement, you rolled out from under him, flipping the balance of power in an instant. "Come on, genius," you teased, your smirk slow, dripping with something dangerously enticing. "You’re always reading. I know you’ve done your research."

His pupils blew wide, and for a moment, he hovered between intrigue and disbelief, his jaw tensing like he was fighting himself. Then, something shifted. Acceptance. Surrender. The sharp edge of arousal overtaking logic.

He swallowed hard, raking a hand through his hair before his fingers flexed at his sides. "You know," he started, voice lower, rougher, "research suggests this position promotes optimal G-spot stimulation and deeper penetration." A pause, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "And judging by your reaction, I’d hypothesize you already knew that."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as his hands found your hips, gripping, exploring. "You think too much, Doctor."

"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice thinner now, like he was barely holding himself together. "It’s kind of my thing."

"Then let’s see if I can make you stop thinking for a while."

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as you crawled onto your hands and knees in front of him, arching your back just enough. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the way your hips tilted up for him. He stared, visibly collecting himself, and then, in the way only he could, he gave a response that had your stomach tightening.

"Statistically speaking, rear-entry positions allow for deeper penetration and increased stimulation of the anterior vaginal wall, particularly the A-spot and the upper third of the clitoris," he murmured, his voice low, almost clinical, but edged with something rough. "They also offer better angles for prostate stimulation—not that that applies here, but still interesting."

You bit your lip, tilting your head to glance back at him, eyes dark with mischief. "Spencer," you purred, voice low and teasing, "I didn’t ask for a dissertation. Get behind me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. But any hesitation he had was gone, burned away by the heat simmering between you. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your skin, firm and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself, as he lined himself up. The air between you turned electric, thick with anticipation. For a few long, breathless seconds, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, the weight of what was about to happen settling deep in your bones.

Then, finally, he pushed in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch. His hands tightened on your hips as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

The stretch had you gasping, your fingers curling into the sheets as pleasure spiked sharp and hot through your veins. Behind you, Spencer let out a broken, needy sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against your skin. “The angle really does make a difference.”

A breathless laugh slipped past your lips, dissolving into a moan when he gave an experimental thrust, adjusting his stance behind you. Whatever hesitation he had left melted away, replaced by something deeper, something raw. He found a rhythm—strong, precise, every snap of his hips hitting just right. It shouldn’t have surprised you—of course Spencer would be good at this, just like he was good at everything—but still, you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into every movement like you’d been waiting for this all along.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his fingers skimming up your spine, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. “I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.”

You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the sensation of him, the way he fit inside you like he was made for it. Instead, you pushed back to meet his thrusts, earning a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice rough and desperate. “You like this, don’t you?”

A strangled moan was the only answer you could give, pleasure burning so hot it left you breathless. Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, knuckles white, your entire body trembling with every deep, measured thrust he gave. He wasn’t holding back anymore—wasn’t hesitant. He had surrendered to the need coiling tight inside him, his usual restraint shattered by the slick heat of you wrapped around him.

“Yes,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking on the word.

That single syllable sent a shudder through him, a deep groan tearing from his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him harder, deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself completely in you. The drag of him inside you was unbearable in the best way, his pace relentless but still precise, like he was cataloging every reaction, every sharp inhale, every flutter of your walls around him—storing it all away in that brilliant mind of his, ready to use it against you later.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and something almost reverent. “God, you’re so—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he caught himself, the slap of skin on skin filling the air.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him—Spencer, his hair damp and curling at the edges, jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was fighting to hold on, his hands gripping you like he was terrified of letting go. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze locked on where your bodies met, completely transfixed.

“You feel so good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like it was a confession. “Too good—I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

His honesty sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips as your body clenched around him involuntarily. The reaction dragged a ragged sound from him, his hips snapping into you harder, his control slipping with every thrust.

“I want you to come first,” he managed, the words punctuated by sharp, deliberate movements that had your entire body winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re— you’re getting close,” you panted, the pleasure building too fast, too intense, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

Spencer’s hand slid from your hip, tracing up your spine before tangling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sudden shift, the subtle display of dominance, had your stomach coiling impossibly tighter.

“Then let me take you there,” he murmured, his free hand slipping between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves already throbbing from the friction. His touch was precise, practiced, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body jolting with pleasure. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

It was too much. The fullness of him, the pressure, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way he was whispering praise into your skin like you were something to be worshipped—it sent you spiraling over the edge in a dizzying, overwhelming rush. Your body clenched down around him as the orgasm crashed through you, your vision going completely white, your mouth opening in a silent, wrecked moan.

Spencer groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him to the brink. His movements grew erratic, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering in your ear.

“Fuck—” The word was half a sob, his body tensing behind you as he reached his own release, his hips jerking against you in a few final, desperate thrusts before he stilled, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, utterly spent.

The heat of him filled you, thick and warm, spreading deep, making you shudder in the aftermath. The sensation was almost too much—his release inside you, each subtle twitch of him prolonging your own pleasure, making your walls flutter around him involuntarily. He let out a broken groan, his fingers pressing hard into your waist like he was trying to ground himself, trying to feel every second of it, unwilling to let the moment slip away too soon.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, the aftershocks still rippling through both of you, making you keen softly when he shifted just slightly inside you.

Then, finally, Spencer let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. "So, I guess that was a successful experiment."

You snorted, shoving weakly at his shoulder, though he barely budged. His smirk was lazy, smug, just a little bit cocky. "What? You were the one who encouraged me to apply my research."

Rolling your eyes, you stretched out beneath him, still catching your breath. "Never thought I’d see the day Spencer Reid goes hard."

He grinned against your skin, pressing another indulgent kiss to your jaw. "What can I say? The data was conclusive."

[miupow]

hear me out...chan trying to fit it in but he's too big and he's whispering all kinds of stuff trying to get you to take it and you're frustrated and needy and you're just so !! done !! because it feels empty and he's so close yet he's not in and finally finally, his thick tip catches and he inches in agonizingly slow simply to hear you whine for it

꒰୨୧◞ ⤷ ❛❛ TOO BIG ! ❜❜ .ᐟ bang chan.

[ ⟡ ] ── minors do not interact ! ⭑ fem!reader , soft dom!chan , est. relationship , monster cock chris lol , size kink , dirty talk , praise kink , daddy kink , missionary/mating press , unprotected sex , bulge kink

a/n ⸝⸝ happy (late) comeback day !! i’m not very proud of this drabble but it’s here and i’m posting it anyway lol <3 save me big dick chris.. save me..

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ m.list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

“it’s too big, channie,” you whimper, peering down between your legs— the big fat tip of chan’s cock throbs an angry red as he slides it up between your pussy lips, taps it against your fluttering hole. your ankles dangle in the air over his shoulders, thighs pushed up to your chest by his body pinning you against the mattress, so close you could feel his hot breath, ache for a kiss from the plump, spit-slick lips he bit in arousal. he grips the base of his shaft in one hand, guiding it to push at your rim; you’re frightened by the sheer size of it, thick as a can, veins fat and pulsing… the pressure of it was already overwhelming yet you roll your hips down eagerly, desperate for it to slide in and fill you up.

“shh, stay still, babygirl,” chan coos so sweet, his veiny hand splayed out across your tummy. “and take this fucking cock. daddy knows you can.”

your pussy is making it difficult, so wet chan’s cock misses your hole, slides up your folds to bump against your clit. you shake in pleasure and frustration, reaching your hand down to take ahold of chan’s cock yourself— chan lets you with a warm smile, his thick arms shaking with every slick twist of your hand.

“you need me that bad, baby?” he chuckles, breathless. “thought you said it was too big.”

“i’m so empty,” you whine in response, angling his flared head to spear your core. “need your big cock, daddy—“ finally, finally his tip catches and slides in, sudden yet so achingly slow, your eyes rolling back in tandem with chan’s deep, guttural groan; the stretch burns deliciously, clouds over your senses as your mouth drops open in a moan for more.

“there you go, baby, just like that,” chan continues to bully his cock in past your tight rim, slow and gentle— but there’s nothing gentle about the way he fills you up, inch by fat, throbbing inch stretching your wet gummy walls to their limits. you can feel every ridge, every vein drag hot and heavy… you let go of his shaft in favor for scratching deep red marks into his flexing bicep, scrambling for something to hold on to and ground you. “daddy’s good girl, taking his cock so well— feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“b-big—!” you croak in a daze, an echo of your earlier sentiments; it was all you could manage to make yourself say, rendered brainless in an instant as chan’s blunt cockhead kisses your cervix. “so— so fucking big! ‘n deep, daddy, fuck—“

“yeah?” chan huffs, hips stuttering flush against yours. “am i too big for your little cunt, baby? feel me all the way up here?”

he presses down on the bulge his cock makes in your belly, causing the both of you to keen, your little dripping pussy fluttering around his cock as he twitches inside of you; you desperately want him to move, start pounding your pussy like you’ve been wanting so, so badly… you eagerly nod at chan’s teasing words, buck your hips the best you can folded in half. “yes, yes!” you wail, voice slurred, “give it to me daddy, please!”

“you’re so pretty when you’re begging for me, angel,” chan grins crookedly, pulling his hips back to slide himself out of your hole. you hold your breath in wicked anticipation. “beg some more and i’ll give you what you need.”

[lokissweater]

a million more novembers

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: its you and megumi’s cute little two year anniversary! a car picnic at a stargazing hotspot in the city— snacks, drinks, your loving baseball man, and gifts galore? yes please!

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, cursing, FLUUUUFFF GALOOREEEE AWWWUUHHH!!, sexual themes, mostly sfw except for like one steamy part ;), boobie sucking, grinding, soft loving megumi OFCCC, sliight angst but really nothing, all characters are aged up, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)

word count: 8.8k

authors note: ANNIVERSARY SPEECCCIIAAALLL I AM CRRRYYIINNNGGG!!! i hope you guys enjoy this little side fun mini chapter of sir gumi and reader’s anniversary day, and their endeavors with yuji and readers best friend :333 wanted to give you guys an extra mlb!megumi chapter in celebration of their LUUUUVVV !!! MWAAAHHHHH I LOOOVEE YOUUUU !!! TAKE CAAAREEEE !!! <3333333

i highly advise you to read the other parts of this series or else you won’t be able to understand some of the storyline and references :( you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

if you could, you’d fake pass out at this very moment so that way you’d be excused by your professor and get the fuck out of your afternoon lecture right this instant.

but you couldn’t, because attendance was mandatory and you’d lose points upon missing out… and you had an exam next week— which is something you normally just grumbled about and dealt with seeing as it was just a part of being in college, except right now? it was criminal to even think about an upcoming exam like this.

because it was you and megumi’s two year anniversary.

and the only thing you wanted to do was be there with him for the entire day… but because of your classes and megumi having abnormal back to back practices again due to the upcoming world series, you both agreed that you’d drive over to the stadium after your afternoon class and leave together for your little date after he was done.

but even though megumi had practice, you wanted to be at the stadium so fucking badly— watching him pitch and swing and just do what he does best one of your absolute favorite hobbies, the way he plays never getting old and actually illegal to even think that something like that could be a possibility.

you shrunk down in your seat, arms crossed as your professor went over topics about something and guidelines about whatever, you usually paying more attention to the material if it was any regular day but wanting to strangle yourself because the education system was preventing you from being with your man.

your phone lit up suddenly with a notification, you smiling softly to yourself upon realizing who it was and sitting up, grabbing your phone to unlock it.

(gumi <3): how’s class baby

you quickly typed back a response.

(you): do you think if i pretend to pass out right now my professor will excuse me and i can just leave

(gumi <3): lol

(gumi <3): you only have thirty minutes left though right?

(you): okay but gumi what does that have to do with me wanting to pretend to pass out so i can go see you faster

(you): and make fan edits of you while i wait 

(you): I— I MEAN—

(gumi <3): omg

(gumi <3): you’ve made enough of those

(gumi <3): no more

you quietly scoffed in your seat, thumbs rapidly typing away.

(you): gumi i can’t believe you’re not supportive of my extra curricular activities rn

(you): after EVERYTHING i’ve done for you

(you): after all the times i’ve sucked your dick

(you): and i thought you liked my edits :(

megumi took a minute to respond before your phone buzzed again.

(gumi <3): LOL

(gumi <3): i do baby i’m kidding

(gumi <3): and don’t put that image in my head rn

(you): oh??????

(you): and why not???? ;))

(you): boner alert perhaps??? ;))

(you): maybe today during our cute little date you can take me to pound town in the back seat of your car and make me cum and cry all over your dick gumi!!

you shrunk further down in your seat and snickered quietly, funnily shielding your phone to prevent anyone else seated around you in your lecture from seeing the absurd messages on your phone.

(gumi <3): jesus fucking christ

(gumi <3): why are you doing this

(you): because i loooveee youuuu <33

(you): and i can’t wait to seee youuuu <333

(you): maybe i should go to the bathroom rn and send you a boobie pic :P

(gumi <3): please

(gumi <3): fuck wait my breaks over i have to go

(gumi <3): fuck

you mushed a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing out loud, typing a response.

(you): BAAAAHAHAHAH

(you): OMG IM SO SORRY GUMI

(you): HAVE A GOOD REST OF YOUR PRACTICE OKAY ILL SEE YOU IN A BIT! <3

(gumi <3): do you think if i pretend to pass out coach will excuse me

(you): NO GUMI 

(you): GOOOO

(you): GO PLAY GO PLAY

(gumi <3): god

(gumi <3): fine

(gumi <3): i love you pretty baby i’ll see you 

(gumi <3): and pay attention

(you): i love you too gumiiii !!! <333

(you): NO PROMISES BYE !!!

