#calm and cold and calculated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

odoraful · 7 months ago

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𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒

even in their relationship with you, they still have their moments of jealousy every now and again

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; established relationship; luke & kieran appearance in sylus’ scene; new receptionist in zayne's scene; andrew appearance in xavier's scene; a little silly and a lot fluffy; 0.8–1k words per scene

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ZAYNE ⟡

Every situation requires an assessment to determine the most logical course of action. Zayne embodied this statement in his work, and even in parts of his relationship with you. One such part was when it came to jealousy. In all his assessments, 99% of the time, there was no threat, and, therefore, no intervention required. In any case, if a guy were to approach you in such a way, he trusted you entirely as well to not entertain him. However, as he opened his office door to call you from the waiting room, he was confronted by that 1%.

The new receptionist hired to work alongside Yvonne was young, charming, and far too friendly. Especially towards you. You stopped by quite regularly. Sometimes for your scheduled check-in appointments, and oftentimes to simply visit Zayne during his downtime. That was enough for the young man to recognise you, his energy ignited by your presence.

Zayne could only see your side profile as you stood by the receptionist desk, engaged in a conversation with the young man. You appeared to be all smiles with him today. Whatever story he was telling seemed to be so thrilling. Zayne’s face remained calm, aside from the twitch of his jaw when he clenched his teeth. If anybody had been watching, they would have likely jumped at such a sign of vexation by the cardiac surgeon.

Until that point, he thought he had known what jealousy was. He had read it in books and seen it in TV shows, all of which portrayed jealousy leading to several outbursts and stand-offs. However, as he felt something rising from the pit of his stomach and burning in his chest, he understood that the purest kind of it now flared inside him. It was a dangerous emotion that clouded his mind and, before he knew it, his feet had carried him right to your side.

Mr. Chatterbox regarded Zayne with disbelief at his approach, standing up to properly greet him.

“Doc! What a rare sight seeing you personally greet a patient at the desk.”

Zayne paid only a cursory glance and the slightest nod of acknowledgement to him before his attention was narrowed on you.

“If you’d like to come in now, Y/N,” Zayne said, his voice smooth and warm.

You nodded. “Of course.”

As you walked, he placed his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him by just a fraction. He turned his head to the side, enough so the young man could see his sharp eyes. Zayne wasn’t one for outbursts, so he hoped this calculated display was enough of a warning.

Watching Dr. Zayne disappear with you into his office, the receptionist muttered to himself, “Why does it feel chillier in here than before?”

Yvonne, a bystander to everything that just occurred, quietly approached her freshly hired colleague from behind. She delt a swift smack on his head with the edge of her palm. He yelped out in exaggerated pain, rubbing at the spot as if she had just given him a bruise.

“Could you be anymore oblivious…” she sighed, shaking her head. Her gaze then turned fiery as she began to scold, “And how many times have I told you to stop yammering around patients!?”

At the sound of Yvonne’s voice, he immediately redirected his efforts. Not even addressing his colleague’s prior criticism, he clasped his hands together.

“Miss Yvonne! How are you doing on this lovely–”

“Fax this, please,” she interrupted, holding a referral letter up directly to his face.

He gave a mock shiver, taking the paper from Yvonne’s hand. “So cold in this division.”

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“It seemed like you were making good conversation with our new hire,” Zayne commented, closing the door behind him.

You breathed a laugh. “He’s quite chatty. I guess it’s good to have someone so energetic working at the desk.”

That sensation within Zayne turned molten, though, you couldn’t have known with the coolness of his palm. What would be his intervention here? Maybe he needed to have a stern conversation with the young man, or perhaps he had to be more obvious in his affections towards you. He could never match the energy the receptionist had, so it would be impossible to achieve such a feat.

In his momentary stewing, you let out an uncertain hum.

“To be honest, he kept talking about himself... it was a little overwhelming,” you confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “I couldn’t be impolite to him, so I just smiled and nodded at whatever he said!”

Instantly, Zayne’s mind cleared. His jealousies dwindled into nothing more than ashes. A part of him even felt silly at how intense he was feeling just a few seconds ago.

Unexpectedly, he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. Your eyes widened with confusion before you chuckled.

“Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, doctor?” you teased.

“Feel free to file a complaint to the hospital’s human resource division,” he retorted, not missing a beat.

Your mirth readily turned into concern at the affectionate display.

“But seriously, Zayne, is everything okay?” you asked, poking at his cheek.

Zayne lifted his head. He seemed to be, surprisingly, relieved. Though, you couldn’t figure out what exactly he would be relieved about.

“Yes, everything is perfect now.”

SYLUS ⟡

There was nothing that a deathly glare or a good shove couldn’t do to resolve Sylus’ jealousy. Warding off any unsuspecting parties was his speciality, especially if it involved them getting too close to you. However, the leader of Onychinus was thrown for a loop when his very own henchmen were sparking these feelings.

“You are… going out with Y/N today?” Sylus spoke slowly, as if sounding out syllables to a baby. “Is what I’m hearing correct, Luke?”

Kieran not-so-subtly kicked Luke in the shin. Luke stifled a groan. Rather than be on their way to Linkon (and to you), they were here being confronted by the boss. It was an unfortunate slip-up from Luke as they were about to leave, which caused Sylus to sternly halt their exit.

“Yes, boss.” Luke replied, trying to stand up straighter with only one good shin.

“And for what reason exactly?” Sylus asked.

Luke resignedly sighed.

“They wanted someone to–”

“Help clean their apartment!” Kieran quickly finished.

He turned and gave a pointed glare to his twin brother. You better follow along, it seemed to threaten.

Luke began nodding profusely, “Yep! Gosh, boss, you wouldn’t even believe the mess!”

“This type of menial work was probably too peasantry for you–”

“So, they invited us instead!”

Sylus’ henchmen stood there, looking quite proud of themselves and their innocent display. Sylus rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Luke and Kieran could do any task Sylus asked, no matter how dirty, and yet they were quite terrible at lying. Maybe he needed to teach them some skills in deception later. He dismissed them sharply with a wave of his hand.

“Go. Make sure to return before I leave this evening.”

The henchmen bowed, preparing to scurry away, but before they could, Sylus spoke again,

“Don’t take your eyes off them for even a second, do you understand?”

They turned back to Sylus and nodded, bowing once again.

“And–”

Sylus’ continual interruption of their exit left them in an awkward position right at the threshold of his office.

“–they don’t enjoy mopping, so I trust one of you will play the gentleman and take up that task.”

“You got it, boss.” Luke and Kieran said in unison before finally departing.

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Sylus was planning on sleeping before your date in the evening, but that was completely out of the question now.

Hanging out with Luke and Kieran? To, supposedly, clean? He knew what they had told him was a lie. However, a small, burning part of him was frustrated. If that had been the truth, he naturally would have been the far better partner. With the time you had shared together, surely you had not so quickly found his own company lacklustre in comparison to his henchmen. He could have been in your apartment, with you, cleaning together. Instead, he was in his mansion, alone, and grumpy. Grumpy enough to open his tablet, and switch to his camera feeds connected to Mephisto.

He had asked if his skilled companion could do a bit of reconnaissance at your apartment to confirm what this ragtag trio were doing. As the camera feed loaded, he saw that your home was empty. Internally, he cursed. Mephisto flew down to street level, and, as luck would have it, three familiar people stepped out of the apartment complex. Luke and Kieran were there (wearing face masks and caps that disguised their faces as opposed to their crow masks) along with you.

