#Fast Scanning Speed

[alinathinkstoomuch]

GAME NIGHT, RUINED

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (was supposed to be nanny!reader but lit rally no mentions of her being a nanny LOL) summary: one question you refuse to answer gives you the best sex of your life. warnings | an: p in v sex, choking, one bite, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink?? hotch profiling reader and its so sexy i want to kith him on the mouth, there is aftercare i just didn’t write it, oopsies, established relationship word count: 2.9k

✧ masterlist

In all fairness, you hadn't actually read the rules of the game before suggesting it tonight. But maybe Penelope had – and maybe that's exactly why she'd wrapped it in floral paper with a gingham ribbon, like it was some sweet little gift and not a trap in disguise.

Because now here you were, cheeks warm, pulse ticking too fast, staring down a question that made your soul want to leave your body.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad.

You liked being manhandled. Liked a little choking – nothing too wild, just enough to feel it. Worst things have happened. Honestly, it wasn't even that big a deal.

Until you looked up... and saw Aaron’s eyes on you.

You swallowed, looking back down at the card again just as a breathless little laugh slipped out.

Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should.

“Pretty sure we’ve already had this one,” you said, maybe a little too brightly, as you tucked the card neatly under the deck like it was nothing. “Next!”

You barely brushed the edge of a new card before Aaron’s hand closed over the stack, pulling it right out of reach.

“Oh, are we done playing?” you asked innocently, sitting up a little straighter as your hands slid to your thighs. “Good idea.” You were on your feet now. “Pretty sure there’s a pile of laundry upstairs with my name on it –”

“Sit.”

Your hands hovered for a second before landing on your hips, a half-formed protest catching in your throat, but you obeyed, lowering yourself back down onto the couch, trying to act unbothered. Trying to ignore the way your heart had picked up speed.

“We haven’t been playing this game long enough to get the same card twice,” he said calmly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Really? Huh. Could’ve sworn we already had that one.”

He arched a brow. “What was it?”

“Aaron come on,” you deflected, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “It was something silly.”

He didn’t say anything, just flipped the deck over in his hand, eyes scanning the top card.

“Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should,” he read aloud. “Hm. Definitely don’t recall hearing your answer to this.”

“You don’t?” you said weakly.

“Just because you keep repeating everything I say doesn’t mean you’re going to get out of answering.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“You begged to play this game,” he continued calmly. “And now you’re skipping cards?” He gave you a dry look. “That hardly seems fair.”

You let out a quiet huff and leaned back into the couch, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. Your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust him – you did. Completely. You knew he’d never shame you or make you feel small for wanting something.

But he’d also seen the worst of humanity. He’d spent his career staring into the darkest corners of people’s minds. You weren’t sure how he’d feel knowing his girlfriend got turned on by things like rough hands. The feeling of being pinned down and utterly helpless, even when she wasn’t.

It sounded a lot messier out loud than it did in your head.

“I just…” You hesitated. “It’s not a big deal. It’s probably not even your thing.”

“Well, if you’re unhappy in that department, I’d absolutely like to know what it is.”

“Oh my God – no, no. Not at all. I’m not – unhappy.” Your voice pitched as high as your hands flew up in protest, and now you were spiralling. “I’m very happy. I’m, like, obscenely happy. I think your ability to give me more orgasms in one night than I’ve had in my entire life before meeting you should be studied. Or patented. Or possibly banned in several states –”

He blinked once. Then bit back a smile.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do, unfortunately,” you muttered into your palms.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice dipping just a little. “Or am I going to have to profile it out of you?”

You peeked out from between your fingers. “You wouldn’t.”

He gave a mild shrug. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Your heart thudded.

“You get flustered when you lose control of the conversation. Especially with me. You fidget more. You avoid eye contact like you’re doing right now.”

You shifted almost immediately.

“You like routine and structure. You’re organised to a fault, but the second I step into your space and do something unexpected, you melt.” He tilted his head. “You act like it annoys you, but I’ve watched you for long enough to know it doesn’t. When I back you against the counter. When I pull your hair back mid-sentence just to kiss your neck. When I don’t ask and take instead. You don’t stop me, you lean into it.”

Your mouth went dry.

“You like being told what to do,” he said simply. Like it was a fact. Like it was always obvious. “In little ways. Safe ways. And when you’re overwhelmed, your instinct isn’t to push back, it’s to submit.”

He watched as your throat worked around a hard swallow.

“You like it when I’m in control.”

Your legs pressed together tight. Too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.

He smiled. “You throw around sarcasm, roll yours eyes, push back, pretend to fuss when I get bossy. But the second I tell you what to do – really tell you – you listen.”

You stared at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“And the truth is, you don’t want to say it out loud because you think it’ll sound messed up. But it doesn’t.” He paused for a second. “I understand you and I’m not judging you. I want to give you what you need.”

Another moment of silence passed before he added, “But if you keep pressing your thighs together like that, I’m going to start thinking we’re done playing this game.”

You let a breath out before speaking. “I…I think we’re done playing,” you managed, voice hoarse.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded before your brain could catch up. “Yes.”

“Then get upstairs.”

You rose on shaky legs and turned towards the stairs, amazed you didn’t trip over yourself on the way up. You could hear him following behind unhurried, while your vision nearly swam from what he’d managed to do to you with just words.

Inside the bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed, unsure whether to turn around or stay still. But you didn’t have to ask.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately.

He stepped in close, the heat of him pressing into you just as his hand gripped a firm handful of your hair giving it a tug.

“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against your neck. “You’ve been so worked up since downstairs.” His lips trailed along your jaw slowly, down the curve of your neck, before you felt him bite down gently, his tongue smoothing over the sting.

“Clothes off, sweetheart.” He took a step back, giving you space.

You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes tracked every inch of newly exposed skin, like he was cataloguing every place he intended to touch.

You pushed your pants down next, shimmied them over your hips, then stepped out, standing there in just your bra and panties, chest rising and falling.

“All of it.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind and undid your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders. Then finally, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them and standing bare in front of him.

He nodded toward the bed.

You turned and sat on the edge first, heart racing, then eased yourself down, your back meeting the cool sheets as you settled into place beneath his gaze.

It didn’t take long before he was hovering over you, one hand spreading your thighs as he settled between them, the other coming up to rest lightly – so lightly – around your throat.

You whimpered.

“There it is,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear. “That little sound you make when you’re starting to let go.”

Then his fingers found your clit, and you arched off the bed with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure landed exactly where you needed it

“I can’t possibly imagine why you’d think this isn’t ‘my thing.’” His fingers kept working you. “Feel what you’ve done to me.”

Your hand moved down between you, palming him through his jeans – and Christ, was he hard. Straining against the fabric, so much so that it almost felt painful.

He groaned at the contact, his hips instinctively pressing into your touch.

“See?” he murmured, slipping a finger inside you without warning, drawing a moan from deep in your chest. “This is exactly my thing. And you—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “you like this is my thing.”

You gasped, your back arching again, but his other hand was already moving, finding your neck again, pressing down just enough to hold you in place.

He leaned in close, brushing his nose along your cheek, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he added a second finger. “You don’t even realize how pretty you are when you’re desperate, do you?” he whispered. “The way you shake. The way you clench around me when I take my time.”

“Aaron…”

He smiled against your skin. “I could keep you like this all night.”

“Please –” was all you managed, the word falling out in a half-broken whimper.

His hand at your throat tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, the same time he curled his fingers inside you. You clenched around him so hard you thought your body might unravel right then and there.

“Fuck – I – I –”

“What is it? Tell me exactly what you need.”

You bucked against him, unable to stop it, hands flying to his forearms – not to push him away, but to hold on. He didn’t move, didn’t ease up either of his hands.

“Or… do you want me to decide for you, hm?”

You couldn’t answer, not in words. Your mind was a haze of heat and ache, your breath catching somewhere between a sob and a moan. Your nails dug into his forearms, desperate for some sort of release.

“Too overwhelmed to answer?”

And then he stilled.

Fingers deep inside you, his body caging yours, hand still resting at your throat but no movement. No friction. No relief. You whined, your hips shifting in an attempt to chase more.

“I’ll decide, then,” he said softly, like he was offering kindness. “You want release? Earn it.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, achingly slow, and the loss had you nearly sobbing. But before you could even begin to beg, he brought his slick fingers up between you and pressed them to your lips.

“Taste it,” he murmured. “Taste how worked up you are. Taste what you do to me.”

Your lips parted without thought, wrapping around his fingers. You moaned as your tongue slid over them, tasting yourself on his skin. He pressed a little deeper, a little further down your throat, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking greedily.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice rough now. “So fucking good for me.”

He began making his way down your body, peppering kisses over your chest, you stomach, your hips. You could feel him everywhere, his breath fanning against your skin, his hands sliding down your thighs, spreading you open again.

He lowered himself between your thighs, and when his mouth finally met you again, it was everything.

His tongue lapped at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. He groaned into you, the sound deep, pushing you that much closer to the edge.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moving – hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. But he only gripped your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it was nothing. Like your squirming didn’t even faze him. Like it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

You whimpered, barely coherent and all you could think about was how badly you wanted those bruises. You wanted to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. You wanted to remember exactly how they got there.

The pressure built low in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble, clenching around his face.

“S’okay baby,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled by your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And that was all it took.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cried out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangled in the sheets. You writhed beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. Your whole body was twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.

He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening. “You should see yourself. You don’t even know how beautiful you look when you come.”

You were still catching your breath when you heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt hitting the floor. You reached up to brush a strand of hair off your damp forehead, but your hand dropped the second you felt him between your thighs again, tip dragging slowly along your soaked slit.

Your entire body went still, mouth falling open and he hadn’t even pushed inside you yet.

“You okay?” he asked, pausing just long enough to check in.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes wide. “More than okay. So okay.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Now you want to talk?”

“I’m just –” you started, breath catching every time the head of his cock slid through your folds. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know it could feel like this, and I – God, Aaron –”

And then he thrusted into you.

One deep stroke that filled you completely, stealing the rest of the sentence right out of your mouth. Your eyes flew open, a strangled gasp caught in your throat as your head tipped back against the pillow, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on.

“Yeah,” he gritted out, his voice hot against your ear. “I thought that might shut you up.”

You could only whimper in response, nails digging into his skin as he stayed there, buried to the hilt, giving you no room to think.

“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking into you once, slow and deep. “You take me so fucking well.”

You nodded, mouth open, breathless. “I wasn’t done talking,” you managed to whisper.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to drag the tip out to your entrance and paused. “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Try.”

“Fuck y–”

He slammed back in, cutting you off mid-word with a thrust somehow deeper than the last.

“Fuck you?” he echoed smugly. “Yeah. I think I will.”

And he did – hips rocking into yours, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress. Then his hand came up, wrapping around your throat again and you clenched around him, a moan escaping your lips. He let out a low tsk, like he’d caught you misbehaving.

He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against yours, his thrusts slowing. They were deeper now, rougher, grinding into you with so much intensity you weren’t even sure where your body ended and his began.

“This,” he murmured, squeezing just a little tighter, “this is what you were so scared to ask for?”

You opened your mouth to answer, to give him something, anything, but he slammed into you before the words could form, another deep, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you.

“I—Aaron, I—” you tried again, voice thin.

Another thrust. Harder.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed. “You’re not even letting me –”

He did it again, cut you off with a stroke that had your vision going white at the edges.

“Fuck—you’re doing this on purpose,” you whimpered, dazed and desperate.

“I sure am.” His hand tightened just a little more at your throat. “You want to know what my turn-on is?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer. “Seeing you fucked senseless.”

Another thrust hit that perfect spot, making your entire body jerk beneath him. You tried to speak, to respond, but he snapped his hips again and you mewled out whatever nonsense your uncooperative tongue could muster.

“You want to come?”

You nodded frantically, words useless now, tears brimming from the sheer overload.

“Good. Then do it.”

He reached down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, setting a pace in perfect sync with his thrusts. Your hips began to stutter as you screwed your eyes shut, the pressure building too fast to stop.

It took mere seconds before your body seized around him.

“Jesus – fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking tight when you come –”

His rhythm faltered, stammered and then he was slamming into you one last time, your name falling from his lips as he came.

He loosened his grip on your throat, both hands sliding to your ribcage, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

Neither of you spoke. Both of you were too focused on catching your breath, sharing the same shallow air like it might not be enough.

Finally, after a minute, he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Think we should play card games more often.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic

dbf!bodyguard!hotch using food as foreplay coming up next to an alina-blog near you!🌟

dividers by cafekitsune

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."

[tojicide]

⠀ REMIND ME! ☆ SYLUS.

summary. six months after your breakup with sylus, news broke of you moving on, which is something he simply cannot allow—not if he can help it.

warnings. fem!reader, infidelity, pet names, established history, hair pulling, face sitting, oral ( fem. receiving ), doggy style, missionary, creampie, aftercare. wc. 6.1k.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Once news broke the N109 Zone of a prospering romance in his district, Sylus couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. It was when he heard whispers of your name adjacent to another man’s that he began to listen.

He was out the front door of his home within a second, his leg swinging over his bike before Luke and Kieran could have a say in the matter.

The two men stood side by side, shouting a frantic ‘it’s normal to move on!’ and a ‘it’s been six months!’ from the doorstep as they watched their white haired boss speed away.

Sylus was sure that if he gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle any tighter, they’d certainly break off.

If he was willing to harm his most prized possession over the pure frustration you’ve stirred within him, you should consider yourself the most lucky yet damned woman alive.

He liked to think he was headstrong, but when it came to you, he lost all of his sense. All rationale was long forgotten. You consumed him and he gladly let you, because all in all, it truly was a blessing and a curse.

For how much he loved to put the pedal to the metal, he’s never once arrived at your apartment as fast as he has just now. He didn’t even bother to properly leave his bike in between the lines of a parking spot before he was practically flying towards your front door, knocking rapidly until you answered.

Surprise was etched into your facial features as you crack the door open just enough to see who your uninvited guest was, but a strong hand pushed it open until it was agape. “What the fu—”

“Where is he?” he cuts you off with a question, his red eyes scanning your cozy living room like a predator on the prowl.

“Excuse you, I— what? Where is who?” Your questions stammer out as your brain tries to catch up to the scene in front of you.

Sylus forces himself to turn around and face you, realizing that his erratic behavior was likely confusing you. As expressed, his common sense was truly slipping from him. God, he’s missed you, and he absolutely hates the look you’re giving him. It was one that made him feel like a pure inconvenience to you (even though he certainly was behaving like it).

“Your… boyfriend,” he clarifies, almost choking on the word. The fact that the title was no longer his was already a problem in and of itself, but losing it to another man was something he simply could not allow. “Where is he?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as you give him a once over. “You think that you’re going to barge into my apartment and pummel the ever living shit out of my boyfriend?”

“More or less,” he answers, his long strides continuing a bit further down your hallway. “Preferably more.”

You scoff, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watch your ex–boyfriend scope out your apartment that he’s all too familiar with.

“He isn’t here.”

“So I’ve gathered,” he replies, his head poking into your bedroom.

Sylus did his best to sound nonchalant, as aloof as can be, though his heart rate was through the roof. He saw no signs of any male presence—no messily discarded clothes, no misplaced shoes, no second toothbrush in the bathroom—which meant that your relationship wasn’t as serious as he’d imagined.

And boy, was he relieved to figure that much out.

You straighten off the wall as he enters your bedroom, hurriedly walking behind him as you speak, “Y’know, since your objective for coming here can’t be achieved, you are more than welcome to leave.”

“Did I say that was my only objective?” he simply asks, eyes scanning your bedroom.

A bit had changed since he’d last been in here. You changed your comforter to a floral pattern, and you even matched the drapes to the shade of your bedding. Your attention to detail was something he admired about you, and his attention to detail was something you used to love, though as his eyes fell to your open underwear drawer—you’re growing to hate it. A lot.

“Get out of there!” you exclaim, rushing to shove it closed, only to catch his slender finger in the crossfire.

He winces slightly, lifting his already bruising finger to your line of vision. “You’ve wounded me, sweetie. Kiss it better?”

You scoff, slightly pushing his hand away from your face. In any other context, you would have apologized, but given the fact that Sylus had entered your apartment without invitation and threatened to harm your boyfriend within five minutes of his arrival was enough to make you think that this made the two of you almost even.

A small smirk tugs at Sylus’s lips as he presses his finger to his tongue, soothing the stinging that you caused. Your eyes linger on his mouth for a bit longer than they should, and if he noticed (which he certainly did), he didn’t say anything.

“I see you went shopping,” he mumbles, his eyes falling to your now closed underwear drawer. “That’s a shame, baby. A damn shame.”

You can’t help the scoff that leaves your mouth. “Why’s that?”

“I hate the idea of another man seeing you in such a way,” Sylus answers, tilting his head to the side as he gives your body an agonizingly slow once over, “in such pretty fabric, at that.”

Heat rushes to your face at his implication, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re uncomfortable or if you’re flustered by his forwardness. You figure it’s a mixture of both, but you mask it with an annoyed huff.

“I can do what I want,” you refute, crossing your arms over your chest. “And if what I want is to buy panties that you’ll never have the privilege of seeing me wear, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Sylus clicks his tongue, shaking his head with the slightest smirk curving upwards on his lips. He finds your attitude to be just as adorable as it is frustrating. With the way you look, arms tightly crossed over your chest with the tiniest wrinkle in between your eyebrows, he’d liken you to an angry kitten.

“If you’re trying to rile me up, you’re succeeding,” he states, drumming his fingers on your dresser.

Your eyes flit away. “I’m not trying to do anything. In fact, I want nothing to do with you.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. It’s the first time he’s looked remotely upset with you from the moment he arrived. “Your boyfriend may fall for this little act of yours, but I won’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sylus straightens up, his tall frame towering over you. You almost feel antsy under his gaze, but you do your best to hide it.

“I am what your heart truly desires,” he quietly murmurs, his finger tracing from the middle of your collarbones to the valley of your breasts. “And you can lie to him, you can even lie to yourself—but you cannot lie to me. I can see your deepest desires, remember?”

Betrayal is your body’s first instinct. Your breath hitches in your throat the moment the pad of his index finger runs across your skin, and you physically have to fight off a whine from escaping your lips.

In an attempt to salvage the situation, you straighten up, glancing towards your bedroom door. “That’s… bullshit, Sylus. Get out of my head.”

“It’s nothing of the sort,” he replies with a much gentler tone than the one he possessed prior. “And I’ll do no such thing. Your mind is my favorite place to be.”

He studies his reddened finger for a moment, silently deciding to steer the conversation from its more serious direction. “It still won’t feel better until it gets a kiss from its favorite girl, you know.”

Against your better judgment, your eyes betray you by studying the reddened pad of his finger. It shouldn’t be as enticing of a view as it is. You find it to be almost criminal.

“You can lose that finger for all I care,” you scoff, trying not to remember how good it used to feel inside of you.

“So brash.” Sylus forces a pout on his lips, though it doesn’t last long. He presses a kiss to his own finger before he extends his arm to rest on the edge of your dresser, keeping you caged against your drawers.

“You’re awfully lucky that I’m a forgiving man,” he murmurs, his red eyes trained to yours. “You can do almost anything to me and I’d allow it.”

Judging by the way your expression lights up, that seems to give you an idea.

“Really?” you inquire, narrowing your eyes. “Say, if I punched you square in your face, would you allow it?”

“I’m not opposed to finding out,” he answers, his eyelids fluttering as he continues to drink in your beauty. “You know I love it when you’re rough with me.”

That comment forces a flush to your face, and you almost have to pinch yourself to keep your mind from bringing forward all of the memories that proved just how true that statement was.

It infuriates you how easily he could get a reaction out of you, no less than six months after you broke up with him. Perhaps that was why, in a split second decision (one that you’re hardly aware you’re making), your fist goes flying towards his face.

Sylus firmly stops your wielding hand before it can make contact with his cheek. His fingers unwind your fist and bring your hand close, allowing him to press a few chaste kisses to your knuckles.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled by the kisses he’s peppering along your palm and wrist. “So, so beautiful.”

Only he would say such a thing after you attempted to inflict bodily harm upon him. You wish you could rationalize his behavior, but you can’t—that’s just Sylus.

Your body betrays you in every way, shape, and form. Your face is flushed, your eyes are half lidded, and the mere contact of his lips on your knuckles is enough for butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

Grasping onto the last bit of common sense you have, you pull your hand from his grasp.

“It’s time for you to go,” you insist, beginning to slide against the dresser to escape his gaze.

Sylus allows you to create a bit of distance between the two of you, lifting his arm up from your dresser to let you walk away. The last thing he wants is to make you feel suffocated—the very reason you broke up with him in the first place.

He tried to do better, but when it came to you, he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t an animal, though. He loved you more than words could ever describe, and he’d allow you anything you wanted. And if physical space was what you wanted, he’d grant it to you.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he quietly says, his voice carrying an unforeseen vulnerability to it, “but I can’t do what you’re asking of me. I can’t let you give yourself to a man who doesn’t deserve you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “How can you be so sure he doesn’t deserve me?”

“I know you, baby. That’s how.”

A beat of silence passes, and he conjures up the courage to continue. “And I’m positive there isn’t a single soul who could possibly deserve your favor,” Sylus reasons, loosely crossing his arms, his toned biceps showing through the sleeves of his black button–up shirt. “Not even myself. I’m man enough to recognize that.”

His answer catches you off guard, but you do your best to maintain your front. You don’t want him to see how his words seem to squeeze at your heart.

“Then why are you here?” you genuinely ask.

Sylus knows he’s backed himself into a corner, and contrary to what you might think, he’d intended to do just that. He wants you to give him the green light to speak every word that he’s longed to say to you from the moment he’d seen you last, and now that you have, the floodgates are open.

“I’m selfish,” he admits, taking a tentative step towards you. “I’m drunk on you, and I can’t bear the thought of sobering up, even after all this time. It’s unfair, it’s horrible, it’s cruel—I know this, sweetie. But… I find my serenity in your eyes, and with you gone, my life is purgatory. The confines of hell must be more pleasant than what it is that I feel when I’m without you.”

Internally, you’re floored. Gobsmacked, even. Externally, you’re looking at him with the same soft expression you’ve worn this entire time.

Met with your silence, Sylus begins to internally panic. He slowly takes a few steps towards you, and when you don’t attempt to maintain the distance between you, his hands move to cup your face.

“Rid me of this life,” he whispers, his mouth so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips. “I can’t go on, not without you beside me.”

You truly hate how easy it is for him to reduce you to nothing but putty. You have a new boyfriend, you’ve moved on, you’ve allowed the love that you and Sylus shared to be nothing more than history.

You wanted to believe that moving forward was the best thing you could do, but if that was true, why is it that your heart hadn’t felt full until you laid eyes on Sylus? It seems to beat differently, like it’s finally come back to life in his presence.

Noticing the softening of your eyes, Sylus can’t help himself. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, holding both of you there for a few seconds. The sheer tenderness of his action was enough to make you melt, and you were sure you would’ve if his hands on your face weren’t grounding you.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he admits, tilting your head up so that he can look into your eyes.

Sylus was never one for verbal affection (or being desperate for a woman’s favor) prior to you, but he’d make this exception a million times over if it meant he could have you however you’d let him.

You’ve nearly forgotten all of your allegiances, and you can’t even blame yourself for it. You know that indulging in him is like eating a forbidden fruit, and even then, you can’t forbid yourself from its taste—not when you know how sweet it is. What you feel goes beyond want; it’s pure, unadulterated need.

“No response for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. You carefully slide out of his grasp and sit on the edge of your bed, his eyes trailing you as you do so.

You’re a firm believer that nothing is real until you’ve said it out loud, Sylus is more than aware of that. He doesn’t want to push you too hard, too fast, too much, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

As you sit, your thighs naturally part and your skirt rides up just a bit, enough for the pink fabric clothing your pussy to be shown. That sight alone was able to elicit behavior that you’ve never once seen from Sylus.

“God, you are a privilege,” he murmurs, taking a few steps towards you. Without hesitation, he slowly descends to his knees before you, his hands trailing up your thighs. “Such a sight,” he adds his eyes flitting to the dampening fabric of your underwear, “such a beautiful sight.”

If his words weren’t enough, the sight of him kneeling in front of you was enough to make you faint. (Or scream. Or cum. Maybe all three at the same time, you’re not sure.)

“Allow me the night,” Sylus pleads, his desperate red eyes finally locking onto yours. His hand moves to brush your hair from your face, tucking it loosely behind your ear. “Just the night. One night to indulge you.”

Lying would be no use, all things considered. He’d already shamelessly eyed the needy area between your thighs, knowing that the arousal collecting there is for him. Your stomach swirls with a mixture of guilt and need, and you honestly feel like you’re in an impossible position.

“Sylus,” you breathe, your heartbeat thumping so hard that you’re surprised your chest hasn’t burst. “This is so wrong.”

He shakes his head as his large, gentle hands move to rest on your knees. “Your pleasure means more to me than a simple case of right and wrong.”

“I wish it was as simple as you make it seem,” you say, a long sigh leaving you.

“Can’t it be?” Sylus questions, his thumbs idly stroking your knees. “Allow me this one night to remind you of how I feel about you, how you feel about me. If you want me to leave you alone by the time morning comes, I will accept that with a smile.”

You’d like to imagine that you’re stronger than this, that the idea of a final night of lovemaking with your ex-boyfriend to get him out of your head for good isn’t appealing—but it is.

It’s something you’ve thought about before (in the dead of night with your hand stuffed down your shorts), but never did you think it could become a reality.

Only now, with him kneeling in front of you, it was.

“Okay,” you sheepishly murmur. “Remind me.”

You know this is absolutely horrible of you to do, but you can’t find the will to deny yourself this. As much as you tried to get Sylus out of your head, you never could. Not long enough for it to make a difference, anyway.