(you): SMOOOCCCHHHH

you breathed out softly through your nose and set your phone back down, one leg crossing over the other as you impatiently waited and practically glared at the powerpoint slides in front of you, your ankle bouncing and mind drifting off again— double checking over the list of things you and megumi needed for your date instead repeatedly in case you forgot something.

since your anniversary couldn’t be an all day thing, the two of you planned a cute little car picnic date at a star gazing hotspot out in the hills of the city, a place megumi had actually been to before in his childhood with gojo and his sister, and one he said he remembered to be nice and quiet with a good view of the stars, similar to how they looked like when you all went on that trip in the mountains a few months ago with his dad, yuji, and your best friend— the fact only making you overly ecstatic, since megumi suggesting something like that without a little gruff and huff was always a special rare sight to see.

and the only things megumi literally allowed you to bring were the fuzzy blankets and pillows and such, him forbidding you from buying absolutely anything else like snacks, drinks, and the food, saying that he had it and it was okay— simply only chuckling and lightly flicking your forehead when you grumbled and fought with him over it in the hopes that he would let you take care of at least half of the things.

he did not.

“alright i think i’ll stop here for today and let you guys go a little earl—”

you shot up from your desk and shoved your books in your bag, not even letting your professor finish before you were already up and speed walking out of the lecture hall and down your building, thanking the gods above for the thousandth time that megumi’s stadium was only a fifteen minute drive from your campus, and therefore made it so much easier for you to drive on over without difficulties and pretty much whenever the fuck wanted… which was all of the time.

just as you plopped in the drivers seat and chucked your bag to the passengers side, an apparent buzzing vibrated through the right back pocket of your skirt as you reached in to pull it out, your best friend’s name flashing at the top.

“hellooo!” you answered, swinging the door shut and turning on the ignition, the heater unit blasting through the vents and warming up the spiking chilly temperature in your car.

“hi babe!” your best friend greeted. “how far away are you?”

“i just got out of class! i should be there in about ten if i go over the speed limiiit.” you grinned, putting your phone on speaker and setting it down on your lap, backing out of your parking space.

“SHE SAID TEN MINUTES GOING OVER THE SPEED LIMIT MEGU— what?! i can’t— i can’t hear you idiot you’re across the fucking field!—”

you laughed loudly as you drove out of your campus parking lot, zooming down the street and going the usual route to his stadium.

“oh my— megumi ordered and yelled at me to call you to see how far you were babe.” she sighed. “when is this man ever gonna treat me fairly this is ridiculous— WHAT?! TELL HER WHAT?!—”

“i’m about eight minutes away now!” you laughed. “tell him that please i’m almost there—”

“WAIT SHE SAID SHE’S EIGHT MINUTES AWA— oh my god okay megumi says not to go over the speed limit and to park next to him in the players parking lot.”

“tell him i said watching him play baseball is more important than the law i don’t give a—”

“SHE SAID WATCHING YOU PLAY BASEBALL IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LAW— oh he’s coming. save yourself and hang up y/n he’s coming— YUJI GET HIM HE’S GONNA TAKE MY PHONE— ARGH STOP!—”

“—go over the speed limit and see what happens.”

a different deeper voice muttered over the line, partially out of breath and one you instantly recognized to be megumi’s as you giggled.

“gumi the speed limit is a social construct and if i don’t get to watch you play for the last thirty minutes of practice i’m gonna gauge my eyeballs out.”

“baseball’s also a social construct.” he deadpanned. “and you watch me play all of the time baby don’t speed you drive like a fucking street racer sometimes.”

“but isn’t it cool and sexy that i do? eehh?” you quipped in a silly way. “and i don’t care how many times i’ve seen you play gumi… i still need to be admitted into a mental facility each time it’s embarrassing.”

he chuckled softly.

“you almost here?”

“yeah! i’m just pulling into the stadium i’m going over to your structure right now.”

“okay.” he spoke. “park next to me please.”

“—megumi i told her that already—”

“can you not eavesdrop—”

“—if it has to do with y/n fuck no—”

“—okay!” you sputtered while shifting your gear to park and turning off the ignition, cutting their bickering off. “i’m here gumi i’m gonna walk to the stadium now.”

“alright i’ll see you baby.” 

“i’ll see you!—”

“your phone time’s revoked asswipe give me my device right now—”

“—can you mind your fucking business for two seconds—”

“NO!—”

you winced and hung up the phone, shaking your head amusedly as you grabbed your keys and stepped out of the car before locking it, walking your way over across the parking structure and to the entrance of the stadium, maneuvering through various hallways and corners like muscle memory and politely saying hello to some of the team’s staff that you recognized as you walked.

you passed through the main hall— megumi’s giant glorious handsome portrait still displayed proudly against the wall amongst his other teammates, prestigious awards and trophies in glass frames and casings littering the room from practically top to bottom as you happily moved through the hall, passing by the same bench that you first unknowingly and officially met megumi in while you were embarrassingly crying your eyes out over him— a treasured memory that you swoon over every now and then at the way he kindly gave you his sunglasses to hide your big fat tears.

you hoped that megumi’s management never replaced that freaking bench, as you wanted to put a plaque on it in commemoration of you and your emo man, knowing that if they ever did you’d be at those stadium doors first thing in the morning to grab and take it home with you to keep.

upon opening the doors to the stadium, you continued on down the steps as you looked on ahead and squinted your eyes, distant hollers and the clanking of bats echoing through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere, several players out on the field practicing and pitching but none being megumi as you reached the bottom and went inside the bullpen, expecting to see your best friend sitting there and possibly still fighting with your boyfriend, but faltering instead.

because megumi was sat there on the bench by himself with his baseball cap on… waiting for you, a bouquet of pretty pink tulips in his arms as he looked straight over the field with an emotionless gaze, his head snapping to you once he heard you coming in and standing up, his face gradually warming.

pink tulips were your favorite.

“gumi…” you spoke softly, astonished and mushy inside as you grabbed the bouquet from him, it neatly tucked in brown paper wrap and pretty pink tule with a little matching bow around the stems to tie it off, the paper crinkling in your arms.

“hi.”

“oh my— these are gorgeous baby thank you!” you gushed, your cheeks hot and you absolutely beaming as you swung your unoccupied arm around his neck and brought him in, pecking his slightly sweaty cheek repeatedly as he huffed out a breathy laugh and pulled you to him.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured, cheek lightly resting against the side of your head as you smiled.

“you really didn’t have to gumi you bought basically everything for today…” you spoke softly, bringing your head back a bit to look at him.

he shrugged.

“so.”

you scoffed. “so? you don’t let me do anything and i feel oppressed.”

he snorted, playfully rolling his eyes and kissing your forehead. 

dramatic.

“it’s fine baby.”

“okay but it’s not.” you grumbled lowly, and the corners of his lips quirked up, taking a tiny step back as he released you and lifted a hand, gently pinching your cheek.

“you look really pretty.”

your pout slid into a cheeky smile, a cute blush rising to your cheeks.

“thank you gumi!” you readjusted the bouquet in your arms and shyly looked away, his direct dark blue eyes on you still nerve wracking even after two years. 

“h— how come you’re not on the field?”

“oh.” megumi’s gaze shifted to his playing teammates. “i wanted to give you the tulips before going back out.”

your eyes softened, chest clenching as you stood up on your tippy toes and gave him a little kiss.

“you’re so nice…” you murmured. 

“i—”

“fushiguro i need you back on the field!”

megumi huffed and rolled his eyes at his coach interrupting his time with you, hands reluctantly dropping from your waist as he took a step back.

“m’sorry baby...” he sighed tiredly, lifting his cap up from his spiky hair and adjusting it back on. “practice is almost over i promise.”

you frantically shook your head. “no gumi it’s okay don’t apologize! go please though i don’t want you to get in trouble.”

he nodded, quickly pecking your cheek before stepping out of the bullpen and back out on the field, turning his body slightly just as he reached the home plate and raising a hand to you as a little goodbye, shifting his attention to his coach and the rest of his teammates once he saw you give him one back.

you walked over to the benches then and sat, your eyes happily watching the mock game unfold as you settled your pretty bouquet carefully over your lap.

“please tell me you guys are done it’s fucking cold up here in the stands—”

your head shot to the side and you instantly smiled, your best friend popping her head in from the bullpen entrance and shivering.

“heyyy! oh my god yes come come—” you scooched over and patted the spot next to you, her trodding over and plopping down.

“let me seeeee!” she squealed and nudged your shoulder with hers, gesturing to your tulips as you lit up and turned the bouquet in her direction, her jaw dropping.

“i hate him but he’s good.” she muttered, shaking her head as you laughed and lightly hit her arm. 

megumi ran through a few bases, passing by the bullpen and stopping at a base closest to it with remnants of brown dirt puffing and swirling through the air, him looking over his shoulder at you briefly before turning back to the game.

“he does so much for me that i feel like a big fat loser that does mediocre for him.” you spoke worriedly, and your girl friend looked at you bewilderedly.

“are you kidding? y/n you being with him is enough jesus that man is an ogre—”

you flicked her forehead and she cackled, pushing your hand away.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry i’m joking… kind of…whatever— babe you literally do so much let him dote on you like this… that man loves you.”

you pursed your lips to suppress a giddy smile.

“plus after the pain and torture we both went through with your high school boyfriend christ—”

“oh my god don’t remind me.” you mumbled, shifting your attention back to the field. “he sucked so bad.”

she laughed. “and it took you forever to realize that he was a loser y/n… you gave him too much and he gave you absolutely nothing.”

you solemnly nodded, the feeling of miserable regret filling your body.

“granted i think megumi’s also a loser.” she continued, and you playfully glared. “but! he’s a different kind of loser. he’s good for you babe… and you’re super good for him.”

you grinned brightly at her, set your bouquet to the side, and threw your arms around her shoulders, bringing her in a tight hug as she laughed loudly and held you back with just as much love.

“have fun on your anniversary date tonight!” your girl friend exclaimed. “you guys are still going to that stargazing spot right?”

“mhm!” you nodded. “we’re going up in his car and setting up the backseat once we get there.”

“are you guys getting freaky too back there?—”

your head snapped ahead to find yuji leaning against the gate of the bullpen on the other side, your eyes wide and mortified as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestingly.

“h—huh?—”

“eehhh?” your best friend matched her boyfriends expression, her eyes twinkling and mischievous. “valid question yu! what are you wearing under your outfit let me see—”

you yelped as your best friend pulled and tugged at the collar of your chunky knitted sweater, basically shoving her head through to see what you had on and you pushing on her shoulders to try and get her away.

“stop you sicko!—”

“y/n why the fuck don’t you have a lingerie set under here—”

“oh my god shut your mouth right now—”

megumi curiously turned his head over to the commotion by the bullpen, jaw dropping and eyes growing big in absolute dumb struck horror as he watched your best friend basically trying to strip your sweater off of you, and yuji just standing there and watching like a fucking pervert—

“itadori!” he barked, and yuji jumped a whopping fifteen feet in the air, swiveling around to face him.

“oh hey man!— WHAT THE FU—”

megumi hurled a literal baseball at him and yuji dove out of the way, the ball hitting against the gate of the bullpen as you and your best friend jumped at the slamming noise.

“the fuck are you guys doing?!” megumi yelled, arms out in emphasis as he quickly strode over with pinched brows.

he looked to you as soon as he properly reached the bullpen, the collar of your sweater stretched out over an exposed shoulder with your black bra literally peeking out, your pretty eyes wide and downright alarmed as your best friend still had an iron tugging grip on your sweater.

megumi’s gaze hardened, switching to your girl friend.

“get off.”

he looked to yuji, his legs wobbling in fear as he used the gaps of the bullpen gate to lift himself up from the dirt.

“close your fucking eyes—”

“yes sir fushiguro sir!—”

“what?!” your best friend exclaimed. “megumi if you guys are gonna fuck in the backseat she needs to be looking scrumptious—”

his face paled and his cheeks turned a vibrant pink simultaneously.

“why are you guys always like this?” he muttered exasperatedly, stepping inside the bullpen now and pushing her off of you, your girl friend scoffing as megumi pulled your collar back over your shoulder and fixed your sweater for you, your lips clamped shut as you tried your best to refrain yourself from laughing.

“oh my bad. thought the perv in you would thank my services—”

“why the hell would i thank you for stripping my girlfriend in front of the entire fucking team—”

“—y/n i literally think i have a lingerie set in my car i’ll give it to you it’s new i just bought it to show yuji—”

you gasped. 

“wait really?! what color? i wanted to wear one but i didn’t want to show up to class with it—”

megumi’s eyes bulged and shot to you, mouth opening and closing like an idiot.

“i think it’s red but i’m pretty sure your tits are bigger than mine lemme see—”

your best friend yanked your collar again and you screamed as megumi grabbed you and pulled you up against his chest, shielding you away from your lunatic girl friend as she cackled and pointed at megumi.

“megumi’s getting a boonneeerrrr!—”

his eyes frantically switched between her and yuji— his hands still tightly clasped over his eyes.

“what kind of sick fucks are you both?!”

you giggled uncontrollably over his appalled menacing face, your laughter muffling up against his uniform.