Sylus sat up in his bed.

He followed this trio as they walked to a nearby clothing store. Unfortunately, it would be considered odd for a crow to be indoors, so all Mephisto could do was perch atop a bench in front of the establishment and watch the three of you retreat inside behind the automatic glass doors.

Tossing the tablet aside onto the silk sheets, Sylus crossed him arms. If the thought of not being able to clean with you had made him grumpy, then seeing that he was not invited to shop for clothes with you truly made his blood boil with jealousy. As he attempted to get some rest, he thought about casual ways to mention on this evening’s date how he could rent out entire department stores for you if you wanted.

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Sylus tapped his dress shoes rhythmically against the floor, awaiting your door to be opened after he had rung the bell. He had arrived at exactly 5 o’clock to pick you up, and although he was always well put together, he put in a little extra effort on his hair this time.

He heard the door unlock, slowly opening to only reveal your head poking out. He cocked his head to the side.

“Sweetie, are you trying to hide from me?”

“Mmm, think of it more like I’m building anticipation,” you explained with a grin on your face.

Sylus laughed fondly. He leaned his own head against the wall beside the doorframe, turning to look at you.

“Consider me sufficiently anticipated,” he replied. “Now, may I see you?”

You gestured for him to move back so you could give a grand reveal.

“I just bought this today.”

The door swung open, and you stepped outside.

“How do I look?”

Very little could surprise Sylus; however, you had utterly blindsided him in this moment. You were wearing a dress that Sylus didn’t recognise from your current wardrobe. He knew then that the outing with Luke and Kieran had been to surprise him with a new dress for your date.

Flowy, ruby fabric draped against your figure, reaching down to your ankles. His eyes followed the heart-shaped neckline that framed the pearl necklace that rested at your collarbones, matching the accessory in your hair. All this prepared just for him.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he breathed.

Closing the distance, he snaked a hand around you, toying with the smooth material under his warm fingertips. Seeing how gorgeous you were almost alleviated his earlier frustrations, until he came to a sour realisation.

“Though, I can’t help but be… annoyed that Luke and Kieran saw this surprise before me.”

You bit your lip. Of course, Sylus had figured out what his henchmen were doing throughout the day. His voice grew deeper as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, kitten, you should invite me to go with you instead.”

XAVIER ⟡

It took very little to spark Xavier’s jealousy, as much as the man himself would want to deny it. Strangers, colleagues, and acquaintances could cause his unassuming appearance to transform into a hostile front if they got too friendly with you. But today was another ordinary workday, so there would surely be no situation where Xavier should feel such a way.

There had been a string of quiet days at the Hunters Association that meant that Team Alpha could finally make use of their office. Namely you and Xavier, who usually were assigned to field missions. Your neglected chair squeaked under your weight as you stretched your body, lifting your arms high into the air then relaxing. Twirling the pen in your hand, the words on page about recent energy fluctuations seemed to swirl in your vision. Xavier turned from his own desk to observe you.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine.” He stood up, the wheels of his chair clattering against the hard floor. “Do you want one too?”

“Green tea, please,” you replied.

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” you decided. You clapped your hands against your face, squishing your cheeks. “I need to shock my system to wake it up.”

Xavier’s face broke into a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Before he could walk away, a voice called out your name.

“Morning Y/N!”

Xavier narrowed his eyes slightly at the approaching man.

He was tall (though not as tall as himself), with ashy hair precisely tousled to reveal his forehead, and friendly eyes. Xavier’s senses heightened in the same way as they would in a battle with a Wanderer. The unfamiliar man had greeted you with such familiarity. Only two words had been spoken, yet it was enough to irk Xavier. If he had called you less kindly, that would have helped to lower his guard.

To his surprise, the man turned his attention towards him.

“Ah, you must be Xavier! I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Andrew, head of the Data Analysis sector.”

Xavier stared at Andrew’s hand for a moment—blinking and discerning. Head of Data Analysis… Is this some kind of power move? He gave the hand a brusque shake.

“Excuse me, I need to get some drinks for the two of us,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away to the office’s break room.

Andrew furrowed his brows as he watched Xavier leave.

“Quite elusive, isn’t he?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe when you first meet him. But once you get to know him, you’ll see just how reliable he is.”

The tenderness in your tone came unconsciously to you, but it always happened when you spoke about Xavier to others. Especially towards those who might misinterpret his neutral disposition.

Small talk continued over the next minute between you and Andrew, until he suddenly looked at you with a slight frown.

“There’s an eyelash on your face,” he said, pointing vaguely to the left side of your face.

You used your fingers to swipe across your skin, yet Andrew still shook his head.

“No, no. It’s right here.”

He brought his finger closer to show you exactly where it was.

The dull thud of plastic bottles falling to the ground could be heard a couple of metres beside you. A blinding light zipped through the air, alongside a gust of air that swept your hair back. Before you could even register what had caused this phenomenon, Xavier appeared between you and Andrew. Your wide eyes stared at his hand gripping Andrew’s wrist.

“Xavier?” you called in surprise.

Xavier seemed equally shocked at how instinctually he acted. One moment he had seen Andrew’s hand move closer to your face, and the next he was face-to-face with him.

“I-I don’t know what came over me.” He released Andrew from his iron hold. “I'm really sorry”.

With a small bow, Xavier braced himself, ready to receive the full brunt of anger from the Head of Data Analysis. He shuddered at the thought that this might be reported to Captain Jenna. Instead, Andrew shook his head calmly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave an understanding smile, observing your worried expression towards Xavier. “In fact, I do believe this was my bad.”

The abandoned green tea bottles rolled lazily beside the desks, and Andrew picked them up. “I’ll be heading off to my office now, I’ll see you two later.”

Handing the drinks to you and Xavier, you both expressed your thanks. As Andrew left, you turned to Xavier.

“Xavier,” you spoke slowly, “what exactly was that?”

He scratched his head and diverted his eyes from you.

“I saw he was getting too close, and my body moved faster than my head…”

It was hard not to react at how adorably guilty he looked.

What am I going to do with you? You thought, sighing in affectionate amusement.

“I know how it must have looked from afar, but there was just an eyelash on my face that Andrew was trying to point out,” you explained.

Again, you swiped a finger across your face. “I still don’t know where it is though.”

Your movements were halted as Xavier gently grasped your wrist. He leaned in close, examining your face. You felt his light touch against your eyelids as he took off the lash.

“You know, there’s a superstition about this,” he began, handing the lash to you.

“They say if you have a stray eyelash, you can use it to make a wish.”

He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning red believing his next words to perhaps sound a little childish.

“So, I wanted to be the one who would give you that wish.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

Rafayel’s jealousy would make itself known to you the moment he felt it. Though he would hide it between clever, teasing remarks, it was cute to see how clingy he got when it happened. And there was no better situation to provoke such feelings than at a gala hosted by Flux Arts. Admittedly, it was difficult to get the artist himself to attend these gatherings that featured one of his own paintings, so Thomas had to devise a convincing reason for him to go. That reason, naturally, being you. If you were his plus one, Rafayel could certainly face any battle.