(Perhaps this, a final intimate night between the two of you, will be just what you need to move on for good.)

Sylus knows that his time with you is limited, but he plans to make it the best night of your existence.

(Perhaps if he can remind you of how much he’s willing to give, how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you—you’ll change your mind.)

His large, strong hands trail up as he drapes your legs over his shoulders, pressing a few kisses to your calves and inner thighs. He presses a kiss to the fabric of your underwear, his tongue drawing out to taste the wet spot.

Sylus isn’t sure what’s come over him, but he honestly feels like he’ll either implode or cry at the sight of you right now. To have you again is something he’s dreamt about more than he’d like to admit, and he plans to show you just how much your absence has affected him as his fingers slide beneath your skirt to hook under the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Thank you,” he mutters against your skin, tugging the clothing piece down your legs. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters aloud the moment his eyes land on your heat.

He could seriously cum in his pants right now, and if he’s not careful, he will. His hands lock onto your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed to give him better access to your glistening cunt.

“Pussy’s all mine,” he breathes, licking a long stripe up your slit.

You would have replied if he hadn’t buried his face in between your thighs. His tongue laps at your wetness before he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly at it with hollowed cheeks.

A cry leaves your lips at the sensation, your hand gripping onto his white hair as you revel in the feeling his tongue is giving you.

He’s eating you out like a man starved, his own moans rumbling into your cunt, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. Sylus could do this for days if you let him, but after not having you like this for so long, he can’t help himself from needing more.

Within moments, he’s slowly pushing you higher on your bed, still licking at your pussy until he’s physically unable to. He looks up at you with crazed eyes, licking his spit-slick lips as he kicks his shoes off.

“Sit on my face,” he murmurs, moving to lay on your bed. When he’s met with your hesitance, he’s grasping onto your arm to carefully pull you towards him. “I might die without it.”

You’ve never once seen a man so pussy drunk in your entire life, but you’re in absolutely no position to deny him. So, you move to hover above him, your hands resting on your headboard. You hear a satisfied moan beneath you, and he’s soon hooking his arms around your thighs.

“You won’t die without it,” you grumble. “In fact, you might die because of it. Suffocation—”

“Suffocation of this kind might be the best way to go,” he cuts you off, licking a faint swipe against your folds. “In fact, when we’re old and withered, it might be my last ask of you.”

Your face flushes, and you can feel heat rushing to both your cunt and your cheeks. Noticing the coy face you’re making, Sylus can’t help himself from laying a faint smack on your ass, squeezing its plushness as he stares up at you.

“For now, though,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want you to let go for me. Can’t have you dangling this pretty cunt in my face without letting me taste it.”

As you hesitantly begin to relax your thighs and lower on top of him, he lifts his head up to meet you halfway and gather your slick on his tongue.

“Very good, baby,” Sylus purrs, dropping his head back onto your sheets as he pulls your hips down the rest of the way, “now sit.”

When all of your weight crashes down on him, a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sheer passion behind the movements of his tongue. He almost seems to be more incentivized. His eyes flutter shut as he mouths at your pussy, the moans leaving his mouth in combination with the absolute filthy sounds of his tongue are enough to drive you insane.

Sylus feels like he’s finally left purgatory and has transcended into heaven. With his pretty girl on his face, taking her on his tongue, making the most beautiful little noises—he’s honestly never felt better.

(Well, there is that whole new boyfriend thing looming in the back of his mind, but he’s sure that you’ll take care of that once he’s done taking care of you.)

One of your hands leaves the headboard to grasp onto his hair, your eyes screwing shut as you rock your hips over his tongue. “Sylus,” you breathe out through a moan. “I’m— oh, shit—”

Sylus’s cock twitches as you moan his name, his eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands help to guide the rocking of your hips. With his other, he palms himself through his trousers, his mouth working tirelessly to make you feel good.

Even as self-admittedly selfish as he is, he can’t bear the idea of putting his pleasure above your own—even if the ache is physically eating away at him. With you writhing above him, the sounds you’re making, the look on your face, it’s all too much—even for him.

Your mouth lulls open as you let out the most beautiful whine he’s ever heard, and his tongue slows down, working you through your first orgasm of the night. He eagerly collects your juices with his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he finally presses a final kiss to your swollen clit.

“I can stay this way forever,” he says against your inner thigh, placing a kiss to your warm skin, “you and me,” he places another kiss, “together.”

You shift to lay beside him, out of breath and looking beautifully disheveled. Sylus licks his lips and lies starry–eyed beside you. Soon enough, a huff of laughter escaped his throat, realizing he might’ve said too much there.

Sylus turns his head to look at you. “Was that enough to get an ‘I miss you too’ out of that mouth of yours?”

You let out a breathless laugh, your hand running over your face. “No,” you lie.

That was the best orgasm you’ve had since your breakup, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You’ve developed quite the attitude,” he muses, rolling on top of you. He slots his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “That boyfriend of yours must not fuck it out of you like he should,” he adds, the low volume of his voice rumbling against your skin as he kisses along your jaw, “like I can.”

Before you can think twice, you’re lifting your hips against the bulge in his pants, a soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the very prominent shape of his hardened cock. With a grunt, Sylus pushes your hips down, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs.

“Such a needy little thing,” he chastises, his hand moving to cup your mound. “First you’re insisting I leave, and now you’re hoping I’ll give you my cock. You’re sending me mixed signals here, sweetie.”

You’re seeing stars, and your hand grasps onto his wrist, feeling the way his muscles tense as he begins to toy with your clit.

“I want it,” you whine, your toes curling as the pad of his middle finger circles your entrance, “you’re… you’re being a tease.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, licking a long stripe up your neck. “If you want it bad enough, you’re going to have to prove it, baby.”

Your head tilts to the side as Sylus pulls away from your neck to look down at you. His fingers move to work at the button of your skirt, tugging it down your legs and tossing it onto the floor of your room.

“How?” you ask.

He presses his lips to yours as his hands tug up your shirt, breaking the kiss to carefully pull it over your head. His large hands palm at your breasts, bringing your perked nipples in between his fingers.

“Pick up the phone,” Sylus answers, releasing your breasts to sit up in front of you, his hands moving to undo his belt.

Your curiosity soon turns into something much more lustful as he pulls his trousers and boxers down his thighs. His shirt goes next, the articles of clothing decorating your floor. His cock looks even better than you remember, but he snaps his fingers in front of your face to gather your attention.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, shaking your head to snap yourself out of your trance.

“Pick up the phone,” he repeats, reaching to your bedside table to hand you your cell.

You take the device from him, looking at it with confusion. You were embarrassed that you hadn’t even noticed it ringing, far too distracted by the sight of him stroking his hand along his length, but your embarrassment soon turns into dread as you read the caller ID.

It is, of course, none other than your boyfriend.

“Sylus, that’s— that’s crazy,” you stammer out, looking between his eyes, his dick, and your phone.

He snickers, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands grasp onto the plush of your hips to pull your ass up. “What’s crazy is the fact that you expect me to fuck you without your boyfriend’s knowledge.”

“You’re above adultery?” you gasp out.

Sylus shakes his head, his hand moving to prod your entrance with the tip of his cock, his other hand grasping onto your hair to pull you back against his chest.

“Obviously not,” he replies, licking along the shell of your ear. “Just want to show him how beneath it you are.”

Your heart slams against your chest as he takes the device from you and answers the call, holding the phone to your ear.

“Let him hear,” he purrs, slowly pushing his cock inside of you. “The noises you make with my cock buried inside you are such a prize. It’d be a disservice to not share.”

A sharp whine leaves your lips as he tugs on your hair, tilting your head to give himself better access to your neck as he bottoms out inside of you. “Tell him what you’re up to, sweetie,” he simply says, sucking a faint mark onto your neck.

On the other end of the line, your partner begins to blab on about his day, though you’re hardly able to listen, not when Sylus is pushing his cock inside of you like a madman. Your body tenses as he stretches you out, the sensation forcing a moan out of your mouth, though the man on the other end of the line didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, resting his chin on the crook of your shoulder to press an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, “taking my cock so nicely. Missed this pussy so much.”

“—so then, I told him… wait. Are you with someone?”

Your heart rate skyrockets as Sylus draws his hips back only to pound the length of his cock inside of you. “Oh, fuck… y-yes,” you choke into the phone, almost breathless.

“Thank you for your confession, my dear,” Sylus teasingly remarks, knowing that your response was a reaction to how good he feels inside of you rather than an answer to your boyfriend’s question.

He presses a faint kiss to your shoulder as he thrusts into you again, using his grip on your hair to push you back onto your stomach. A hand smoothes over the curve of your back, his long fingers hooking around the plush of your hip to remind you that he’s still present despite the situation. He then brings the phone to his own ear, watching with a wide grin as you arch your back to take as much of his cock as you can.

“Our friend can’t talk right now,” he says into the receiver, grunting as your walls clench around him. “She’s gotten lost and found herself on my cock, which is such a positive turn of events, let me tell you,” the pace of his hips thrusting into you only seems to get more intense with each word he says, “considering it’s right where she belongs.”

“W-what? Who the fuck are you? I—”

“I can’t stay on the line to talk much either,” Sylus continues, his free hand grasping a bit tighter onto your hair as he tugs on it to fuck deeper and harder inside of you, his skin slapping against yours with each heavy thrust. “Have to make her cum for all the times you couldn’t.”

You’re lost in a whirlwind of sensations, your mouth gaped open as you moan out with each thrust he makes, your back arched as much as you could make it. You can feel a pool of warmth building inside of your lower stomach, and you let out a cry of pleasure.

You haven’t been fucked this good in, well… six months. That much is obvious to the both of you, given the way you’ve been losing your mind with each forceful push of his hips. He knows your body in ways you’ll never understand, and luckily for you, you don’t need to understand in order to receive the pleasure that he’s desperately trying to give you.

“Sylus!” you gasp out, serving as a warning for how close you already are.

“Mm, I have to go, duty calls,” Sylus says into the phone, releasing his grip on your hair to move his hand between your legs, two of his fingers circling your clit. “Call my woman again and I’ll kill you.”

Tapping the screen to end the call, he tosses your phone mindlessly, and it’s only when you hear it drop against the floor do you turn around to look at him.

“Sylus!” you scold.

He gives you a wry smile as he slowly pulls out of you, rolling you onto your back. “I’ll buy you a new one, pretty. Don’t worry.”

You open your mouth to protest, but when he slowly pushes his cock inside of you again, you’re hardly in the protesting mood at all.

Sylus towers over you, his forearm propping him up as he slowly fucks into you, his red eyes trained to yours. “God, baby, I’ve missed you.”

Almost instinctively, your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. There was a hidden intimacy of this position that you’ve always loved. He obliges to your request, resting his forehead on yours as he thrusts harder inside of you.

“You take me so well,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “So, so beautifully.”

You mewl at the softness of his praise, your eyes glossing over as he continues to fuck you into oblivion, your walls tensing around him. He hisses at the feeling, dipping his head to press a kiss on your cheek.

He can tell that you’re close, and he knows just what you need. He won’t give it to you so easily, though.

“Sweetie?” he breathes out.

You nod your head before breathlessly replying, “yeah?”

Sylus gives you a smirk as he raises his bruised finger to your lips. “Kiss it better. Let me use it on you.”

Protest is not on your agenda anymore, not by a long shot. You kiss the pad of his finger without hesitation, and you proceed to capture it with your mouth, your tongue soothing the bruising.

He smiles at the sight, a groan leaving his lips as he continues to thrust his cock inside of you. “So pretty, baby. God, you’re beautiful.”

Sylus retracts his finger from your mouth to bring it to your clit, his spit-slick finger rubbing it in beautiful, moan-earning circles. He watches as your eyes almost immediately haze over at the stimulation.

He lowers his head to suck on your nipple, his free hand palming at your other breast as means of stimulating you in any way he can. After a moment, he latches onto your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak.

“God, ah— Sylus!” you moan, your hands wrapping around his neck.

He nips at your breast before he pulls away, a guttural moan leaving his mouth as he feels you clench around his cock. “Going to come for me again, beautiful?”

You nod your head, rising up from the pillow to press a kiss on his lips, and his large hand moves to cup the back of your head as he kisses you through your orgasm. His fingers gently thread through your hair, giving you the best of both worlds.

“Cream my cock, baby. It’s all yours, always will be,” he mutters against your lips, his thrusts growing slower as he twitches inside of you.

Sylus breaks the kiss to look down at you, a heavy pant leaving him. “Where do you want me?” he breathlessly asks.

As if that were a question you ever responded differently to, he still needed to ask, even though you answered just the same. “In… in me.”

He nods his head as he thrusts inside of you a few more times, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on your cheek as he bottoms out inside of you, stuffing you full of his thick, white cum.

A moment passes in which the two of you simply pant breathlessly to each other, your sweaty foreheads pressed together. It was a beautiful scene by all measures.

“I missed you too,” you finally pant out, a smile breaking your lips. “I missed you a lot.”

He chuckles breathlessly at that. “I missed you even more, sweetie.”

Sylus presses a soft kiss on your cheek before he slowly pulls out of you, traveling slowly to your bathroom before returning with a damp towel. He settles in front of you again, using the warm towel to gently clean up the mess he’s made of you between your legs.

You stare at him with the most lovestruck eyes he’s ever seen, and it only makes him smile. “You tired, baby?” he lowly asks.

Nodding your head, you extend your arms to him, and he pulls you in without question. He lies down on his back, holding you against his chest. His large hand runs over your back while the other one tugs your blankets over the both of you, giving you a bit of warmth.

Not that he needed anything more than your presence. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, holding the woman that he loves, running his fingers over her hair just as he used to.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your ear, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. It’s almost concerning how much he loves you, but he can’t help it.

“I love you,” you lazily return the sentiment.

As you cuddle into his chest, you can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up today, if he’d left you alone, if he let you move on.

You know it’s crazy to think about.

After all, it’s Sylus. Your Sylus. He’s the only person you’ve ever needed, and now that he’s reminded you of that, you won’t forget it.

note. thank you for reading! please interact if you enjoyed!! <3 i don’t even know what the hell this is—we have possessive, dominant, and soft sylus in one go. but hey, it works for me, so i hope it works for you. pls pls pls give me ideas to write more for this sexy man—i never get tired of him!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[dakusan]

S U R P R I S I N G S K Z O N T O U R — B A C K S T A G E

stray kids ot8 x reader | post-show sweat. backstage chaos. and the person they missed more than sleep.

🌙 synopsis: they’ve been gone for weeks—sweating under stadium lights, screaming into mic stands, hearts beating to the rhythm of a thousand voices. they’ve given everything. every night. to everyone. and then—it’s you. standing in the hallway. soft smile. no warning. no cameras. just you. and suddenly, the lights aren’t the brightest thing in the room anymore. this isn’t just a surprise. it’s home. it’s you.

💌 a/n: welcome to Tender Tuesday™. yes i made sure it's tuesday this time not like last time!!! this was written under the influence of 1 delusional daydream in a dressing room mirror and the mental image of Han Jisung tripping over his own mic pack trying to hug you. p.s. reblog this like you’re the one showing up in their hoodie p.p.s. drink water or bang chan will fly home and force-feed you oranges p.p.p.s. do yourselves a favour and go listen to the song. it’s disgustingly cute. if you somehow haven’t heard it yet—first of all, how dare you. second of all, fix that. also. watch skz react to their own mv for it. it’s unhinged. they are unwell. you will be too. you're welcome ♡

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Your Eyes — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan // 방찬

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and deafening screams. Chan’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling beneath the drenched tank top clinging to his body, mic still clipped to his jaw. The rest of the boys are collapsing into couches or toweling off, high on adrenaline and crowd energy.

Chan’s scanning the staff in the hallway with that ever-present leader instinct—checking on everyone, nodding at sound techs, offering quick praise to dancers. He turns the corner near the dressing rooms.

And stops. Like, full stop.

Because you’re standing there.

In his hoodie. Holding a bottle of water. Smiling like you belong here. Which you do. But he wasn’t expecting you for another week.

“…No way.”

He blinks twice. Looks behind him, like maybe you’re a mirage conjured by exhaustion. Then his whole face shatters into the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Wait—no, wait—no way.”

You laugh, arms opening before he even moves.

And then he runs.

No hesitation. No chill. Just full-speed Chan, sweaty, glowing, chest heaving, launching himself into your arms like gravity gave up on him the second you appeared. His arms lock around your waist instantly, head tucked into your neck, and he just holds you.

Tight. So tight it’s like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“You—” his voice cracks, and he laughs into your shoulder, breathless and slightly delirious. “You’re really here.”

You nod, arms around him. “Surprise.”

“Are you kidding?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes wide, glassy. “That was the best surprise of my entire life.”

You brush his hair off his sweaty forehead. “You killed it out there.”

“I missed you out there,” he says, no filter, no hesitation.

And then he kisses you. Hard. Fast. Desperate. Like he doesn’t have time to say everything he feels and this is the only language he has left. When he pulls back, he presses your foreheads together and murmurs, “Don’t leave. Not yet. I need you right here.”

So you stay. In the hallway. Wrapped in each other. As the rest of the world continues spinning—but he’s only looking at you.

Lee Know // 리노

He’s calm. Collected. Leaning against a wall backstage post-show, sipping from a water bottle and nodding along as someone from staff debriefs him on the schedule. Typical Minho—quiet confidence, unreadable eyes, dancer precision. He just performed for 30,000 people and still looks mildly bored.

Until his gaze shifts. And lands on you.

For a second, he doesn’t react at all. Just stares. Like you short-circuited his brain. Eyes flicking from your shoes, to your hoodie (his), to your soft little smile like:

No. No no no. That’s not real. She’s not supposed to be here—

Then—

“…You’re kidding.” His voice is flat, but his ears are bright red.

You open your arms casually, like this isn’t the most romantic ambush of his life. He blinks. Slowly. Then glances at the staff member, mutters a distracted, “Sorry, I gotta go fall apart real quick,” and walks straight into you.

No running. No drama. Just quiet urgency. Hands on your waist. Forehead against your shoulder. Breathing you in like you’re oxygen and he’s been holding his breath the entire tour.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

You smile into his hair. “No you don’t.”

He squeezes you tighter. “I really do.”

You laugh. “Why?”

“Because you showed up looking like that and now I have to pretend I’m fine when I’m actually thinking about skipping every stop on this tour just to drag you home.”

Your heart stutters. And then, softer—

“…I missed you.”

He doesn’t say it loud. Doesn’t need to. It’s in the way he won’t let go. The way his jaw’s clenched and his fingers are shaking slightly. The way he presses a kiss to your neck like it’s instinct. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and for the first time in a while—he actually smiles. That rare, real one. The one he only gives you.

“You could’ve warned me,” he says.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t have been as fun.”

He rolls his eyes. Then leans in, whispers in your ear, voice low and warm: “…You’re not sleeping alone tonight. Not after this.”

And you know. Under all the chill, the deadpan sarcasm, the perfect stage face—he’s shaken. And he’s so happy you’re here.

Changbin // 창빈

He’s pacing.

Shirt stuck to his back. Sweat dripping from his neck. Still riding the post-show high—wired, panting, glowing. He’s halfway through retelling a moment from the encore to a staff member, hands flailing, voice slightly hoarse—

Then he sees you.

And it’s over.

The world tilts. The noise dies. And his eyes go wide—like someone hit the brakes on his heart.

“…No way. NO WAY—”

He stumbles forward like his feet can’t decide whether to walk or run. His arms are already out. You barely get a breath in before he scoops you up into the most chaotic, all-consuming bear hug of your life. Your feet leave the floor. Your lungs get crushed. He spins you in a full circle before collapsing against a wall with you still in his arms.

“You—” he breathes, “I’m gonna cry. I swear. I’m not joking.”

You laugh into his neck. “Cry, then.”

“I might! I literally—what the hell. You were supposed to be in another country! You lied to me!”

You look up at him, grinning. “Yeah. And I’d do it again.”

He stares at you, eyes shining with disbelief and affection and something deeper that lives in his chest just for you. And then, he kisses your forehead. Slow. Grateful.

“I missed you so much it physically hurt,” he mumbles, voice cracking.

Then, a beat later: “You’re not leaving. You hear me? You’re staying with me ‘til tour’s over. I don’t care what we have to cancel.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for a second, he’s not Changbin from Stray Kids. He’s just Binnie. Yours. Sweaty, shaky, and so, so in love.

Hyunjin // 현진

He’s sitting in front of the dressing room mirror. Still in his stage outfit. Still glowing. Still breathing fast. His head is bowed, fingers twitching over his knees, lost in the afterglow of a stage that nearly tore his heart out.

And then—

He looks up. Sees the door open. And sees you. Standing there. Wearing his hoodie. Eyes glassy with emotion, like you’ve been watching him the whole time.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just stares. And then—his whole body shatters. He’s up. Fast. But not loud. Not running. More like a storm gathering itself—slow, trembling, dangerous in how much it feels.

You whisper, “Hi, baby.”

And he’s in front of you before you can finish the breath. Hands cradling your face. Eyes searching yours like you’re not real.

“You—” he whispers, voice hoarse, “—you came?”

You nod. “I couldn’t stay away.”

And his lips part like he wants to say something profound, poetic, worthy of the art you are to him—but instead, all that comes out is:

“…I missed you.”

Then he pulls you in and hugs you like a drowning man grabbing the surface. One hand fisting your shirt. The other buried in your hair. His body shakes.

You feel his breath hitch once. Then again.

“Jinnie,” you whisper, “are you crying?”

He laughs through it, wet and shaky. “Shut up.”

You hold him tighter.

“You always do this to me,” he murmurs against your ear. “You always show up and make me feel like I’m seventeen again. Like love isn’t terrifying. Like I deserve it.”

You cup his cheeks, wipe the tears from under his eyes with your thumbs.

“Because you do.”

And he kisses you. So softly. Like a secret he wants to keep safe. Like he’s terrified this is a dream he’ll wake up from.

Han // 한

He’s still bouncing. Literally. Post-show adrenaline, sweat-drenched tank top, mic still clipped, rambling to whoever will listen about the crowd’s energy like—

“Bro, when the beat dropped in ‘Topline’? I almost exploded. Did you hear them? They were SCREAMING—”

Then he sees you.

You’re standing near the monitors. Hidden behind a stack of towels and staff gear. You’re just smiling, waiting. No cameras. No dramatic intro. Just you, soft-eyed and glowing in his hoodie.

He stares. And then? Absolutely. Freaking. Explodes.

“NO. WAIT—WHAT. WHAT—?!”

He screams. Actually screams. Everyone turns. Staff flinches. Someone drops a water bottle.

“YOU’RE HERE?!!” His voice cracks mid-yell. “YOU LIED TO ME!! YOU ABSOLUTE—ANGELIC—GENIUS—LIAR!!”

He’s running toward you now, full anime-level sprint, and crashes into you like a human wrecking ball. Arms tight, body buzzing, face buried in your neck like he needs to smell you just to prove this is real.

You’re laughing. “Hi, Ji—”

“Don’t talk to me,” he sobs. “You’re not real. I’m dreaming. I died on stage. This is heaven.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“I’m in love.”

You giggle and hug him tighter. He pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes wide, pupils dilated, voice very serious: “Do you realize what you’ve done? You just caused an actual chemical reaction in my body. Like—my heart rate? THROUGH THE ROOF.”

“You okay?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is the most romantic moment of my entire life. I’m gonna need to sit down or I’ll propose by accident.”

You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. He melts. Literally folds in half. “I’m keeping you,” he mumbles. “Like. Forever. Tour wife. This is happening. Don’t fight me.”

Felix // 필릭스

He’s glowing.

Skin glistening, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the encore. There’s glitter on his shoulders and stars in his eyes. He’s still catching his breath, thanking staff one by one with the kind of gentle sincerity only Felix knows how to give.

And then he turns the corner and stops breathing entirely.

Because you’re there. Backstage. In his hoodie. Hands behind your back. Smile blooming like spring.

He freezes. No words. No movement. Just a single, whispered—

“Angel…?”

You nod, eyes already brimming with tears. “Hi, sunshine.”

And that’s it. His body moves before his brain catches up. He walks toward you slow, almost reverently—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. Then suddenly you’re in his arms. Pressed flush to his chest, arms wrapped tight, face buried in your shoulder as he sighs. Not out of relief—out of pure emotional collapse.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers. “Like—so much. Like every night I looked for you and had to pretend I was fine.”

Your hand runs through his hair. “I know, baby. I know.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands like you’re made of porcelain and sunlight.

“You’re real. You’re here. You’re mine.”

And then—he kisses you. Soft. Long. Like he has nothing to rush. Like he’s home. When he pulls back, he giggles through a sniffle.

“Okay. No one tell the others but… this is the best part of tour.”

Seungmin // 승민

He’s standing by the water cooler, towel around his neck, completely sweat-soaked and still glowing with that quiet Seungmin-brand confidence. He��s mid-sip when he spots you—half-hidden behind some gear cases, just… watching him.

For a full three seconds, he doesn’t react. Just blinks. Tilts his head. Tries to process. Then you wave. And he chokes on his water. He coughs. Clears his throat. Wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Then squints like you have some explaining to do.

You walk toward him slowly, smiling like you didn’t just shatter his entire emotional equilibrium.

“You—what? You were—” He frowns. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

“That’s the point,” you say softly.

He goes quiet. Eyes flicking over your face, your outfit (one of his shirts, because of course), the little hopeful twitch of your mouth. And something in him just… cracks. “...That’s really mean,” he mutters, eyes glassy. “I could’ve emotionally prepared. Now I look stupid.”

You smile, stepping into his space, hands finding his waist. “You look perfect.”

He scoffs. “Sweaty. Smells like a wet dog.”