“us?!” your best friend yelled. “don’t get me started on you! i saw that text you sent y/n last week asking to send a video of her fi—”

“oh god babe don’t finish that sentence also can i open my eyes now you guys—”

“itadori! fushiguro! huddle up!”

yuji timidly seperated his fingers and looked at the group, hands dropping and a wide smile spreading once he realized you weren’t half naked anymore.

“off we go fushiguro!” he quipped, turning and the dirt crackling beneath his cleats as he walked. “boss man wants us—”

“i heard him.” megumi grumbled, arms loosening from their hold around you as they slid and fell at his sides, his face just plain out annoyed and over it, and you smiled sweetly at him.

“it’s okay!” you poked his cheek. “i’ll wait for you here while you guys finish up? or do you want me to go inside the locker rooms already?”

“go to the locker rooms baby.” he mumbled. “it’s cold.”

you nodded, and he placed a hand on your head with the tiniest smile, heading out of the bullpen after and jogging up to the rest of his teammates for regrouping and final announcements.

your best friend swung a heavy arm around your shoulders and you both made your way to the exit just as you grabbed your bouquet again, walking up the steps of the stands and down a few corridors and pathways until you reached the echoey hallway, the teams locker room coming into view as you pushed the heavy door open and went in.

“do you still want my lingerie set?” your girl friend asked, fixing her hair in front of one of the big mirrors. “we could still try and see if it fits but your boobs are huge compared to mine—”

you laughed and waved her off. “it’s okay babe! thank you though… i don’t think we’re gonna do anything like that out in the open and in the middle of nowhere…”

she shrugged, sending you a little smirk through the mirror. “megumi’s a weirdo. so i think you in fact will.”

you shot her a funny glare and walked to your boyfriends locker while placing your pretty bouquet down on the bench— turning the little knob around and hitting the numbers that made up his locker combination, the metal clinking open and you opening it to organize his clothes and equipment like you usually did.

you dragged his heavy duffel bag out and unzipped it, rummaging around a little to find the clothes that he had packed for your date today— spotting his thick black crewneck and gray cargo pants as you took them out and folded them neatly on the bench in front of you, setting the rest of the things he needed to the side and perking up once you heard distant chattering and banter, several players starting to pile in as you shot a few polite smiles, stepping over the bench and plopping down to wait for megumi.

“i said no.”

“pleeeaaasee!” yuji begged, the two of them emerging from the entryway as you lit up at the sight of your grumpy man, his agitated eyes to the floor as he trudged over. “i thought we were best friends fushiguro. brothers if you will—”

“no.”

“pleaaaseee!—”

“what does he want?” you laughed softly, megumi’s eyes coming up and moving to his tidily folded clothes that you had set for him on the bench, his gaze softening.

“nothing bab—”

“wrestle!” yuji wailed, dramatically leaning his entire weight on your best friend in a hug as she dumbfoundedly reciprocated, patting his back. “i wanted to see who’s strongest…”

“babe go change you’re sweaty—”

“not until fushiguro wrestles with me—”

“no.”

“whyyy?!”

you giggled loudly, hand over your mouth as megumi sent you a small close lipped smile and stepped over the bench to his locker, taking off his baseball cap and hanging it inside.

“because it’s stupid.” he mumbled, and yuji scoffed.

“wrestling is the ultimate sport for strategy, discipline and character how could any of that be stupid—”

“yu change i wanna go homeee!” your best friend whined, trying to pry him off of her. “i’ll wrestle with you.”

yuji sprung up and grinned. “will you actually?! i won’t go easy babe i can’t play favorites—”

“yes now move—”

“if i win can you suck my di—”

megumi flung his deodorant at yuji’s head and rolled his eyes as he cried out and pouted, the little container clattering against the ground.

“gumi!” you gasped. “be nice please.”

he sighed softly through his nose, unbuttoning his jersey as he begrudgingly and briefly looked over his shoulder.

“sorry.”

“oh wait what was that?” you girl friend spoke up. “i think you need to speak up a little megumi! can’t hear you.”

“i said sorry.” he spat, and she smiled, satisfied.

“you’re forgiven! thanks!”

megumi grumbled as he shook his jersey off and long sleeve underneath with it, his little chain with his promise ring dangling out around his collar, and you shamelessly and obviously drooling over his bare toned frame then as he sorted through his clothes and got his things ready for the shower— the locker room emptying out now and only one or two players remaining besides the lot of you.

you extended a hand out, wanting megumi to give you his jersey and long sleeve as he shifted his attention to you.

“what baby.”

“i’ll put it in the laundry bin for you!” you spoke sweetly. “so you can go shower.”

his heart squeezed as he shook his head. “s’okay. just wait for me.”

“gumi the laundry room’s just down the hall.” you laughed, taking his uniform from him. “i’ll be quick.”

he pursed his lips, feeling like you’ve already done more than enough for him and him just dicking around and playing ball for hours this entire time, wanting to get your date started so he could spend time with you and give you the things he wanted to give you, and not be around idiot insane people anymore (yuji and your best friend).

“sit down please.” he mumbled.

your jaw dropped.

“i’m being oppressed again—”

“we’ll see you guys tomorrow!” your girl friend smiled, coming over and giving you a hug as yuji went to put a hand on megumi’s shoulder. “have fun on your date! and happy anniversaryyy!”

“thank youuuu!” you responded kindly, hugging her back and swaying funnily, letting her go after and looking to her boyfriend. “drive safe yuji okay?”

“will do!” he smiled brightly, wrapping a friendly arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. “have fun you guys. and don’t get mauled by bears.”

you snorted, the both of you pulling back and waving at each other with final goodbyes before they turned and began walking to the exit, now the only ones left in the locker rooms being you and megumi. 

“text me if you have sex in the back y/n!”

“oh my god!—” you miserably dropped your head in your hands as your girl friends vulgar sentence literally echoed throughout the hallway outside, anyone within a one inch radius able to hear it as megumi laughed quietly, the doors to the locker room officially closing.

“your best friend is clinically insane.”

you giggled, nudging him away playfully and him catching your wrist just as you did so, tugging you in and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“no she’s not.” you smiled cutely, your little cheek pressed up against the warm skin of his chest as he looked at you. “she’s honest. and lovely.”

“and deluded.”

“gumi!”

“sorry.”

he craned his neck down and kissed you, every tense muscle in his body giving away and slowly oozing into a state of peace as your soft lips moved with his, megumi finally having you to himself for the night so he could properly get your anniversary going.

he pulled away and patted your head.

“m’gonna shower really quick baby.”

“okay!” you smiled. “can i sit by the shower with you? heh.”

he chuckled and nodded, interlocking his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the shower room— a spacious and modern area with individual stalls and little plushy sofas across from them, megumi leading you to one as you sat down and took his fresh pair of clothes from him to set on your lap.

“remember when i fucked you in here.”

“gumi!” you gasped as your face grew red. “okay but which time because my favorite time was two weeks ago when you bent me over th—”

he laughed, the boyish sound bouncing off the tile walls as he shook his head with a little faint blush to his cheeks, fingers coming down to unbutton his pants and your hands flying to cover over your eyes, him pausing and looking at you quizzically.

“what.”

“i’m giving you privacy gumi. something you wouldn’t know about in regards to me.”

he scoffed.

“kay fine. i’ll stop asking—”

“no!” you yelled, hands clasping together like a prayer. “don’t finish that sentence i don’t wanna know i don’t need to know whatever it is continue doing it—”

megumi rolled his eyes with a smile, taking off the rest of his clothes and you squeaking as you covered your line of sight again, the sound of the shower running with the door closing an indicator to you that the coast was clear for you to look, hands coming down as they settled over megumi’s clean clothes.

and he literally took less than five minutes to shower… or maybe it was because your little endless chattering made the time go by faster or the fact that you always took close to an hour, but he was out of there with a towel around his delicious waist before you could even realize and on the way out to change into his outfit.

megumi straight from the shower was always an interesting sight to see, for the usual spikes in his jet black hair were nonexistent for the time being as his hair just laid flat, and he almost looked like an entirely different man as you stood on the other side of the bench behind him while he sat tying his shoe laces, you drying his hair with a small white hand towel.

“i’m really excited for tonight gumi!” you cheesed. “oh! and i brought my laptop too incase you wanted to watch a movieeee.”

he straightened up from his hunched over position and stood, turning around to kiss your head in gratitude before taking the towel from you and drying off the last bit of his hair.

“sounds good baby.” he grabbed his duffel bag and swung it over his shoulder, keys hooked from one of his belt loops on his pants as he offered his hand out to you on the way out of the locker room, you happily taking it and interlacing your fingers in the hallway, the both of you walking on to leave the stadium with your bouquet in your arm, making a quick pit stop at the laundry room first to toss his uniform and towels in one of the various hampers, leaving and going through the main hall hand in hand after with the building basically vacant now— not a single player, staff, or management member around as you moved your way down corridors to the exit, entering the parking garage.

megumi grabbed his keys and clicked a button upon reaching the players parking lot area, his shiny black car beeping and flickering its lights and him opening the door to the backseat to throw his stuff in, you catching a glimpse of the piles of grocery bags filled with chips, snacks, pastries and such as you smiled, unlocking your own vehicle and opening your trunk as megumi did his.

he swiftly stepped in and grabbed your blankets and a few pillows, transferring them over to his car and you setting your bouquet down in the back, throwing in a few other things.

“oh gumi!” 

“hm?”

you opened your drivers side door and reached in, megumi peering around from his open trunk to look at you.

“i got us a little lunchbox cake!” you pulled out a small white cake carrier and showed him. “and a number two candle too so we can light it!”

“oh nice baby.” he calmly smiled, reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulling out his wallet.

you blinked.

“what are you doing?”

he gave you a confused look, opening the folds and taking out a few twenty dollar bills.

“for the cake.”

“what?!” you frantically shook your head. “no i got this for us—”

he scoffed, extending his arm out to you regardless with a pile of bills in hand that was way over the initial cost of the little cake, your jaw running slack.

“oh absolutely not sir i’m not taking that—”

“take it.”

“nope!”

“y/n.”

“nuh uh.”

megumi sighed and retracted his hand. “i’m putting it in your purse—”

“if you put it in my purse i swear to god i’m never letting you see me naked ever again—”

he froze and narrowed his eyes at you, you standing there with a shit eating grin as you tilted your head.

“just get in the car.” he grumbled, slamming his trunk shut and doing the same with yours, you cheering in your head and lighting up over your win as you opened his passenger side door and got in, completely unaware of megumi choosing to take his chances and shove the bills in your purse anyways.

the car ride there was a whopping one hour, seeing as the stargazing hotspot was in the middle of the bustling city where megumi’s apartment was around, your boyfriend making frequent stops at various food places to pick up the food he had ordered for the picnic, and you still fighting with him over the fact that he should let you pay at least half, him just laughing at your huffs and puffs until he simmered you down to a mere grumble with a kiss to your cheek.

“i don’t care how many times i’ve done it there isn’t a limit.” 

megumi backed in reverse once he found a good spot for you both on the hill, looking behind through his rear view window with a hand on the back of your headrest.

“but you have to let me pay sometimes gumi.” you sighed softly. “i feel like im freeloading off of your millions and doing fucking nothing.”

he gave you a bewildered look.

“first of all.” he shifted his gear into park. “you do everything so don’t give me that. second of all—”

he unlocked the car and you both got out, the trunk latching open on its own as you walked over.

“you’re not supposed to pay baby.” he stared at you sincerely, a little crease in between his brows. “ever. i don’t care.”

he unhooked the backseats and pushed them down, the trunk now extending even wider and leaving plenty of space for the two of you to set up your picnic, your shoes off and down below next to the car.

“i just—” you struggled, shaking out the blankets and splaying them out. “i worry that it’ll bother you eventually…”

“it won’t.” he responded firmly, yet still gentle. “did your ex-boyfriend make you feel bad about it? is that why?”

you froze.

“no…”

he looked over his shoulder just as he set a pillow down, dark blue eyes staring you down.

“wow i’m so hungry right now gumi are you—”

“i heard what your best friend said during practice about him.” he set a few more pillows down. “she talks like a linebacker.”

you laughed, grabbing the box of fairy lights you had brought and pulling them out, untangling them by sections.

megumi never really asked too in detail about your ex, just because he knew he’d get bitter and bothered by the thought of it, and the only things he really knew was that he was a moron who said you were a blabbermouth and didn’t treat you right at all, your three and a half year relationship with him in high school one megumi wished he could erase entirely.

but now with the way you squirmed and stared off into space in avoidance over this particular topic… he was curious.

just how bad was he?

“did he pay for your dates or did you.”

you fiddled with a little fairy light bulb.

“well— he did… but then we started splitting it… and then i started paying…”

megumi shook his head, reaching for the grocery bags and taking out the snacks he’d bought.

“why.”

you finished untangling the cord and reached up, looping the lights around through the grab handles of the car.

“i don’t really know…” you mumbled. “but i felt bad because he always did initially pay… so i was just giving back. but then—”

you looped it through the last handle and grabbed the battery box.

“i remember one time he asked me if we could split the bill on our anniversary dinner.”

megumi stopped.

“and then every time he did pay for me he would say side joking comments like— ‘are you gonna pay this time? are you gonna take care of the bill? since i bought you dinner are you gonna buy me this?’ blah blah—”

megumi was looking directly at you at this point, eyebrows furrowed and with slightly parted lips as he slowly set up the food and listened.