You stood in front of Rafayel’s painting now as he had left you for the moment to speak with Thomas. Even after being exposed to his work many times (both mid progress and completed) they still managed to instil awe within you.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The voice pulled you back into the room, and you looked over at the stranger beside you. He appeared to be slightly older and was likely a wealthy, enthusiastic patron of the gala.

“Yes, it is,” you agreed. “It’s one of my favourites.”

In truth, you favoured it because you were there when Rafayel painted it. From start to finish, he had you at his side. Though abstract, upon closer inspection, one could extrapolate details of a city with glorious towers and vibrant, thriving coral. It held a special place in your heart.

The man’s eyes were glued to the painting.

“Rafayel truly is an artist you get once in a lifetime.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in the gentleman’s compliment.

“It’s hypnotising to witness the scenes he creates,” he continued. “He seems to bare his soul in each painting.”

“He is quite an expressive man,” you commented, breathing a small laugh.

From picking out the perfect outfits to the perfect paint materials, passion infused every part of Rafayel’s life, including in his relationship with you. It was one of his greatest traits you adored about him.

The familiarity in your tone was lost on the man, who believed you to only be an admirer of the artist, and not an admirer of a different sort.

The conversation continued, and you discovered the man to be a professor of history. He had discovered Rafayel through his own interest in ancient civilisations such as Lemuria. You couldn’t help but beam with pride listening to the man speak so highly of Rafayel, and the impression his works had left on him. The man soon took his leave, thanking you for entertaining his enthusiastic ramblings.

You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice Rafayel with his arms folding behind you. He graciously gave you a few seconds to detect his presence. Though, his frown grew as you continued to be, supposedly, too starstruck from your earlier conversation with that stranger.

He cleared his throat loudly.

You spun around at the familiar voice.

“Raf! How long have you been standing there for?”

He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. However, anyone with two eyes could have guessed the annoyance on his face.

“Enough to hear the last bits of your conversation.” He strode to your side, arms still folded tight across his chest. “Found interesting company so soon after I left?”

You closed the gap between the two of you with a step, preparing to explain the true nature of that conversation. Not letting you interrupt his sulking, Rafayel continued,

“I need to be more wary. There are too many people here wanting to whisk you away from me.”

As soon as you walked into the gallery arm-in-arm, people’s eyes were drawn to the two of you. At his mention that you were the centre of attention, you had dismissed it, saying it was him everyone took interest in.

Tilting your head to the side, you placed your hands your hips, almost as if to say: Are you going to let me speak?

Rafayel quickly conceded, spluttering out his next question, “And why were you being so chummy with that stranger, anyway?”

“That stranger said he was a professor of history specialising in ancient cities, and that he’s been an admirer of your works for a long time,” you answered.

Poking at his cheek with your finger, you attempted to remove his pout that remained affixed on his face.

“I was being chummy because he was complimenting your work! It made me happy to hear that people have such high praise for you and your paintings.”

Rafayel’s pout disappeared.

“It just made me think… how proud I am to have you as my partner,” you smiled. “You leave a profound impression on people.”

Your words resonated in his head. He stood motionless, with only the slow blink of his eyes.

His lack of reaction made you flush.

“Ah, that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry–”

The apology stopped short in your throat as you were scooped into a tight hug. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around your waist. A few gala attendees looked over at the young couple with admiring gazes, wondering what could have happened that would cause such open affection.

Rafayel nuzzled his forehead into the curve of your neck, mumbling right by your ear, “Jeez, here I was trying to be jealous…”

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cressidagrey · 17 days ago

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In Denial

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times Lando Norris probably should have realised that his teammate had a child, but never did and 1 time Oscar Piastri made very clear that he is a father.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The most colourful beaded bracelet in existence

It was their first official McLaren shoot as teammates. Media day. Race suits. Matching smiles. More lights and cameras than either of them had patience for.

The studio was freezing.

Typical, Lando thought, shivering slightly as someone adjusted the collar of his race suit for the third time. Glossy black floor, high-power lights, white backdrop — the usual setup. All sleek, all clean, all perfectly curated for sponsor-ready content.

Across from him, Oscar Piastri was already mid-shoot.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink too much. Just stood there with that absurdly steady posture and those deadpan, almost neutral expressions that somehow read as confident and composed on camera. Arms folded. Chin slightly tilted. That understated brand of cool that made McLaren’s marketing team positively froth at the mouth.

That was one of the first things Lando had noticed about Oscar — how quiet he was. Calm. Low-effort on the surface, but the kind of low-effort that made you realize it was actually hiding effort in a very specific, efficient way. Not cold, exactly. Just... still. A little private. And hard to read unless you really tried.

They weren’t close yet. But they weren’t strangers either. A few simulator sessions. Some preseason testing banter. Dinner once, in a group, where Oscar had said maybe twenty words total — but had watched everything. Not in a weird way. Just in that Piastri way. Calculated. Patient.

So Lando wasn’t surprised when Oscar handled media day like he handled everything else — with the expression of someone who had long ago accepted the chaos and decided to simply outlast it.

What did surprise Lando was the bracelet.

It caught his eye halfway through Oscar’s solo shoot.

Right wrist. Tucked just under the edge of the suit cuff. Beads.

Chunky plastic ones — definitely the homemade kind, with alphabet letters, random sparkly shapes, a few bright neons. The kind you’d make at a kids’ party. It clashed completely with the McLaren fireproofs, and absolutely no part of it matched the slick, brand-polished aesthetic of the shoot.

Lando narrowed his eyes. There was a glittery dinosaur bead. He was almost sure of it.

He leaned over to one of the stylists nearby, curiosity piqued. “Hey. Is he supposed to be wearing that?”

The stylist glanced at the screen, then rolled her eyes fondly. “Tried to take it off. He said, and I quote, ‘It stays.’”

Lando raised both eyebrows. Oscar, the human embodiment of “yeah, sure, whatever you need,” had refused to remove a beaded dinosaur bracelet?

“For real?”

“Dead serious. Wouldn’t even consider it. Said it was for ‘focus.’” She shrugged, like it wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d seen today — which, to be fair, it probably wasn’t.

Lando stared a second longer, then turned away, biting back a smirk. “That’s so weird.”

But not in a bad way. Just… unexpected.

It was his turn soon after.

They swapped spots in front of the camera. Oscar stepped down, took the bottle of water someone handed him, then wordlessly handed Lando one as well — like he’d read his mind.

“Cheers,” Lando muttered.

Oscar just nodded, sipping his own. Then:

“Nice accessory,” Lando said casually, nodding toward the bracelet as he took the water.

Oscar didn’t even glance down. “It’s for focus.”

Lando raised a brow. “Right. Because nothing says elite athlete like a kindergarten craft project.”

Oscar did glance at him this time. But not with offense. Just a kind of calm indifference.

“It helps me remember what actually matters,” Oscar said calmly.

F1 Driver and Snack Mule

Lando looked up from his phone when he heard the private jet door seal with a soft thunk, expecting to see Oscar stroll in like he always did: calm, quiet, annoyingly composed, maybe a hoodie half-zipped, headphones around his neck.

Instead, Oscar Piastri appeared in the aisle looking like the final boss of an airport convenience store.