“Still perfect.”

And that’s when he lets out the tiniest, tiniest sigh. Like all the fight went out of him. He tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping around your back, his chin resting lightly on your head. “Don’t let go,” he mumbles. “I’m not doing the rest of tour without this. Just so you know.”

You smile into his chest. “Noted.”

Then, softer, a whisper you almost miss:

“...Thanks for coming back to me.”

I.n // 아이엔

He’s doing his post-show ritual—sitting on the dressing room floor with his legs stretched out, sipping his drink, cheeks flushed from dancing and screaming, trying to act cool even though his adrenaline is still going crazy.

He’s giggling at something a member says when the door creaks.

He looks up. And freezes. Because it’s you. Peeking in, eyes soft, fingers curled around the doorframe like you were nervous to interrupt.

“...Hi, baby,” you whisper.

His jaw actually drops. He blinks once, twice, like his brain needs buffering time.

“…You’re joking,” he finally says.

You step inside slowly. “Not a joke.”

You expect him to run. Cry. Scream. But instead—

He just sits there, completely still. Like his soul left his body for a minute. “…You really came?” he asks, voice small.

You kneel in front of him, taking his face in your hands. “Of course I did.”

And that’s when it happens.

His whole body slumps forward and he buries his face in your neck—arms wrapping around your waist in this desperate, trembling hold like he’s afraid to break you. “I missed you,” he says, so quietly it makes your chest ache. “So much. It’s been so hard.”

You stroke his hair. “You’re doing amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

And then? He starts sniffling. “Noooo don’t say that, I’m gonna cry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “I was literally fine five seconds ago. This is so unfair.”

You laugh gently. “Cry, Jeonginnie. It’s okay.”

He pulls back, eyes watery, lips trembling into a smile. “I love you,” he blurts out. “A lot. Just—so much.”

And then he hugs you again. Tighter. Softer. Like now that you’re here, nothing else matters. Like home isn’t a place—it’s you.

[goyardgoyangi]

𐙚 sports car pt. 2 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⌗ pairings: sukuna x reader

⌗ summary: sukuna’s used to being in control— on the streets, in the sheets, and everywhere in between. but then you show up, watching him speed through the finish line like it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen (because, honestly, it is), and before he can smirk in your direction, you beat him to it. a simple bite turns into a steamy mess in the backseat of his car at a drive-in. sukuna wants it to be a one-night thing. but then why can’t he stop thinking about you?

⌗ word count: 1k

♥ pt. 3 ♥ masterlist ♥

Sukuna watches you disappear into your apartment building, his hands still resting loosely on the steering wheel. He stays parked at the curb longer than he should, staring up at the glowing windows.

He doesn’t know which one is yours— only that you’re somewhere inside. It bothers him more than he wants to admit.

He should leave. Go home, smoke a cigarette, and forget about you like he’s done with everyone else. But he can’t. You’re the first person who’s made him want to know more— your routines, the little things no one else notices.

It’s dangerous, how fast you’re getting under his skin.

The next few days are torture.

Sukuna finds himself checking his phone more than he ever has in his life, half-expecting a text that never comes. Not that you even exchanged numbers. He grits his teeth every time the thought hits him— you left him. No promises, no clinging, no second look. Like he was just some guy you fucked and forgot.

It gnaws at him.

At first, he tells himself it’s just ego. He’s not used to being brushed off. But deep down, he knows it’s more than that. He thinks about you at the worst times— when he’s half-under the hood of a car at the shop, grease staining his fingers; when he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling at 2 am.; when he’s stuck at a red light and some girl crosses the street in front of him— but none of them ever look like you.

The worst part is he doesn’t even know how to find you again without crossing a line. He only knows your building, nothing more — no room number, no name. It’s pathetic, he thinks, the way his chest aches. And maybe it is.

But all he can do is wait— wait for the universe to give him another chance.

But sukuna’s been waiting, hoping, telling himself he’d be fine if he never saw you again. He tells himself that he doesn’t need to know your last name, or what your favorite color is, or anything at all. He’s done with it. He’s too busy. He doesn’t need this.

That’s what he tells himself as he walks into the campus library, eyes scanning the shelves for the textbook for his mechanical engineering class that he’s supposed to pick up, but in all honesty, his mind is elsewhere, namely, with you.

His head’s pounding, his patience worn thin. Days of thinking about you (of missing you) had drained him more than he wanted to admit. He told himself he’d move on. Told himself it was just sex, just a quick fuck, just nothing.

But every time he closed his eyes, it was you. Your laugh. Your scent. The way you trusted him enough to fall asleep in his car like he was something safe.

It fucking haunted him.

Sukuna grits his teeth as he scans the aisles. He’d been stupid to think he’d ever see you again. Maybe it was better this way, better to leave it as one perfect, gut-wrenching memory. He had better things to do than—

And then he sees you.

His breath catches.

His stomach flips.

You’re real. You’re right there.

You don’t see him yet, your attention on your laptop as you type, working on what he assumes to be a paper. His hands suddenly feel clammy, his heart racing for no reason at all.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Sukuna blinks rapidly, trying to push the weird feeling down. He takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. At first, he thinks he’s imagining it. That his mind has finally broken under the weight of wanting you.

But no— there you are, sitting at a table near the back, half-hidden behind a stack of books. Your hair catching the light. The light of your laptop illuminating your face.

For a second, he just stares, feeling something loosen, then snap tight, inside his chest.

He knows he should play it cool. Walk away. Pretend he didn’t see you.

But he’s already moving before his brain catches up, textbook forgotten in his hand, making a beeline straight for you.

He forces himself to keep walking up to the table you sit at, trying to act normal, rationalizing that it’s too late to back out now. Act normal. He doesn’t know how to do that anymore.

You glance up as he nears, blinking in slow recognition. A small smile tugs at your lips, not overly excited, not distant either, and somehow, that quiet little smile knocks the air clean out of him.

It’s as if time slows.

For a second, neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything. Sukuna feels like an idiot. He didn’t plan this far ahead.

"Hey," he says, voice low and rough. His usual cocky mask slips back into place out of habit. "Studying?”

You glance down at your table, then back at him with a soft laugh. "Kind of obvious, huh?"

He smirks, the cocky tilt of his mouth automatic. "You any good at it?"

Your laugh is real this time, light and musical, and it lodges somewhere in his ribs.

His mouth quirks, just a little. God, even your laugh is cute. He shifts the textbook in his arms, fighting the urge to scratch the itch on his cheek.

"Mind if I join you?"

The words come out more casual than he feels. Inside, his heart's a wreck, tight and fast, like he’s sixteen and asking someone out for the first time.

You hesitate, glancing at the empty chair across from you.

Then you smile again, a little softer this time. "Sure."

And there it is— that stupid smile of yours, the one that makes his heart fucking ache. It’s simple, nothing special, but to him, it feels like the most beautiful thing in the world.

He’s completely fucked.

[jaxon-exe]

I’ve seen that future…

If you had told Danny that joining the justice league would mean getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go to some stupid meeting, he never would have joined. Well that not fully true but he might have agreed to have a Zata tube installed in Amity. Even with how much he hates those things it still seems like a better idea now that he is flying through space trying to catch up with this stupid satellite. He was already late thanks to Skulker, which means he missed his perfectly times window to catch the watchtower in orbit so now he’s here playing catch up.

He didn’t even bother to slow down from his Mach 20 pace when he reached it. Just turned intangible and shot through the window into the meeting room. He was expecting to get scolded for being late. Or for his dramatic entrance but he was not expecting the other members to not notice him at all on account of them arguing.

Taking the golden opportunity to get out of a scolding, (he did not want to be the victim of another bat glare) he kept he’s mouth shut and floated down to Hal. Who seemed to be sulking off to the side of the fight. “Dude, what’s gonna on?”

“Batman,” the name was spat like a curse. “Had plans on how to take us all out.” Hal waved to the screen before him, inviting Danny to look.

“Really?” He floated to the screen, seeing files with each leaguer’s name. After a moment of hesitation, he clicked on his own.

“Yeah! Can you fucking believe this?” Hal growled out. “He planned on how to kill us all and is now acting like we’re the unreasonable ones.” Danny would normally be shaken by Hal’s anger. The guy so rarely got truly anger that it startled Danny every time. In that moment however he couldn’t bring his attention way from the screen. It was a decent plan. Risky, unlikely to work but decent. The fact Batman did this at all though. “You think you know a guy, right? Phantom?” Hal asked when he saw the ghost wasn’t responding to him.

Before he could continue his questioning Phantom shot off across the room. All leaguers that could keep up with the ghost speed braces from a fight when they saw him heading straight for Batman. They were anger with him yeah but they didn’t want him dead. They all knew Phantom was physically capable of doing that and had only seen him fly this fast in battle.

Their concern turned to confusion however when Danny stopped dead still just before the dark knight. Looking the man over before reaching to the side, Danny’s hand disappearing into a green vortex that appeared out of thin air. When he pulled back, a small metal box, no bigger than a watch box, laid in his hand as he presented it to Batman.

“This is a blood blossom.” The soft words cut through the tense silence. “It is one of, no it is the only thing that can kill me. For good.” Batman looked at the box, then at the boy. Determination sat on his brows despite the tired sadness that coloured his eyes. “If I…” His eyes broke away from the white lenses. “If I go bad. Please. I understand you don’t want to kill. So please, give this to someone who will kill me.”

No one moved for a moment as they processed the request. Emotions shifting wildly in them all. Superman’s landing on anger. “Why would you give him that?!” He stepped forward. “He already plans to kill us all why would you give him that?!”

“Because I’ve seen that future.” The conference was stated plainly. Melancholy waiting down on the boy as he turn to the others. “The realms are different than here.” His trembled. “Time works differently. You can walk into tomorrow and run into yesterday. Every possibly future exists within the realms.”

He scanned each heroes face as his voice harden. “I’ve seen what happens. I know what happens if I turn.” Danny took a deep breath as he met superman’s eyes. Gazing at him with eyes that saw more than what was in front of him. “I killed you first Clark.” It was stated as fact. Non of them could bring themselves to doubt him. “Then Diana. Then Hal. One by one each one of you were killed… by me.”

His breath came out frosted, his emotions making it hard to keep from freezing the watchtower as he turned back to Batman. “You survived the longest. Out of everyone here you got the closest to stopping me. In that reality however, you didn’t know about ghost. Didn’t know how to fight me.” He held out the box again. “Please, I can’t let that future happen.”

Everyone was stunned. Watching in silent shock as the horror of what Phantom said sunk in. Batman recovers quickest, slowly reaching out to grab that box which he now identified as being made of lead.

“Thank you Phantom.” There was more to those words than what it may appear. A silent reassess that the ghost picked up on.

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[mariasont]

Peak Ovulation - A.H

your period tracker warned you to avoid attractive men today. you failed spectacularly

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: suggest content for sure, explicit focus on hormonal arousal, sexual tension, pre-relationship pining, mild workplace inappropriateness (internal thoughts only, no action), mention of nipples, hotch being a little shit wc: 1.5k a/n: all creds to the amazing @ssamorganhotchner for the request/idea <3

It is too hot in this office, you’ve decided. The air conditioning is on, the thermostat reads a reasonable 68 degrees, but you know your body isn’t lying to you – something is wrong. 

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, adjusting the hem of your (probably too short) silk slip skirt, the material clinging to every overheated inch of you. It doesn’t help. Nothing will. Because the problem really isn’t the temperature. No, the problem is standing across from you, stirring his coffee like it’s not the most erotic thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Hotch, all razor sharp lines and rolling forearm veins, stands at the kitchenette counter, completely unaware that you are seconds away from becoming a tragic, melted puddle of lust. His sleeves are pushed up, brows furrowed in concentration as he stirs, and you watch – helpless, transfixed – as his fingers snake around the spoon, the way tendons shift beneath his skin.

It’s a teaspoon. An inanimate object. He’s stirring coffee. That’s it. And yet, your body reacts spectacularly, like he’s just backed you into the nearest sturdy surface and whispered something so depraved, so explicitly not-safe-for-work, into your ear.

You knew this was coming. It’s right there in your tracking app – day 11, peak ovulation, high fertility, maximum risk of self-sabotage, avoid contact with attractive men. Avoid Aaron Hotchner, specifically. But here you are, fully within range of the object of your affection, the exact man you should be fleeing, logic tied to the train tracks while hormones drive the speeding locomotive straight to you.

It’s not your fault, not really. Blame science. Blame nature. Blame evolution.

You feel like you’re not breathing, not functioning, gripping your pen so tightly, it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered into shrapnel. All because Hotch is walking by.

“Good morning.”

“Oh — hi! Yes! Good morning! Great morning. Beautiful morning. Gorgeous morning, actually. Just — wow. Look at us. In the morning.”

The second it leaves your mouth, you want to die.

Hotch, to his eternal credit, does not react immediately. He pauses mid-step, head tilting slightly, like he’s running a quick internal diagnostic to determine whether or not he should be concerned.

“...Right.” He finally says again, before shaking his head and walking into his office.

You cannot do this today. And according to your normal, non-biological-doomsday schedule, you’re supposed to review updated case files with Hotch today – which entails standing next to him, pointing things out, maybe even brushing hands if the universe is feeling particularly sadistic.

You hover over the keyboard, preparing to type out a very sudden, very dramatic resignation email, but before you can hit send – Reid passes your desk.

“Spencer!”

You latch onto him immediately, grabbing his wrist.

“Jesus, what?” Spencer stumbles mid-step, nearly dropping his phone.

Then, his eyes flicker over you, scanning everything — your flushed cheeks, the way you’re practically vibrating with tension, the slight glossy daze in your eyes that suggests either a medical emergency or a particularly brutal hangover.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Not in an unkind way. In a genuine, confused, and slightly alarmed way.

You shove the file at him so fast that a few loose papers nearly fall out, ignoring his question. “Can you go over this case file with Hotch for me?”

Spencer looks down at the file, flips through it once. “Why?”

“Because — uh — I have to, um… reorganize the supply closet.”

Spencer raises a brow. 

You switch strategies instantly. “Okay, okay — listen, I’ll let you pick the next five movie nights, and I won’t complain once. Even if you make me watch 2001: A Space Odyssey again.”

“Five movie nights?”

“Yes. Uninterrupted. No protests. No phone distractions.”

The second the word deal leaves Spencer’s mouth, you explode into motion, flinging yourself at him, arms around his neck.

“Have I ever told you that you are the single greatest human being to ever exist?”

Spencer makes a deep, pained noise, stumbling back, but he doesn’t fight it – merely sighs deeply, long-suffering but tolerant, before patting your back exactly once, resigned to his fate.

“You tell me weekly,” he mutters, but there’s a little laugh hidden in the words. He pries you off gently, shaking his head as he turns toward Hotch’s office. “Okay, okay. Before you suffocate me, I’m going.”

Spencer leaves, and for a second, you convince yourself you might actually make it though the day.

You are so wrong.

By lunch, you have died and resurrected at least sixteen times. Maybe more. It’s hard to say because you stopped functioning somewhere around incident three.

First the tie. One casual tug at the knot, loosening it just enough to reveal the cut of his throat. You nearly walked into a wall. Then, the glasses. The stupidest, most intellectual accessory known to man, perched low on his nose like some stern professor who graded mercilessly but might just let you stay after class for some extra credit. You had to physically sit down. And the final straw involved Hotch undoing a single button on his dress shirt. You had to assume you blacked out.

So now, here you are, in the breakroom, white-knuckling the counter, silently begging for the inferno raging in your body to calm the hell down. You’d spent your entire lunch break sprinting through department stores in search of a new blouse, because your previous one was rubbing against your already painfully sensitive nipples with every breath.

You yank at the neckline, cursing yourself six ways to Sunday for not trying the thing on before swiping your card. It doesn’t just fit snugly, it practically announces your ongoing crisis, the material stretching so perfectly over your nipples that you might as well be wearing a sign that flashes noticeably aroused.

The door opens, and you don’t even have to look. You already know who it is.

There’s a half-second delay before you risk looking up – just in time to catch the downward sweep that’s over as quickly as it came, his discipline snapping back into place like a rubber band.

Your stomach clenches, because oh, great, that is not helping. Not when you’ve been exceedingly well-behaved all morning, and definitely not when all you can think about is how you want him to rip your clothes off and put the unassuming breakroom table behind you to the kind of use that would get HR involved.

His jaw ticks, and then, in a flat, exhausted tone. “Do I even want to know what’s going on with you?”

No. No, he does not. Unless, of course, he’s invested in hearing about how you’ve had to swap out your underwear three separate times today just from existing in the same vicinity as him. In which, by all means, he should stay. But if he values his peace of mind (and you know him well enough to know he does) he should probably just walk away. Quickly. Before you start getting ideas.

“Nothing! I’m great! Never been better, actually.” You nod once, as if that seals it. “All good. Just, um, a little warm, that’s all.”

“You’re sweating,” he observes, unimpressed.

He steps closer and you’re certain the temperature in the room spikes by at least ten degrees. 

Then, as if he wasn’t already being reckless with your well-being, he lifts a hand, pressing the back of his fingers to your collarbone. His brow furrows. “You do feel warm. Are you coming down with something?”

“Yeah.” Technically, it’s not a lie. Something is happening to you, it’s just not the flu. “Aren’t you – aren’t you supposed to feel my forehead?”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to listen to you complain about how I ruined your makeup.”

Of course he would know you’d spent an ungodly amount of time on your makeup this morning.

If you had any sort of claim on this man, you would be on your knees so fast, your coworkers would hear the impact from across the office.

Hotch studies you for a second longer, then his hand moves, his fingers brushing up the column of your throat. He’s not even thinking about it. It’s gentle, like he’s feeling for something.

“You sure that’s all this is?” he murmurs, thumb sweeping into the tense muscle there. “You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine.” You can tell he doesn't believe you from the way his brows pinch, but he doesn’t press. “Would it be okay if I went home early? I mean, unless you need me for something.”

“I mean, I always need you,” he says, devastating in its casualness. You make a noise in response, but just as casually, he sobers, hand falling away as he takes a step back. “Go home. Hydrate, eat something with actual nutrients, and try to rest. If you still feel bad tomorrow, I don’t want to see you in the office.”

You nod and blurt out, “Yep. Totally. I’ll, um – drink a lot. Not – not alcohol, though. Water. Obviously.”

Hotch pauses, his mouth pressing into the kind of line that means he’s trying very hard not to laugh. He gives you a slow, knowing nod before heading for the door.

You somehow manage to pack up your things, make it to the parking lot, and drop into the driver’s seat without further public humiliation. But just as you’re fumbling for your keys, your phone buzzes.

Mr. Bossman ❤️‍🔥: If you’re still feeling warm, a cold shower might help.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[blueboybot]

Mooom stop, You're Embarassing Meee

The Justice League and Young Justice were too late, the summoning had been completed and whatever creature the cult had chosen to wreck havoc on earth was coming out of an ominous green portal.

The head popped out. It looked as if a piece of space was trying to imitate a human head but the constant movement made it appear as if it was burning and flowing underwater at the same time. A halo made up of floating pieces of ice gathered behind its head, glowing and rearranging itself to look like a wheel with never ending details. To top it all off a sharp crown the deepest black anyone has seen sat ontop of its head, embedded with five beautiful blue jewels. However, the longer anyone stared at them the more the jewels started to look like eyes.

The head turned towards the cult members, freezing them in a blink of an eye, the attack too fast for them to comprehend. It then set its sights on them, scanning the heroes before a giant hand?...Claw?... Some weird mixture of both reached out towards them with insane speed.

"SUPERBOY!"

Someone shouted but it was too late, the creature already had him in its grasp and bring him up to its face and–...actually, it doesn't seem to be harming him at all, much to everyone's confusion. Furthermore it is as if it was...lovingly nuzzling him?

Superboy looked red in the face and rather embarassed?

"Mommm, stop, you're embarassing me infront of my team."

"MOM?!"

[Part 2 Here]

[fairy-angel222]

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃, 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—a day with your favorite person on earth leads you to a fancy hotel for one weekend.. where you finally give yourself to your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.

content: college au, fluff, biker gojo, nerdy fem! reader, rich boy gojo (he spoils you bad bad), loving gojo, popular boy shy girl trope, smut, virginity loss, gentle sex, pussy eating, a lot of praise, petnames, reassurance

Friday, marked the calendar on your phone. You stood outside your house swaying lightly on your feet as you waited for your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru. He refused to let you get to school any other way.

You were clad in a simple white sweater and a black skirt, which blew up at the gust of wind created from your boyfriend’s speeding bike. You smiled, fixing your glasses on your face before giving him a pretty smile.

The tall man getting off with a grin on his face. Shaking his hair back into place as he took off his black helmet. Gojo walked towards you to embrace you in a tight hug, his hands around your waist lifting you off of the ground making you giggle. “Hi baby.”

Gojo placed a short kiss to your lips, “Hello princess,” his eyes filled with adoration as he walked you to his bike with his hand still on your waist. Putting on the helmet he made you choose out before helping you onto the seat. “Hold on tight.”

You always enjoyed morning rides like this. The cool wind on your skin as Gojo maneuvered through countless vehicles. Always making sure to not go too fast for your sake.

Your hands rested on his abs from behind, your vision being blocked by his back which you didn’t mind one bit. Gojo turned to ensure that you were alright, something he did every morning. And although you kept telling him that you were fine, he insisted on keeping himself reassured.

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, your smile still on your face even as you approached campus. Your boyfriend quick to park in the spot that everyone knew belonged to him.

Girls gawked as Gojo removed his helmet, once again fixing the white fluff of hair on his head before he was getting off the bike. Helping you do the same and removing your helmet for you, pushing your glasses further up your face since they had began falling. “God you’re so beautiful.” Gojo breathed.

And your heart beat sped up as you looked down shyly. Compliments.. you still weren’t very used to those. Gojo’s fingers found their way under your chin to lift your head up, “You’re really cute when you’re flustered you know that?”

He intertwined his fingers into yours, “Plus, there’s no need to be shy around me princess.”

You could feel eyes burning into you as you walked with Gojo, burying your body into his side at all the stares. “Are they ever not gonna stare..” you mumbled, looking up at him as he looked down at you. “They’re just jealous my love, don’t worry.”

You nodded, lips pulled into a tight line at the girls sending dirty looks your way. This was university for goodness sakes.. were they ever going to grow up. Noticing your discomfort, Gojo scowled in the direction of the girls, “The fuck are you looking at?” Watching as their eyes widened before scrambling off.

It was no secret that your boyfriend was popular, every teacher and every student knew his name. He was kind, a little mean and protective when it came to you, but he really was kind to everybody.

You however, you were just a girl who was non existent until you started dating Gojo. How did you two start dating? No one could phantom it.

—

Sitting on one of the bleachers, you were deep in a book. Your lunch sitting uneaten next to as you scanned through the words on each page. It was a romance, which you usually didn’t read but this one was just.. interesting.

Losing track of the time, your eyes widened when you saw that you were minutes late to your lecture. Hurriedly scrambling up your belongings and making your way inside.

You internally cringed when you pushed open the double doors to your class. All heads turning to look at you while your professor simply ushered you to take a seat. He knew you were never late, so he was very understanding.

Taking a random seat, you were quick to pull out your books and highlighters to take notes. Concentratedly jotting down important points and details, using your middle finger to sit your black framed glasses higher onto the bridge of your nose.

“Mind sending me a picture of those later today? I forgot my materials at home.” a familiar face smiled innocently, his bag hidden near his feet as he waited for an answer.

Gojo Satoru. A name that you obviously knew. He was extremely handsome up close, and his cologne smelt great. And he.. was talking to you? You tried your hardest to act neutral when you focused your attention onto him. “Oh, uh sure. No problem.”

“Great, let me put my number in your phone so you can text it to me yeah?”

You nodded, handing him the device and watching as he typed his number in. Saving it as Satoru. With a heart.

He finished just in time for the lecture to end. Slinging his bag over his shoulder with a wink, “Thanks princess.”

Ever since that interaction the only thing on Gojo’s mind was you. He began texting you for every little thing and talking to you every day. You guys became somewhat of friends.

Then he was holding your hands all day, saying that they were so much smaller and softer than his. Or wrapping his hand around your waist when you two walked. He told his friend Suguru about you, and though at the time you did not know the other male who attended a different school, you’d assumed he was a pretty great person.

Whispers started to float around the school about your relationship. None of which Gojo ever shut down despite knowing he had the ability to.

You and Gojo made it official after he took you on multiple dates disguised as hangouts. And you couldn’t even deny it, you had already started to fall for him by then. So when he pressed his lips to yours, pulling you impossibly closer to him with his hands on your waist. You melted. That was your first kiss, and it was perfect.

There should not have been a difference in Gojo’s behavior considering he treated you like his girlfriend from the get go. But he somehow proved that statement wrong. He was the best thing anyone could ever ask for. And he was most certainly the best thing that happened to you.

He got you used to early morning and late night bike rides. To the point where you began to love them just as much. You two were polar opposites, but he made it work.

One thing you never got used to, were the never ending stares and whispers directed your way. Even though Gojo was always there to put the person or people in their place.

You loved Gojo Satoru, and Gojo Satoru loved you.

—

The day went by very quickly, you snd Gojo did not share any classes. But you spent every minute in between together. Especially since you both had only morning classes.

Gojo smiled as you two walked towards each other. Happy that he would be able to spend the rest of the day together. Until..

“Hi Satoru!” she smiled sweetly, purposely blocking his movements when he tried to walk past. You bit your lips as you watched the scene, not finding it in you to tell her off.

Gojo sighed in annoyance, “What the fuck do you want.” his voice was stern, she had been bothering him for over a year now, and it only got worse when he started dating you.