“and i don’t mess around when it comes to things like money.” you finished off screwing the battery box after putting a fresh pair in, switching the small lever and the fairly lights twinkling to life. “i appreciated so much every time he did pay so i just felt like i was— i don’t know i just felt guilty. his side comments made me feel a little awkward…”

you scooched over and sat back on your ankles next to megumi, helping him with the groceries.

“i remember one time too for valentine’s day, we had gone out to eat dinner and he paid with his usual side comment… but when we got back to his place i had given him his gift and he hadn’t gotten anything for me at all.”

“huh?” he spoke up. “did he give you flowers at least?”

you shook your head, a little sad look on your face.

“he told me my gift was dinner… which again i did really appreciate that he paid. and he never really got me flowers either unless it was for special occasions like anniversaries… so once a year?”

megumi was in complete and utter disbelief.

how in the ever living fuck were you ever with a guy like that for so long? a girl like you whom he literally worshipped the shit out of the ground you walked on, the thought of you being so incredibly sweet and doting and selfless for some dumb fuck who just took advantage of your kindness again aggravating megumi, him chucking the pastries he bought out of the bags one by one bitterly and you blinking at him.

“what a fucking idiot.”

you giggled, nodding in agreement as you both finished setting up, you crawling and sitting down by the mountain of fluffy pillows as you extended an arm out for him.

“that’s why i just get nervous gumi…” you spoke softly, pulling him to lay down next to you as you looked at the beading stars through his open sun roof, the view and landscape of the sparkling city below insane as megumi slid an am around your shoulders, nudging you to lay on his chest. “i don’t wanna end up bothering you or upsetting you about it and repeating the cycle so—”

“oh god baby no…” he looked at you, squeezing your shoulder. “you realize all of that was because he’s a loser right.”

“yeah to an extent—”

“no not to an extent.” megumi cut you off. “i know for a fact he never did anything for you… and for him to do shit like that on top of it is crazy.”

you slid a slow arm across his torso and held him tighter.

“i do what i do because i love you… and because you deserve it. and because i’m supposed to.”

you smiled big, your heart hammering in your chest as you slung your leg across his lap and straddled him then, megumi’s hands instantly coming to settle on your waist as you gave him a cute wicked look.

“i’m tired of talking about him, but you know what else you’re supposed to do?”

the side of his lip curled.

“what pretty baby.”

“make out with me.”

he laughed, a shiny smile on his face as he reached a hand up and brushed your hair over your shoulder, cupping your face after and bringing you down to his level.

“if you tell me you love me.”

you giggled.

“i love you gumi.”

megumi brought you in then and kissed you, light little smacks and wet lips parting and moving as your noses brushed against each other’s delicately, his thumb running gently over your cheek as you readjusted and leaned in, deepening the kiss and megumi parting his lips wider as a result to drink more of you down.

your hips subconsciously rutted downward, him taking a sharp breath in through his nose as he responded and lifted his crotch up, meeting with yours and grinding sensually with every steamy exchange of your soft plush lips on his, both of his hands quickly going down to grab your smooth thighs and knead them.

megumi suddenly slid a fast hand up your chunky sweater to cup your tit, you squeaking and trying to pull your lips off of his so you could speak, but him only chasing after your mouth and trapping you in.

“wait what if— mmph!—” 

“hm?” 

he forced your hips down again and you both moaned at the stimulation.

“what if someone walks by there’s a— fuck— there’s a few cars not too far—”

“don’t care.”

“gumi!—”

he yanked your bra cup down and your tit spilled out, his head diving in under your sweater and popping your nipple in his mouth, both of your hips still grinding and rocking against each others as you dazedly tried to look around for any passing people.

you tried to pull off and megumi yanked your other bra cup down, jerking you roughly to him as your weight gave out underneath you and you basically fell on him, his face fully submerged and stuffed in your puffy tits that he nearly lost it and came in his pants.

lewd slobbering sounds filled the car as he sucked and laid his tongue flat all over your boobs, your shuttering gasps and whines making his dick rock fucking solid in his pants as he continued to make out with your chest, relishing in the feeling of your panties running up and down his crotch and your pretty little skirt exposing your ass.

“baby i’m flashing the city please—”

“m’gonna stick my dick in.”

“no!” you whined, your clit pulsing with every rut from his hips. “when we get home when we get home please it’ll be so obvious we’re having sex if we do—”

he bit the fat of your tit and you yelped.

“it’s our anniversary.”

“i— i know gumi but there’s people!—”

he groaned and let your tits go with a pop, head falling back on the pillows as he looked at you with a dead look— knowing you were completely and absolutely right but refusing to believe it because he was fucking horny, the only conscious brain cell that he had left telling him to just wait and that he’d actually cum in his pants if he kept going.

a tiny smirk spread across his face.

“thought you texted me that i could take you to pound town in the backseat of my car.” 

you blushed, totally forgetting you did that.

“y—yes but—”

“and that you were gonna send me a picture of your tits.”

“i—”

“you lying to me baby?”

“no!” you sputtered. “no gumi we’re still gonna have sex just not here!”

he laughed loudly and nodded, pinching your cheek as he fixed your bra and pulled your sweater down, sitting up a bit.

“i’m kidding s’okay.” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “m’taking pictures of you when we get to my apartment though.”

“huh?!” you exclaimed, your face buzzing with embarrassment but need at the same time. “what— what kind—”

he poked your side. 

“naked.”

your jaw dropped.

“legs spread with—”

“okay i get it i get it!—”

you slapped your hands over his mouth and muffled the rest of his sentence, desperate to get him to stop.

“i have your gift i have your gift open your gift!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and licked his slimy tongue on your palms, you snatching your hands away and giggling as you wiped them on his sweater.

“i told you not to get me anything.”

“too bad!” you grinned, pecking his cheek before swinging yourself off of his lap and reaching into the passengers seat. “close your eyes!”

he sighed softly, a small smile on his face as he complied, hearing slight tissue paper rustlings and things moving before he felt you next to him again.

“okay open!”

his long lashes lifted, eyes growing soft at the ginormous basket you made him— his favorite candies and chips neatly propped up inside with a little baseball teddy bear that had ‘cool baseball man’ embroidered across its jersey, a framed silly picture of the two of you from one of the nights you slept over at his place, various volumes of his current favorite manga wrapped in black tissue paper along with a lego race car set, and a separate shoe box next to the basket— a brand new pair of baseball cleats that he had been specifically eyeing and needing to buy, and knowing that it was ridiculously expensive too as his bulging eyes shot up to your giddy ones.

“baby—” his words got caught in his throat, shaking his head. “baby thank you but you didn’t have to get anything seriously—”

“the fuck.” you snorted. “yes i did! do you likeeee?”

you pushed the shoe box towards him.

“did i get the right ones? these are the cleats you’ve been wanting right?”

he nodded dumbly. “y—yeah but they’re expensive i don’t want you spending this much.”

“gumi money is a social construct.” you smiled. “but my love for you isn’t… it’s bible! happy anniversary!”

megumi looked down and slowly took the little grizzly bear out of the basket, everything you gave him absolutely perfect and filled with the things he loved, but the custom bear with the nickname you always called him— the same one he adored ever since you first said it, somehow pulling at his heart strings more than anything else.

“i love you.” he mumbled. “thank you.”

you beamed, leaning over and pecking his lips.

“because you do everything for me gumi.” you spoke. “i can’t thank you enough for the things you do for me… and i love you.”

a cute pink blush rose to his cheeks as his gaze stayed locked on the bear, feeling his throat closing up from how much you were affecting him at the moment.

he sent you a smile.

“can i give you mine?”

you stopped.

“what? i thought the pretty tulips were my gift?”

he snorted, giving you a look.

“no you dummy.” 

he reached under one of the seats, pulling gift bag after gift bag after gift bag from somewhere as he placed them all in a line in front of you, a shocked look on your face as you looked at the amount of tissue paper and packaging that was in your line of sight.

“holy shit.” you flashed him a growing dazzling smile. “are you— for me? actually?”

he nodded.

“guummiii!!” you flung your arms around his neck and pulled him in a tight hug, rubbing your cheek on his head side to side in a silly way before you let go and sat back on your ankles again, him chuckling at your excitement.

“i don’t even—” your eyes darted around. “i don’t even know which one—”

one by one you unraveled each wrapping and tore open each bag, your lap filling up with things that you fucking loved as you tried not to cry between opening each gift— pretty intricate coquette bottled perfumes that you liked to collect everywhere as you knew they were also a pretty penny (so him complaining about his cleats was dumb), cute mary jane pumps and makeup you needed as well as new that you’d been wanting, silver and gold sparkling jewelry that resided in small boxes and wrapped in pretty pink bows, sweaters and cute tops and just fucking everything as you ended up a crying snotting mess at the end of it anyways, him laughing at you.

because each item were things that you needed, things that you knew he couldn’t have possibly known unless he was truly paying attention to the things you were saying and the things you were looking at… this moment proving that he most definitely was.

and a crazy wicked amount too— because some of the items in front of you were even things you had merely mentioned once and done with, accompanied by others that you babbled on about whenever you could.

“gumi we can have sex right now let’s have sex i don’t care—”

he laughed for the millionth time and shot his hands out, literally trying to pull you off of him as you lunged and leaned your entire weight on him, practically fighting him by the end of it as you giggled and tried to get in his pants.

“you’re harassing me.” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“like you don’t do this to me everyday of my living life— eek!”

megumi bit your cheek and you pushed on his chest to get him away, him not budging as his nibbling travelled down to your neck as you gasped for air laughing at how much that was tickling you, and him knowing that was what usually set you off into a giggle fit, your stomach aching and him dodging your hits and swings, but both of your hearts full from a days worth of complete and utter unconditional love.

and neither of you would have it any other way as you shared the food and pastries you bought, stuffing your faces full of chocolates and mochi specifically as you both had insane sweet tooth’s and weren’t ashamed of it, chatted on about future plans and your excitement for megumi and the upcoming world series, and you elated for the holiday season too that was fast approaching, your little mind already thinking of gifts and plans and decisions because your boyfriend’s birthday was coming up as well.

and you wanted to do everything you possibly could to make it special.

for he made you feel that everyday.

especially now in this moment, the little heart shaped lunchbox cake you bought with ‘happy 2nd anniversary’ in cursive still looking fucking delicious even after you and megumi had just downed an entire pack of brownies, megumi lightning up the number two candle as you pushed it in the cake, and the both of you sweetly pecking lips as you held up the cake in between the two of you and him snapping a picture with his phone— candid and lovely and everything you’d both ever wanted in your lives rightfully yours right then and there.

happiness. love. 

and your hearts were swelling with everything you had built for the past two years, and swelling in anticipation for the hopes and curiosity of what else the two of you would continue to build… something you only hoped would last forever and ever and that you got to count and spend even more anniversaries with megumi from this point forward.

with nothing less, nothing extra, and just like this.

for a million more november’s to come.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

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[cathnospam]

Showers with Katsuki are almost always domestic until it’s not and it’s your fault.

Your blondie is actually very comfortable in his skin with you, he doesn’t mind walking around in your room naked even if it’s to grab the towel he definitely left on your bed on purpose in front of you.

You’ve seen his dick so much you could practically draw it from memory.

But the main reason you’ve seen him naked so many times is because you and him almost always take a shower together.

“C’mon.” Is all he says when he takes your hand into the misty bathroom, shower already on scalding hot just how you both love it.

It’s giggling and scrubbing until it’s your turn to scrub him.

“Turn around, boo.” You tap his shoulder, he does so, trying to relax his body, but also flexing in the process. His back was such a sight to see.

He’s gotten so much bigger since graduating and his waist just can’t get any smaller, you can’t help but your bite your lips when your eyes lock onto his body.

Especially his very cute ass you really wanna poke, but you’d probably get cussed out in German.

Almost worth it.

Instead you scrub him, humming and throwing up compliments that makes him blush everytime.

“Shut up.”

“What I’m just saying…I’m happy you’re all mine. A girl can’t appreciate her man?”

“Yeah yeah. Right here too.” He points at his other shoulder blade, you get in your tippy toes to reach and leave a kiss on his ear, your cold soft lips dragged a chill down his spine, it was practically a warning sign for what’s to be asked next of him.

And he didn’t mind it even if he acted like he did.

“C’mon…” His voice has no bark in it, almost as if he’s being sarcastic, “We have to be up in the morning, N/N.”

“I know i just…” You puncture every other word with a kiss, your slippery soapy hands exploring his abs from the front, “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your words dripping with lust like honey, your hands do most of the speaking when you take hold of his soft shaft and stroke up to under his tip to down to cup his balls. You knew he was sensitive there, you giggle a kiss on his back again when he grunts.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Uh huh.” Brushing his comment off, you already knew you had him, so you pick up the pace, one hand on his dick the other massaging his balls made him lean in the cold tile shower wall with one arm, “Baby—ugh— Y/N!”

Bakugo hates calling you anything other than your name or nickname, but it sometimes slips off the tongue when he’s completely getting lost in your touch, “Ganna—-fucking cum dammit—!”

“Then…” Letting go of him you firmly turn him around to have his back on the wall and he looks down at your figure on your knees, “Do it in my mouth.”

Words could not describe how much he wanted to fuck you silly right now. For you to turn him on this much when he just wanted to take a simple shower and then cuddle in bed with you and talk about your day because he missed you, you just had to turn it into something else.

And he still loved you for it.

You take it slow, holding your breath to slide all 7.5 inches down your mouth, he wasn’t also long, but girthy too. He knew this which is why he didn’t always let you suck his dick, your pretty little mouth shouldn’t be sore because of him…even if it was hot to see your eyes prickle with tears to take him all in.