It was almost comical. One over-the-shoulder canvas tote, handle fraying. One plastic bag from what looked like a 24-hour corner mart — already strained to breaking. One very full backpack that absolutely should not have been that heavy unless it was packed with bricks, hardcover physics textbooks, or illicit quantities of pineapple tarts. And dangling from his wrist: a second tote with a glass bottle poking out of the top like the flag of carbohydrate surrender.

Lando stared. Horrified. “…Why do you look like a snack-themed pack mule?”

Oscar dropped into his seat across the aisle, completely unfazed by his appearance. “Oh. I had a list.”

“A list?” Lando echoed, eyes darting between the bags like one of them might spontaneously explode. “Of what? Food to outlive the apocalypse? A year’s supply of… squid?!”

Oscar adjusted the seatbelt over his mountain of bags. “Some of this is hard to find in the UK. It’s just smart logistics.”

At that exact moment, one of the plastic bags betrayed him. It split with an unfortunate pop and dumped half its contents across the aisle carpet.

Lando leaned forward to get a better look and immediately recoiled.

Out spilled: —A large bag of sweet chili crab chips. —Two packs of pastel-wrapped milk candies. —A sealed glass jar of something brown and deeply alarming. —snacks with so many chili peppers printed on the bag it looked like a dare —Five types of instant noodles, all labeled in languages Lando didn’t speak. —Something that was either a sesame snack or a trap. —And, inexplicably, a box of Hello Kitty band-aids.

Lando blinked harder.

Oscar saw his face and added, like it helped, “Some of it’s not for me.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lando muttered as Oscar started sorting the contents of the split bag into the other bags.“You opening a snack stall mid-flight?”

Oscar opened a shrimp chip bag and popped one in his mouth. “Want some?”

Lando took one sniff.

Gagged audibly.

“OH MY GOD,” he wheezed. “THAT SMELLS LIKE SEAFOOD DIED IN A TRASHCAN.”

Oscar shrugged, chewing peacefully. “You’re dramatic.”

Lando had fully recoiled into the corner of the seat. “That is not food. That’s a warning sign. I’m going to smell like a fish market by the time we land.”

Oscar opened a second bag. “This one’s milder.”

Lando peeked. “What’s that?”

“Dried squid.”

Lando gagged again. “You have layers, Piastri. None of them are good.”

Oscar reached for the closed glass jar, filled with some brown paste, checked the lid, nodded like he was mentally ticking off inventory. “Hard to find a good brand at home.”

Lando stared. “Who even eats this much weird stuff?”

Oscar’s eyes flicked up just slightly.

And that’s when it clicked.

Lando didn’t say anything. Not out loud. But his brain — finally — started piecing it together.

This wasn’t “Oscar the Snack Enthusiast.”

This was “Oscar the Supply Mule for Someone Else.”

Someone very particular. Someone who didn’t want the Tesco version. Someone who sent him out with a list that included: “the pink milk tea, not the yellow one” and “not that brand, the other brand, you know the one.”

Oscar crunched another chip, calm as ever.

Lando eyed him. “So. Just you doing some shopping, huh?”

Oscar nodded.

Lando didn’t ask again.

But he did silently move one seat over when the durian candy came out.

Oscar being shockingly competent with kids

Lando didn’t think much of it at first.

It was just another media day.

Some local promotional thing for McLaren — sponsor meet-and-greet, fan Q&A, a few demo laps in a two-seater. The kind of chaotic-but-managed event they’d both done a dozen times. A little exhausting. A little awkward. Mostly harmless.

There were fans, of course. Grown ones. Screaming ones. Cool ones. Weird ones. The whole buffet.

But this one was different. There were kids. Lots of kids.

Some had come with families. Others were part of a junior karting initiative McLaren was launching — a handful of lucky young fans picked to tour the paddock and meet the drivers. There were matching T-shirts, oversized hats, those little paper lanyards they always lost within fifteen minutes.

Lando was fine with kids. Ish. He’d gotten better at it.

He crouched for selfies, signed baseball caps, knelt to high-five a girl who asked if he liked unicorns, and almost let one small boy sit on his shoulders until PR made eye contact with him and shook their head like he was about to commit a legal crime.

“Next time, little man,” Lando had said cheerfully, patting the kid’s head.

Then he’d stepped back, reached for his water, and glanced down the row toward Oscar.

And paused.

Because Oscar Piastri was crouched on both knees, arms resting loosely on them, eye-level with a girl who couldn’t have been more than four.

She was talking. Earnestly. Tiny hands flailing, expression serious.

Oscar was holding something — a piece of paper, maybe. Crinkled. Bright markers. Stickers.

He wasn’t rushing her. He wasn’t giving the half-smile-and-nod routine that Lando had seen a hundred times from drivers and team staff alike.

He was listening.

Really listening.

He held her earmuffs in one hand — the glow-in-the-dark kind with a space pattern on them — and tilted his head as she explained the rocket car she’d drawn for him. He smiled at the picture. Asked if she’d used glitter glue. Told her she had a good sense of aerodynamics.

Then, completely seriously, he handed her his cap.

“Wanna sign it?” he asked. “So I can remember you.”

The girl beamed. Lit up like a Christmas tree. She took the offered marker with the solemnity of a royal decree and scribbled something right on the brim of his hat.

Oscar glanced at it. “Best handwriting I’ve ever seen.”

Lando blinked.

Alright.

That was... weirdly natural.

Still watching, he saw Oscar gently return her earmuffs and wave her off toward the line of handlers. The girl skipped away, ecstatic.

But Oscar’s attention had already shifted.

There was a boy now — maybe five or six — standing stiffly just behind her. His hands were pressed against his sides. He looked overwhelmed. Pale. Eyes darting around. The noise, the crowd, the lights — it was too much.

Oscar stepped out of the way. Smooth, instinctive. Like he’d already clocked the signs.

He knelt again, this time a little more to the side. Not directly in front of the kid. Just there. Present. Safe.

And then, as if by magic, Oscar pulled something from his jacket pocket.

A juice pouch.

A whole juice pouch. With a bendy straw already poked in.

He offered it without a word.

The boy hesitated. Then took it. Slowly. Clutched it like a lifeline.

Oscar said something Lando couldn’t hear. The boy nodded.

And the moment passed. Quiet. Undramatic. But… important.

Lando stared.

No one just had juice pouches on them.

Unless, you were Oscar Piastri apparently.

Redecorating

Lando was bored.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t unusual.

But this brand of boredom was especially aggressive. The kind that clawed at your brain and made you wander aimlessly until you accidentally annoyed every single person in the building.

They were in the middle of a weather delay and a telemetry glitch. The engineers were scrambling like caffeinated ants, and even the usually chill media team had gone slightly feral over a reshoot that got rained out. There was nothing to do. No one to annoy who hadn’t already threatened him with a torque wrench.

Which was how he ended up outside Oscar’s driver room.

Hovering.

Like a stray cat looking for food and attention.

The door was cracked. A faint tapping sound came from inside — someone scrolling. Or texting.

“Yo,” Lando called through the gap. “You in there?”

Oscar’s voice came back, muffled and flat. “Yeah. Come in.”

Lando shoved the door open with the dramatic flourish of someone who had absolutely nothing else to do and flopped down onto the tiny couch tucked along the back wall like he owned the place.

Oscar didn’t even glance up from his phone.

“No, you can’t have my last protein bar.”

Lando scoffed. “I didn’t come here to rob you.”

Oscar looked up. “You always come here to rob me.”