She tilted her head, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Oh you know.. just wanted to say that if you ever got tired of that ugly slut of a nerd i’ll be right—“

Her high pitched voice was cut off by Gojo holding her roughly by her neck. Something that was way out of character for him. He was just so sick and fucking tired of people talking about you like you weren’t a person. His person.

Backing her roughly into the lockers, Gojo voice was low and aggressive, “If you ever fucking talk about my girl like that again, i swear i’ll fucking-“

“Gojo..” you called out, the man’s eyes softening when he caught sight of you. “It’s fine, let’s just go.. please?”

Gojo nodded, giving the girl another dirty look, “I'd pick her over your ass any day.” Letting go of her and walking in your direction. The girl glaring at you before she stomped away.

Gojo’s hand was in yours once more, your head on his side as you two made your way out of the building. Gojo sighed, “I’m sorry love, got a little pissed off there.”

You smiled, “No, don’t be. I’m.. i’m glad you care so much.”

“Of course i care, you’re my girl and i love you.”

Your heart fluttered, “I love you too.” And you truly meant it.

Gojo got onto his bike after helping you on, both your helmets on your heads with your hands around his waist. Making sure you were secured before taking off. Except it was in the completely opposite direction from your house.

“Baby, where are we going?” you asked curiously.

Gojo only grinned cheekily, “You’ll see.”

You trusted him. Enjoying the ride to wherever he was bringing you. Watching as day turned into night from the long ride.

Your eyes widened when Gojo pulled over at some fancy hotel. His smile never faltering as he got off.

“Annnnnd we’re here.” he spoke, looking intently at your reaction.

“Baby why are we here?” you questioned curiously, still marveling over the beautiful tall structure.

“Giving you a weekend off of school, of course. Gotta take your mind away from all that work somehow.”

You were speechless, “Satoru, you really didn’t have to.” Gojo’s hands grabbed your face softly, tears welling in your eyes at the him going this far for you. Especially when one night alone was almost 400 dollars.

“Hey, look at me. I’m more than happy to do this for you.” He reassured, pressing his lips softly onto yours before chuckling, “Plus, when life gives you this much money, spend it on the person you love the most.”

“B-but i don’t have any clothes,”

“I’m taking you shopping tomorrow.”

Gojo lead you through the grand doors of the building, giving his keys to the valet on his way in. Making your way to front desk, you glanced nervously around you. Everything was white and gold, and you gelt so out of place with the clothes you had on.

“Satoru Gojo.” Your boyfriend nodded to the receptionist who smiled knowingly when she handed him the keys. “Enjoy.”

You waited in anticipation for Gojo to open the door. Your jaw dropping when you took sight of the rose petals making a walkway to the room’s bed. Which had the words ‘I love you’ in a heart spelt out from petals.

There were rose scented candles near the bed, but what really caught your attention was the mini backyard the room seemed to have. “Satoru.. you didn’t.”

He hummed, “Oh yes i did,” leading you outside to a large blanket set up. Candles surrounding it with roses scattered all over. A small picnic basket and a bottle of wine in the center as the moonlight shone down of the most beautiful gift you had ever received.

You wanted to burst into tears. It was so perfect, turning to Gojo with a trembling lip before embracing him in a tight hug. “I don’t even know what to s-say.. it’s so beautiful. I-“ you sniffled, “words cannot even begin to express how happy i feel right now. I love it. And i love you even more.”

Gojo smiled, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumb. “Anything for you love. Anything.”

After freshening up, you wore your boyfriend’s oversized sweater, giggling softly when he extended a hand. “Join me for dinner m’ lady?”

“I’d be delighted to.”

You sat next to each other on the wide blanket. Gojo opening the basket to reveal all your favorite foods and deserts. Your eyes practically sparkling under your lenses at the countless options.

You both dug in not long after, laughing with each other as Gojo messily attempted to feed you a slice of cheesecake. The cherry sauce staining the tip of your nose, and you yelped when Gojo licked it off.

It was amazing, you felt at peace. Especially as you two finished eating, each drinking a glass of wine before laying together. Watching the stars with satisfied hearts as you cuddled into your boyfriend. His arm around you as he held you almost on top his chest. Your legs tangled with his long ones as you matched your breaths to his.

Gojo couldn’t help it when your scent alone started to drive him crazy. The feeling of you on him, your skin on his. It was getting to him.

You could feel his cock growing hard underneath you, poking at your flesh making you heat up. Unsure of what to do, you ended up shifting on top of him. The man letting out a groan before holding you still. “Might not wanna move like that love.”

You playing with his shirt as you contemplated what to say next. You were a virgin, but.. you were ready to give it away, to him.

“Satoru.. I um.. I want.. I want you to f-fuck me.” You stuttered out. And Gojo’s eyes widened at the way you worded it. Fuck, huh? You wanted him to fuck you.

“Love, don’t think that you have to do this because you can feel me hard.” he started, “it’ll go away soon, you don’t have to worry.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, I.. I want it, want to do it with you tonight. Please.”

Gojo swallowed hard, his boner straining painfully in his pants. “Are you sure princess?”

“Mhm, i’m ready.”

Gojo smiled, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before he was gently turning you onto your back. The stars seemingly only shining down on you in that moment. “You’re so perfect.” he whispered, his eyes stuck on yours as he peeled the sweater off your body.

Finally breaking eye contact to kiss down your neck and onto your chest. Allowing his tongue to swirl around your pert nipple before kissing his way down your stomach. “Whole body’s so perfect.” he spoke against your skin. And you whimpered when he pulled your panties off. “Fucking beautiful.”

Gojo kissed down the smooth skin, kissing your clit which made you shiver, his tongue licking a teasing stripe on the small bud. Gojo continued his way down, kissing both your folds before his tongue made contact with your wetness. He groaned. “You taste so sweet love.”

Your breathing sled up before he could even start anything. Bringing himself up and stripping out of his own clothes. The moon shining onto his back as he hovered over you. His blue eyes bright and beautiful while lining up with your hole.

“You sure about this princess?”

You whined, “Just do it.”

Gojo chuckled, taking your hand in his before slowly pushing into you inch by inch. “It’s gonna sting a little,” he said right before you winced, feeling your tightness stretching to accommodate his girth. “That’s it.. there we go.. good girl.” Gojo soothed.

You let out a moan, a pleasurable sensation raking through your body when his cock grazed something inside of you. Gojo smirked when he got all of his length in you, your pussy tight on his stilled cock. “Tell me when to move okay?”

You wasted no time, wanting that amazing sensation back. “You can move.”

Gojo abided, slowly easing you into the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you. Your lips parting in loud mewls when he gained speed.

“O-oh Satoru, f-feels good.”

Gojo grinned, his pace gaining more speed with each passing second. Rolling his hips into yours until you were moaning uncontrollably. Feeling your boyfriend’s cock fucking into that same spot before making its way deeper.

Your hands reached up for your boyfriend’s hair. Tugging lightly at white strands with short whimpers which matched his thrusts.

Gojo grunted, “You like that?”

You nodded with a shaky cry, your stomach pooling with heat as your body was rocked back and forth. “Ahh— Satoru.” you mewled, Gojo’s mouth latching onto your breasts with a groan, sucking and licking at one while his hand squeezed the other.

Gojo began kissing up your neck. Littering your skin with small love bites as he made his way to your chin. Kissing your cheeks, your forehead, then finally your lips. Capturing all your cute noises while his hand moved down to your clit.

Your back arched with a cry when Gojo began rubbing small circles. Your toes curling with your moans becoming high pitched loud.

“Nnhg— haah— so g-ood,” you breathed, your eyes closing as your body began to tremble. An unfamiliar coil feeling ready to snap.

“Look at me when you cum.” Gojo husked, watching as you look up at him through your lashes. Your hips arching into his hand before you were involuntarily shaking. Your pussy clenching down on him with a short scream.

“There you go beautiful, let it all out.” he cooed, your pretty pussy gushing messily onto him

“Nngh— feels weird,” you mewled, your legs threatening to close around your boyfriend.

“Just let it happen, it’s gonna feel great. I promise.”

You took Gojo’s word, allowing the newfound feeling to wash over your body before your eyes rolled back, squirting harshly onto Gojo’s cock and thighs.

Gojo could feel his ego swell, “I made you squirt princess. My first time in you and i made you squirt.” he boasted, a lazy smile gracing his features as his thrusts got sloppy. Your moans never ceasing as he got closer to his release.

Gojo groaned, “Hmm— i love you so much. Love so you fucking much.” Burying his head in your neck as his abs tensed, quickly pulling out of you to spill onto your stomach. Your chest rising and falling in soft pants as you both came down from your highs.

You smiled shyly, “That was amazing.”

Gojo tilted his head, “Was it now?” Pressing a kiss to your lips, “I’m glad.”

Gojo took you back inside, running you a bath before settling in the tub with you in between his legs. His chin on your shoulder as he let you relax while he cleaned you up.

The weekend went great. He took you shopping, you ate a delicious breakfast, lunch and dinner. Visited the many pools and buffets. And had sex. Twice. It was better than anything you could ask for. And you wouldn’t give it up for the world.

No school, no ‘friends’, no bothers, no worries. Just you and Satoru. Exactly how it will always be.

[smileysuh]

fuck your ex

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol & Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Cuddles don’t hurt either,” Mingyu muses, pulling you to his chest. “If we get to your bedroom and you decide you just want someone to be with, I’m not going to pressure you. I know I said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but, skin to skin contact - even if it’s not sexual - can be an amazing way to get over an ex too.”

tw/cw. Protected sex, unprotected sex, pussy eating, fingering, hand job, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, threesome, bathroom sex, using a shower head as a vibrator, multiple sex scenes, multiple reader orgasms, slight cum kink, Cheol cum’s on reader’s chest, size kink, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.3k 

🍭 aus. Non idol au, cop au, poly au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know cops are a touchy subject, but I've had this idea for months, and I figured it's fan fiction so hopefully it's just a fun au :)

Prologue

You’re so busy blasting nostalgic break-up music that you’re not paying attention to how fast you’re driving down the speedway. The loud Kelly Clarkson song drowns out your sorrows, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of the siren when a Police car lights up behind you.

“Fuck!” you scream, immediately turning down your stereo and pulling over onto the shoulder of the road.

Your heart is racing in your chest- being pulled over isn’t something you’re used to, and you fumble to roll your window down while two cops exit their vehicle and approach.

You wipe at your eyes, which are tearing up again, and you reach for your purse to pull out your license.

The man standing next to your window leans down to look at you, and you try to flash him a smile. His expression is cold, blank even. “Do you know how fast you were going?” he asks.

Now, your heart sinks. It’s such a direct question, and for some reason it makes you snap. You can feel tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your skin heating in embarrassment at having been caught doing something wrong.

“Officer- I’m so sorry, I don’t know how fast I was going- I just broke up with my stupid ex-boyfriend, and I was listening to some breakup music to distract myself from how I’m feeling, and I wasn’t paying attention-”

The second cop pulls up to your window, and the two of them exchange a glance while you cry and blab your reasoning behind doing something wrong.

“Are you headed home?” the second officer, whose nametag reads ‘KIM’, asks. 

“Yeah, I just went to get a bottle of wine, and now I’m going home to drink and watch movies and cry myself to sleep,” you admit, voice shaky.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight?”

“No, sir.” 

The first officer, ‘CHOI’, sighs, and you see him scan the surrounding freeway. “We’re going to let you off with a warning,” he says finally. “It’s late, there’s hardly anyone driving right now- you were doing the wrong thing by speeding, but it sounds like your day is already pretty shit as it is.”

“Really?” You blink up at him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “No ticket?”

“No ticket,” Choi confirms. “But don’t get caught doing this sort of thing again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good luck with your wine and your movies,” Kim nods, and with that, the two officers go back to their vehicle.

You wait patiently, watching them in your rear-view mirror as they pull out and drive past you. Only then do you release a deep breath.

One

“Oops!” You let out a squeak as you turn from the bartop and nearly run straight into someone. Your drink sloshes over the edge of your glass, coating your fingers in fruity liquid.

“My bad,” the tall man immediately apologizes, steadying you with a hand on your hip.

Your eyes meet, and your heart leaps into your throat. It’s not common to see men who are this attractive out and at bars-

“Wait, have we met before?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’d remember if we had,” you retort quickly.

The man cocks his head to the side, and after a moment of studying you, his face lights up. “Wait, I remember! You’re that chick we caught speeding two or three months back! The one who’d just had a breakup!” 

Your eyes widen as the memory washes over you. As you look up at this tall man, you realize he’s right. You hadn’t recognized him at first, without his officer hat and uniform he looks much more boyish.

“I’m Mingyu,” the large man says, holding out a hand. Without a second thought, you shake it,  which is when you remember your skin is still sticky from your spilled drink. 

“Shit, sorry-” you apologize. 

Mingyu only laughs. “You’re still a bit of a hot mess, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” you agree with a sigh.

“Are you here with people?” he asks next, looking around. 

“Waiting on some friends.”

“Want to come join me and Cheol for a bit while you wait?”

“I really couldn’t-” you try to side step the question, but Mingyu insists, and soon, you find yourself seated at a table with the two sexy cops who had let you off with a warning three months ago. 

“This is the chick who was speeding, the Kelly Clarkson break-up one,” Mingyu introduces you to his buddy, and you watch recognition blossom over his face. 

“Y/N,” you correct, swallowing thickly. “My name is Y/N.”

“Seungcheol,” the stoic cop says, introducing himself. “How’ve you been?”

“Better than that night,” you admit, feeling a little off that they’re so interested in you.

“You’d be surprised how often we pull over girls for speeding after rough breakups,” Mingyu tells you, easing your anxiety a bit. “It must have been a pretty shitty split to have been driving the way you were.”

“It was bad,” you admit with a frown. “In fact… I still don’t think I’m fully over it.”

You’re not sure what’s come over you, what’s bewitched you to the point where you’re divulging your personal secrets to two strangers, and cops no less-

“Fuck your ex,” Seungcheol grunts, taking a sip of his beer.

Mingyu nods. “Fuck your ex.”

You swallow thickly, lifting your drink. “Fuck my ex.” 

You wish your voice sounded more confident, but Mingyu flashes you a smile regardless, clinking his beer to your cocktail. 

Your shoulders relax a little as you sip on your drink, and Mingyu begins asking you very surface-level questions. It’s clear he’s doing his best to make you feel welcome while you wait for your friends, who arrive after about fifteen minutes of chat.

“Well, my girls are here,” you announce.

“Shame, we were enjoying your company,” Seungcheol muses, and his words make your skin heat. He’s quiet, or at least, not as much of a talker as Mingyu is- 

“Hey listen,” Mingyu distracts you, pulling out a pen and paper, where he begins to scribble a few numbers, “you know what they say, the best cure to get over someone is to get under someone else. If you ever need one of us, or both, shoot us a text or something.”

You’re in complete shock as he hands you the slip of paper, wherein two phone numbers and names are written. 

“Are you…” you swallow thickly, looking between the men, “is this kind of behavior allowed from cops?”

Mingyu flashes you a wink. “We’re off duty.” 

Two

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, opening the door to your apartment, allowing Mingyu inside.

He only chuckles, pulling you into a hug. You let out a breath, relaxing against his chest. Once you feel a little more settled he releases you, pinching your cheek gently, in a shockingly affectionate way. “You’re getting over your ex,” Mingyu says softly. “Everyone needs to take that step sometime, I’m just glad you reached out to me instead of some tinder dick head.”

“Yeah, cuz a cop is so much better than some online random,” you roll your eyes.

“I’m definitely better than some online random,” he agrees. 

“This isn’t very cop like of you,” you point out, watching Mingyu remove his jacket.

“I’m not just my profession,” Mingyu says smoothly. “I’m a hot blooded male, and you’re a cute girl who needs some rescuing.”

You cock a brow, amused. “Rescuing?” 

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re going to rescue me with what? Your cock?” You’re giggling already, and Mingyu joins in.

“Cuddles don’t hurt either,” Mingyu muses, pulling you to his chest. “If we get to your bedroom and you decide you just want someone to be with, I’m not going to pressure you. I know I said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but, skin to skin contact - even if it’s not sexual - can be an amazing way to get over an ex too.”

You can’t help yourself, you lean forward, going on your tiptoes to press your lips to Mingyu’s. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your cheek with one large hand. It’s a gentle kiss, the kind of kiss that tells you you’re safe, and you realize how right Mingyu is- maybe you just needed a companion, someone to distract you from how lonely single nights can be.

Even so, the two of you make your way to your bedroom, and you find yourself shockingly shy as you invite Mingyu into your bed.

You’re in comfy clothes, but Mingyu isn’t, and he toys with the hem of his shirt as you get under your covers. “Should I take this off?” he asks.

“Whatever you want,” you agree, watching him carefully.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he explains.

“It won’t,” you tell him, in fact, you’re curious as to what he looks like under his shirt.

A minute later, you’re rewarded by getting a full view of Mingyu’s beautiful body. He’s all muscle, but it’s not the kind of muscle you gain just in a gym. No, Mingyu has a work hardened physique, what some might identify as practical muscle, and it’s clear he doesn’t skimp on food either. He’s perfectly built, you decide, as he gets into bed next to you, immediately pulling you to his broad chest.

You release a deep breath, one you didn’t know you’d been holding.

A large hand strokes along your back, and Mingyu gives you space to just be quiet and enjoy his presence. 

Finally, though, you get to the point where you can’t contain yourself any longer. You look up at him, and Mingyu mirrors the motion. It’s like he can already read you, and you wonder if that’s due to him having a lot of experience with girls, or psychological cue reading as a cop. Either way, he leans down to kiss you, and you melt into it, letting out a pleased groan.

Mingyu returns the sound with one of his own, his tongue gliding across your lip. You open up for him, shifting so you’re half on his chest while the kiss deepens. Mingyu’s hands find your waist, and he pulls you fully on top of him, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips.

It’s been so long since you kissed someone, but your body easily picks up the natural instinct again. Mingyu is just so sexy- in no time at all, you’re wriggling on top of him, eager for stimulus against your already aching core. 

You find yourself completely relaxed, but completely on edge at the same time. It’s an odd contrast. Mingyu makes you feel comfortable, without fear, and yet- he also sets you on fire in the best of ways. Each touch is like electric shivers across your body, and you can’t help the way you’re moaning from just a bit of kissing and dry humping.

“Wait,” Mingyu’s voice makes you stop, and you pull away, looking down at him with confusion. “I think- before we fuck or anything, I think you should let me eat you out. I bet you’re tired of toys and fingers, and I want tonight to be about making you feel good.”

He’s literally prince charming. Like- how did you ever find this sexy giver. 

You swallow thickly. “We can do that.”

Mingyu kisses you again, and then he rolls on top of you, pinning you to the bed. You love the way his hands skim across your body, teasing across your waist and ribcage. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” he asks.

“Maybe… uh… maybe just my pants for now?” You’re not sure why you want to leave your shirt on, but that’s the boundary you’re comfortable with right now, and Mingyu doesn’t question it. He presses another kiss to your lips before sliding down you form, hooking his fingers in your sweatpants to drag them down your body.

The large man adjusts between your legs, peppering your newly exposed skin in soft kisses.

Your core is throbbing in your panties, and you bite your lip when his breath fans across your pussy.

“These off next?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah.” The word comes out a whisper, your body tight with suspense.

Mingyu pulls your panties down slowly, and the cool air of the room on your exposed core  makes you twitch.

Large hands smooth up your calves and thighs, and Mingyu’s eyes meet yours as he closes the distance to your pussy. You hold your breath, waiting-

The first lick of your clit makes your toes curl, and you moan deeply, earning a smile from the man who’s clearly intent on devouring you.

“I kind of like being told what to do,” Mingyu explains, kissing your inner thigh. “So if you have anything you want me to do, just say something.”

“I will,” you promise, shifting your hips to get your core closer to his face again.

Mingyu takes the motion as a direction in and of itself, and he immediately puts his mouth back on you, but this time, it’s not a kitten lick. There’s no hesitation now, it’s clear you want this, and Mingyu dives in, pressing his tongue into your core.

You groan, thighs already shaking at how good it feels.

Your hands reach down, tangling in his soft hair, and Mingyu releases a moan of his own. The vibration from it goes straight to your clit, and you whimper. 

“You’re good at this,” you tell him, doing your best to be verbal, as it’s pretty clear Mingyu’s a verbal sex kind of guy.

He rewards your words by sucking his lips around your clit, flicking at it with his tongue.

“Can you…” you shift slightly, “your fingers-”

Mingyu adjusts, focusing on your clit with his mouth while a finger strokes between your pussy lips. He eases it into your wet core slowly, being gentle with you while ravaging your sensitive bud.

Your eyes close at the feeling, your head thrown back against your pillows. “That’s good-” you tell him, groaning when he slips a second digit into your pussy.

You can feel him smile against your clit, working his fingers up toward your gspot with each calculated thrust.

You’re supposed to be using Mingyu to get over your ex, but you can’t help the way you compare them- how had you ever thought sex with your ex was good? He’d never eaten you out like this- never prioritized your pleasure- fuck, you haven’t even had sex with Mingyu yet, and you’re already convinced it’s going to be mind blowing.

Releasing a breath, you focus on Mingyu, focus on the feeling building deep in your core. 

One thrust has Mingyu’s fingers hitting the exact right spot, and you let out a squeal of delight. “Right there- fuck- right there!”

Mingyu does as he’s told, repeatedly hitting the spot that draws you closer to your orgasm with record speed. His mouth on your clit is also pure pleasure, and before you even know it, you’re releasing a groan. “I’m gonna cum, fuck- don’t stop, please-”

Your words break off as your high slams into you, moans of ecstasy escaping as your body surges with pleasure. Your pussy is pulsing deliciously around Mingyu’s fingers and he works you through your orgasm like an absolute champ. He’s unrelenting, fully focused on drawing out your pleasure until you’re practically shaking.

Mingyu pulls away, and you let out a shaky gasp, opening your eyes to look down at the gorgeous man. His expression is one of pure lust, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his palm. 

“You taste like peaches, baby,” he tells you, straightening onto his knees at the foot of your bed.

You don’t say anything, you only motion for Mingyu to come closer, and you grab the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

He moans into the kiss, and you writhe beneath him, hooking your leg over his hip.

Mingyu begins to grind down against you, and you can feel how hard he is in his jeans. You love that eating you out had that kind of effect on him, and you find yourself reaching down to cup his cock.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, breaking the kiss to breathe heavily, pressing his forehead against yours. “Are we going to do this? You can still back out-”

“We’re doing this,” you confirm.

“Okay, give me a sec.” Mingyu pulls away from you and you whimper at the loss. “Wanna take your shirt off now, while I take off my pants?”

“Yeah,” you agree, immediately working on the remainder of your clothing.

You’re naked in seconds, and you watch Mingyu step out of his jeans next to the bed. He’s produced a condom from his pants, and you watch with bated breath while he rolls it onto one of the biggest cocks you’ve ever seen in person- in fact, it might be the biggest cock, and your core throbs at the mere thought of it. 

“I’m on birth control, and I’m clean,” you find yourself saying softly, toying with the fact of unprotected sex.

“Me too,” Mingyu breathes. “But, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Leave it to the cop to be safe, you guess that’s a good thing, but part of you sinks at the idea of not being filled with his cum.

Mingyu gets on top of you again, kissing you deeply. 

Your legs wrap tight around his body, and with pressure, you prompt him to grind down against your core again.

The feeling of his cock gliding between your soaked pussy lips is amazing- and you do your best to ignore the sensation of the condom. 

He kisses you for a long time, until you’re aching for him from the grinding, and finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Please,” you whimper, looking up at him. “I need you.”

“Anything you want, baby,” he says, pressing his lips to yours again while he adjusts ever so slightly, pushing his hand between your bodies so he can grab the base of his cock and line it up with your core.

He starts by rubbing it between your pussy lips, lubricating himself before pushing just the tip inside of you.

You moan against his mouth, shocked at the stretch. It’s clear from Mingyu’s gentle, controlled motions, that he’s used to giving grace for his size, and he slowly works you open more and more, sinking inch after inch of himself into your core.

His kisses are a wonderful distraction, and you focus on relaxing, allowing your body to open up for the large cock. 

When his front is flush to your own, his cock completely buried inside of you, you both release groans of pleasure.

The kiss breaks, and you pant against each others lips, opening your eyes to look at each other.

“You good?” he asks.

“Good,” you nod. “You can move.”

Mingyu lets out a shaky breath, and after a moment, he begins to fuck you. 

Each thrust is euphoria, his cock dragging against your inner walls deliciously. Mingyu begins to kiss you again, and you grab at his strong shoulders, clutching him desperately while he fucks you into your mattress. 

“You’re so tight,” Mingyu groans, lips moving to your neck. He licks at your sweet spot, and you shiver, wrapping your legs around him even tighter.

“You’re just so big-” you counter.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits with a chuckle.

You don’t mind that you’re in missionary, don’t mind that he fucks you stupid this way- it’s a very intimate position, and once again, the thought of your ex pops back into your mind. 

You realize, as the two of you get closer and closer to your highs, that maybe you weren’t ready for this- you don’t regret it, but you’re clearly not over your ex in the way you’d wished you would be at this point.

Maybe Mingyu’s just too soft, too gentle, too domestic- 

It’s not his fault, he’s being sweet to you, but maybe sweet isn’t what you needed, not really. It just makes you miss being in a relationship.

The two of you cum together, and you hate that you’re still distracted. You wish you could give all your focus to Mingyu, after all, it’s clear he’s completely zoned in on you, but it is what it is.

If nothing else, he’d distracted you for a little, given you perhaps the best dick and pussy eating of your life- and as the two of you cuddle up to fall asleep, it’s a small blessing at least that you’re not sleeping alone.

Three

You’re at a bar waiting for your takeout when you run into the most unlikely person.