“Shit.” He threw his hand on his face, the temperature of the water suddenly got hotter and steamier, his hair was down, but reverting back to its natural wavy state feeling how warm and tight your mouth was around him, it was ALMOST as good as fucking you.

Almost.

You felt yourself get more aroused hearing your blondie surprise his moans and whimpers terribly, he hated hearing himself, but you couldn’t get enough, he felt a knot forming in his tummy. Throwing his hand on your scalp he bucks his hips with caution back at you and you let him have at you and take full control.

When he notices you were giving him full access to use you he still never did. He never enjoyed the thought of just using you like a fuck toy even if his body was showing something completely different, he thrusted quickly inside your throat until he held you still, groaning and moaning your name while your hands clawed his thighs, “Fuck!—-“

Bakugo lets go to catch his breath and help you up to kiss you, it was hungry and sloppy, you didn’t even completely finish swallowing all of his semen when he swallowed some of it himself while sucking on your tongue, he didn’t fucking care he just needed to show his appreciation.

And he did when he lifted your legs around his waist, you always seem to be so shocked when your man can pick you up with ease, no matter your weight, and he didn’t mind proving his strength from how he fucked you with hot steamy water hitting your chest and in the bed.

You love showering with Bakugo <3

[mostly-imagines]

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes while Tim has sat atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges into the room, past them and onto the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

But it’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He secretly wouldn’t really mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stayed behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason keeps his head down as he blindly reaches for the spoon in his cereal and chucks it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

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[sunbeamlessreads]

Let Him See - Oscar Piastri x Reader One-Shot

❝ He kisses you like he’s waited for permission. And that’s what makes you break. ❞

[oscar piastri x reader]

~8.2k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, emotional neglect, infidelity, porn with plot, smut, possessive behavior, complicated breakup dynamics

lando stopped seeing you. oscar never missed a thing. now the whole paddock knows.

notes: i tried writing in present tense for this, which really isn't in my ballpark. not sure if i loved it, but maybe i'll do more of it later on. i’m sorry i made lando out to be such a dick. i promise ill make up for it!! enjoy! <3

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The McLaren party is elegant in that vaguely overstated way team events always are—polished chrome fixtures, dim gold lighting, and drinks served in glasses that clink too delicately for the kind of tension simmering beneath the surface.

You walk in on Lando’s arm. A black strapless dress hugging you like it was tailored in vengeance. The ruffled ruching along the bottom cascades like spilled ink with every step you take. You planned everything—the heels, the bold red lipstick, the subtle shimmer in the inner corners of your eyes. All for him.

He barely glances down at you.

Lando says something to a passing engineer, nods at a sponsor, then slips out of your grasp as naturally as water slipping through your fingers. No one notices the slight shift in your balance when he lets go. But you do.

You’re left standing beside a bar you didn’t want to be near, surrounded by people who smile too brightly and ask questions you don’t want to answer.

You’re his girlfriend—the public face of a dying relationship neither of you have the courage to end. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. He’s across the room within minutes, grinning down at a woman in a red backless dress, hand resting low on her spine. It’s a familiar stance. You’ve seen it before. You’ve even been on the receiving end of it—back when he still bothered.

Your chest aches, but you don’t flinch. Not here. Not while people are watching.

Someone asks you if you want champagne. You decline with a polite smile, then excuse yourself—something about needing to take a call, voice breezy, unbothered.

You step out of the ballroom like you’re slipping out of a skin that doesn’t fit anymore.

The hallway is dim and mercifully empty. You exhale, back against the cool wall, and pull your phone out of your clutch—blank screen. No missed messages. No excuses to stay outside longer than you should.

You open WhatsApp. You type a few words. Delete them. Start again. Then stop. You let your head tip back until it rests against the cool wall, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

You wore this dress for him.

You practically starved yourself all day, got your makeup done by the same artist who preps you for photoshoots, shaved every inch of your body until your skin ached—and he didn’t even look at you.

A sharp sting pricks behind your eyes, but you blink it back. Your mascara is too good to waste on someone who hasn’t kissed you in public in weeks.

You shift your weight in your heels. They’re taller than you usually wear—he once said he liked when you looked just a little out of balance, like he had to catch you. He hasn’t caught you in a long time.

The hallway feels like limbo. You’re not sure if you want to scream or vanish. The silence settles over you like a second skin—until it breaks.

“Hey.”

You look up.

Oscar stands a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Brows knit with something like concern—or maybe anger, but not at you.

You straighten up instinctively, “Hey.”

His gaze flicks toward the ballroom, then back to you, “He didn’t even notice you left.”

Your voice catches before it comes out, “He never does.”

Oscar doesn’t speak. He just stays there, watching you like you’re not crazy for feeling the way you do.

For a few seconds, that’s enough.

You look away first. Not because you’re embarrassed—but because his eyes are too steady, too full of something that burns beneath the surface. Like if you look too long, you’ll start crying or say something you can’t take back.

Your gaze falls to the floor, to the veins in the marble tile, to the perfectly manicured hand holding your clutch like it’s the only thing holding you together.

Then, softly—like the truth finally scraping its way up your throat—you speak.

“He does this a lot,” you murmur, “Leaves me at these things. Flirts with whatever blonde he hasn’t slept with yet. Sometimes it’s just talking. Usually it’s not.”

You swallow. The bitterness coats your tongue.

“And I’m supposed to smile through it. Pretend I don’t care. Because we’re McLaren’s golden couple, right? I look good enough on his arm, and he looks better in the photos. Win-win.”

Oscar doesn’t interrupt. He stays where he is, still but attentive, like if he moves too fast you might break.

You don’t stop. It’s pouring out now.

“I tell myself it’s fine. That I knew what I was signing up for. That it’s just how he is. But then I see the way he touches them—like they’re interesting. Like they matter.”

Your voice drops, quiet and sharp:

“He hasn’t looked at me like that in a long time.”

The silence after that is loud. Heavy.

You take a shaky breath and force out a dry laugh. “God. I sound pathetic.”

“No,” Oscar says immediately, “You sound hurt.”

You blink. His voice is too honest. Too kind.

It cracks something wide open.

“Of course I’m hurt,” you whisper, “I feel disposable. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s why I don’t leave. Maybe I’m scared if I do, no one else will want me.”

Oscar moves then.

Just a step. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s grounding himself.

“That’s not true,” he says, sincerity and care laced in his voice. 

You lift your eyes to his. His tone doesn't match how furious he looks. Not at you—never at you—but at everything you just said. At every bruise Lando left behind that didn’t show up on your skin.

“I’m tired of watching him hurt you,” he says, voice like steel wrapped in silk.

The breath catches in your throat. You didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect him to say it. Not so simply. Not so seriously.

You fold your arms across your chest, trying to find a shield in sarcasm. It’s the only armor you have left.

“What, you want to make him jealous or something?” A laugh, light and mocking. A shrug, “Go ahead.”

You don’t mean it. It’s a deflection, a defense. Something to push him back before he gets too close to the bleeding parts.

But Oscar doesn’t laugh.

He steps in.

Close.

Too close.

You feel his hand brush the side of your face, gentle fingers slipping behind your ear. He pauses—waits for you to stop him—and when you don’t, he tilts your chin just enough.

And then he kisses you.

Your body locks. Every muscle goes taut.

Your lips are frozen against his, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

But his mouth is soft. Steady. Patient.

He kisses you like he’s waited for permission.

And that’s what makes you break.

You melt.

Fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt, you kiss him back. Rough. Desperate. Furious with yourself for how good it feels. For how long you’ve wanted this, buried it, pushed it down under years of Lando’s carelessness.

Oscar groans when your hips tip into his.

The kiss deepens. His hands grip your waist—hard, grounding. Yours slide up his chest, grabbing fistfuls of cotton like you need to hold on or you’ll collapse.

You hit the wall with a soft thud. He doesn’t stop. You don’t want him to. One of his hands finds your bare thigh where your dress has shifted, the other cradling your jaw.

He kisses you like he needs to prove something. Like he’s making up for every second Lando didn’t touch you.

You moan into his mouth—too soft, too shocked at yourself.

He pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips.

You’re both breathing heavily; you more than him.

Your lipstick’s ruined. His pupils are blown. His chest is rising and falling like he’s just come off a cooldown lap.

Then—voice low, rough, shaking with restraint—he says,

“Room 321. If you mean it.”

And he steps back. Hands still curled like he wants to reach for you again.

But he doesn’t.

He leaves you standing there in a dim hotel hallway, breathless, shaking, lips tingling, with your heart slamming against your ribs and your mind screaming that something just changed forever.

Room 321.

You stare at the number plaque for a moment.

You knock once, and the door opens like he was already standing behind it—waiting.

Oscar stands in the soft glow of the hotel room, still in his suit pants, white shirt rumpled with the top two buttons undone. His jacket’s folded neatly over the back of a chair. His hair’s a little mussed like he’s been running his hands through it since he left you.

His eyes land on your lips first. Then your throat.

Your lipstick is smudged from the hallway kiss. You didn’t fix it. You didn’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there. Chest rising slowly. Eyes locked on yours. There’s something sharp in his silence—not anger, not regret. Restraint.

You step into the room slowly. The door closes behind you with a dull thud that feels heavier than it should.

He still doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The tension crackles between you like a tripwire no one wants to step on first.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, eyes dark.

Your chest lifts, lips parted slightly as you look at him across the room, “Then tell me to leave.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward.

You mirror him.

Another step. Closer. Breath catching.

Until there’s no more distance between you.

He reaches out—hesitantly—fingers brushing your chin, then trailing along the line of your smudged lipstick.

“You look like you’ve already been kissed,” he says. 

You breathe, “You did that.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I did.”

That’s when the tension snaps.

The second his mouth meets yours again, everything else dissolves.

It’s rougher this time. Starved. Less like a kiss and more like a confession torn from his chest. His hands cradle your jaw, fingers pressing just beneath your ears like he’s grounding himself in the feel of you. Your arms loop around his neck instantly, your body melting into his like it always belonged there.

His tongue slips past your lips, hot and slow, as your backs bump blindly into the desk behind you. A McLaren cap falls to the floor unnoticed. You gasp softly into the kiss, and he groans into your mouth like it’s killing him not to take more.

His hands slide down your arms, then to your waist, where he grips you tightly—not to push, not to rush. Just to hold. Just to feel.

You don’t pull away when he reaches behind you and finds the zipper of your dress. It comes down slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. His knuckles brush your spine as he guides the fabric off your shoulders.

You’re still kissing when it falls to your ankles.

Still kissing when you push his shirt off, fingers slipping under the undone buttons, palms brushing warm skin. He shrugs it down his arms and lets it fall with a soft rustle to the carpet. His pants follow soon after, as you blindly undo his belt and unbutton them. 

His hands don’t leave your body. Not once.

You walk backward together, mouths fused, breath short, until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you.

Then he bends slightly and lifts you—carefully, like you might shatter in his arms—and lays you down on the sheets as if it’s an offering.

Your hair fans out against the pillows. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Oscar stands over you for a second, chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes moving across every inch of your skin.

Then he climbs onto the bed and kneels between your thighs.

You watch him watch you, lips parted, body burning.

He leans in and kisses your neck—softly at first.

Then lower.

And lower.

Down the column of your throat, over the swell of your chest. He shifts the fabric of your bra aside, reaching beneath you and removing it gently, with trembling fingers, and kisses the curve of your breast, then bites gently.

You gasp, fingers grasping at the sheets.

He sucks gently—and when he pulls back, there’s a blooming red mark just beneath your collarbone.

Then another. Between your breasts.

Then one lower, over the swell of your ribcage.

He takes his time. His mouth moves down, and you lose count of how many places he claims with his lips and teeth.

You squirm as he shifts, adjusting on his knees to reach lower, pushing the edge of your panties aside so he can press another kiss just above your hipbone—then right at the inner curve of your thigh.

He sucks there, too. A long, slow draw that makes your fingers fist the sheets.

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice husky, “Let me leave them.”

Another bite. Another mark, just shy of the place where you’re already aching for him.

“I want him to see every single one of these.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

You’ve never been kissed like this—not for show, not for ownership, but for the sheer need to leave a piece of himself behind on your skin.

By the time his mouth trails back up your thighs, your panties are damp with heat and your breathing’s gone shaky.

Oscar leans up, one hand bracing beside your waist. His other hand finds the waistband of your panties and begins to ease them down—slowly. Carefully. Like unwrapping something delicate.

He watches your face the entire time.

They slide down your legs with ease, and he tosses them aside.

You’re bare for him now—fully, completely—and you’ve never felt so seen.

He kisses your knee. Then the inside of your thigh again. Then finally, finally, his mouth hovers over where you need him most.

You’re already soaked. He groans when he sees it.

“Fuck. Look at you. I’ve thought about this,” he says softly, eyes fixed on where you’re already wet for him. “So many times.”

You can’t answer. You can barely think.

His hands spread you open gently—reverently—and then his mouth is on you.

Warm. Wet. Soft.

The first stroke of his tongue is unhurried, a slow drag from bottom to top that makes your spine arch off the mattress. You gasp, hips twitching, but his grip is firm on your thighs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against you.

He licks again—long and deliberate—then presses soft kisses to your clit, switching between his tongue and his lips like he’s tasting something he wants to savor.

You moan—high and broken—and he groans back like he feels it.