“Well, not this time.”

“Suspicious,” Oscar muttered, but he didn’t seem bothered. He just turned back to his phone, thumb moving slowly over the screen.

Lando let his head loll back against the wall, eyes scanning the room.

It was, predictably, the most Piastri-like space ever. Minimal. Tidy. Not much flair. A clean stack of team shirts in the corner. Spare gloves lined up in perfect pairs. Charger cables coiled like they’d been arranged by a computer.

But then something caught his eye.

Drawings.

Not many — maybe six or seven in total — but they stood out. Bright against the otherwise monochrome setup. Crayon. Marker. One done entirely in glitter gel pen, which sparkled faintly in the overhead lights.

They weren’t on display, exactly. More like… tucked in. Slipped into corners of the mirror. Taped carefully to the inside of the locker door. One pinned to the corkboard with a bright pink pushpin.

One had Oscar’s race number scribbled in purple and red, surrounded by stars and what might have been hearts or tire marks.

Another showed a very vague interpretation of a Formula One car — lopsided wheels, dramatic flames, one suspiciously smiley face on the helmet.

Another still featured a chicken driving a race car.

Lando leaned forward to squint at that one.

Definitely a chicken.

“GO FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST,” it said in glitter pen under the drawing. The O in “GO” had eyes. The "S" in "FAST" had a lightning bolt through it.

Lando snorted.

That was… incredibly specific.

“Wow,” he said, smirking. “You’ve got a lot of fan art in here.”

Oscar finally looked up. “Hm?”

Lando gestured around the room, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just saying… this is the softest your room has ever looked. What, did a fan send you a care package?”

Oscar blinked once. Twice.

Then followed Lando’s gaze. Paused.

“Oh,” he said casually. “Yeah. It just felt kind of cold in here, you know? So I figured I’d redecorate.”

Lando blinked. “With chicken-themed fan art?”

Oscar shrugged. “Adds character.”

Lando couldn’t help but snort. Only Oscar would think that plastering fan art all over his drivers room would make it feel “warmer”.

A weird obsession with kid sized merch

Lando noticed it for the first time at the McLaren factory gift shop.

They were doing a casual walk-through after some filming, mostly killing time while someone printed updated media decks. Lando wandered toward the wall of merch — adult sizes, junior kits, baby onesies, even tiny McLaren teddy bears in miniature race suits.

He wasn’t really looking for anything.

Oscar, on the other hand, made a beeline straight for the kids’ section.

Again.

Lando leaned on the shelf. Watched.

Oscar stopped by the back racks — fully absorbed in comparing three different sizes of junior caps.

Children’s sizes. Bright colors. One of them had glitter.

Lando blinked.

Oscar picked one up, turned it in his hands, and squinted at the stitching like he was inspecting it for FIA approval.

Lando wandered over, casually sipping his drink. “Uh… you planning to wear that?”

Oscar barely glanced up. “No. This one’s too stiff. It’ll bug her ears.”

“…Her?”

“Yeah.” Oscar didn’t elaborate. Just picked up another and pressed the inside seam with his thumb. “The elastic on this one’s better, but the Velcro’s weak. It won’t survive more than a week.”

Lando squinted. “Mate, why do you know that?”

Oscar blinked at him like he’d just asked what 2 + 2 was. “Because I’ve bought five of them.”

“Why?”

Oscar’s voice was perfectly calm. “Because the glitter ones fall apart in the wash and the regular ones shrink in the dryer. The 2022 version held up best.”

Oscar was now holding up a toddler-sized hoodie like he was inspecting fabric for a bespoke suit. “Do you think this runs small?”

Lando blinked. “Mate, you’re not gonna fit into that.”

Oscar gave him a look. “It’s not for me.”

“...So you just spend your free time evaluating baby merch like it’s Pirelli compound data?”

Oscar shrugged. “They’ve upgraded the stitching. And the seams used to pill after a few washes.”

Lando stared at him.

Hard.

Because this wasn’t the first time. Oscar always stopped by the kids’ section. Asked weirdly specific questions about youth sizing and durability. Once, Lando had caught him muttering something about how the toddler cap’s brim was too short to be practical. A few months ago, he’d gotten into a five-minute debate with a merch rep about the brim angle on the toddler caps. Something about sun protection and ear coverage.

Back then, Lando figured Oscar just… liked miniature things. Or had a secret side hustle selling baby teamwear on eBay.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“…You do know you’re twenty-two and not a kindergarten stylist, right?” Lando asked, watching Oscar inspect a youth t-shirt like it had secrets.

Oscar nodded. “I know.”

“And you’re over here comparing fabric blends like you’re prepping a McLaren baby line?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, honestly. The old toddler polos had awful seams. They improved the 2024 batch.”

Lando just… stared.

Oscar wasn’t joking. Oscar was never joking about this stuff.

Finally, Lando said, slowly, “Mate. What is it with you and tiny clothes?”

Oscar shrugged. “They’re fun.”

+1: The one time Oscar made it very clear that he was a dad.

Lando heard them before he saw them.

He’d wandered out back looking for a charger and maybe a second espresso—just enough time to breathe between debriefs—when he caught the tail end of a conversation.

Four mechanics. Leaning against the pit wall crates. Talking louder than they probably should.

“Had to FaceTime during lunch again,” one was saying. “My kid wanted to show me his drawing. Looked like a bloody squid with legs. Had to pretend it was good.”

Another one snorted. “Mine locked himself in the pantry last week. Thought it was funny. I told my wife to deal with it—I was too tired.”

The others snorted.

“Mine’s worse,” another said. “Always clinging, always needing something. It’s like—I don’t get a break at work, and I don’t get one at home either. It’s exhausting.”

“Mine told me he missed me,” a third said, voice cold. “Like that’s my fault. What does he want, a medal? I’ve got a job. I pay for everything. That should be enough.”

The first mechanic groaned. “…I swear, every time I get home there’s some new passive-aggressive list on the fridge from the Mrs. As if I haven’t been working twelve-hour days in the heat.”

“Mine’s mad I missed her mum’s birthday. Sorry, forgot to pencil in emotional obligation between Bahrain and Jeddah.”

“Be glad your kid is still cute at least. Mine’s hit the talking-back phase. Thinks he’s a comedian. Little smartass. I swear, sometimes I look at him and just think—God, you ruined my sleep, my weekends, and my peace and quiet.”

Lando flinched.

He didn’t mean to listen.

He told himself to walk away.

But then—

Oscar’s voice. Low. Razor-sharp.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

It wasn’t loud.

But it cut through the air like a switchblade.

Lando stilled.

Oscar stood off to the side, arms folded, posture loose—but his face was hard. Cold. Not angry in the explosive way. Angry in the kind of way that stayed.

One of the mechanics laughed awkwardly. “Oh come on, mate. Wait until you’ve had kids for more than a week—”

“I have a three year-old,” Oscar said. Flat. Unapologetic. “And I’ve never once looked at her and thought she ruined anything.”

That shut them up.

Oscar stepped forward, voice soft, but lethal now. “You sit here and talk about your children like they’re inconveniences. Like they’re parasites who robbed you of something. But they’re kids. They didn’t ask to be born. They didn’t ask for your job or your exhaustion or your bitterness.”

One of the men tried to scoff. “It’s just venting—”

“No,” Oscar snapped. “It’s cruelty. Dressed up as banter.”