Seungcheol is dressed in work out clothes, a loose shirt, sweatpants, and a baseball cap, but he still looks downright lickable. His strong shoulders- the handsome face only partially hidden by his cap- he’s so recougnizable, and it’s clear he knows who you are too, because he walks over.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you retort, playing with the straw of your cocktail. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you either,” he admits with a laugh, and you’re delighted at how his smile lights up his face. “You waiting on food?”

“Yeah, just a dinner order, figured I’d get one drink while waiting.”

He nods. “I’m waiting for food too. Just came from the gym, didn’t feel like cooking.”

“I get that,” you agree, looking down at your drink.

“You eating alone tonight?” he asks. “We could always just ask the kitchen to switch our orders, you know, get a table, eat here.”

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you?” you grin.

“If you’re up for that sort of thing,” he shrugs.

“You know what?” You let out a sigh. “Let’s do it.”

Seungcheol grins, and after talking with the bartender, you find him leading you over to a booth, having sorted everything out.

He’s got a beer now, and you’re enthralled with the way he looks while taking a sip.

He’s just so masculine- you’re extremely attracted to Seungcheol. He’d been kind of scary while dressed in work attire, but this gym outfit is much more your style. 

“So,” he starts, releasing a breath. “Heard you saw Mingyu last week.”

Your skin heats with embarrassment. “Oh, yeah.”

“Don’t be shy,” Seungcheol grins, reaching across the table to nudge your hand. “I don’t judge. He’s my best friend, and we talk, so of course he mentioned it.”

“And now… you’re having dinner with me,” you point out. 

Seungcheol shrugs. “Mingyu’s not the jealous type.”

“Are you?”

Seungcheol leans back against the booth, cocking his head to the side. He grins, and it’s one of the sexiest expressions you’ve ever seen. “I can be,” he admits. “It depends on the situation.”

You swallow thickly, reaching for your drink, in need of some sort of reprieve for the way your throat has gotten dry. “Do you and Mingyu do this a lot?” you find yourself asking.

“Do what a lot?”

“Go after the same girl?” you clarify.

Seungcheol takes a moment, and you can tell he’s deep in thought about how to approach this line of questioning. “It’s happened once before,” he admits. “Definitely not a regular thing.”

“Tell me about last time,” you suggest, interested in the story now.

“Not much to say,” Seungcheol shrugs. “He and I have been friends forever. In university there was this one girl, she wanted us both so we figured it would be interesting.”

“Was it? Interesting?”

Seungcheol flashes you a dark look, the kind of look that says ‘are you serious?’

“It was fun,” he says finally. “But, the conditions have to be perfect for sharing to work.”

You’re about to ask for more details, but your waitress comes over with your food, so you put your questions on the back burner.

Seungcheol had ordered a salad with four extra chicken breasts, and you stare at him in shock for a while.

“What?” he asks, taking a bite.

“I’ve just never seen someone order greens and four orders of chicken,” you admit.

“It’s good for you,” Seungcheol insists. “Protein.”

You look down at your rice bowl, letting out a sigh. 

“Bet you’re wishing you’d got what I got,” Seungcheol teases. 

“Never,” you laugh.

“Anyways, I bet you’re wondering about the conditions that make threesomes work,” Seungcheol sighs, returning to the topic at hand.

“I’ll admit, I’m curious. When you and Mingyu gave me your numbers, you did say I could have both of you if I wanted.”

“You still can, but I wouldn’t be shocked if you wanted to stick it with Mingyu. It wouldn’t offend me. He’s better with girls than I am.” You love how direct Seungcheol is about this, and it shows a good sense of self for him to be able to admit he’s not as much of a lady killer as his friend.

“Why do you think he’s better with girls?” you inquire.

“Most girls like that whole puppy dog thing. He’s a giver, and I respect that.”

“And you’re not a giver?” you toy, cocking a brow.

“More of a taker really,” Seungcheol admits, flashing you a grin. “If you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

“Honestly?” You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the booth. “That might be just what I need right now.”

Four

Seungcheol’s mouth is hot on yours before you’re even inside your apartment. He’s all teeth and tongue and grabby, greedy hands. But there’s something so exciting about him as he pushes your front door closed with his foot, wrapping you up in his strong arms and lifting you off the floor, prompting your legs around his hips.

There’s no talking, no assuring you that you don’t have to fuck-

You know you’re both here to fuck each other’s brains out, and it makes things simple as he carries you to your room.

To your surprise, however, he doesn’t take you to your bed. “Where’s your shower?” he asks, breaking the kiss to look around.

“Through there,” you point to the door to your ensuite, and Seungcheol follows your directions. Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the sink, and you flash him a questioning look.

“I showered at the gym, but still,” Seungcheol says, tearing his shirt off from the back of the neck. “I feel like shower sex is a good way to go about this.”

“I don’t usually like shower sex,” you point out.

“Well, you will with me, baby, trust me on that.” Seungcheol slips out of his sweatpants and briefs, his cock rising to attention. “Come here,” he instructs, pulling you off the sink.

His lips are feverish on your own, and he undresses you as quickly as he’d undressed himself. His hands grope your breasts, and he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth while you thread your fingers through his hair.

“Now turn the shower on,” he commands.

You step toward the shower, following through- and you feel Seungcheol’s hulking, built body behind your own. His chest presses to your back, and his hands begin to explore your form while the water heats.

You tilt your head to give him access to your throat while one hand massages your breast, and the other slips down to your core, teasing through your pussy lips.

“Wet already,” he muses with a grin. “Mingyu said you’re a sensitive one.”

A tingle of sinful delight rushes through you.

You wonder how many details Mingyu shared- you wonder if Seungcheol’s been eager to get a taste of you for himself.

The water begins to steam, and with a nudge, Seungcheol prompts you inside. He joins you quickly, pinning you to the wall while his lips devour your own.

He breaks the kiss a short time later, looking up at your detachable shower head, then a grin spreads across his face. “Guess I can be a giver today, but don’t tell anyone,” he teases, taking the shower head off.

You’re not even shocked when he brings it between your thighs, wet pressure surging up against your clit while you squeal in shock.

Seungcheol bends down, capturing your nipple between his lips again.

“Fuck, this feels good-” you groan, gasping and grinding down against the shower head.

“I’ll let you cum first, because when it’s my turn, it’s my turn,” he warns. 

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, enjoying the way his mouth returns to your breasts.

He’s so rough, but it feels so good as the pressure from the shower continues on your clit. The dual feeling of his lips around your nipple, and the pressure on your sensitive bud has you getting close to the edge shockingly fast.

Seungcheol - like Mingyu - seems able to read you, and he adjusts, bringing a hand between your thighs. Two fingers slip into your wet core, and he focuses on applying the water to your clit while he begins to finger fuck you.

“Fuck,” you groan, clawing at the wall, trying to stay standing while he works you closer and closer-

“Want to see you cum,” he says. “Want to see you come undone on this fucking shower head and my fingers before I take what’s mine.”

Your stomach flip flops at the possessive tone, your breath coming out in a shocked gasp.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, baby?” Seungcheol asks. “Tonight, you’re mine. Don’t want you thinking about Mingyu, or that stupid fucking ex of yours. It’s just you and me, and if I see you drifting, I’ll bring you right back here, with me, got it?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Such a good girl for me, grinding against my hand-” he groans. “I can see how close you are.” He leans forward, his lips ghosting past your ear. “I’ll admit though, I’m not a very patient man.”

Your skin tingles at his words, and you find yourself reaching for his cock, using the water as lubrication as you begin to stroke him off.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol says, voice low. “I be good to you, you be good to me, that’s the way this should be, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, closing your eyes as your abdominal muscles tense, warning you of your oncoming orgasm.

“Squeezing me so good, come on, baby, cum on my fingers.”

Seungcheol’s hand works even harder, digits stroking your sweet spot- and that’s all you need to be thrown over the edge.

You let out a strangled gasp, your orgasm slamming into you.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol groans, pressing his forehead against yours while he works you through your high. “Keep cumming for me, baby.”

You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to- your entire body is Seungcheol’s to control, and he prolongs your orgasm until you’re a shaking mess. 

You can hardly stand, but that doesn’t matter, Seungcheol puts the shower head back and simply picks you up. “I don’t have a condom on me,” he explains, sinking you onto his cock and releasing a hissing sound of pleasure, “so I’m just going to have to pull out and paint your chest.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, drawing his lips to your own as he begins to fuck you against the wall of your shower.

His fingers dig into your thighs, and he uses you to his own pleasure, fucking you like a mad man. He’s so strong- and you feel like some weightless doll in his grip. His lips are hot against your own, and his moans are some of the sexiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

There aren’t any thoughts in your head as he uses you in an animalistic, almost primal way, and you love every second of it, your sensitive pussy clenching tight around his aching cock.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans. “You’re pussy’s too good, gonna cum.” He pulls out of you abruptly, and you sink to your knees on your shower floor, looking up at him. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you, wrapping his hand around his cock and beginning to roughly stroke it. “Push those pretty tits up for me.”

You do as you’re told, watching Seungcheol- the way his bicep and abdominal muscles flex with each strained stroke of his rock hard cock.

He’s a fucking vision, and you don’t mind him using the sight of you to his own end- in fact, when he releases a strangled groan, throwing his head back as his hot seed shoots out across your tits, you kind of realize you love this. 

His large thighs flex, his entire muscular body alive as his orgasm washes over him.

He works himself through it, and finally stops, hand falling to his side while the other reaches out to press to the wall. He looks down at you, offering you that sexy smile. “Good girl.”

Five

You’d given it a week of thought, and now here you are, looking at both Mingyu and Seungcheol as they stand in your kitchen.

“Are you sure you want this?” Mingyu asks, ever the softie of the two.

“She wants this,” Seungcheol confirms, looking you up and down. “She’s probably wanted this since the moment you said she could have us both.”

“It’s a big step,” Mingyu points out.

“It’s the ultimate distraction,” Seungcheol counters.

You let out a sigh, opening your robe to reveal the lingerie underneath. “Let’s do this.”

Seungcheol moves first, stepping forward and grabbing you by the back of the neck, drawing your lips to his. You kiss him desperately, cognizant of Mingyu watching. It feels amazing to have the attention of two gorgeous men, and you feel downright elated as Seungcheol lifts you off the ground and begins to carry you to your room.

You watch Mingyu over Seungcheol’s shoulder, and he follows closely.

“How do you want to do this?” the taller one asks as you make it to your bed, where Seungcheol tosses you down.

“No condoms,” you respond.

Both men laugh, exchanging glances. “Baby wants to be full, huh?” Seungcheol asks.

“So full,” you agree.

“I think we can deal with that,” Mingyu grins. “Any other requests?”

You swallow thickly. “Whatever you want.”

Mingyu and Seungcheol look at each other again, and the taller one shrugs. “I’ll go first,” Seungcheol decides. 

“Sounds good to me,” Mingyu agrees.

The two nod at each other, and then they both begin to strip. They get down to their boxers quickly, and Seungcheol joins you on the bed first, making you face him on your knees as he captures your lips with his own. His hands are everywhere, massaging and groping-

A second set of hands joins the first as the bed dips, signaling Mingyu’s arrival behind you. His soft lips find your throat, and you moan at the sensation of two sets of mouths on you.

Their touch is everywhere now, but it’s clearly Seungcheol who pulls your panties down, rubbing your wet pussy while Mingyu works on your bra. 

“So wet for us,” Seungcheol groans. “She’s been wanting this for ages, Gyu- haven’t you, baby?”

“For too long,” you agree with a whimper, looking up at him.

Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to moan a sound of appreciation, and he pushes your bra off your body, hands immediately cupping your breasts. His fingers pinch at your nipples and you moan desperately, pushing your ass back against him-

Fuck, Mingyu’s already hard, his cock straining against your butt-

Seungcheol captures your attention again, kissing you as his fingers push into your core, crooking up to hit your sweet spot. 

You’re so wet- with each stroke, you can hear your juices on Seungcheol’s fingers, and it sets your entire body on fire.

It feels like nothing else you’ve ever experienced to be captured between these two gorgeous men- there are absolutely zero thoughts in your head, you’re so overtaken by this wordless need-

“Fuck this,” Seungcheol says. “I’m not huge on foreplay, need to fuck you.”

Mingyu snickers behind you, it’s clear which of the two men is better at patience, and you suppose that’s why the taller of the two men gets to go second. You can’t imagine making Seungcheol wait his turn, but that’s part of what’s so endearing about him.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Seungcheol sighs. “I’ll fuck you doggy, Mingyu can be under you, and as soon as I’m done, he can get his turn, sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” you admit.

Seungcheol leans close, his lips ghosting over your own when he says, “Then be a good girl and get into position for me.”

All three of you stip the last bit of clothing from your bodies, and you’re quick to get on top of Mingyu. He immediately kisses you, cupping your cheek as you grind down against his cock- you’re trying to be patient for Seungcheol, but patience, it would seem, is a strong suit that neither of you have. 

“If you put his cock inside of you, I’m going to prep your ass,” Seungcheol warns, and you pause your writhing on top of Mingyu. “That’s what I thought.”

Two hands roughly grip your hips, and Seungcheol pulls you up, off of Mingyu. A cock glides between your pussy lips, and Seungcheol smooths his palm along your back. “Be good for us,” he warns before slipping into your wet core.

You let out a moan, resting your head against Mingyu’s chest while he strokes you, holding you close. He nuzzles at the crown of your head, a gentle contrast to the man who begins fucking into you.

You’re kind of obsessed with the duality- the dichotomy of the two men is enough to keep you satisfied and on edge, enraptured with the act of making love in this way. 

It’s clear already that you’re kind of in love with threesomes- there’s just something about this, or maybe- there’s just something about Mingyu and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s hands are rough on your hips, pulling you back to every thrust, and you finally relax enough to be able to kiss Mingyu again. His lips are desperate against your own, and his cock presses up between your bodies- you can’t help but grab at it, stroking him off in time with Seungcheol’s thrusts.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, rutting up to meet you.

“You’re being too nice on him,” Seungcheol muses, and you can hear his smile.

Neither you nor Mingyu respond, too busy kissing to care.

It’s clear, after a few seconds, that Seungcheol doesn’t enjoy being ignored, because one of his hands snakes around your body, fingers finding your clit.

“Shit-” you whimper, breaking your kiss as pleasure surges through you.

“Knew that would get your attention,” Seungcheol says smugly, rubbing you even harder.

“You gonna cum for us?” Mingyu asks, lips attaching to your neck, one hand groping your breast while you continue to stroke him off.

“Yeah, I’m close-” you gasp, pussy tensing, clenching tight around Seungcheol, who groans deeply at the feeling.

You feel so perfectly taken care of, two men working your body closer and closer to the edge until your orgasm takes over. You release a strangled whimper, body surging with white hot energy that pulses through you like an electric shock.

Seungcheol lets out his own sound of pleasure, and his thrusts falter ever so slightly- then he goes as hard as he’s ever gone before. Each rut is skin on skin as his hips hit your ass, and you can tell from his rough panting that he’s just about to tip over the edge too-

He cums with a deep groan, and the sound makes your pussy flutter even harder as ropes of cum coat your insides, filling you perfectly.

You’re fucked practically stupid, reduced to animal instinct as you stay captured between two large bodies. All you can do is stay on shaking thighs, crouched over Mingyu, as Seungcheol finishes up and pulls out of you with a “Fuck.”

 “My turn?” Mingyu asks, stroking your cheek to get your attention.

“Yeah, fuck- fill me up even more,” you whimper.

“You got it, baby,” Mingyu grins, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he reaches between your bodies, grabbing his cock to line it up with your pussy. He helps you down onto him, and you moan.

You’re still tight from your orgasm, but it’s substantially easier to take Mingyu after having just enjoyed Seungcheol’s girth- and the cum inside of you helps with the lubrication. You’re fully seated on Mingyu’s cock not a moment later, and you both moan from the sensation.

His lips attack your own, and you thread your fingers through his hair as he begins to thrust up into you.

You’re too weak to ride him, but from the way Mingyu bucks with the energy of a stallion, you doubt he cares.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans against your mouth. “You feel so good, baby.”

“You feel good too,” you tell him, words shaky as they escape you.

“She’s cock drunk already,” Seungcheol muses, and you hear him heading to the bathroom to clean up while Mingyu has his way with you.

“Are you cock drunk, baby?” Mingyu asks, pausing to look up at you with lust filled eyes.

“So good,” you whimper.

Mingyu grins. “Definitely cock drunk.” He cups your cheek, drawing your lips back to his own. He rolls you over so you’re now on your back, and then he sits up onto his knees. “Can you get onto your side for me, gonna push your leg up to your chest and fuck you like that.”

You do as you’re told, shifting into the position. Mingyu grabs your thigh, anchoring himself as he begins to rail into you. He has more maneuverability in this position than when you’d been on top, and he hits as deep as anyone has ever hit before, making you whimper and claw at the sheets. 

“You look so good like this,” Mingyu tells you. “Being so good for us.”

“Mingyu-” you whimper.

“I know, I’m close too,” he promises.

Each thrust is hitting a spot that has your toes curling, and you’re quickly working your way to another high, pussy still sensitive from Seungcheol.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, digging his fingers into your thigh as he holds you open for himself. “Can’t cum till you do- fuck, wanna feel you squeezing my cock-”

“Gonna fill me up,” you whimper.

“Gonna fill you to the fucking brim, baby,” Mingyu agrees.

You close your eyes, so overwhelmed by pleasure-

“Let me fill you, come on, cum with me baby,” Mingyu urges, and that’s all it takes for you to explode on his cock.

He releases a grunt, fingers gripping you tight as he falls over the edge with you, fucking you roughly through your dual highs. You love how you can just relax as pleasure like you’ve never felt before surges through you- both men take care of you in their own ways, and this is what heaven must feel like.

But all good things must come to an end, and slowly, Mingyu’s motions begin to falter. He collapses half on top of you, breathing heavily as his lips eagerly seek yours out.

“Well aren’t you two cute,” Seungcheol’s voice makes you both laugh, pulling away from each other.

“Is that jealousy in your tone, Seungcheol?” you tease.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t work if you’re planning to do threesomes with the same three people more than once.”

“Oh, are we doing this again?” you ask.

Seungcheol grins. “Baby, what do you think?”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Gyucheol is low key one of my most favourite pairings

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🔮 preview. “Bet you’re happy with yourself,” Seungcheol muses, bringing his hot mouth to your throat. “Making him cum untouched like that.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, fingering, pussy eating, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, slight cum kink, slight exhibitionistic foreplay, inklings of roleplay, groping, size kink, cumming early and in his pants, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 150

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!reader

bonus

You’re standing at the bartop waiting for your drink when hands grab at your hips. You’re pulled back to a broad chest, and lips press to your throat, prompting you to tilt your head and grin. “Cheol,” you breathe, “what are you doing?”

“Keeping track of my prisoner,” he muses, grabbing at the orange jumper you’re wearing. “Can’t let my dirty little prison escapee out of my sight.”

It had been his idea to dress as cops and a prisoner for Halloween- and you think there must be some sort of rule against Seungcheol and Mingyu wearing their actual uniforms as costumes on a night like this- but fuck, they look so good in their navy blue.

You know you look good too, the orange jumper isn’t revealing per se, but it’s tight in the right places, and Seungcheol is feral for you regardless of what you’re wearing… or not wearing. 

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[norristrii]

LET’S GET MESSY.

“There’s nothing like the first time we met.”—It started as a stupid bet with your friends— pull someone your ex would hate. You thought it was just a game for both of you. But somehow, you changed everything. The way people saw him—the cocky, cold player was gone. For the first time, everyone saw Lando Norris completely, undeniably in love.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. fast romance, 10k+ words, double pov (multiple, probably going to be confusing), kinda fuckboy! lando, partying, drinking alcohol, suggestive, sexual tension, overthinking, slight angst, implied timeskips.

music. The First Time by Damiano David // Ordinary by Alex Warren // Messy by Rosé.

YOU WERE EVERYTHING OTHER GIRLS WANTED TO BE.

Pretty, popular, born into the kind of wealth that didn’t just open doors—it built them. Monaco was your playground, your runway, your perfectly manicured backdrop. It was where you spent summers on yachts and winters in private chalets. Where champagne was practically breakfast, and your group chats were filled with plans for nights that blurred into mornings you’d barely remember.

Here, being rich wasn’t rare—it was expected. But being you? That was different.

You had the wardrobe. The last name. The effortless charm that made people stop talking when you walked into a room. Your closest friends—each of them a headline waiting to happen—were just as glossy, just as golden. Together, you were untouchable. Beautiful, bored, and always just a little too fast.

Monaco was everything to you.

It also happened to be home to one of the most dangerous boys you’d ever met.

And one of those boys was Lando Norris.

He wasn’t just rich—he was F1 rich. The kind of wealth that came with international fame, private jets, and a team of people to manage his smile. He was young, devastatingly handsome, and carried himself with the kind of cocky ease that only a man who drove 300 km/h for a living could. Lando was Monaco’s golden boy and its worst-kept secret.

Everyone knew what he was: a fuckboy in a race suit. Girls fell for him like dominoes—stunning, smart, even cynical ones—believing, just for a moment, that they’d be the one to make him stay. But Lando didn’t stay. Not in beds, not in relationships, not even in cities for long. His only loyalty was to McLaren, the car, the team, the speed. Everything else was fleeting. Everyone else was replaceable.

He was the beautiful disaster your friends warned you about. The kind you swore you’d never fall for.

───

It was supposed to be just another Friday night. The kind you’d lived a hundred times over—fast music, faster drinks, and the comfort of your girls dancing under kaleidoscope lights. The air inside the club was heavy with perfume and bass, the world spinning just slow enough to feel invincible. You were dressed to kill, glowing in that effortless way that came when you were surrounded by people who knew you, loved you, and matched your energy drink for drink.

But then you saw him.

Your ex.

Cutting through the crowd like he still owned the room, hand-in-hand with some new girl who looked like she’d been styled to be the version of you that didn’t talk back. Polished, dull, and clinging to his arm like a watch he didn’t even check anymore. Your stomach twisted, sharp and unexpected. Not heartbreak—you were far past that—but annoyance.

Your friends noticed immediately. Of course they did. They were your ride-or-die girls, and no one knew the history better than they did. The shared eye-rolls were instantaneous, but it wasn’t pity they offered—it was challenge.

“Y/n, I dare you to pull someone your ex would absolutely hate,” one of them said, the mischief already alive in her voice as she nudged you with her shoulder.

You let out a low laugh, the kind that tasted of tequila and rebellion. “Seriously?”

The worst part? You didn’t even hesitate.

You turned slowly, scanning the room like a queen surveying her kingdom. There were options—plenty, actually. A wall of beautiful, wealthy men trying far too hard. But you weren’t looking for just anyone. You were looking for someone who would sting. Someone who could eclipse that smug little performance your ex was putting on without even trying.

And then your gaze landed on him.

Lando Norris.

Too rich, too famous, too unattached. His hair was tousled like he’d run his hands through it between drinks, a half-laugh curling on his lips as he leaned over to say something to a group of guys in the VIP corner. Even across the room, you could see the spark in his eyes, the type of grin that spelled out nothing but trouble. He was reckless, charming, and exactly the kind of person who would send your ex into a spiral. Were you playing with fire? Absolutely. Did you mind? Not even a little.

You leaned back into your circle, lips curling into a smirk. “What about Norris?”

Your friends froze for half a second, their jaws dropping in unison before breaking into a chorus of gasps and laughter. One of them nearly spilled her drink.

“Lando?” She asked, eyebrows lifting as she leaned in closer, barely audible over the thump of the music. Her voice dripped with disbelief—and a touch of admiration.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on him.

He was lounging with the kind of careless elegance that came from knowing he didn’t have to try. One arm thrown over the back of the couch in the VIP section, his head tipped back in laughter at something one of his friends had said. His smile—God, that smile—was lethal. Sharp, boyish, a little cocky. It was the kind of smile that had broken hearts in five countries before breakfast.

You turned back to your friends, an edge of mischief in your voice.

“Yes. Lando.”

Now they were all looking, trying not to be obvious but failing completely. You watched their expressions shift—shock, disbelief, then the slow, dawning realization that you were serious.

“Y/n,” one of them said, half-laughing, half-panicked. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, she’s serious,” another cut in, a wicked smile already forming. “And I’m so here for it.”

“She’s not just pulling someone her ex would hate. She’s aiming for his final boss.”

You smirked, shoulders relaxing into the confidence that came so naturally to you in moments like this. You weren’t some starry-eyed girl getting in over her head. You knew exactly what you were doing.

“Look,” you said, draining the last sip of your drink and putting it on the table behind you. “It’s not like I’m marrying him. I’m just going to talk to him.”

Lando sat slouched into the plush corner of the velvet couch, a lowball glass resting loosely in his hand, the amber liquor catching the neon lights like liquid gold. It was supposed to be a low-effort night—just the boys, some drinks, loud music, and the usual parade of girls orbiting around the VIP section like moths to flame. Monaco nights blurred together lately. Same scenes, same faces, same games.

But this time, the game had changed.

He noticed you before anyone said your name. You moved through the club like you belonged to it, heels clicking softly over polished floors, a flash of silk and confidence cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and strobe lights. He’d seen you around—everyone had. You were Monaco royalty in your own right, the kind of girl who didn’t chase attention because she never had to. It followed you. Like a shadow. Like a promise.

“Lando?”

He turned at the sound of his name, eyebrow cocked.

“I bet you can’t make Y/n stay ‘til morning.”

The words came from Max, one of his closest mates, a little too tipsy and definitely too cocky. It was stupid. Reckless. But that’s what their nights always were—games built on ego and alcohol. And tonight, Lando was bored enough to play.