His hands hold your thighs open, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. You’re writhing now, overwhelmed, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly with every passing second.

Your fingers claw at the sheets. You feel it coming, your body locking up—

Until he pulls back.

Your hips lift off the bed, chasing the loss, but his hands still you.

He leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh again—slow and deep—a soft, open-mouthed press that lingers just long enough to leave another blooming bruise.

Then he hovers over you, mouth wet, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re close,” he murmurs, “I can feel it. You’re shaking.”

You nod, lips parted, breath stuttering.

His hands slide up your thighs, grounding you—but instead of returning to where you’re desperate for him, he pulls back more.

“Don’t come yet.”

Your brows draw together, lips twitching in protest, “What—why—?”

Oscar leans in again, hand wrapping around your thigh to hold you open as he presses a kiss just above your aching heat. 

His voice is low, but firm, “Because I want to be inside you when you fall apart.”

The authority in his tone makes you clench around nothing. You whimper as he sits back on his heels, rubbing his palms over your thighs in soothing strokes.

“Please…” you whisper.

His mouth tilts into the faintest smirk—not smug. Hungry.

Then he crawls back up your body, leaving another trail of slow kisses across the bruises he’s left down your chest.

“You don’t come without me tonight,” he says quietly against your skin. “You understand?”

You nod, barely breathing.

“Say it,” his tone is demanding, but not impatient.

“I—I won’t come until you’re inside me,” you surrender. 

He moves back up to kiss you—soft at first, then deeper, longer—as he reaches over to the nightstand. You hear the foil tear, the familiar sound grounding the moment in something real. His body shifts against yours as he sits back briefly to roll the condom on, his breath catching as his hand moves.

Then he’s back above you—one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand sliding down to guide himself to your entrance. His cock brushes against you, hot and thick and so ready.

But still, he pauses.

“Are you sure? You won’t regret this later?” he asks, voice quieter now. Not demanding. Not coaxing. Just open.

You reach up, cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Oscar exhales—one soft, shuddering breath—and presses his forehead to yours for a moment, like he’s soaking those words in.

He sinks into you slowly—not teasing, just careful, controlled, like he’s doing something sacred. His hips press forward inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you fully until your thighs tremble against his sides.

You gasp, clutching his biceps, head tipping back into the pillows, “Oscar…”

“I know,” he breathes. “Fuck, I know. You feel—”

He cuts himself off with a groan, jaw tightening as he bottoms out, “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

He stills inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you shaking with the effort of not losing it too soon. He brushes your hair away from your face with the gentlest touch, his palm cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you might break if he lets go.

“You okay?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, “Move. Please.”

So he does.

The first thrust is slow and deep, rolling through your whole body. His hips pull back and push forward in a smooth rhythm that feels like worship. Each time he fills you, you feel more of yourself unravel, like he’s stripping you bare with every stroke.

He kisses you through it—long, lingering kisses against your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You breathe it against his lips, broken and honest:

“I’m yours.”

He groans, burying himself deeper.

His pace stays steady, grounding—not brutal, not rushed, but deliberate. Like he wants to make this last. Like he needs you to feel it for hours after.

His hand slides down your side to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist to angle you just right—and when he thrusts again, you choke on a moan.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod frantically, eyes wide and wet.

“Yeah, baby. That’s it,” He stumbles through his words, deep within his own pleasure, “You take me so well.”

You cling to him like he’s the only real thing in the world, his name slipping from your lips between soft gasps, your body clenching around him, slick and pulsing and completely his.

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharp—it’s deep. A wave that rolls through you, full-body and consuming. You cry out, and he swallows the sound in a kiss, fucking you through it with soft praise and steady hands.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. I’ve got you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the corner of your eye.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “You’re safe.”

He comes only seconds later, thrusts stuttering, mouth falling open against your neck. You feel him groan into your skin as he grips your thigh and spills into the condom, his whole body shaking with the effort.

And when it’s over, he doesn’t pull away.

He just collapses into you—gently—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.

You lie there tangled in each other, your fingers brushing through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, your thighs still parted around his hips.

Neither of you speaks.

You don’t have to.

You’re both suspended in that quiet stillness—the kind that only comes after something real, something that changes the shape of you.

After a long moment, he shifts slightly, careful not to crush you. His hand strokes your thigh where it’s still curled around his waist. He places a soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your jaw. Then he pulls out gently, drawing a small whimper from your throat.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, brushing his hand down your hip, “You okay?”

You nod. Your voice is still trapped somewhere in your chest, so you let your hand answer for you, fingers curling around his bicep. He disposes of the condom quickly, then returns to the bed without hesitation, lying beside you and immediately pulling you into his arms.

He doesn’t ask if it was good.

He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he cradles you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other brushing soft fingers through your hair.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just… a lot.”

You feel his smile against your forehead. His hand slides up and down your back, slow and steady, grounding.

“Hey,” he says gently after a pause. “You don’t… regret this, do you?”

You shift slightly to look at him. His eyes are wide, open, vulnerable—stripped of all the heat and control from earlier. He’s just Oscar now. Soft-spoken and careful with your heart.

You shake your head slowly, “No. I don’t.”

His shoulders relax.

“Okay,” he says, “Good. I just—I need you to know…”

He hesitates, thumb brushing your side, “This doesn’t have to mean anything. If it was just about him—if it was just something you needed to do — that’s okay.”

You blink. His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of sadness tucked into it. Like he means what he’s saying, but part of him hopes it isn’t just that.

You slide your hand up his chest, over the steady beat of his heart, “It wasn’t just about him.”

His brows lift slightly. You lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t mean anything.”

Oscar exhales—slow and shaky—and you see the tension leave his body like someone just untied a knot that’s been there for months.

He pulls you in tighter. You tuck your head beneath his chin, leg slipping between his, arms around his torso, his scent already warm on your skin.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “Stay?”

You nod against his chest, “I want to.”

You fall asleep like that—in his arms, his fingers tangled in your hair, your body marked with proof of what happened.

Not revenge.

Not just sex.

Something.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Oscar’s chest beneath your cheek. His arm still slung around your waist. The faint hum of city life beyond the hotel windows. You blink slowly into the early light, your lashes brushing the skin of his collarbone.

He’s already awake.

You can feel it in the way his fingers trace lazy, absentminded shapes along your back. He’s not in a rush. Not trying to move you. Just… there, soaking the moment in.

You shift slightly, stretch, and wince a little—your thighs ache, in the best way. Oscar immediately pauses.

“Sore?” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“A little,’ you respond quietly.

He kisses your forehead, “Good sore or… need-an-ice-pack sore?”

You snort, hiding your smile in his chest, “Good sore.”

He hums, content. His hand returns to your back. You both stay still for a few more seconds—not talking, not overthinking—just breathing together.

Then, softly, “You don’t have to sneak out,” he says, “You can walk out like you belong here.”

You glance up at him, “I kind of do belong now… don’t I?”

His lips lift into a tired smile, “Yeah. You do.”

You press a soft kiss to his jaw before finally sitting up, the sheets slipping down your body, baring the constellation of love bites he left down your chest. His eyes flick to them, and his smile shifts—pride, possession, a little satisfaction.

“He’s gonna see those,” he says.

“Good,” you echo, voice quiet but sharp.

You find your underwear, pull on your clothes from the night before — everything still wrinkled from the floor. You go to the mirror, fix your hair just enough, and borrow his hoodie. He watches you do it all in silence.

Before you leave, he stands, cups your face in both hands, and kisses you slow. Sweet.

“See you down there?”

You nod, “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

You open the door.

Step out.

And you’re not five steps down the hall before you hear the elevator ding.

You hear the sound of footsteps before you register anything else—then the shift in atmosphere. Heavy. Cold. Unwelcoming/

You turn.

Lando steps into the hallway off of the elevator, coffee in hand, hoodie tied low around his hips, damp curls falling over his forehead like he just stepped out of the shower.

He doesn’t speak right away.

He just stops—eyes locked on you—and stares.

At the heels.

At the wrinkled black dress from last night.

At the hoodie hanging off your shoulders—Oscar’s '81' hoodie.

Then his gaze lands on your neck.

The bruises.

The silence stretches, thick and venomous.

“Wow,” he mutters, taking a slow sip of his coffee, “Didn’t think you’d stoop that low.”

You raise an eyebrow, heartbeat steady, “Funny. I was thinking the same about you for the last six months.”

His eyes flicker—a flash of guilt, gone in an instant.

“So what, then?” he snaps. “You fuck my teammate to even the score?”

You shrug one shoulder, “I didn’t realize we were still keeping score.”

“You really let him leave those on you?” His voice cuts sharper now, bitter, “Is that what you’re doing now? Walking around marked up like a fucking trophy?”

“He didn’t do it to prove a point,’ You step closer, just enough, “He did it because he wanted to touch me. Because he actually looked at me.”

Lando’s jaw clenches,

"You’re still mine.”

That’s when you laugh—not cruel, but quiet. Final.

“No, Lando. I was never yours,” you say with a confidence you didn’t know you possessed, “I just played the part.”

His lips part like he wants to fire back, but no words come.

You walk past him without another glance, heels echoing softly against the hotel carpet. His coffee hand twitches like he wants to stop you—to say something that could undo what he just saw.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

The bruises on your neck do all the talking.

The tension hits before you even step onto the concrete.

You’d heard whispers all morning—something about a joint media pen meltdown, Lando snapping mid-question, storming off, Oscar handling it with trademark calm. Nobody quite knows why. No one’s saying anything aloud. But everyone feels the shift.

Especially in the McLaren garage.

The energy is tight. Controlled. Like an engine revving just a little too high.

You move through it like a blade through silk.

Sunglasses on, McLaren pass hanging low on your chest. Hair neatly pulled back, hoodie zipped halfway. You tried to cover the hickeys— light foundation along your collarbone, you hadn't expected to need color corrector on this trip—but Monaco’s heat is unforgiving. The bruises are starting to bleed through the coverage, soft and red and obvious.

You don’t adjust your zipper.

Let them wonder.

As you step through the divider into the team area, a few heads turn. You're familiar enough to them. People don’t stare—not directly—but eyes flick. Conversations pause. It’s subtle, but you’re used to it by now.

Oscar’s standing just to the side of the media tent, debrief notes in one hand. He looks up the second you appear—and though his expression doesn’t change much, you catch the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

He doesn’t come to you.

You don’t go to him.

Not yet.

You pass close enough that your arm brushes his, and the heat between you sizzles like something private. He doesn’t look, doesn’t touch.

But he says, quiet enough for only you to hear, “He cracked.”

You smile faintly, “I heard.”

“They asked about quali, he said something about ‘teammates knowing their place.’”

You raise a brow, amused, “Classy.”

“Zak pulled him out. Press has no idea what the fuck he meant,” Oscar says, with a hint of boyish triumph laced in his voice. 

“But you do.”

He doesn’t answer that—just smiles again, a little wider this time.

You walk past him and take your place in the viewing area beside one of the engineers. From across the garage, you feel Lando’s eyes land on you. Just a flicker.

Just long enough.

He sees the bruise peeking above the collar of your hoodie. The faint outline of teeth just beneath your jaw.

He looks away.

You don’t need to say a word.

Oscar already said it for you—with his mouth on your skin, with his name on your lips, with every mark he left behind.

Qualifying starts, and Monaco doesn’t give anyone room to hide — not on track, and definitely not off it.

From the team pit wall, you watch it unfold through tinted lenses, headset perched loosely around your neck.

Oscar’s smooth. Fast. Calm through Sector 1, surgical through the hairpin. Lando’s twitchier. Overcorrecting. Radio sharp. He goes wide into Turn 12 and mutters something that gets bleeped on the live feed.

The garage knows.

Everyone knows.

Even the engineers are glancing at each other between data runs. The tension hasn’t lifted—it’s just gone quieter. Deeper.

Zak walks past you once, then again, and doesn’t say anything.

You don’t move.

Oscar finishes P3. Lando P7.

When Oscar’s lap time flashes on the board, there’s a flicker of something like satisfaction in the way he lifts his visor. He doesn’t celebrate. Doesn’t gloat. Just pulls back into the garage like he’s done his job—and knows you were watching.

You head toward the back hallway after the session ends. Quiet space behind hospitality, where the drivers come through before facing the press.

You’re leaning against a wall when you hear the voices before you see them.

Lando’s.

“Why don’t you tell them what you were really thinking on that last lap?”

Oscar’s.

“Excuse me?”

Lando’s.

“You wanted to beat me. You needed to. Don’t act like this was just another quali for you.”

Oscar’s voice is quieter, cooler, “Every quali, I want to beat the guy next to me. That’s the point.”

Lando laughs, sharp and joyless, “You think you’ve won something, don’t you? Some prize of a woman?”

You step into view.

They both go quiet.

Oscar’s eyes flick to you first—not surprised, not smug. Just aware. Present.

Lando sees the faint hickey blooming again, the one the foundation couldn’t fully hide, and his jaw ticks. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

You tilt your head, “Everything alright?”

Oscar looks at Lando for half a second longer, then turns to you.

“Yeah,” he says, calm and even. “We were just clearing the air.”

This earns him a glare from Lando. 

You smile at Oscar, brush your hand lightly along his arm as you pass.

Lando stays frozen.

It’s dark when you find Oscar again—rooftop level, away from the noise. He’s leaning on the railing in his McLaren hoodie, watching the city lights flicker over the water.

You slip in beside him.

He doesn’t look away from the skyline.