One of the mechanics snorted. “Alright, Piastri. Settle down.”

Oscar stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against a crate—quiet, composed, and lethal.

“No, I won’t,” he said. “Because I’ve heard this conversation three times this season. And every time it makes me want to be sick.”

Another mechanic scoffed. “You’re twenty-three, mate. What would you know? Come back and talk to us when you’ve had a toddler scream in your face for an hour straight.”

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“I have,” he said, voice steel-edged. “What do I know?” Oscar said, low and sharp. “I know more than you, apparently.”

The laughter died.

Oscar stepped closer, and when he spoke again, it was the kind of voice Lando had only ever heard on race comms—precise, icy, lethal.

“I know what it’s like to walk out the door while your kid clings to your leg crying and you still have to leave. I know what it’s like to miss first words and bedtime because your job doesn’t wait. I know what it’s like to hold my wife at night while she tries not to fall apart from doing everything alone.”

One of the mechanics muttered something under his breath—maybe “dramatic”—but Oscar cut him off.

“No,” he said, sharper now. “You don’t get to complain about your kid loving you. You don’t get to bitch about someone wanting your attention when they’re four years old and trying to understand the world. You don’t get to complain about your wives holding down the fort at home while you are gone.”

He stepped in fully now. Lando could just see the edge of him. Jaw tight. Hands still. Eyes like fire under ice.

“You think you’re tired? Your wives are tired. My wife holds our whole world together while I fly across time zones and come home with a smile and a suitcase. She handles everything—school, food, laundry, tears, scraped knees, nightmares. All the invisible things you think just… happen. You think your job is hard? Try explaining to a toddler why Papa’s never home.”

His voice dropped.

“And you sit here and talk about your kids like they’re weights around your neck instead of the best damn thing that ever happened to you?”

No one said a word.

“You think being exhausted means you’ve earned the right to resent your family? No. You want to know what makes someone a man? Showing up. Even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired. Because your family doesn’t stop needing you just because you had a long day.”

He looked around, eyes sharp enough to draw blood.

“You are not entitled to love. You’re lucky to receive it.”

Oscar’s face was set. Calm. Controlled. But there was fury simmering just beneath it—grief, too. And something bone-deep and unwavering.

“You think they slow you down? Maybe they’d be better off without you dragging them behind.”

There was a heavy pause.

Then, soft but with the impact of a sledgehammer:

“Being loved that hard is not a burden. It’s a gift. And if you’re too selfish to see that—then don’t be surprised when they stop waiting for you to come home.”

Silence.

Oscar didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one.

And then he turned.

Didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t look back.

Just walked away—like he’d said everything that needed to be said.

Lando stood there a second longer, heart still thudding.

Then, quietly, he turned and followed Oscar.

Because that?

That was the most brutal, honest thing he’d heard all year.

And somehow, he knew—

Bee would never have to wonder how loved she was.

Not with a dad like that.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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floatyflowers · 3 months ago

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Dark Male Lord Tremaine X Cinderella's mother! Reader

You are living a life of luxury as Lord Tremaine's new wife, residing in his grand estate with servants at your feet doing whatever they can to please you.

On the surface, everything appears perfect, a fairytale come true.

Your daughter, Ella, is treated with respect, a stark contrast to the cruel treatment often endured by stepchildren in such tales.

She shares meals with her stepsisters, participates in family outings, and is included in social gatherings.

Lord Tremaine seems fond of her, often engaging her in conversation and praising her accomplishments.

However, this happy facade begins to crumble three months into your marriage. Your health takes a downturn, a weakness overtaking you.

The cause remains a mystery, baffling both you and the physician summoned to your bedside.

Your decline is gradual, yet relentless, stealing your vitality day by day.

What was once a vibrant bloom of health has now faded, leaving you feeling fragile and vulnerable.

Adding to your distress, your once attentive and caring husband, Lord Tremaine, insists on confining you to your chambers for the majority of the day.

He cites concern for your well-being, claiming that rest is important for your recovery.

While you are granted access to the estate's beautiful gardens for a short period each day, your movements are otherwise restricted.

Adding to your woes, your time with your beloved Ella lessened with each passing day.

Lord Tremaine, citing the importance of your rest and the need to shield you from unnecessary activities, limits your interactions with her.

What were once frequent visits and shared moments now occur only occasionally, leaving you yearning for your daughter's presence and worrying about her well-being under her stepfather's watchful eye.

One day, while your husband was on a business trip, the physician paid you a visit and revealed that you had been given a medicine that weakens your body.

Of course, when Lord Tremaine returned you faced him with the truth.

You know what he did?

He only smirked before grabbing your hands into his large ones.

"Don't worry, the medicine will not kill you; it will keep you in check." He places one of his hands on the side of your cheek.

"I don't want you slipping from under my grasp like my first wife. The poor woman passed away so young."

You want to pull away, to scream, to do anything but sit here and listen to his morbid confession.

Yet, you only continue to listen to him as he speaks.

"She didn't understand,"

"Didn't understand the importance of our bond, the necessity of my...guidance."

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch lingering too long.

"But you, my dear," his eyes lock onto yours, a strange intensity burning in their depths,

"You are different. You will understand."

Seeing you stay silent boosted his threats.

"Beautiful little Ella is my third daughter; imagine what will happen to the poor, sweet girl if you disobey me?"

"You wouldn't," you whisper, your voice trembling, though you know better. The cold calculation in his eyes tells you he would. He will.

"Of course not," he says smoothly, his tone almost soothing, as if he’s trying to calm a frightened child.

"Not if you remain compliant."

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #possessive #romantic yandere #wife reader #yandere disney #disney x reader

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swytdoll · 5 months ago

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☁︎ sex with exconvict!toji is more enthralling than it should be!

cw: fem!reader, breeding, virgin!reader, toji’s mean:( unprotected sex, spanking, size difference, dacryphilia.

they say the devil is a diminutive red man with a pitchfork, but that's not true. he's the eloquent charmer, the smooth talker who knows precisely how to infiltrate your psyche. he's the man with the handsome visage, the man with the enigmatic steel eyes that you could never quite decipher. the man with the scar on his lip that narrated a tale he'd never disclose, the man with the name toji zenin.

the evening he’d staggered through the wooden door, with nothing but the tattered clothes on his back, you knew he was trouble. you’d been perched on the plush, toffee-colored sofa, legs folded delicately underneath your strawberry-patterned dress, which complemented your sun-kissed skin. the room was dimly lit by the flickering light of the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

it startled you to see this burly man with a rugged appearance and piercing eyes bursting into your cozy home. toji zenin was a formidable presence, his tall frame cloaked in clothes that clung to his muscular build, hinting at the strength beneath. his hair was dark and unruly, framing a face that bore the weathered marks of a hard life. a scar ran across his lip, adding to the air of danger that surrounded him. his steel-gray eyes were cold and calculating, and when his gaze locked onto yours, it felt as though he could see right through you. the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine, making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

you had prepared to scream, your heart pounding in your chest, until your father appeared behind him, his familiar, reassuring figure bringing a semblance of calm. “this is toji, darling… he’s going to be doing some work around the farm. just for a while.” your father's voice was steady, yet you couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in the air.