He let out a short laugh, more of a smirk than a sound, and swirled the ice in his glass.

“You think I can’t?” he said, voice low, eyes still tracking your slow approach from across the club.

Max grinned. “Not a chance. She’s way out of your league, mate. Smart. Cold. Probably sees right through all your lines.”

Lando’s grin sharpened. “I don’t need lines.”

Lando pushed himself up from his seat, the smirk still lingering on his lips as he stepped away from his friends, moving toward the crowd with effortless confidence. The moment stretched as his gaze found yours, locking onto you with an intensity that sent a quiet thrill down your spine.

It was like you knew—like you had already played this scene out in your mind before it even happened, like the night was shifting into something neither of you had planned but both of you understood.

"See you tomorrow, boys," he tossed over his shoulder, voice easy, amused, filled with something dangerously certain.

His friends laughed, some whistled, but Lando didn’t look back. Because right now—his focus was entirely on you.

You swayed in the middle of the crowd, lost in the rhythm—or at least, that’s how it looked to everyone else. In reality, every movement was intentional. Every roll of your hips, every flick of your hair, every slow drag of your hands over your body was done with a purpose. You moved like a siren on stage, like your skin was the music and the dance was a language only a certain kind of man would understand. Your fingers ghosted over the curve of your waist, tracing the edge of your dress like you were imagining someone else’s touch. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t meant to be.

And it worked.

You felt him before you saw him. Lando. Each step he took closer sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the bass shaking the floor. You didn’t turn to look. Not yet. You didn’t have to. You could feel his eyes on you like heat, sharp and possessive and hungry in a way that made your pulse spike with anticipation.

You let your hand slide down the side of your thigh, slowly, teasingly, until your fingertips brushed the hem of your dress. You didn’t break rhythm. You just danced, like you didn’t even know he existed, like you weren’t already thinking about the way he’d taste, the way his voice would sound against your neck. You smiled to yourself—dark, satisfied.

That boy didn’t know what he was walking into.

Occasionally, you let your gaze flicker sideways—past the lights, past the crowd, past the haze of expensive perfume and cologne—until it found what it was looking for.

Him. Your ex.

Still standing on the far side of the room, still clinging to the girl he’d brought like she was a trophy he’d only half-earned. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. No, his eyes were glued to you—watching the way you moved, watching the way Lando was closing in like a storm at sea. You caught the flicker in his expression. That cold realization. That bruised ego. That spark of jealousy that came from knowing he was no longer the one who made you glow like this.

You looked again, the only direction that mattered now—your eyes cutting through the bodies and lights and smoke until they found him. Lando was even closer than before. Closer than you expected. Closer than was safe.

His gaze met yours with that same heat, that same spark, but now it was laced with something cocky, something hungry. He moved like a man who already knew the outcome, like the game was over before it started. Your heart thudded against your ribs, but you didn’t step back. If anything, you wanted him closer.

“All that for me, L/n?” he asked, voice low and smug as hell. There was a crooked smile playing on his lips, one that sent heat straight down your spine.

And then his hand slid around your waist.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask. Just took—like you were already his, like the whole night had been choreographed for this exact moment. His palm pressed firmly against the small of your back, pulling you into him in one smooth, confident motion. Your bodies aligned instantly, the fabric of your dress whispering against the expensive weave of his shirt. He smelled like danger and desire and something you could get addicted to far too easily.

You arched a brow, letting him see the fire in your eyes. “Cocky much?”

“Only when I’m right,” he said, eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second—enough to make your breath catch.

You felt the warmth of his hand through your dress, steady, unbothered, like he had no doubt you’d stay exactly where you were. And the worst part?

You didn’t want to move.

You let your fingers rest lightly on his chest, feeling the subtle thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch—fast, like yours. But he didn’t let it show. He was all charm and control and heat, and it wrapped around you like smoke, like silk, like a warning.

“You know what you’re doing, darling,” he murmured, lips close enough that you could feel the shape of his smirk as he spoke. His hand moved slowly beneath your dress, calloused fingertips grazing your bare skin like he’d already memorized every line of your body. It was intimate—too intimate for something that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Fuck. Fuck.

You were supposed to be in control.

This was your game. Your idea. Your revenge.

It had started as a joke. A dare whispered between friends. Pull someone your ex would hate. Someone high-profile, untouchable, impossible. Lando Norris had been the obvious choice—rich, beautiful, notoriously disinterested in anything resembling commitment. The ultimate heartbreaker.

Perfect, you’d thought.

But standing here, pressed against him, his hand on your inner thigh and his breath in your ear, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You reminded yourself this was about your ex. About making him watch. About making him regret. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Especially not for Lando.

Especially not now.

But then he said it—like the idea had just occurred to him, like it wasn’t sending your pulse into a full sprint.

“What about us going for a little drive?” he asked, voice low and laced with something dangerous. “Alone. Just us.”

Your breath caught.

He said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like slipping away into the night with you would be just another Monaco thrill. But his eyes… they didn’t lie. There was heat in them, yes, but something else too. Curiosity. Interest. Like he wanted to know who you really were, beneath the glitter and the dress and the calculated smirk.

For some reason, you couldn’t say no.

The word danced at the edge of your mouth, light as air, easy as breath. You could have said it. You should have said it. But the second his eyes met yours again, the rest of the club blurred around you—colors bleeding, music dimming, the crowd reduced to shadows. All that existed now was him and the heat between you.

It wasn’t just about the bet anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. You wanted more.

More of him.

More of the way his voice dipped when he leaned closer. More of that subtle, possessive way his hand moved across your skin, like he had every right to touch you like that. More of the way he didn’t rush, didn’t fumble, didn’t second-guess. He was calm. Confident. Like he’d done this before—but somehow, with you, it felt different.

You tried to remind yourself he was Lando Norris.

Notorious. Untouchable. The boy who lived his life on the edge of impossible curves and camera flashes. He had the world at his fingertips, and he never clung to any of it. You’d heard the stories. Monaco knew him too well. Girls came and went like seasons, and he never once looked like he regretted any of it.

So why did he feel different now?

Why was he looking at you like this?

Then he leaned in again, his lips so close to your jaw you could feel the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. His voice came softer this time, lower, almost like he was confessing something he didn’t know how to carry.

“I don’t do promises,” he said, his words slow, precise. “But I don’t play games either.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the music pounding around you. It pressed against your ribs, coiled in your lungs. You blinked, the sharpness of his honesty slicing through whatever careful story you’d been telling yourself. That this was casual. That it was control. That you were in charge.

It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t even affection. It was just… real. And in a place like this, with people like you—used to masks and illusions—that kind of honesty hit harder than any kiss.

You stared at him, trying to figure out what kind of boy said something like that. What kind of boy meant it. And more terrifyingly—what kind of girl you were becoming, now that you cared.

But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.

Instead, you pulled yourself together and tilted your chin just slightly, just enough to let him know you weren’t scared—even if your heart was in freefall.

“Then here’s the deal,” you said, voice low and razor-sharp. “No promises. No pretending. Just tonight. We don’t ask questions, and we don’t look for more.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and slowly, the corner of his mouth curved—not into a smirk, but something deeper. Something closer to agreement.

“That supposed to scare me?” he asked, like he was testing you now.

“It should,” you whispered, and you meant it.

But it didn’t. You both knew it.

Instead of pulling away, he reached for your hand. Not by accident, not with casual detachment—but deliberately. He laced his fingers through yours with a quiet intimacy that caught you off guard. No flash, no swagger, no performance. Just skin to skin. Warmth to warmth.

And that terrified you more than anything he’d said.

“Alright,” he murmured, thumb brushing yours. “Just tonight.”

You walked from the club, the night warm and alive around you, Lando’s arm heavy and comforting around your shoulders as his voice spilled with laughter. The wind off the marina tousled your hair, and the echo of bass from inside still pulsed faintly behind you like your heart hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that you were here, next to him, smiling so wide your cheeks ached.

“But Max took it better than I expected,” Lando said, chuckling to himself as he opened the car. “He looked pissed for, like, ten seconds. Then he kind of… sighed and just laughed. I think even he couldn’t believe it.”

You leaned into the car door as he opened it for you, still laughing. “I remember watching that live,” you said through a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “And I never watch F1.”

He paused for a second, giving you a sideways glance. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I was on the couch, half-asleep, and suddenly I hear the commentators losing it. I look up, see this guy waving a champagne bottle around like it’s a sword, and then crack. Trophy’s in two pieces.”

He was already laughing again, sinking into the driver’s seat beside you. “And you thought…?”

“I was like, ‘what kind of idiot is that?’” you said, shaking your head with a grin.

He looked over at you, brows raised, lips twitching into a slow smirk. “And now you’re in a car with said idiot. Interesting turn of events.”

You buckled your seatbelt with an exaggerated sigh. “Life comes at you fast.”

The engine of his McLaren roared to life with a thunderous growl that rolled through your chest, electric and alive. You barely had time to catch your breath before Lando pressed the accelerator with a grin that warned you something reckless was about to happen. The car jolted forward, smooth but sudden, and the force of it pressed you back into the seat.

“Oh my god, Lando!” you shouted, your voice caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. You instinctively grabbed for the door handle with one hand and threw your other across your stomach, trying to steady yourself as your laughter burst out without warning — loud, raw, and uncontrollable.

Wind rushed through the open windows like a wave, pulling at your hair and tugging at the hem of your dress. The lights of Monaco blurred around you — gold, white, pink — a kaleidoscope of movement and motion that matched the adrenaline rushing through your veins. The speed, the music, the laughter — it all crashed together until the world outside the car didn’t feel real anymore.

You turned your head to look at him, breathless from laughing so hard, your cheeks aching. And that’s when you noticed it.

He wasn’t looking at the road.

He was looking at you.

His eyes were locked on your face like it was the most captivating thing he’d seen all night. Maybe all week. Maybe longer. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, not in amusement this time, but in quiet fascination. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was real.

“What?” you asked through the last of your laughter, brushing hair from your eyes, suddenly aware of how long he’d been watching.

He shrugged one shoulder, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who laughs that hard.”

You blinked. That caught you off guard. “What kind of girl did you think I was?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Bitchy. Untouchable. Spoiled daddy’s girl.”

You turned fully toward him, your jaw dropping, half offended and half… entertained. “Seriously? That’s what you thought of me?”

He glanced at you again, lips twitching upward as if he already knew you were going to give him hell for it. “Come on. You live in Monaco. You move like you’ve never waited in line a day in your life. And that face you make — you know the one — like everything around you is boring.”

You scoffed. Loudly. “Wow. Okay. Brutal honesty night, is it?”

He laughed under his breath. “I’m just saying. I didn’t expect you to laugh at a dumb story about breaking Max’s trophy like it was the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms playfully, “maybe you should consider that your assumptions suck.”

The car hummed smoothly beneath you, tires rolling over the quiet asphalt as the coastline glowed in soft blinks of gold and silver. Your laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, blending with the thrum of the engine and the music that pulsed low through the speakers—something chilled and distant, like a memory.

You sat with your legs curled slightly in the seat, the night wind streaming in through the half-cracked window. Your skin was warm from the club, your heart still a little high from the way he made you laugh—really laugh—without even trying. The city behind you had slipped into something blurry, unreal. And beside you, Lando hadn’t spoken for a while.

But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It felt like a necessary breath between moments. The kind of pause you only take when something real is about to be said.

Then he broke it—his voice easy but weighted, like he’d been holding the thought in for a while.

“People always make comments, you know. About us.”

You blinked, turning toward him slowly. His face was lit by passing lights and the dim glow of the dashboard, sharp lines softened by shadows. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone casual, though the way his hand tightened slightly on the wheel betrayed something more. “You and me. I’ve heard it more than once—‘You two would kill each other or fall madly in love.’ That kind of thing.”

You let out a surprised laugh, tilting your head slightly as the corners of your mouth curved. “Seriously? That’s dramatic.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, eyes still on the road, but you could tell he was listening for your reaction. “Monaco people love drama.”

You smiled to yourself, your gaze drifting out the window as the lights from the harbor flickered in the distance. There was a beat of silence before the question slipped from your lips, quieter than before.

“What do you think?”

There was a subtle shift in the air, a tightening between seconds, like the moment had just stepped closer.

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed slightly, and his gaze flicked to the sea of dark road ahead before returning to the curve of the coastline.

“Nah. I think we’d scare the shit out of each other.”

Your laugh came quickly, light but genuine, though the words clung to you in a way you didn’t expect. “How so?”

His lips pulled into the smallest of smiles—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but felt honest all the same. “Because you’re not what I thought. And I’m probably not what you thought either. That messes with people.”

You turned your face toward him again, studying the edges of him—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the focused way he watched the road like it kept him grounded.

“What did you think I was?” you asked, your voice low.

His reply came easily, like it had been there waiting the whole time. “Someone who wouldn’t waste her time on me.”

The words hit you harder than they should have. Not because they were dramatic, but because they were honest. Because they stripped away the layers you were both so used to wearing.

And maybe it was the wine still in your system, or the way the wind kissed your skin, or the way this whole night had unraveled in the most unexpected way—but something in you softened.

Before you could even answer, the hum of the car shifted as Lando eased his foot off the accelerator. The smooth glide of speed slowed to a gentle stop, and when you looked up, the lights of his apartment building loomed above you—sleek, modern, all glass and angles glowing against the night.

He pulled into a quiet corner of the private drive, the low purr of the engine lingering for a beat before he turned the key and killed it. Silence fell, but it wasn’t awkward. It was charged—like the car itself was holding its breath.

You blinked, heart ticking a little faster now as the realization settled in. You weren’t heading to some scenic overlook. He’d brought you here.

Before you could ask why—before you could even think—he turned toward you, leaning back slightly in his seat. His eyes didn’t leave yours, calm but unreadable.

“You don’t have to come up,” he said, voice low, unpressured. “I just didn’t feel like dropping you off with… whatever this is still hanging in the air.”

There was no smirk on his lips this time. No playfulness in his tone. Just honesty. Soft and a little vulnerable, like he didn’t quite know what came next either.

You couldn’t end it like this. Not when everything in the air was still humming—unspoken words, unfinished moments, unsatisfied tension. You didn’t even say anything as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Just moved, quietly, naturally, like the answer had already been written somewhere between the laughter and the silence, the glances and the confessions.

Lando opened his door and came around to yours, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. His hand brushed your back gently as you stepped out into the soft hush of the night, the click of the car door closing behind you sounding louder than expected. You followed him toward the entrance of the building, heels clicking softly against the pavement, heart loud in your chest.

The lobby was quiet, minimalist, clean. The kind of expensive that didn’t need to try. You stood beside him as the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and he pressed the button for his floor without a word. The ride up felt slower than it should have, tension stretching between you like a pulled thread.

Still, no words. Just stolen glances. A small, nervous laugh from you when you caught him watching you again. He didn’t smile this time. Just kept looking, a quiet intensity in his eyes like he was trying to figure you out before either of you crossed another line.

Then—ding. The doors slid open.

You walked out into the hallway together, footsteps muted by thick carpet. His place was at the end, and when he unlocked the door, the soft glow of city lights poured in from the full-length windows lining the living room. Everything was clean but lived-in. Not flashy, but somehow still unmistakably him—warm tones, a couple racing helmets on display, sneakers kicked off in the corner, a hoodie slung over a chair.

You stepped inside slowly, your eyes sweeping across the space, fingers brushing the edge of the kitchen counter as he closed the door behind you. He didn’t try anything, didn’t touch you, didn’t rush.

He just watched you like he was waiting to see if you’d regret it. If you’d change your mind.

You turned to face him, arms loosely folded in front of you, and said quietly, “I didn’t think I’d end up here tonight.”

He stepped closer, slow but deliberate. “Neither did I.”

He looked at you, you looked at him. And in that breathless stillness—between the soft city light spilling through his windows and the low hum of silence—you both knew. No more teasing. No more pretending. Whatever this was, whatever had been building from the moment your eyes met in the club, it had finally reached its boiling point.

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move.

Your hands moved on instinct—grasping the sides of his face, fingers sliding into the softness of his curls, grounding yourself in something real. You pulled him toward you like you couldn’t bear another second of space between you. He didn’t resist. He didn’t hesitate.

Your lips met his in a kiss that wasn’t delicate or unsure—it was urgent, full of heat and hunger and everything you’d tried to suppress all night. His hands found your waist in a rush, gripping tightly as if afraid you’d change your mind. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for too long. Like he wanted to make up for all the moments he hadn’t.

His arms lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you down onto the cool kitchen counter, but all you could feel was the burn of his hands on your skin. His lips never left you—not your mouth, not your jaw, not the hollow of your neck where his breath hit hot and fast. He kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop, like the moment he did, he might lose something.

And you didn’t want him to stop either.

Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself in the middle of the whirlwind building between you. His body pressed into yours, close and sure, and still not close enough. His scent—clean, warm, something faintly expensive—wrapped around you like a second skin. Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else except the sound of him.

“Fuck, Y/n…” he breathed against your neck, his voice rough and low, like the words had been dragged straight from his chest. “You’re driving me crazy.”

The way he said your name—like it meant something. Like it was more than just tonight. Like he’d never said it like that before.

───

You were halfway to the door, heels in one hand, your dress barely zipped, when you heard the bed creak behind you—his voice following a second later, low and rough, not yet fully awake.

“You’re leaving?”

The question hung in the quiet of the morning like smoke. You paused, eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before you turned to face him. He was sitting up now, the sheet pooled around his waist, curls sticking up in every direction, his skin kissed by golden light spilling through the curtains. He didn’t look like the cocky version of himself you saw in the paddock or at parties. No grin. No posture. Just Lando, raw and honest, blinking through the confusion of waking up to find you already trying to disappear.

“I just figured…” you started, voice softer than you expected, “I figured it’d be easier this way. You know, before it gets awkward. Before we ruin whatever… this was.”

You tried to sound casual. Detached. Like you hadn’t just spent the night tangled in his sheets, in his hands, in the kind of chemistry you couldn’t fake. But it didn’t quite land. You were stalling, hiding, hoping he wouldn’t see how quickly you were trying to protect yourself from something that already meant more than it should have.

Lando didn’t reply immediately. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together, like he was holding something he couldn’t quite name. His eyes were on you, but not in the way they were last night. This wasn’t hunger or mischief. It was curiosity… mixed with something quieter. Something a little more careful. You had the sense he wasn’t looking at your body anymore—he was just looking at you.

And that made it harder to stand there pretending you didn’t care.

“I was thinking,” he said after a long beat, his voice still a little hoarse, “maybe we could go grab lunch. I know this place not far from here. They make this insane pesto ravioli. You’d like it.”

You blinked. Lunch? That wasn’t how these things usually went. You were supposed to ghost each other. Or at best, trade a half-smile at the next party and pretend you didn’t remember what it felt like to fall asleep with his arms around you.

“Lunch?” you repeated, more surprised than dismissive. Your voice had a cautious edge, like you were afraid to believe he meant it.

He shrugged, glancing away for the first time. One hand raked through his messy curls, his mouth pressing into a thin line as if he hated how unsure he suddenly felt. “Yeah. I mean… unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.”

He said it like it didn’t matter. Like if you said no, he’d brush it off. Go back to sleep. Forget all about it.

But you knew better.

Because beneath the light tone, behind the almost-casual smile, something in his eyes was different. There was a flicker of hesitation, not because he regretted last night, but because it meant something. And maybe he hadn’t planned on it. Maybe it caught him off guard. But he didn’t want to let it go just yet.

You nodded slowly, lips parting on a faint breath as the words tumbled out, soft but sure. “Yeah… just lunch.”

You said it like a promise to yourself, a casual agreement, something that didn’t weigh more than it should. Something light. Harmless. Manageable.

But beneath that calm tone, you felt the quiet swell of something more dangerous. Something warmer. Like stepping into sunlight after too long in the dark.

Just lunch.

That’s what you told yourself. That’s all it was going to be.

What could possibly go wrong?

You were older now. Wiser. Sharper around the edges where once you’d been all softness and wishful thinking. You didn’t fall like that anymore—not for pretty boys with jawlines sharp enough to slice you open. Not for quick smiles and fast cars. Not for someone like Lando Norris, who had the world wrapped around his finger and still somehow looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You weren’t that girl.

Not anymore.

You wouldn’t fall just because he kissed like he meant it. Just because he touched you like he’d been waiting a long time to do it. Just because for a few quiet moments, you forgot the world and everything that came with it.

You wouldn’t fall.

Lando’s smile was soft as he pushed off the bed, stretching slightly before grabbing a shirt from the back of a chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, curls tousled and wild in the golden morning light. “Give me ten minutes,” he said over his shoulder, his voice still scratchy from sleep. “I’ll be quick.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. And just like that, you were alone.

You stood there for a moment, barefoot on the cool wooden floor, still holding your heels in one hand, your dress from last night now looking more like a memory than a choice. The room smelled like him—warm cotton, something faintly citrus, and underneath it all, the scent of last night: heat, closeness, something heady and fragile that hadn’t quite faded.

You let out a breath and looked around. The sheets on his bed were a mess. Your lipstick was faint on a glass by the sink. His jacket was draped on the back of a chair you didn’t remember using.

There was no reason to stay.

No real one, anyway.

But you weren’t ready to go.

You pulled your dress over your shoulders slowly, running your hands down the fabric to smooth it into place. Your reflection in the hallway mirror caught you off guard for a second—hair tousled, lips pink from kissing, your eyes just a little softer, like something had cracked open in the night and never quite closed again.

You didn’t look like the version of yourself you always showed the world.

You looked… more honest.

You blinked, gathering your things. The plan was simple: you’d get through lunch, maybe say something clever, laugh at his jokes, and walk away with your head held high. That was all. That’s what you’d trained yourself to do.

But a quiet voice in the back of your mind whispered something else.

A question.

What if you didn’t walk away?

What if you let yourself stay—just for now—not because you were weak, not because you wanted something from him, but because… maybe he wanted something too?

Something real.

Something more than just a night.

And if he didn’t? If this was just a flicker in the dark?

Then at least you’d know.

At least you gave the moment a chance to become something more than a memory you’d spend weeks trying to forget.

───

You walked through Monaco like it was yours. The soft clack of your shoes on the cobblestones, the sea breeze dancing around your shoulders, and the warmth of Lando’s arm beneath your hand—it all felt too perfect. Too easy. Your fingers rested lightly around his bicep, every now and then squeezing involuntarily when another ridiculous part of his story made you lose it with laughter.

He was animated now, telling you about a night that clearly lived in the “shouldn’t have survived that” category. “So we’d already had, like, way too much tequila,” he said, still grinning like he couldn’t believe the memory was real, “and Carlos was convinced he knew where the keys to this golf cart were. I don’t even know who the cart belonged to. I think it might’ve been from a hotel we weren’t staying at.”

You doubled over, one hand on your chest, the other clinging to his arm as you laughed uncontrollably. “You stole a golf cart?!”

“Borrowed,” he corrected with a wink, “for, like, fifteen minutes. But then Carlos tries to turn this tight corner—while we’re singing Despacito, by the way—and just… boom. Straight into the tree.”

You were crying with laughter, trying to catch your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

Lando laughed with you, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than the joke required. He watched you—really watched you. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the way you leaned into him like it was instinct. And then, something shifted in his chest.

He hadn’t told that story in a long time. Not because it was some secret—plenty of people knew bits and pieces—but because he didn’t usually care enough to give the real version. He never felt the need. But with you, it came out so naturally, like the only thing he wanted was to make you laugh again. And again. And again.

What surprised him most, though, wasn’t the way you laughed. It was the way he felt when you did.

Because somewhere in between that story and your reaction to it, he realized something he hadn’t wanted to admit—not to himself, not to anyone.

You made him feel something.

Actually feel something. Something heavy and warm and dangerous in its comfort. Like he was waking up in a version of his life that didn’t revolve around racing lines and calculated risks. Like this—you—could mean more than he planned for.

Even the thrill of crashing that golf cart into the tree with Carlos—wild and reckless and hilarious—didn’t touch the high he got from seeing you smile at him like this. From hearing your voice mix with the sound of the city and the sea. From walking next to you and not wanting to be anywhere else.

He swallowed hard, his grin faltering just slightly as he looked ahead.

He was getting attached.

Too fast. Too deep.

And you didn’t even know it.

Then you glanced up at him again, eyes sparkling with amusement and a little disbelief. “You’re actually insane, you know that?”

He chuckled, slow and quiet, but there was something else behind it now. Something real. Something vulnerable. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you’re still here.”

───

Did it really surprise anyone that you didn’t go home after lunch?

Because to be honest, it didn’t surprise you anymore. At some point between laughing over coffee and letting him walk you back upstairs with his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you stopped trying to find an excuse to leave. You should’ve, probably. That was always your move—be charming, leave first. Keep the upper hand. But right now, you were cross-legged on Lando Norris’ living room floor, hair a mess, legs bare beneath a hoodie far too big to be yours.

He was behind you, sunk deep into his sim setup, muttering under his breath every time he missed a corner. You’d been teasing him for the last half hour about how he should stick to real cars. He shot you a middle finger over his shoulder when you said that, laughing.

The ease between you had crept in quietly. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake. And that was dangerous.

You were still grinning when your phone buzzed again. And again. A wave of notifications hit all at once.

You opened Instagram.

And froze.

There you were, in crisp, crystal-clear paparazzi shots. The walk through Monaco. Your arm linked with his. Your eyes half-closed in a laugh. His looking at you like… like you were the only thing that mattered. It was everywhere.

You scrolled lower, reading the first few captions out loud.

“F1’s fastest flirt… finally slowing down?” “Player no more? Lando’s mystery girl revealed.”“Caught in Monaco: Norris and new flame looking cozy.” “Lando’s Not-So-Secret Soft Side: Who’s the Girl Making F1’s Favorite Player Smile Like That?”