“He’s pissed,” Oscar says.

“He’ll stay pissed,” you admit quietly.

“He’s not just mad about it being me,” a beat, “He’s mad because he never thought you would leave him.”

You nod, fingers grazing the edge of the railing, “He never thought I’d let anyone else touch me.”

Oscar turns to you then. The tension’s gone now, burned out somewhere between the lap and the hallway. He notices you shivering and removes his hoodie, handing it to you without a word.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” you respond, more assurance in your voice than the last time he asked. You turn fully toward him, “Do you?”

He just looks at you—steady, thoughtful, something softer than anything he’s shown all day.

Then he shrugs one shoulder and smiles faintly, “Not even a little.”

You lean in.

Kiss him.

The kiss is soft—nothing like the one in the hallway, or the ones from last night, hot and breathless with desperation. This one is calm. Confident.

Yours.

Oscar’s hands rest lightly on your waist, the cool night breeze lifting strands of your hair between you. Monaco glitters below, impossibly golden. You kiss him once. Then again. Slow. Unrushed. Like no one’s watching.

Except someone is.

You don’t notice it at first—the small mechanical click behind you. Subtle. A shutter. A camera lens adjusting to the low light.

By the time you pull back, it’s already done.

Oscar’s head lifts just slightly, eyes narrowing toward a corner of the rooftop—barely visible through a line of glass. Not press-official. Paparazzi freelance. The ones who sell exclusives when the media team’s off-duty.

“Shit,” Oscar mutters under his breath.

You turn, eyes locking on the shadowed figure just as they duck behind cover.

Too late.

“Think they got it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Oscar nods slowly, expression unreadable, “Yeah. They got it.”

You exhale—not panicked. Just… bracing.

Because the image will drop. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. You in his arms, mouth on his, Oscar’s hoodie on your shoulders, his fingers curled around your waist like he’s holding something that matters.

It’s not a rumor anymore.

It’s not a whisper in the paddock hallway or a locker room assumption or something Lando only suspects.

It’s proof.

The photo drops sometime after 2 a.m.

It’s soft. Intimate. The Monaco skyline blurred behind you, Oscar’s hands gentle on your hips, your lips brushing his in a kiss too tender to be casual. You’re wearing his hoodie, your body leaning into his like you belong there. The headline spins fast, and the image spins faster.

“Piastri and mystery girl— late-night kiss confirms more than paddock rumors.” #MonacoGP #OP81 #McLaren #F1WeekendRomance

By the time the sun rises over the harbor, the image has circled the globe. Instagram reels. Reddit threads. Private group chats with McLaren team tags. 

Some know who you are. Others ask. Everyone guesses.

No one’s surprised.

Not even Lando.

He sees it around 6 a.m. His phone buzzes with the notification, a WhatsApp ping from someone in media: “Bro…?”

He clicks it, thumb slow, still groggy from a half-slept night.

The image fills his screen in just about a second flat.

And for a second, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Then it hits—slow and thick, like cold water spreading under his ribs. He stares at the photo, eyes scanning over the curve of your smile, the way your fingers curl into the back of Oscar’s shirt, the undeniable ease in your body.

You look happy.

He hasn't seen that look on you in months.

The worst part is how quiet the fury is—how it doesn’t come out loud, how it just sits there in his chest.

He doesn’t throw the phone.

He just stares, jaw tight, thumb hovering above the screen like he could rewind the moment and undo it.

But it’s already out.

And nothing will unsee it.

The paddock is different that morning. The kind of quiet that’s not actually quiet—just loaded.

Oscar walks in calm. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shrink. He gives one quick nod to Zak, another to the comms lead. Then walks into the garage like he hasn’t just become the most searched man in F1.

Lando’s already in the back, zipped into his fireproofs, eyes locked on the telemetry like it might give him something to hit. When Oscar appears beside him in the media pen, the tension is immediate—even before the interviews start.

“Oscar,” one reporter says, half-laughing, “you’ve been trending all morning. Surprised by the attention?”

Oscar’s lips tug into a polite half-smile, “Not particularly.”

“Balancing a fast lap and a fast… personal life?” someone else jokes.

He doesn’t miss a beat, “One lap at a time.”

Lando laughs then—too sharp, too loud, “He’s got more than enough time to focus on everything else, clearly.”

The PR handler stiffens. The reporters go quiet. One camera clicks. Someone tries to move the topic on, but the moment lands.

Oscar doesn’t react. Just folds his arms across his chest, gives a small smile, and looks straight ahead.

You hear about it an hour later.

And when you enter the garage, it’s like parting smoke. The space tenses. Heads turn. No one quite meets your eyes, except for Lando —a glance, sharp and quick, from across the space.

He looks away.

Oscar doesn’t.

You find him standing near the screens, headset tucked around his neck, one hand in his pocket. He sees you and offers the smallest, softest smile.

You pass close. Don’t touch. Don’t stop.

But your fingers graze his as you go.

He breathes like it’s the first time all day he’s been allowed to.

Later, after the final briefings wrap, you find him alone behind the paddock—tucked into a quiet service alley, the marina glittering beyond the concrete walls.

He doesn’t hear you approach. Just stands with his back to you, hands braced on the railing, still in his gear. His shoulders rise and fall in slow rhythm.

You stop beside him.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, “So,” you murmur, “that’s one way to go public.”

He huffs a laugh. “Guess we don’t get to control the timing.”

You glance sideways at him. “Regret it yet?”

He finally looks at you — eyes soft, voice quieter than it was all day, “Not even a little.”

You nod slowly, “Me either.”

He exhales, like that’s what he was waiting for.

“It’s going to be loud,” He warns

“I know.”

“He’s not going to take it quietly,” Oscar adds. 

“He’s not my responsibility anymore.”

Oscar studies your face — the calm in your expression, the steadiness in your voice — then lifts a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing gently beneath your cheekbone.

“If it gets messy—” Oscar starts. 

“We’ll deal with it,” you reassure him with a confidence foreign to you. 

He nods once.

"Good luck out there."

The Monaco sun glints harshly off the harbor, but the air inside the McLaren garage is colder than it should be. Everyone’s already seen the photo. The photographers couldn’t have asked for a cleaner shot.

No one says a word about it — not to your face. But there’s something in the silence. The way engineers glance between Lando and Oscar before looking away. The way a strategist clears his throat before relaying sector data like he’s afraid it might ignite something.

You stay quiet. Poised. Present in the garage like you’ve always been. Just another figure with a headset and a McLaren pass. Except now, yesterday's bruises aren’t just hickeys—they’re headlines.

Oscar’s composed during formation laps, fully in the zone. Lando, on the other hand, can’t seem to keep still. His fingers twitch on the wheel. His visor drops early. And when he lines up behind Oscar on the grid, his car nose to the back of the #81, the message is clear:

He’s not racing for position.

He’s racing him.

The lights go out at the start, and the tension snaps taut.

Oscar gets off the line clean. Fast. Aggressive, but composed—the kind of driver who cuts through chaos like he’s above it. He settles into P3 behind Leclerc and Max, calm radio calls rolling through your headset.

“Tyres feel stable. Brakes coming up nicely.” His tone is smooth. Professional. Locked in.

“Copy that, Oscar. You’re looking good. Just manage the gap.”

Lando, meanwhile, is chewing through the field from P7, but he’s not driving—he’s fighting. And it shows. He’s too heavy into the Nouvelle Chicane. Nearly clips the barrier at Mirabeau. Gets squeezed by Hamilton going into the tunnel and screams down the radio like it’s personal.

“Is anyone actually gonna call shit today, or should I just punt him off the fucking track?”

“Lando, stay focused.”

“Oh, now you want focus. Should’ve told golden boy to stay out of my way in quali.”

Twenty laps in, Oscar’s holding steady in third with tire wear perfectly balanced. Lando’s muscling his way up to P5, then P4 after a gutsy dive into Sainte Devote. It’s impressive. Chaotic. Pure Lando.

“Tell him if he’s going to block me, he better commit to it. This half-ass defending doesn’t help anyone.”

The pit wall tries to smooth it over.

“Copy, Lando. Maintain focus. Oscar’s running clean.”

There’s a beat of static. Then Lando again.

“If he wants to play team leader, he better drive like it.”

In Oscar’s car, there’s only quiet. Steady updates. Clean cornering. No rise. No reaction.

Just sector after sector of control.

But it’s Oscar who makes it look effortless.

Final laps tick down. Lando’s close—closer than he’s been all weekend—but not enough.

You watch the checkered flag fall from the garage viewing area, headset still clutched in one hand, heart thudding in your chest. Oscar crosses the line second—a solid, beautiful finish. No mistakes. No drama.

Lando follows in fourth.

The crowd roars. The team celebrates.

But inside the garage, the energy is split.

Half the crew glances toward the monitors. The other half glances toward you.

No one says anything.

But the silence speaks volumes.

The garage claps for Oscar’s podium. It’s not dramatic. No confetti. But the applause is sincere. You stay tucked to the side as he peels off his gloves and helmet, curls damp and jaw clenched with adrenaline.

He doesn’t look for you.

He knows you’re there.

The podium happens in a flash champagne, interviews, cameras. Oscar is graceful. Deflecting the kiss photo with a shrug:

”I try to keep focus on track. Everything else…” He shrugs. “That’s not what wins points. I let the track speak louder than the tabloids.”

Clean. Cool. Unbothered.

Lando’s post-race media scrum doesn’t go as smoothly.

His smile is too tight. His answers too short.

“Happy with your pace today?”

“No.”

“Anything you’d like to say about team dynamics?”

“I think a few people need to remember who they were before the cameras showed up.”

You’re not sure if it’s coincidence or fate. Lando's leaning against the wall near the back of the hospitality area, arms crossed over his chest, fire suit still half-zipped, sweat drying on his neck. The air between you tightens instantly.

He sees you before you speak.

“So that’s it?” he says, voice low, mocking, “You get your moment? Photo hits the press and suddenly you’re Piastri’s girl now?”

You keep your voice even. “It’s not about the photo.”

“No?” His eyebrows lift, “Looked like it. Looked like perfect timing, actually. Right before race day. You really going for the full storybook arc, huh?”

You cross your arms, matching his stance, “You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be caught?”

He snorts. “Certainly didn't stop.”

You step closer.

“You didn’t stop sleeping around. You didn’t stop ignoring me. You didn’t stop until I was already gone.”

His mouth twitches—not a smile. Something bitter.

“And you think Oscar’s different?”

“I know he is.”

He studies you then. Really looks. Like he’s trying to find the part of you that still belongs to him. The part he can poke and prod and control like he used to.

But it’s not there.

His breath stutters. He looks away—jaw tight, hands clenched.

There’s movement behind you.

Lando glances past your shoulder—posture tensing.

Oscar stands just beyond the corner. Silent. Watching.

But he doesn’t step in.

He meets your eyes—not Lando’s—and with one subtle nod, he turns to go.

Because he trusts you to handle this.

Because you needed to take this one yourself.

You find Oscar later by the hospitality coffee station, half-dressed down from his suit, fingers curled around a water bottle, his race boots unlaced. The crowds have thinned. The crew’s winding down. But he’s still here—waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“You saw?”

“I heard,” he says. “Then I saw.”

He studies you.

“You handled him.”

You nod, then smile faintly. “So did you.”

Oscar lifts his water bottle and takes a sip.

You step closer. Not rushed. Just enough.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For what?”

“Not stepping in.”

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, “I knew you could handle him.”

You lean into his side, your hand resting on his chest. His arm slips around your back like it’s instinct.

There are still cameras around.

Still whispers.

Still fallout coming.

But for now, it’s just the two of you.

Still standing.

FROM PADDOCK DARLING TO PIASTRI’S MYSTERY GIRL: MONACO GP’S MOST TALKED-ABOUT WOMAN

Well, well, well. Things are heating up in more ways than one at McLaren—and this time, it’s not just on track.

In case you missed it (though how could you?), Oscar Piastri made headlines this weekend for more than just his flawless P2 finish in Monaco. The 23-year-old Aussie was spotted sharing a kiss with a woman who—until recently—had been very publicly linked to his teammate, Lando Norris.

Yes. You read that right.

The viral photo, snapped late Saturday night on a rooftop terrace above the Monaco paddock, shows Piastri in what can only be described as a very cozy moment with a mystery girl who fans quickly identified as Lando’s longtime (but reportedly estranged) girlfriend.

Wearing his hoodie. With his hands around her waist. And what appear to be love bites peeking out from beneath her collar.

(We zoomed in. Don’t act like you didn’t.)

The woman once seen at every race on Lando Norris’ arm is no longer just a grid-side accessory—she’s made it very clear whose garage she’s in now. And it’s not Norris’.

Neither Oscar nor the woman in question have made an official statement, but the body language has said plenty. The pair has been spotted multiple times, hand-in-hand, unabashed.

While reps for McLaren offered no official comment on the photo, the tension in the garage during Saturday qualifying spoke volumes. Sources inside the paddock describe Norris as “visibly short-tempered,” with one engineer claiming he was “racing like he had something to prove.” As for Piastri? Calm, composed—and, if we may, focused.

He brought home P2.

Norris? P4—and reportedly less than thrilled.

Let’s not forget: this isn’t the first time Lando’s off-track antics have made waves—rumors of infidelity have followed the Brit through the past few seasons, though they were often brushed aside by his ever-loyal girlfriend. Until now.

While nothing has been confirmed (yet), it would certainly appear that she’s Oscar’s now.