your father’s words hung in the air, but your eyes remained fixed on toji. you could see the weariness in his stance, the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if carrying an invisible weight. his hands were rough and calloused, evidence of a life filled with hard labor. the flickering firelight accentuated the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that made his expression even more inscrutable.

toji took a step forward, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor. the sound seemed to echo in the silent room, amplifying the tension. his gaze never wavered from you, and you felt a strange mix of fear and curiosity. there was something about him that was undeniably magnetic, despite the unease he stirred within you.

as he moved closer, you noticed the faint scent of earth and sweat clinging to him, a testament to his journey. he finally broke his gaze, glancing around the room before looking back at your father. “thank you for taking me in,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, yet carrying a hint of gratitude.

your father nodded, placing a reassuring hand on toji’s shoulder. “let’s get you settled in,” he said, guiding him towards the back of the house. you watched them disappear down the hallway, the sense of foreboding still lingering. you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble toji zenin had brought with him, and how it would change the quiet life you’d known on the farm.

two weeks had passed since toji zenin stepped through that intricately carved door, and things on the farm had shifted in ways you never expected. he’d settled into the routine of hard work, but there was something about him that still set your nerves on edge. the way he moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, the way he spoke just enough to keep you guessing—it all felt like he was hiding something.

you’d caught him a few times, deep in conversation with shady-looking visitors who pulled up in sleek cars that didn’t quite match the rustic charm of the farm. their hushed tones and furtive glances made your heart race. it was hard not to suspect that toji was tangled up in something dangerous, maybe even the mafia. the thought sent chills down your spine, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue he held over you.

one afternoon, you found yourself lingering by the barn, pretending to organize tools as you watched him work. his muscles flexed under the sun, glistening with sweat, and for a moment, you forgot your suspicions. but then you noticed the way he’d occasionally look over his shoulder, as if expecting someone. it was a small detail, but it made your stomach twist.

“hey,” he called out, breaking your thoughts. “you need help with that?” his voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it that made you wary. you hesitated, weighing your options. could you really trust him? or was he just a charming facade hiding something darker?

you hesitated for a moment, then decided to play it cool. “sure, if you don’t mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. you handed him a rake, your fingers brushing against his. the contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he didn’t notice.

toji took the rake and started working beside you, his movements fluid and efficient. he was shirtless, his toned muscles glistening under the sun. his light blue levi jeans hung low on his hips, and his black boots kicked up dust with every step. his hair was matted with sweat, and he occasionally wiped his hands on a damp cloth he kept tucked in his pocket. “you’ve been watching me,” he said casually, not looking up. it wasn’t a question, more like a statement of fact.

your heart skipped a beat. “just making sure you’re doing it right,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. but the way his lips curved into a faint smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“is that so?” he murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours. there was a glint in them, something that made your pulse quicken. “or are you wondering why someone like me ended up on a farm like this?”

you swallowed hard, caught off guard by his directness. “maybe a little of both,” you admitted, deciding there was no point in lying. “you don’t exactly fit the typical farmhand profile.” toji chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “life’s full of surprises,” he said cryptically. “sometimes, you end up in places you never expected.”

you wanted to press him for more, to dig into his past and uncover the truth. but before you could say anything, he straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow. “let’s finish up here,” he said, his tone signaling the end of the conversation. as you worked side by side, you couldn’t shake the feeling that toji zenin was a puzzle you were desperate to solve, even if it meant uncovering secrets that could change everything.

now toji would be lying if he said he hadn’t found interest in the farmer’s daughter. how could he not? pretty dresses, and an even prettier face. your eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, and every time you laughed, it was like a melody that stuck with him long after. despite his rough exterior and the secrets he carried, he couldn't help but be drawn to your warmth and genuine spirit.

he noticed the way you moved with grace, even when doing the simplest tasks around the farm. your hair, always perfectly styled, framed your face in a way that made you look like you belonged in a different world, far from the dirt and toil of the fields. you had a way of making everything seem brighter, and toji found himself looking forward to the moments when your paths would cross.

the kindness was another thing that caught him off guard. you treated everyone with a gentle touch and a kind word, even him, the stranger with a past he tried to hide. there was an innocence about you, but also a strength that he admired. it was a combination that made you irresistible, and toji knew he was in deeper than he wanted to admit.

you couldn’t exactly recall how’d you ended up squished between two stacks of hay as toji fucked you mercilessly. the thrusts he delivered nothing short of cruel, folding you further into the prickly stack as you whimper sweetly. he almost couldn’t believe it when you’d taken him all at once, his eyes fluttering shut as your pretty tight pussy clenched around him so delicately. “virgin huh? god, you’re so slutty. what would daddy think of you being stretched out like this, hmm?”

you can only whine at his words, voice long gone. “ah!” the feel of his large hands spreading you apart has you sobbing, “oh she’s wet. you’ve been thinking about this for a while huh? i bet you’ve touched yourself to the thought of me plenty of times. such a slut.” his words are mean, but the way he splits you is meaner. “mhmmm, oh my gosh!” stars kiss your eyelids as his throbbing tip presses repeatedly into that gummy spot inside of you.

it leaves you a moaning mess, the sounds of skin slapping filling the entire barn. the sound of it has your pussy fluttering and your head spinning.

your toes curl as he pounds into you relentlessly. you can barely form a thought, only able to focus on the feeling of him ruining you. your cunt squelches obscenely, juices dripping down your thigh. your breasts jiggle, the tips of them brushing the hay every so often.

and much as toji wants to be gentle with you, the way you cry for him, beg him to taint you has him gripping the fleshy meat of your hips. he doesn't care if you're bruised, he just needs to hear more. your voice is so delicate, yet so needy. the way your face scrunches up, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure. it all goes straight to his cock. the way you're stretched around him is lewd, the way your tits jiggle is even more so.

"so pretty." his thumb rubs your clit gently, his voice a growl, "be good and cum for me baby. be a good girl and cum on this big dick, yeah?" you nod frantically, unable to speak as his thrusts become more and more punishing. his words a broken record in your head, good girl, good girl, good girl.

"gonna- gonna cum!" he grins, his hand rubbing your clit even faster. his own orgasm is fast approaching, the way you're squeezing his dick so tight.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm close too, fuck." the hand rubbing your clit goes to your neck, gripping the tender flesh and forcing you to arch your back even more.

he's nearing the edge, the coil in his stomach becoming tighter and tighter. "cum with me. cum." it's the only warning you get before he's releasing, his thrusts still brutal as he empties himself inside of you. his thumb is still rubbing your clit, the overstimulation too much as you squirt around his pulsating cock. the sight of it has him grinning, and the fact that he’s the first one to make you squirt making him proud.

his thumb continues flicking your bud, slower this time, as he rides out his orgasm, the overstimulation too much as a small orgasm wracks through your body. then he’s spanking you. one hit. then two. then three. then five.

your ass stings, but you can only whine at his cruelty. he pulls out. it all happens so fast and he’s tucking himself back in and zipping his pants up. a grin is still on his face, a satisfied expression plastered across his features. "thanks for the fuck baby. see you around."

you watch his retreating figure, the door slamming shut behind him. you sigh, still facedown. the sound of his truck peeling off leaving a bad taste in your mouth. but the sticky cum that drips out of you as you struggle to clean yourself up has the butterflies in your stomach returning.