“Um,” you started, your voice light but laced with disbelief, “we’re… kind of all over the internet.”

Lando immediately paused the sim and twisted around in his seat. “Already?”

“Yup,” you said, scrolling quickly through the tagged photos. The images were everywhere — you two walking together in Monaco, mid-laugh, your arm looped through his. There was even one of him glancing down at you, and it didn’t feel staged or performative. It looked… real. And maybe that’s what made your heart skip just a little.

“Look,” you added, holding up the screen for him to see, “walking photos, laughing photos, and… oh. This one’s cute. You’re staring at me like I’m your screensaver.”

Lando groaned and pushed himself up, padding barefoot across the floor before dropping beside you with a soft thud. “Oh no,” he sighed, resting his elbow on his knee. “They caught my weak side.”

You snorted, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “You have a weak side?”

Without missing a beat, he leaned just a bit closer, glancing at the screen before his eyes met yours. “Apparently, it’s you.”

You blinked, heat blooming in your cheeks. You rolled your eyes, trying to shake it off. “Gross.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder. “That was smooth.”

“Barely,” you muttered, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you — lifting into a reluctant smile.

You were glad you were here with him.

You were.

But still… something in you twisted. A familiar shadow that curled deep in your chest, whispering doubts you didn’t want to listen to. You fought some kind of demon in yourself—quiet, persistent, always waiting. The part of you that still thought this couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be lasting. Couldn’t be safe.

Should you fully let him in this early?

Should you let anyone?

Your eyes dropped to your intertwined hands again, and for a moment you considered pulling away—not because you didn’t want to be close, but because it scared you just how natural it already felt. How much of your heart he had access to without even asking.

What if this was just temporary? What if you were just an adrenaline rush, a novelty, a brief distraction between races?

───

“You’re falling, buddy,” Max said, not even trying to be subtle. He held his phone out toward Lando, screen lit up with yet another article plastered with your face next to his, the two of you mid-laugh, framed in that golden Monaco sun like it was a movie still.

Lando didn’t even look at it. He leaned back against the wall of the motorhome, arms crossed tightly over his chest like that would keep the weight of Max’s words from hitting too deep.

“No I’m not,” he muttered, shaking his head as if saying it enough times might make it true. As if convincing Max would somehow help convince himself. “It’s just… two days. Chill.”

Max gave a slow, sarcastic nod. “Right. Because you’re totally known for having girls stay over two nights in a row. That’s classic Lando behavior.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that. She’s cool, that’s it.”

“‘Cool,’” Max echoed with an incredulous snort. “You’ve said that three times now. You trying to sell it to me or yourself?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Max rolled his eyes, clearly over the denial. He stepped closer and leaned on the edge of the table. “Okay. Fine. Then prove it.”

Lando glanced up, brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

“A bet,” Max said casually, like he was offering a game of cards. “One week. You bring her to the next race. Spend real time with her. And at the end of it, if you can look me in the eye and swear you don’t feel a thing? Cool. You win.”

There was a pause. The kind of silence where everything settled heavy in the air, pressing in with the weight of unsaid truths.

“And what do I get out of that?” Lando asked eventually, forcing a little smirk even though his voice came out a bit quieter than usual.

Max’s grin widened, knowing he’d hooked him. “I’ll take your entire media schedule in Canada. Interviews, photos, all the annoying stuff you always complain about.”

Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think I’m falling for her?”

“I know you are,” Max said, leveling him with a look that was almost brotherly. “The only question is whether you’re gonna admit it before you ruin it.”

Lando looked away for a moment. He thought about your voice still lingering in his head, the way you looked curled up in his hoodie, how fast everything felt when you laughed. Too fast. But maybe it had always been heading this way.

“Alright,” he said at last, voice low. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

Max held out his hand. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lando shook it, already unsure whether this was a challenge or a setup — because deep down, he wasn’t sure he could spend one more day with you without falling harder.

And now? He had seven.

───

You still couldn’t wrap your head around how you got here. Not just here as in Spain, but here with him—standing in the paddock beside Lando Norris like you belonged there. Like this was normal. Like any of it made sense.

It all started so casually, a passing comment over dinner when the music was low and his hand had been resting on your knee like it had always been meant to be there. “What are you doing this weekend?” he’d asked, eyes catching yours mid-laugh. Then came the follow-up, so casual it nearly slipped by you: “Come with me to Spain. To the race.”

You’d hesitated. Of course you did. Because you weren’t supposed to be the girl at his races. You weren’t supposed to be seen stepping off a private jet next to him, smiling politely as cameras turned your way. It was supposed to be one night—two, at most. Not mornings tangled in sheets, or dinners filled with laughter so warm you forgot to guard your heart.

And yet, you said yes.

Now, you found yourself walking the paddock, trying not to shrink beneath the weight of a thousand unspoken stories. You were used to attention, sure—but this was different. This wasn’t admiration or curiosity. It was dissection. Speculation. Headlines practically writing themselves with every step you took beside him. You could already imagine them.

But the noise faded once you were back in the hotel, the sun setting in soft orange behind the sheer curtains. The window was cracked open, letting the balmy air drift through the room. You were curled up in bed, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies, your phone forgotten beside you.

The door creaked open, and a moment later the mattress dipped beside you as he slid in beside you, damp hair curling at his temples, skin warm from the shower. He didn’t speak right away, just reached for you—his head settling on your chest like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there.

Your fingers moved without thinking, curling through his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp the way you’d already learned he liked.

After a beat, he spoke, voice muffled by your collarbone. “You didn’t seem bored out there.”

You smiled, fingers still in his hair. “Watching you fight for second place? I’ve seen worse.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound soft against your skin. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve come in fifth.”

You were quiet for a moment, both of you just breathing in sync. Then he shifted, just slightly, enough to lift his head and look up at you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice lower now, more hesitant. “Lately I’ve been feeling like… I drive better when you’re around.”

Your heart skipped something uncertain. It wasn’t just the words—it was the weight in them. The uncertainty. The rawness. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You didn’t reply right away. What could you even say?

Because you were feeling it too—that strange pull. That terrifying warmth. And suddenly it wasn’t about bets, or flings, or proving something to someone.

It was about this. Him. You. And something that felt dangerously close to real.

You were quiet. You just smiled.

God damn it—stop smiling.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. This fluttery warmth in your chest, the way your body relaxed with him beside you—it wasn’t part of the plan. You were meant to stay detached, to keep it casual. One night, maybe two, and that was it. But now, your hand was moving through his curls like it had done it a hundred times before, and that quiet peace in your chest was starting to feel dangerously close to comfort.

Your smile gave too much away. You could feel it. It wasn’t just polite or playful. It was soft. It was real. And when you looked down and saw Lando looking up at you from where his head rested on your chest, you knew he saw it too. He didn’t smirk like he usually would. No teasing glint in his eyes. Instead, there was something careful in his expression—something honest. And in a way, it made you want to run.

But you didn’t.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmured, barely louder than the breeze drifting in from the balcony. “I like having you by my side.”

His voice was quiet, almost unsure, like he wasn’t used to saying things like that out loud. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this wasn’t typical for him either. That thought struck you like a pulse—sharp and warm all at once.

You blinked slowly, your fingers pausing in his hair before moving again gently, threading through like you were holding onto something delicate. You wanted to answer, but you didn’t know what to say. What did you say to someone who made you feel this seen? This wanted?

And worse—what did you say when you were starting to want him just as much?

───

The streets of Barcelona stretched ahead, quiet and calm in the late hours of the night. The afterparty had ended, the music and laughter fading into the background, leaving only the distant hum of the city and the occasional flicker of headlights passing by. The air was warm, carrying the scent of summer and the faint traces of alcohol lingering between you and Lando as you walked side by side.

You weren’t even that drunk—though the world felt softer, the edges of reality blurred just enough to make everything feel lighter. But Lando… he was past that. His steps were uneven, his weight leaning into you more than he probably realized, his arm draped over your shoulders in a way that was both protective and dependent. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his body swayed slightly with each movement, and you knew he needed to sit before he lost his footing completely.

"You want to sit for a while?" you asked, glancing at him, taking in the way his eyes were heavy-lidded, his smirk lazy, his usual sharpness dulled by the alcohol.

He just nodded, letting you guide him toward the nearest bench. You sat him down carefully, standing in front of him as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly as he looked up at you. His breathing was slow, steady, but there was something in his gaze—something hazy, something unguarded.

Then, suddenly, he moved—too fast, too unsteady. His large palms found your thighs, his touch warm, grounding, sending a jolt of something unexpected through you. Your breath hitched, your body stiffening for just a second, unsure of what to do, unsure of what this meant.

"You are so pretty, Y/n," he murmured, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin, his voice softer than usual, more vulnerable.

You didn’t answer.

His gaze lifted, those damn green eyes locking onto yours, hazy but sincere, searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. "You know, Y/n," he said, voice quieter now, more thoughtful, "I didn’t know what I was doing before I met you."

You opened your mouth, ready to say something, ready to stop whatever this was turning into—but before you could, he spoke again.

"I mean, I was just a boy who fed his ego with girls and cockiness."

His words hung between you, heavy, raw, more honest than you had ever heard him be.

"Lando, you’re drunk," you reminded him, forcing a small smile, though it felt bitter on your lips. You didn’t know if he meant what he was saying. But you wished he did.

You knew you were screwed. This wasn’t a game anymore. It was supposed to be stupid bet to pull someone your ex would hate. It wasn’t supposed to be this.

"I’m serious," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain than it should have been in his state. "I mean every word. I’ll tell you everything again once I’m sober if you want."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your heart beating just a little too fast.

"I was nothing before you, Y/n."

The weight of Lando’s words settled between you, thick and unshakable, pressing against the quiet night air. The city hummed softly around you, distant voices and the occasional flicker of headlights passing by, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with him looking at you like that.

His fingers still rested against your thighs, warm and grounding, his touch absentminded but deliberate.

"I was nothing before you, Y/n," he murmured again, his voice quieter now, more careful, more real.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your heart beating just a little too fast. The words felt too big, too heavy, too true.

"Lando…" you started, hesitating, unsure of what to say, unsure if saying anything at all would make it better—or worse.

He tilted his head slightly, his drunken haze evident but not enough to dull the sincerity in his eyes. "What?" His voice was soft, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear whatever you were about to say.

"You’re drunk," you reminded him again, even though it wasn’t really the problem. Even though you knew it wasn’t the excuse you wanted it to be.

He let out a breath, slow, uneven. His fingers flexed slightly against your skin before he pulled away, leaning back into the bench, running a hand through his messy curls.

"I know," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it."

The honesty in his tone made something twist inside you—something you weren’t ready to unpack.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if frustrated with himself, as if frustrated with the way the words were coming out. "I didn’t know what I wanted," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more careful. "I had everything but it felt like nothing. I was nothing."

He looked up at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, holding something deeper, something real.

"But now I know what I want."

And the way he said it—the certainty in his voice, the way his gaze didn’t waver—made it terrifyingly clear.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts, with emotions neither of you were ready to name. You could feel the weight of his confession pressing against your chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let yourself believe that this wasn’t just drunken words, that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking. But you also knew that if you let yourself believe it, there would be no going back.

Lando stayed quiet for a moment, his head still resting against your shoulder, but you could feel his fingers flexing gently against your thigh, like he was trying to find the courage to keep going. The alcohol loosened his tongue, but what he was saying wasn’t just drunken nonsense — it came from somewhere much deeper.

“You know what scares me the most?” he finally whispered, his voice rough. “I’ve spent years building this version of myself. The one that’s always fine. The one who wins, who laughs, who flirts and moves on like none of it ever means anything. And it worked for so long.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “I didn’t even realize how fucking lonely it felt until you showed up.”

Your breath caught, but you stayed still, letting him speak.

“I see the way you look at me,” he continued, his voice lowering even more, “and for the first time in a long time… it’s not because of the car, or the fame, or the headlines. You see me, don’t you? The real me. And I don’t know how you do it, but it scares the shit out of me, Y/n.” His grip on your thigh tightened slightly as if he was trying to anchor himself.

He finally lifted his head to face you fully, his eyes glossy but sharp, locking with yours. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, almost like an accusation, but there was a tenderness behind it. “Because you make me want things I promised myself I wouldn’t want. Things that feel… permanent.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I thought I could control this,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I thought I could keep you at a distance, just have fun, not let it get serious. And then suddenly you’re in my bed, you’re in my head, you’re here, and I—” he stopped himself, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not want you.”

His thumb brushed gently over your skin, slower now, softer. “I didn’t think I’d ever want someone like this again.”

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! hey babess!!! It’s heree!! But yk, i had like a week break from this fic, so I kinda forgot how I wanted to continue it… soooo…..kinda open ending ? sorry i’m evil👹

[crushmeeren]

⇢ ⇢ eijirou art by nikkiyan

࿐ part one of incubus week! eijirou is up first! kenma’s will probably be out later in the week. if the pacing in this is too fast, i apologize, i really tried to make it flow well. anywho, please enjoy! ⋆ ☆૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა ⋆ ⇢ ⇢ ⇢ ⋆ FEM READER ⋆

࿐ master list link ࿐ kinktober master list

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐light bondage, choking, size kink, biting/marking, rough sex, squirting, praise kink.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ short summary ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Boys fucking suck. Especially when it comes to sex. When you come across a forum of other women who have dealt with this problem, the word incubus catches your eye. After spiraling down a rabbit hole of what and how to obtain your own incubus, you think you’re getting a demon who’s dark and mysterious who can satisfy you. You end up with a demon that has the sun shining out of his ass. Although, he still ends up being way more than satisfying.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

“Thanks babe, that was great.”

Irritation gathers hotly in your chest. You plaster on a fake smile, that’s more of a grimace than anything, and don’t bother responding as you tug your leggings back on. The man you chose for your one night stand is 100% a dud.

Nothing out of the ordinary there.

You grab your discarded sweatshirt and slip it back on, rising from the lumpy, extremely uncomfortable twin mattress. Really, you should’ve known from the scratchy sheets alone how this evening would turn out.

“I’m going to go ahead and go home,” you say evenly, scanning the room to search for your keys and shoes. You spot the keys on the bedside table, swiftly snatching them and stepping into your shoes.

The bed creaks behind you as the random man sits up. “Wait! Aren’t you going to stay the night? Didn’t you enjoy yourself baby?” His arrogant tone has you itching to punch his lights out, and to be honest you can’t even remember his name. He’s that fucking forgettable.

A snort of disbelief rings out that you don’t even bother trying to stop and your temper flares. Whipping around, you level this loser with an unimpressed look.

“Hate to break it to you, babe,” you sneer. “But let’s get something straight. Not once did I get anywhere close to cumming, and let’s not forget that you’re a two pump chump. I know you said you’re a “grower not a show-er,” but the only thing your dick grew into was a pencil. You can delete my number.”

He’s too stunned to respond, face turning bright red as you roll your eyes. The bedroom door slams shut behind you as you exit. The thought of spending one more second in that fuckers presence makes your jaw clench tight, and then your speed walking down the hallway and awkwardly locking eyes with the roommate lounging on the couch.

You both nod to each other once in acknowledgment before you’re rushing out the front door. You practically sprint down the driveway, slipping into your car and shutting the door with enough force to shake the frame.

Your forehead thumps onto the steering wheel, cheeks puffing out with an exasperated sigh before you lean back into the seat, pressing your palms to your eyes.

Every single time you hook up with someone new, it’s so bad that you’ve seriously considered saying fuck it and becoming celibate for the rest of your miserable, unsatisfied life. Maybe you should just become a nun, at least then you’d be fulfilled by the Lord.

The engine purrs as you start your car. You quickly make sure the air vents are pointed directly at your sweaty and flushed face. Your frustration is at an all time high, and to add insult to injury, you’re turned on enough that your swollen and puffy clit brushes the seam of your leggings every time you move.

What you’d give to have a real cock stretching you out. One so thick it borderline hurts, but you guess you’re settling for your fingers and a toy tonight. Booorrring.

The repeated buzzing of your phone catches your attention, and you glance at the cup holder you’d carelessly tossed it into. When you check it there’s a string of nasty texts bombarding your Lock Screen. You roll your eyes, not bothering to read them. His number is blocked and deleted in less than ten seconds because you’re entirely out of fucks to give.

After that, you drive home in silence, choosing to imagine scenarios where a rough and mysterious man with a big dick makes you cum so many times you can’t stand it.

It’s a dream that seems so out of reach you’re worried you’ll never be able to catch it.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

It’s Friday night and you’ve spent hours scrolling aimlessly through Reddit, cuddled up in your warm bed. There’s no chance in hell you’re risking ruining another weekend by hooking up with someone new.

A movie plays quietly in the background while you lick your wounds and read about other women experiencing similar scenarios. At least you’re not alone. You’ve read through what must be dozens of stories when one in particular catches your eye.

It’s from username “boyzdrool__demonsrule”. Her story is exactly like yours. Never being able to find a decent date, awful, mediocre sex every time, and it seems she’s found a solution.

“Incubus”, you read. Huh, that sounds vaguely familiar. With a jolt, a light bulb goes off in your mind. An incubus is some sort of mythical sex demon, if you’re recalling it correctly. A spark of hope flickers in your chest as you continue to skim over her post.

She mentions a website she discovered with a forum that provided her a specific spell for summoning an incubus. She ended up with a gorgeous blonde who sports a nasty attitude that’s been satisfying her non stop since she met him.

You push yourself into a seated position, eyes widening as excitement rushes through you. You’re trying to tame your eagerness, to take this with a grain of salt, because this random lady could be completely off her rocker. But really, what have you got to lose? If it works then you’ll finally have your dark and mysterious man! And if it doesn’t, well, then you’ve only wasted a night and you can return to wallowing in self pity.

You steel your resolve and send “boyzdrool__demonsrule” a message before you can regret the decision. To your surprise, she responds within the hour. You text back and forth with her all night, receiving the link to the website and even a list of items that’s needed for the ritual.

It’s 4 a.m when you decide to call it quits. You’re brimming with nervous energy but somehow you manage to sleep for a few hours. When you wake the next morning you spend a couple additional hours researching the ins and outs, just to be sure. With one last scan of your odd shopping list you stuff your shoes on and head to town.

You try to picture what kind of incubus will show up, assuming he’ll be similar to the one your new Reddit friend summoned.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

When the last candle flickers out it leaves your bedside lamp as the only source of soft light in your bedroom. Your jaw has dropped open in shock, eyes staring unblinkingly at the towering figure of the creature you’ve just summoned.

He’s definitely an incubus, that you’re certain of.

The demon wears only short black leather shorts. He’s pale, broad chested and has muscles so well defined you could drool. He appears mostly human, except for the elfish ears sticking out of loose red hair. Oh, and the long, slender black tail that ends in a point and swishes leisurely behind him.

“Hi!” He chirps, beaming at you with shark like teeth as he extends a hand to help you up from your current kneeling position on the floor.

Shocked to the core that this actually worked, unsure if you’re hallucinating or of what the hell else to do, you grasp his hand and allow him to haul you to your feet. You remember to shut your mouth, checking him over several times before returning your gaze to his bright expression.

“Are you….?” You trail off and he nods eagerly, squeezing your hand.

“Yes! I’m an incubus! My name’s Eijirou, what’s yours?” He chatters, happiness radiating from him in waves. You mutter your name in reply and he hums, dropping your hand to place his own on his hips. He glances around your room and whistles lowly, becoming easily distracted by your lamp. He rushes over to it and bends in half to tap the lamp shade with a clawed finger, giggling when it flickers due to his otherworldly energy. “I love lamps! We don’t have any where I’m from, it’s mostly pretty dark!”

You hum noncommittally, half confused - half amused at his easygoing behavior.

“Hey, Eijirou?” You ask tentatively, embarrassment slamming into you like a truck as you recall all the filthy things you’d been sincerely hoping to take part in with the incubus. Eijirou is just so….cheery that it paints him as pure and innocent.

Even though he’s a demon.

He straightens to his full height, shifting his head towards you with a smile. “Yes?”

“Are you, I mean — is this something you…. do often?” You fiddle with your fingers as you speak. “You understand what I summoned you for, right?”

Eijirou’s brows furrow in puzzlement before his expression switches to sheepish. “Oh!” Eijirou rubs the back of his neck. “Well, technically no. I don’t normally get sent to these kinds of summonings, but I’m filling in for my friend Shouto! He’s very pretty, and he gets sent to lots of these. But I promise I can be what you want!” He smiles reassuringly.

Your face pinches in apprehension. “Are you sure this is in your area of expertise?” Guilt then punches you in the gut when Eijirou’s sunny demeanor wilts before your very eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Eijirou begins to apologize. “I know I’m probably not as attractive as Shouto...” You cut him off before he can ramble, waving your hands animatedly as you speak.

“No! No Eijirou, you are fucking gorgeous, I swear. The minute I saw you my pussy had a heartbeat, if you know what I mean.”

Pink dusts Eijirou’s cheeks and you’re sure you must be dreaming. An incubus is blushing because of what you said. How have you ended up comforting him? This has been chaotic from the get go, and so far, has not once gone according to plan.

“Oh. Well, what is it then? I can have them send someone else if you’d like!” He offers, trying to remain upbeat but his eyes are sad.

How the fuck did this guy even become a demon?

You wince slightly. “You just seem very…innocent.”

Eijirou’s eyebrows rise to his hairline, lips parting in surprise. Then, he throws his head back and has the audacity to start laughing. You scowl, humiliation burning at the back of your neck.

“Aw baby,” he coos, sauntering up to you and looming like a rain cloud. He tilts his head down with a searing look, mouth twisting into a sly smirk. “You have no idea what I’ve done or how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, voice low and sultry.

Your body flushes white hot from the implication, the heat bursting in your cheeks as you shift your weight from foot to foot. You suddenly feel defiant, the familiar buzz of arousal kick starting in your veins.

“You think you can make me feel good?” You ask haughtily, raising your chin in a challenge. Eijirou’s lips stretch wide and he swiftly lowers himself until he’s able to grip the backs of your thighs.

“I know I can baby.” Then he’s effortlessly lifting you off the floor and forcing you to lock your legs around his waist with a gasp.

You clutch at broad shoulders for balance, which is promptly shattered when he takes a few steps and tosses you onto your bed as if you weigh nothing. You bounce as you land, the blanket puffing up and settling down around you. Anticipation lights up your spine as Eijirou crawls up the bed like a large cat, tail flicking back and forth excitedly.

Eijirou pushes your thighs apart with overly warm hands, sharp claws scratching at your soft skin. It’s easy to melt under his touch, the built up tension from the past several months clouding your logical thinking and causing you not to give a single fuck about the potential consequences this may bring.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous. I’ll eat you alive if you let me,” he purrs, bunching your shirt up and letting it catch on your tits before allowing them to bounce free. The light stimulation makes you moan, arms raising out of instinct as Eijirou slips your shirt off and tosses it to the side. Your nipples become hard and perky as soon as they’re exposed to the cool air.

“That’s what I summoned you for, isn’t it?” You tease, deciding to fully embrace the situation. Eijirou laughs in amusement and his tail swishes a bit quicker as he fits himself snug between your thighs.

He leans over you and plants a hand on either side of your head to cage you in. Your pulse quickens, heat pooling rich and honeyed in your pelvis as you stare up at him and realize just how huge he is.

And you haven’t even seen his cock yet.

In lieu of voicing what you want aloud, you strain your neck upwards as if you’re going to kiss him, but he stays just out of reach. The demon grins happily, displaying his mouthful of razor sharp teeth.

“Poor thing, I can see the sexual frustration pent up inside you,” he says with fake pity, ignoring your obvious ask for a kiss. He dips his head down to lick a hot stripe up the side of your throat. Your breath catches as you clutch his forearms, head dropping back to the blankets. “I’ll give you some relief pretty baby,” he murmurs, sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder with no warning whatsoever.

You wail as a knee jerk response to the blistering flash of pain, but it’s mere seconds before it begins to numb and pulsate with a hot pleasure instead.

“Eijirou,” you groan as he slides his teeth free with a satisfied, slick sound. He laps at the sluggishly bleeding wound, the texture of his long tongue rougher than what’s natural. “What did you do?” You ask in a breathless voice. Your body warms even further, the base of your skull tingling.

“Just helping! I promise my saliva only enhances your pleasure once it hits your bloodstream. You’ll be dazed for a few hours, but I won’t hurt you.” He places open mouthed kisses up your neck and pauses to whisper in your ear. “Unless you want me to, of course.”

Your ever growing lust is turning your insides to ash and you can’t resist as you firmly frame the sides of his face to yank him in for a bruising kiss. His mouth is surprisingly soft, wet and so so hot. Eijirou bites playfully at your lower lip and pushes his tongue into your mouth when you open up for him.

You kiss until you’re lightheaded, until your lungs are screaming. Your throat burns when you break for air and Eijirou mouths over your collarbone, slowly working his way down your chest.

He reaches the sensitive area at the top of your breast, biting and sucking with the pure intention of leaving a dark mark. Your thighs twitch from the dull ache, closing and framing his hips. The incubus takes advantage of the moment to nestle his thick, full cock against you, rolling his hips to drag the length of it over your clit. It’s incredible, even through the material keeping you apart.

You cry out his name when he releases your swollen skin, and the soft whine he answers you with is music to your ears. Eijirou moves to push your nipple into the purse of his lips, sucking until your spine arches, eager for more.

He switches to your other breast to repeat the action before pressing lingering kisses down to your belly button and even further south. The soft material of your shorts sticks lewdly to your pussy as he slips them off, a clear string as evidence of your arousal stretches between you and the material before it breaks and leaves you bare.