Whether this unexpected romance will fuel drama or just give Oscar a boost on track remains to be seen, but one thing’s for sure: we’ll be watching.

Very closely.

Stay tuned. The summer break’s never felt so far away.

© Copyright, 2025.

[horchatakoo]

PLAYER 97 | JUNGKOOK ONESHOT

Synopsis: In which Jungkook fucks you in the locker room when you showed up to his game wearing his jersey after a heated argument.

Themes: established relationship, make-up sex, smut, nsfw, cock riding, creampie , big dick jungkook, dom jungkook

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone, a visible frown pulling at your face as the memory of last night replays in your head on an endless loop.

Ten missed calls. Seven unread messages. All from Jungkook.

You haven’t opened a single one. You didn’t even have the guts to clear the notifications.

Yana, your friend—and the owner of the apartment you’re currently slouched in—glances over from her spot on the couch, noticing the way your expression keeps twitching like you’re about to either cry or throw your phone.

“You good?” her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah,” you say too fast, staring at your screen. “It’s just… Jungkook and I fought last night.”

Yana snorts, connecting the dots almost instantly. “Ohhh, is that why you’re here instead of being cuddled up with your boyfriend in your guys’ apartment?”

You groan and toss a pillow at her, face heating. “Stop it, Yana. It’s not funny. He got really mad at me, you know…”

“Well?” she grins. “What happened? You two barely ever fight.”

You hesitate, chewing the inside of your cheek as you reminisce about the events that happened last night.

“…It was about the party.”

“Why are you at that party?! When I told you not to go!” Jungkook’s voice was loud as he slammed the apartment door shut as soon as the two of you stepped inside.

He had dragged you out of Jimin’s frat party without a word, and now he’s pacing, all tense and pissed, barely looking at you.

“Relax, Koo… I was with Jimin,” you say, trying to play it cool as you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, making you feel a little light-headed.

“You were with Jimin,” he spits, emphasizing Jimin's name like the name alone is enough to make him lose it.

“You know that guy brings nothing but trouble. And a frat party? Seriously? God knows what could’ve happened to you—getting drunk, drugged, or some creep trying something on you while you’re too out of it to even notice.”

He said, looking straight at you, his tone still laced with anger as he paced around the small living room, as if trying to calm himself down, a hand running through his locks in frustration.

And maybe, yeah, you get where he’s coming from. Deep down, you know it’s not just about Jimin. It’s about him being scared of the possible dangers you could’ve encountered in a place like that—filled with alcohol and frat boys.

But your pride is too high to give a damn, and you refuse to acknowledge that your boyfriend is 100% right.

"You're fucking controlling!" you shouted at him in defense, refusing to lose the argument—even though you were already out of things to say.

Knowing there's nothing left to add, you turn around and storm into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you, leaving Jungkook standing alone in the middle of the living room with no choice but to sleep out there.

Yana stares at you, half-pitying, half-annoyed. “Girl…”

"You know that was kinda your fault, right?" she continued, trying to not side on anyone, since you're her best friend, but misserably failed.

You shoot her a glare. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the right side. And you know damn well Jimin’s a walking red flag in skinny jeans.”

You stay quiet.

That’s honestly true. Jimin is a troublemaker—but he’s still your friend.

You know you were wrong for not listening to Jungkook, even though he had every reason to be concerned about that party. Which is why you planned to say sorry first thing in the morning…

But when you woke up, the apartment was empty.

No Jungkook.

Just a plate of breakfast waiting for you on the counter.

“I know, Yana… but I just don’t know how to make things right between us when everything feels so awkward now,” you admit in defeat, hoping your friend might come up with something better than your own half-baked plan.

“All I can say is: go home and say sorry to him,” she says, simply.

And so you did.

When you got back home, he still wasn’t there, making you sigh unconsciously.

Your eyes wandered around the empty apartment, taking in how quiet and lonely it felt without Jungkook here—no laughter, no teasing, no arms wrapping around you from behind while you cooked. Just… silence.

Maybe waiting for him and making dinner would be nice, you thought, as you started skimming through the kitchen cabinets for anything decent to put together.

That’s when your eyes landed on the small schedule stuck to the side of the fridge.

Right… Jungkook has a championship game today.

And just like that, a bright idea lit up in your mind.

The rink was loud, the energy buzzing with cheers and chants, but Jungkook’s mind was somewhere else.

He hadn’t invited you. He didn’t even expect you to show up after everything that happened last night, thinking that you're still mad at him.

But still, as the game started, his eyes couldn’t help but wander across the bleachers—scanning, searching, hoping.

Just one glance.

Just to be sure.

And right as he was about to look away, to focus back on the game, he saw you.

There.

Sitting alone, tucked among a few scattered fans from his team. And for a second, he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining you.

But then he saw what you were wearing.

His jersey.

The same one he gave you during his first game, the one he practically begged you to wear even though you told him oversized jerseys weren’t really your thing.

You wore it anyway. And now, here you are—wearing it again, in the middle of the crowd, like some silent apology stitched in fabric.

His eyes locked with yours.

You smiled at him. A small, slightly awkward smile—but it was enough to assure him that everything's gonna be okay again

And just like that, something in his chest loosened.

For the first time since last night, he let himself breathe freely—the stress and the thoughts of how he could possibly fix things between the two of you were already out of his mind. Now, he could focus on the game.

Jungkook was on fire.

Gliding across the ice with sharp, effortless precision, he moved like he owned the rink—swift passes, clean shots, total control. Every time the puck touched his stick, the crowd held their breath.

The scoreboard kept climbing, the gap between his team and the opponents growing wider with each passing minute. It wasn’t even close.

By the time the final buzzer echoed through the arena, the place erupted.

They won.

Cheers exploded from every corner of the stands—and yours was the loudest.

“Let’s go, Jungkook!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, hands cupped around your mouth, heart pounding like you were the one who just scored the winning goal.

And even in all the noise, you swore he heard you.

By the time the game ended, the energy in the arena was still buzzing—cheers, laughter, the sound of people flooding out into the night.

You had already planned to meet him in the parking lot, just like before. our legs felt weak from all the jumping and screaming his name, and now that the adrenaline was dying down, all you could think about was seeing him up close again—talking, maybe hugging, maybe—

Buzz.

Your phone lit up.

Koo: Don’t wait in the parking lot. Meet me at the locker room love.

You were a bit confused after receiving the message, wondering why he wanted to meet up there of all places. What if his teammates were still around? What if it’d be awkward?

But your thoughts were cut off when another message came in.

Koo: Don't worry no one's around.

It was as if he read your mind.

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flushed red at the sudden—very perverted thought that crossed your mind.

You immediately scolded yourself internally for even thinking that way

As you neared the locker room, a few of Jungkook’s teammates passed by, giving you casual nods as they exited, laughter still lingering in the air.

Turns out the team was heading out to celebrate at some restaurant—everyone except Jungkook, who apparently decided to skip.

“Hey, Y/N. Jungkook’s waiting for you back there,” one of them said with a knowing grin.

You barely managed to smile before a few others chimed in—whistles, low chuckles.

“Damn, someone’s in trouble,” one joked, earning a round of snickers.

Your face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up your cheeks to the tips of your ears. You nodded quickly, mumbling a quiet, “Okay,” before speed-walking past them, not even daring to glance back.

When you finally stepped inside, the room was quiet—almost too quiet compared to the usual chaos of his teammates.

Jungkook was already there, freshly showered, hair still damp as he stood by his locker, shirt half-on while he fixed his things.

You took a few slow steps toward him, smiling gently. “Hi,” you greeted, voice soft but hopeful.

And before you could even process what was happening, he turned and smashed his lips against yours.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he muttered between kisses.

It was messy, rushed, needy—your mouths moving fast, tongues tangling in a sloppy, breathless kiss that had your knees weak and your heart racing.

You pulled back just slightly to catch your breath, lips swollen and eyes wide.

“Silly,” you whispered, a little breathless, “we just haven’t talked for a night.”

“Yeah, I know… but still,” he murmured against your lips, then trailed down to your neck.

His mouth latched onto that one spot—the spot—and it made your breath hitch, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it.

He smirked at the sound, knowing exactly what he was doing, fingers already finding the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.

In one motion, he unclipped it and slid his jersey off your frame, leaving your skin burning.

You tried stopping him, hands pressing lightly against his chest. “Jungkook… w-we’re in public… someone could walk in…”

But he just leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and cocky.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he whispered, “no one’s gonna come.”

Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he turned you around to face the lockers, pressing your front against the cool metal.

You barely had time to react before he pushed your skirt up with one hand—and froze for half a second.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “What a slut you are for me… no panties under this little skirt, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, body trembling under his touch.

A sharp smack landed on your ass, making you gasp—partly from the sting, mostly from the way it sent a jolt straight between your legs.

You whimpered, your palms flattening against the locker, cheek pressed to the surface as you tried to catch your breath.

“Already this wet for me?” Jungkook murmured as he deliberately dragged his fingers in your pussy, rubbing slow circle on your clit.

It made you moan uncontrollably, your voice echoing through the empty locker room, no longer able to hold back any of the sounds spilling from your lips.

Without a word, he slid two fingers deep into your dripping core, the wet sound of each thrust obscene in the quiet space, your body bent over helplessly against the locker.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, eyes locked on the way you clenched around him. “You’re swallowing my fingers—so fucking greedy for me.”

His words only made you wetter—needier—and your hips bucked into his hand without even thinking. The two fingers weren’t enough anymore, not with the way your body craved him.

He slid in a third without warning, and you gasped, the stretch making your knees weak.

“Ahhh… I need—I need your cock, please, Kookie,” you whined, voice shaky and wrecked, eyes fluttering shut.

That confession made him smirk against your neck, lips brushing your skin.

He curled his fingers deep inside you, watching the way you squirmed under his touch, desperate for more.

“Shhh,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your ear. “Gotta prep you first, baby. Can’t just stuff you full yet.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping the locker door like your life depended on it.

“You can ride me later, alright?” he added, voice low and full of heat. “Gonna let you fuck yourself stupid on it after I open you up nice and good.”

With a few more thrusts and a curl of his fingers, you felt your release building fast, your body tensing as you gasped out, “I’m gonna cum—”

But he stopped. Just like that.

You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, frustrated and breathless.

“Not yet,” he said firmly, licking his lips as he looked up at you. “You can only cum on my cock, baby.”

And with that, he moved to lie down on one of the benches, legs spread, cock hard and heavy against his abs. You stood frozen for a second, flustered, heat burning across your cheeks.

But then he looked at you—through you—and reached out.

“Come here, baby. Fuck your greedy cunt onto my cock now.”

Your breath hitched. He looked so good—messy hair, flushed skin, toned chest rising and falling with every breath. And that thick length standing proud, waiting for you.

You walked toward him on shaky legs, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you straddled his hips, knees pressed into the bench as you reached down, guiding him to your entrance.

You both gasped as you sank down on him, inch by inch, your walls fluttering around his thick length.

“God, you missed me that bad, huh?” he chuckled darkly, watching the way your lips parted in a silent moan. “Bet you were thinking about this the second you saw me today.”

Once you were fully sank on his length, he couldn't help but notice how his cock is bulging on your lower belly as reach out to palm the outline of his length, making you moan.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “you're really shaped to fit my cock huh?”

The pressure made you moan, your thighs tightening around him. You started slow, rolling your hips, adjusting to the stretch—even though fucking was practically a routine for your both, he still felt overwhelming every time.

But soon, slow turned to eager. Desperation took over as you began to bounce on him, each movement slick and loud in the quiet room. Your moans turned lewd, needy, and so loud he had to bite his lip to keep from losing control too soon.

Your chest bounced with every thrust, and he reached up, gripping one of your breasts, fingers tugging and pinching your nipple just to hear that sweet cry fall from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, thrusting up to meet you halfway. “Ride me, baby. Just like that.”

You kept riding him, your pace starting to falter, thighs trembling from the effort. Your moans turned breathy and weak, hips stuttering.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you cried out, and before you could even finish the sentence, your body gave in, the release crashing through you in waves.

You slumped forward against him, breath ragged—but he wasn’t done.

Strong hands gripped your hips tight, keeping you in place as he began to thrust up into you from below, deep and fast, chasing his own high.

The overstimulation made your eyes roll back, small sobs slipping from your lips as you clung to him, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

“F-Fuck, baby—” he groaned, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna cum.”

Your mind snapped back. “Koo, you don’t have a condom,” you whispered, eyes wide, the haze of lust momentarily clearing.

He barely slowed, bucking his hips harder. “It’s fine, baby,” he growled. “Let me fill you up. Gonna make you full of me… give you my fucking kids.”

And just like that, your brain short-circuited again. The thought—his thought—broke whatever resistance you had left. You didn’t or couldn't protest.

With a few more deep, rough thrusts, he let out a low groan, his body tensing as he spilled everything inside you, filling you to the brim.

Both of your hips twitched in response as he gave a final thrust, making sure not a single drop of his cum spilled. You collapsed onto his chest, completely spent, your limbs heavy and trembling, breath uneven.

His cock was still buried inside you, keeping his release exactly where he wanted it—deep in you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your face buried into the crook of his neck, skin flushed and warm. Silence filled the locker room, save for your shared breathing, still coming down from the high.

“Koo…” you whispered, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

He let out a low chuckle, his hand gently stroking your hair, his other arm wrapped protectively around your waist as he held you close, while pressing a soft kiss to your temple before saying; "It's okay princess, you're already forgiven."