“Feeling good baby?” Eijirou snickers, running his thumb through your soft lips to part them and see what he’s done to you. You’re too floaty and turned on to pay much attention to his teasing, fisting the sheets as you stare at him with heavy lidded eyes and nod.

Eijirou notices you slipping deeper and deeper under his thrall. He wastes no more time before retreating to his belly and placing the flat of his abnormally long tongue to your pussy, dragging it up and licking your clit.

Your blood sings, the pleasure so intense that it shoves you right up to edge. You brokenly warn Eijirou and he pulls away to fit his teeth to your inner thigh, piercing the skin before you can protest.

He listens to your breathy moans, humming appreciatively and repeating the action on the other side. The more his saliva swirls through your bloodstream the more the sensation of being drunk creeps up on you.

When Eijirou is satisfied with his work, he proceeds to eat your pussy until your feet cramp from curling your toes so harshly. Until you’re fisting his hair like you’re trying to rip it out in handfuls and squirting on his face.

He licks you clean, snickering at the way your thighs tense as you get overstimulated. You seem to blink once and when you reopen them Eijirou’s shorts have vanished. His flushed, huge, cock curves up towards his belly, kicking a few times when you stare at it.

You’re secretly praying he splits you in half.

Eijirou nudges your thighs apart with his knees, sitting back on his calves. The tip of his cock dips inside you before sliding up and over your clit, the mess between your legs helping ease the glide. At this point words are failing you and all you’re able to do is whine in protest.

Eijirou hushes you as he steadies his base and lines himself up, inching forward until your tight pussy gives and swallows him whole. The second he bottoms out, you fucking cum. Head thrown back and white knuckling the sheets when your pussy flutters and clings desperately to Eijirou because she can’t stand the thought of letting go.

The demon gasps in delight, settling his hands on your hips. “Good job sweetheart, that was a big one huh? Give me another one baby, I’m in love with the way you tighten up around me,” he gushes as he starts rolling his hips. He builds up to a steady pace, holding you still as you scratch at his forearms.

He coaxes one more orgasm out of you before you’re unceremoniously flipped onto your belly. You face plant into the sheets as your ass is yanked into the air, wrists twisted and pinned behind your back. You startle when a surprisingly soft tail tickles your skin, coiling tightly to bind your wrists.

He tangles his fingers in your hair and hikes you off the bed, other hand coming to rest on your throat and bend your neck backwards at an awkward angle. His hand tightens as he snaps his hips and fills you with his cock once again, a bitten off sob spilling from your lips.

Eijirou fucks you harder than before, yanking you back into each powerful push of his hips and digging his fingers into the sides of your throat. Your moans rattle low in your throat as you start to reach what seems like your hundredth orgasm. You’ve lost count. Eijirou’s harsh panting and soft whimpers dance in the air, combining with the lewd sound of his skin smacking sticky with yours.

The hot, slick glide of his cock dragging in and out of your pussy is all you can focus on, and before you can even hint that you’re on the edge, you’re cumming so hard your ears start to ring. Every single muscle goes taught as he works you through it.

“Fuck, you’re amazing baby, you like the way my cock feels yeah? The noises you make when you cum are so fucking cute, oh my god,” he says breathlessly, hips speeding up just a smidge and making your already shallowing breathing catch.

Eijirou suddenly releases his hold on your throat and hair, keeping your wrists bound by his tail and opting to shove your face into the mattress with a hand to the back of your head. The other grips your hip and his nails slice your skin as he fucks you within an inch of your life.

The pain doesn’t feel like pain anymore, only an unyielding, scorching pleasure that continues to build and shatter. Rinse and repeat. You lose track of how many times you’re thrown over the edge and into the abyss.

“Can I cum inside you?” Eijirou asks after some time, movements becoming jerky and frantic. Each push jostles you forward as you try to hang on by white knuckling the sheets.

You nod without hesitation, moaning weakly. Eijirou takes advantage of your consent, pushing into the root, cock twitching as a new warmth blossoms inside you. He pulls out almost immediately afterwards, allowing your sore and exhausted body to collapse to the mattress. You shift in place and faintly register his cum trailing out of you.

Your eyes are bleary as you vaguely make out his figure moving around your room, whispering something in a language unfamiliar to you, and then you’re passing out without a care in the world.

When you wake up an undetermined amount of hours later, you find yourself clean and in a large t-shirt, tucked under the blankets. There’s an ache between your legs as you sit up, and all the previous nights memories coming rushing back to you. You’re so satisfied, months of stress having been worked out of you, and you can’t stop grinning when you think of Eijirou.

You’re already planning on how you can get him to come back when you spot a note sitting pretty on your night stand.

“Hey pretty girl! I hope I didn’t hurt you too much, and leaving a note is probably way out of line, but I couldn’t help myself. I really loved, enjoyed our time together, and I’d come back in a heartbeat if you asked. P.S., see below for steps on how to summon me specifically. (:”

As you quickly scan over the instructions something tender blooms in your chest, but you’re unwilling to examine the troubling feeling too closely for now.

Eijirou’s not “dark” or “mysterious”. No, he’s like the sun, and you hope to get burnt by him over and over again.

[merakidoll]

ෆ 𐙚 onynnie back in full effect!

warnings | chubby black reader. bi! onynnie ( no bxb -_- ) all consensual sex, bondage, watching, ony tells reader that she has to say her safeword .. thats all!

“y-yall gone play like this?” the room was in it’s usual high sexual tension state. but instead of it being you bonded for the free use of the two men. it was now onyankopon’s turn - and he wasn’t happy about it.

you tried ignoring him, bobbing your head on his long length, spit bubbles on the sides of your lips and dried cum all over your face. your tummy bubbled in anticipation for another load, to taste the savory ropes that ony always gave you. your brain was so gone from the room, just enjoying the fullness of your mouth at a good pace, all until ony bucked up in your mouth making you choke. “you hear me ma?” you moved up from his dick taking deep breaths and looking at his low eyes with your watery ones. he was mad, you knew it, he knew it, and connie - the man who’s whole idea it was, and who was watching everything happen from the kitchen with a small bowl of popcorn waiting for the chocolate man to pop- knew it.

“untie me baby. then daddy won’t be too rough” ony held no question in his words, his dick jumping when you looked down at the bed and bit your lip shaking your head. “no?” he said aloud. his voice made you flench, but you were far from scared, in fact it excited you. onyankopon let out a deep chuckle making both you and connie shiver, before anyone knew it the pink cuffs were broken. ony’s wrist stinging as you let out a loud gasp, falling back onto the bed, while the man above you teased his fat tip between your pussy lips.

“you like games yea baby?” ony wasn’t worried about connie at the moment, right now it was all about turning you back into his good girl. you both held deep eye contact, your big eyes scanning over his facial features while your tummy bubbled in anticipation. onyankopon pumped into you hard; his full length stuffing your cunt that you chocked on your spit at the fullness. “b-break daddy!” you cried, voice low and chocked. ony, shook his head, using the pads of his thumb to wipe your cheeks from the salty tears that painted it.

“bad girls don’t get breaks” throwing his head back, he stilled in your pussy when you clenched down hard onto him. his mind went blank for a second, cock waiting to let out its seamen but he was holding himself back- at least until he knew you learned. “y-you want me to stop? say your safe word baby” his balls slapped against your ass, pace speeding up quickly, so fast that your had to bite down onto his shoulder to hold back your screams. in the kitchen connie’s popcorn was long gone, his hands clean and his eyes glued to the ipad while he fisted his cock. he was on the brink of a second orgasm, your cries and mean ony always making his cum so quickly.

he licked his lips when onyankopon whispered in your ears, his eyes focusing on how your own rolled back screaming how you’d be good. a splash coming from between you and ony, while his second lover stilled in your cunt, pearly white teeth gritting together as he came, a small ‘good fuckin girl’ passing his lips. “mm fuck” connie whispered to himself, his hand becoming slimy with his on release. his breath began to slow, connie not paying attention to what you two were doing on the screen. his eyes closed in a high bliss. all until a large hand wrapped around his throat. he slowly opened his eyes, teeth immediately tugging at his lower tip as the man above was fuming.

“you’re next” was all onyankopon said, and those words told so much.

[aakeysmash]

prompt:

reader getting injured because she slipped in the shower, sukuna has to help her get to the hospital, where reader gets some pain meds making her kinda high. she confesses to him while being high

content: fluff, crack. reader is in the hospital and blood is named but there’s no gore. yuuji and sukuna are siblings. i love sukuna and i need him in my life so bad… someone PLS be my sukuna

“So, just to be sure: one margherita for me and one with sausage for you?” Asks you Yuuji while putting on his shoes.

“Yup,” you answer, popping the p. “Can I just have a quick shower while you’re gone?”

“Uhhh, sure, let me go ask Sukuna,” your friend tells you smiling and rushing up the stairs of his home.

You and Yuuji have been best friends since forever. You remember the first time you both cried your eyes out at the park in kindergarten because a lizard had just eaten the ladybug you had been watching for half an hour. Since that moment you’ve been attached at the hip, your homework filled afternoons in high school turning to pizza nights when both of your work schedules allowed you to now.

“Big bro said sure,” comes Yuuji’s voice from the end of the staircase.

“I did in fact not say that,” growls Sukuna from behind him. Sukuna is the same age as you and Yuuji, but he always seemed older. Sometimes wiser, but sure as hell more annoying than his brother. Hotter, too, but that’s a topic for another time.

“I didn’t ask you to join me, big boy,” you say sarcastically, fake smiling. He crosses his arms, leveling you with a bored look.

“Yuu, if you aren’t fast enough you’re not going to find her corpse when you get back,” he tells his brother, still staring you up and down. Yuuji sighs, tired, then opens the front door.

“Make sure to not kill each other. I have a shift after this, stop bickering. You two act like siblings more than I do with you, Sukuna,” he reprimands you both. You and his brother roll your eyes at the same time, then you push him out, closing the door in his face. You turn around and find yourself face to face with Sukuna's menacing grin.

“You have 5 minutes before I come knock at the bathroom door with a kitchen knife, doll.”

You’re scrubbing yourself clean with a random pine body wash you found in the shower when the playlist you put before entering the stall stops. You’re annoyed, because now you’re forced to listen to Sukuna’s ugly songs from the bathroom wall (that he’s blasting just to annoy you), so you try to reach your phone. You’re on your tippy toes, not wanting to get out completely, when you trip and fall since you didn’t wash the soap away from your body. You bump your head on the sink in front of the shower, hard, and you muffle a whine. You close your eyes as hard as you can and open the shower head with the room spinning inside your skull.

“Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes or you’ll fall… fuck, it hurts so bad,” you tell yourself while you speed run the end of the shower and blindly put your shirt over your head. It’s not the first time you've bumped your head on something, you were a crazy kid, so you’ve learned to open your eyes only when you physically can’t function anymore or you'll start seeing stars immediately. You barely get to put your pants on when you notice your forehead feels wet, and you didn't even wash your hair. As you get out of the bathroom wobbling you touch your head. When you open your eyes, you see blood on your hand. The room spins. You barely have time to look up and watch Sukuna coming out of his bedroom frowning before seeing black dots in your vision.

You try opening your eyes, but they feel so heavy. Your body feels rather stiff. What's this smell?

"Oh, she's waking up," a female voice softly says from somewhere next to your right.

"Thank you, miss, I got it from here," a rough voice responds.

"Make sure she drinks a lot, and keep a couple of painkillers near you. The scans show she doesn't have any internal damage, but she hit her head pretty hard. She's going to have a big bruise for a couple of days," the female voice continues. You hear the man making a sound of affirmation.

There’s a brief pause. "Your wife is very lucky. It's not every day that a man takes a woman up four flights of stairs by simple arm strength," the woman concludes sweetly, getting out of the room after he responds with a grunt and closing the door behind her.

"Your ass is lucky I lied or they wouldn’t have let me in, dumbass. Open your eyes, I know you're awake," the voice you now recognise as Sukuna says, getting closer. You try opening your eyes, managing to focus your gaze on him. Everything feels so fluffy, apart from your throat. You cough, and you think you see him rolling his eyes before getting you a glass of water and sitting beside you on a chair. You gulp it down, still feeling fuzzy, then you blink a couple of times.

You gape at him. He's cute. “You look funny,” you say, poking his cheek. He’s so squishy. Like a little mochi. A little mochi filled with strawberries. Strawberries and cream. He slaps your finger away, and you put on a hurt expression. He huffs.

“Why am I here?” You ask. The more you look at him, the more heads he seems to have.

“You fell in the bathroom,” he says, straightening up from the chair and covering your right leg with the duvet the hospital gave you. You raise an eyebrow at his gesture, and he just rolls his eyes again. “Don’t want you to also catch a cold. Yuuji would kill my ass.” You just hum.

“I caught ya when you already fainted. Yuuji came back home and panicked, but he couldn’t back out from work, so I was stuck with your ass. Took ya here but the elevator broke down. And I ate your pizza, by the way. All this is gonna cost ya 200 dollars, cash,” he lists, sprawling back onto his chair, deadpan.

Silence engulfs the both of you, and you don’t know what to say. You heard what the nurse said and you are searching for a way to bring it up, but the words in your mind are all scrambled. It’s probably the morphine that you realise they gave you, IV still attached to your left arm. You open your mouth to say something along the lines of “I’d like to thank your gym membership for this,” but instead the words that leave your mouth are-

“I’d like you to be my husband.”

His eyes snap to your widening ones. “Wait that wasn’t what-“

“Huh?” He just replies, dumbfounded. You panic, waving your hands in the air between you two.

“No, what I meant was- like- thank you for getting me up here- can you stop looking at me with your weird 16 eyes?- not that you aren’t attractive! You’re super hot! But that’s not- oh god,” you whimper, rubbing your face, noticing how you’re just making the situation worse. You prepare yourself for his snarky comeback, closing your eyes, but everything is silent.

Suddenly, you hear him snort. You crack your eyes open, touching the big cotton gauze they put on your forehead. You must be hearing things. It’s definitely the morphine, there’s no way Sukuna is actually laughing.

“Yes, I’m laughing, doll,” he says, chuckling. You widen your eyes.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You cringe.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” he responds, smirking. You groan.

“Take me out to dinner first, damn,” he yawns. You jut your bottom lip out, frowning and giving him your middle finger. Then you register his words.

“You’d come? I mean, if I asked you out.”

“Well, if you’re paying,” he responds, shrugging. That’s still a yes, isn’t it?

He ruffles up his pink hair, black t-shirt straining across his bicep. You can’t contain the urge to poke the muscle.

“Stop touching me like I’m made of play dough, doll,” he sighs, slightly less annoyed than 5 minutes ago.

“Would you let me play with you if you were made of play dough?” you ask, words a little slurred, still poking his arm, and he flexes it. “Don’t show off,” you mumble.

“You’re even weirder when you’re drugged,” he grins. He kinda looks scary, though. If you didn’t know him, you’d piss yourself by looking at his sharp teeth.

“But would you or would you not?” You whine, dragging out the last word, letting your hand fall next to you. He misses the warmth of your hand, so instead, he just puts his on your thigh. To be warm, of course. The room is so cold. Yeah. Definitely because of the missing heat.

“Yeah doll, I would.”

[dior-luxury]

𓂃 . 𐑞 "Get On The Bed" Prank On Them ⟡

ꔫ﹒genre﹒⟢ - romance/fluff/comedy. f!reader

⏆﹒⿻ ch . bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

﹙◞◟﹚﹒warnings ﹒Mild Suggestiveness . Romantic Themes . Mild-Language

Bang Chan (방찬)

It had been a cozy, quiet evening. Chan was sprawled out on the couch, laptop open, headphones slightly askew as he worked on a track, mouthing along to the beat. You’d been waiting for the right moment to test your little prank, and now—he looked so focused—it was perfect.

You walked over casually and leaned in just enough for him to notice. When he looked up at you with a smile, you tilted your head and, with a playful lilt, whispered, “Get on the bed.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“…W-what?” he stammered, pulling off his headphones so fast they nearly snapped back into place. “Did you just…?”

You nodded, keeping a straight face.

Chan’s ears flushed instantly. “Uhm—should I—uh—wait, are you serious?” He looked around like the walls were suddenly sentient witnesses to his confusion. “Like...now?”

You could see the gears in his head turning at high speed—wondering if this was a signal, a joke, or something more serious. He even stood up halfway, brushing invisible dust from his shirt, his face a mix of shock, amusement, and bashful hope.

But the moment you cracked a smile, he froze. “Wait a second...are you—are you pranking me?!”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, hiding his red face behind both hands before collapsing back onto the couch. “You’re evil,” he muttered, a shy grin tugging at his lips. “You can’t say stuff like that so casually—do you want me to lose sleep tonight?”

But for the rest of the night, he kept sneaking glances at you, his smirk lingering—clearly, the prank had left an impression.

Lee Know (리노)

You knew Lee Know was sharp. Hard to fool. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

He was in the kitchen finishing a snack when you leaned on the doorway, arms folded, and casually said, “Get on the bed.”

He turned slowly, a brow raised. “Excuse me?”

“Get on the bed,” you repeated coolly, giving nothing away.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Did you change the sheets or something?”

You didn’t answer.

Lee Know took a step toward you, licking his lips in thought. “Wait…” he said slowly, eyes scanning your expression like a detective. “You never say stuff like that unless you’re up to something.”

You shrugged.

“Is this one of those TikTok pranks?” he asked, amused. “Are you recording me? Where’s the camera?”

Still, you held your poker face.

That’s when a sly smile curved his lips. “You know, if you want me in bed, all you have to do is ask nicely.” He winked, walking closer. “No need for vague commands.”

You burst out laughing, and he snorted. “Yeah, thought so. You’re a terrible liar.”

Then he leaned down, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders against the wall. “Just know…you’re playing a dangerous game, baby.”

You gulped—and realized you’d started the prank, but he might just finish it.

Changbin (창빈)

You found him in the studio corner of the apartment, scribbling lyrics and mouthing beats. His glasses were sliding down his nose slightly, and he looked deep in the zone. Perfect timing.

“Hey,” you said sweetly, leaning on the wall. “Get on the bed.”

He paused, pen midair. “Huh?”

You nodded. “Now.”

He blinked. “Wait. Why?” He stood slowly, frowning. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about something? Did I forget something important? Is it—wait, did I mess up a date? Your birthday’s not today, right?!”

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Wait—should I bring snacks? Or like…is this about a massage? Did you hurt your back?” He was now spiraling into a full-on theory board of reasons why you might want him on the bed. “Or—is this, like, code for something?”

You finally laughed, clutching your stomach.

He squinted. “No… Don’t tell me this was a prank. Are you serious?”

You nodded through your giggles.

“I WAS READY TO APOLOGIZE FOR STUFF I DIDN’T EVEN DO,” he yelled dramatically, throwing his hands up. But then he grinned, eyes twinkling. “You got me good… Next time, I’m turning the tables.”

Hyunjin (현진)

Hyunjin was mid-selfie when you waltzed in. You caught your reflection in the mirror behind him—him pouting, perfect angles, glowing skin. You loved how into himself he could get, and now you were about to ruin it (in the best way).

“Get on the bed,” you said, standing tall.

He dropped his phone like you’d just cast a spell.

“…Is this a dream?” he asked, placing a hand to his chest dramatically. “Did I just hear my beautiful girlfriend—the love of my life—tell me to get on the bed?”

You nodded solemnly.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, looking toward the ceiling. “Thank you, universe. My time has come.”

Then, without skipping a beat, he threw himself onto the bed in a theatrical flop, arms wide like he was in a telenovela. “I’m ready! Take me!”

You couldn’t contain your laughter. He peeked up, suspicious now. “Wait…are you laughing? Is this a joke?!”

You nodded through the laughter.

He sat up with an over-the-top glare. “You devil,” he hissed, pointing dramatically. “How dare you toy with my heart like that.”

But then he giggled and pulled you into bed with him anyway. “Fine. We’re both staying here now. Prank or not.”

Han (한)

It was a quiet, late afternoon in your shared apartment, rain tapping against the windows like a soft lullaby. You and Han had spent the day lounging in pajamas, binge-watching anime, stealing snacks, and laughing about nothing in particular. He was now sprawled out on the couch, hoodie half over his head, a bag of chips clutched to his chest.

You stood up, stretched, and glanced at him with a mischievous smirk. “Babe,” you called softly, your voice low and suggestive, “come get on the bed.”

Han’s head snapped up so fast you thought he might’ve hurt his neck. His wide eyes blinked at you in disbelief, a chip falling from his mouth mid-chew.

“Huh?? What?” he asked, half-gasping, clearly not trusting his ears.

You bit your lip to hold back your laughter. “You heard me. Bed. Now.”

A moment of silence. Then his brain combusted.

“Oh my god, wait, wait—hold up,” he stammered, practically throwing the chips aside and scrambling to his feet. “You’re serious?! Like serious serious?!"

You didn’t answer. Instead, you turned and sauntered toward the bedroom, giving him just enough reason to follow.

Han trailed behind, his hands in the air like he was surrendering to fate. “Wait, babe, I didn’t shower yet! Should I—? Should I light candles? Do I need to… should I bring water or something?!” His voice cracked in that signature Han-way, half-excited, half-overthinking.

The moment he stepped into the room, you turned to face him, a completely straight face. “Okay,” you said, nodding solemnly. “Now lie down. Face down. We’re doing... tax paperwork.”

The confusion on his face was pure art.

“What? Bro, WHAT?” he exclaimed, hands dramatically slapping his thighs. “I was mentally preparing for the Olympics! You’re telling me we’re doing taxes?!”

You broke into laughter as he dramatically flopped onto the bed like a starfish. “Unbelievable. My heart rate hit 130 for forms and deductions?!”

He pouted for a good five minutes, but later admitted it was a pretty good prank—especially after you kissed his cheek and promised to “make it up to him” with cuddles and a massage.

Felix (필릭스)

The golden hour sun poured into the apartment, casting warm hues across the walls. Felix had just finished baking cookies and the scent of chocolate still lingered in the air. He had that soft, relaxed look on his face—the kind that made your heart flutter.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone when the idea popped into your head. “Lixie,” you called out sweetly.

He peeked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Yeah, baby?”

You locked eyes with him and tilted your head innocently. “Come here… get on the bed.”

For a second, he just stood there, blinking. Then his ears tinged pink, and he smiled—slow and slightly dazed. “You want me to… right now?” he asked, his voice dipping into that soft, deep register.

You nodded slowly. “Right now.”

He carefully placed the towel down and walked toward you, his movements graceful but slightly hesitant. You could see the wheels turning in his mind—Felix, ever the gentleman, was trying to read the room just in case he misinterpreted your tone.

“I mean… we can,” he said, voice low, “if you’re in the mood. You sure you’re okay?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. He was just so tender about it.

When he finally got to the bed, he sat down beside you, waiting for your lead. And then you handed him… a Rubik’s Cube.

“Time me,” you said seriously. “I bet I can beat your record.”

Felix stared at the cube, then at you, then burst into a soft giggle. “Oh my god, you brat,” he laughed, burying his face into your shoulder. “You tricked me!”

You both ended up lying on the bed anyway—laughing, tangled in blankets, solving the Rubik’s Cube together and sharing stolen kisses between turns.

Seungmin (승민)

Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, headphones on, editing a vlog for STAY. He had that slightly furrowed, focused look on his face, occasionally muttering to himself as he cut and trimmed footage.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him, then decided it was the perfect time to cause trouble.

“Seungminnie,” you purred. “Come get on the bed.”

He paused his music, pulled one earphone out, and turned slowly. His eyebrow lifted with suspicion. “Why?” he asked dryly, voice laced with his usual sarcasm. “Are you going to steal my hoodie again?”

You gave him your best doe eyes. “Just come here.”

He stood up slowly, stretching, arms raised over his head as he walked toward the bed with caution.

“I swear,” he muttered, “if this is another prank where you bury me in plushies again, I’m going to file a formal complaint.”

You patted the bed beside you. “Just lie down. Trust me.”

He lay down stiffly, his body language reading: I don’t trust you at all. “Now what?”

You sat on his stomach and dramatically opened a folder. “Time for a pop quiz. Seungmin Kim, please list the chronological order of every date we’ve ever been on.”

He stared at you like you had lost your mind.

“No,” he deadpanned.

“Yes.”

“No, I refuse.”

“Yes, and if you get one wrong, you owe me boba.”

Seungmin sighed so hard it could’ve moved furniture. “This is abuse,” he said, but there was a grin forming at the corners of his mouth.

You both ended up laughing so hard you couldn’t even get through the first few questions—and he did buy you boba later, grumbling the whole time about how you “play too much.”

I.N (아이엔)

It was late evening and you and Jeongin had just finished a casual home karaoke session. He was sprawled out on the floor, arms stretched out like a starfish, hair tousled, breath still slightly uneven from belting high notes.

You patted the bed gently. “Hey, Innie,” you said softly. “Get on the bed.”

His head whipped around like a deer caught in headlights.

“Huh?! Why?!” he asked, already blushing.

You kept your expression serious. “Just do it.”

He sat up slowly, his face suspicious but obedient. “Is this a trick? Are you going to throw a pillow at me?”

“No tricks,” you said. “Promise.”

Jeongin climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, eyes fixed on you like he was waiting for some kind of jump scare.

You leaned in close. “Now lie down. Completely flat. Arms at your sides.”

“Okay…” he obeyed, stiff as a board. “Now what?”

You reached over and placed a slice of cold cucumber on his forehead.

“What the—?!” he sputtered, lifting his head. “What is this?!”

“It’s spa time,” you said calmly. “You’ve been working hard. Relax.”

He let out a high-pitched laugh and covered his face. “I thought you were trying to seduce me and it’s salad ingredients?!”

You both collapsed into giggles, and eventually, he did relax—laying with his head in your lap, cucumber slices now replaced by your fingers brushing through his hair.