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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 4 months ago

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"Sky fall"

ok yall I did get a little inspired! Lmk how it is! I know its not what some of yall wanted but this is how I wrote it! Everything is coming together now! Sorry if its confusing <3

Tiffany’s footsteps echoed through the abandoned warehouse, each one measured, confident, as she strode deeper into the dimly lit space. The walls, once intimidating in their desolation, now felt like a stage set for her triumph. She was certain of herself, this was it. She had manipulated them all, pulled the strings, and now, with the Batfamily’s most sensitive intel in hand, she was untouchable. They would never see it coming. She had convinced herself that the web she had carefully spun was impenetrable.

But tonight, Tiffany was walking straight into a trap.

She paused at the center of the room, eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced ease. The flicker of lights overhead seemed almost theatrical, as if signaling the grand performance she was about to claim as her own. Her fingers tightened around the sleek metallic briefcase she held—inside it, the false intel she believed would seal her victory. She had rehearsed every step, anticipated every move. But there was one thing she hadn't accounted for: the Batfamily’s silence.

They were everywhere, but they weren't moving. Not yet. They were waiting.

From his position in the shadows, Tim watched through the Batcave’s live feeds, his eyes cold and calculating as he traced Tiffany’s every move. The family had worked tirelessly to set this up—baiting her with fake intel, feeding her just the right amount of information to guarantee she'd take the bait. She had, without fail, walked right into their hands.

Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Every signal, every encrypted line of data, it had all led to this moment. His chest tightened with the weight of his resolve. This ends now.

He didn't need to say it aloud. They all knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just about protecting Gotham, or the family’s secrets. It was about you. It was about taking back what Tiffany had stolen from you. Your life. Your identity. Your place in this family. Every single person in that room understood that this wasn’t just about a spy. This was personal.

“Now we finish this,” Tim’s voice rang through the comms, calm but with the sharp edge of finality.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick as smoke. Bruce, standing silently with his arms crossed, stared intently at the screen, his jaw set like stone. Dick, ever the optimist, now had no room for jokes. His usual playful nature was gone, replaced by a grim focus. Jason, less patient, was practically vibrating with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered between the screens and the door, his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode.

Damian was the quietest of them all, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched with fierce intent. His mind was only focused on one thing: her.

The trap was set, and now it was time for the family to act.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, a figure emerged, cloaked in darkness, stepping forward as silently as a shadow. It was Dick, moving with fluid precision as he approached Tiffany from behind. His voice came out low, dangerous. “Thought you had us all fooled, didn’t you, Tiffybear?”

Tiffany froze, her body tensing as she spun toward the sound of the voice. The briefcase slipped from her grip, clattering against the concrete floor as her eyes met Dick’s.

"Dick! Hey! What are you doing here? I thought I said I wanted to be alone." Tiffany asked, her tone clipped and annoyed.

Dick’s voice was almost mocking, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “You never had a chance. You just didn’t know it yet.”

From all sides, the rest of the Batfamily moved into position, emerging from the shadows, closing in.

Tim’s voice cut through the silence again. “You thought you could replace her, Tiffany. Thought you could take what was hers and make it your own. But you were wrong.”

Tiffany’s eyes darted between them, confusion creeping in as the weight of the situation began to sink in. Her lips curled into a sneer. “What is this? You can’t—”

“We already know,” Jason interrupted, stepping forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. “You’ve been feeding information to our enemies. Stealing. Lying to us. Pretending to be someone you're not. And all for what? To replace her? To become her?” His voice trembled with rage, each word fueled by the months of anger, the betrayal, and the crushing realization that someone he had trusted had been working against him all along.

Tiffany’s composure faltered, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve always been here, helping, supporting—”

“You’re a liar,” Tim spat, stepping forward. His gaze was unwavering, every ounce of anger and frustration channeled into his words. “You stole everything from her. Her identity, her life, her place in this family. And now, you're trying to replace her. No more games.”

Bruce’s voice, low and steady, cut through the tension. “We gave you a chance. We treated you like family. And this is how you repay us?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. She took a step back, her breathing growing erratic. For the first time since she’d entered the room, doubt crept into her expression. The confidence, the arrogance that had once defined her shattered before their very eyes.

“This ends now,” Bruce said again, his words as cold as steel. He motioned to Dick, who moved to secure Tiffany’s exit, blocking her every attempt to escape.

Damian’s voice, soft but filled with a dangerous edge, broke through the noise. “You think you can erase her? You think you can take her place? You think you can get away with this? Jail will be the least of your problems soon” He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing with intense focus.

Tiffany recoiled, as if he had struck her, her eyes flickering between the Batfamily members who had surrounded her. This wasn’t the victory she had imagined. This wasn’t the moment where she was crowned the perfect replacement. This was the moment where her lies crumbled, and she realized how deeply she had miscalculated.

Her hand shot out to grab the briefcase, but before she could move, Jason was already there. His grip was iron-tight as he snatched the case from her. “I think you’ve lost your audience, sweetheart.”

With the briefcase secured, and no escape left, Tiffany turned to face them all, her mask of composure slipping as panic began to seep in. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she spat, her voice trembling. “I’ve been working with people who can destroy you all. You’ll regret this. You’ll never get away with it.”

“We already have,” Dick said softly. “You’re done.”

The family, united, stood in the silence that followed, their collective presence so overwhelming that Tiffany felt smaller than she ever had. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Batfamily has finally seen through her. The game was over.

And in that moment, Tiffany realized that she was never in control.

She had never been in control.

They were.

As the family closed in, ready to bring her to justice for the harm she had done, Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard one last time. The Batcave’s monitors flashed again, but this time, it wasn’t encrypted files or hidden surveillance. It was a signal, one that would send Tiffany straight to the authorities, where she would finally face the consequences of her actions.

This was the end of Tiffany’s game.

And the beginning of the Batfamily reclaiming what was rightfully theirs.

Tiffany had underestimated them. She had underestimated the family.

Now, it was time to make her pay.

The jet’s wheels hit the tarmac with a soft hum, the quiet after the hum of engines almost disorienting. You stretched in your seat, flexing your fingers, aware of the long flight that had left your body restless, but you could already feel the change in the air. The tension. The suffocating weight of everything happening around you.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t get attached again, that you wouldn’t let your walls down. But there was something about Alfred’s letters that made it impossible to resist, something about the quiet, steady affection in his words that still clung to your memories of the Manor. You’d gone through all the motions, pretending like you weren’t angry, pretending like you didn’t resent the family for abandoning you, for believing the lies.

Yet here you were. Looking for closure and chasing love.

As the cabin doors opened a gust of cool Gotham air rushed in. It wasn't refreshing, it was as if the air held something dark and heavy that clung to you. The world outside was still dark, the city a blur of towering lights and shadows stretching across the skyline.

The car ride to the manor was a blur, it was as if your body was on autopilot the whole way. Alfred had sent a car to get you, thankfully the driver didn't insist on small talk.

Your stomach was filled with dread and you thought of asking the driver to take you back to the airport, Ariel and her family wouldn't mind if you came two days earlier than expected. You knew that, but your feet wouldn’t let you. The pull of the manor, even after everything, was undeniable.

The long drive up the winding gravel path to the front gates felt like an eternity. It always had, but this time it felt different. Almost like time was pushing you forward, faster than you were ready to go.

When the doors of the manor finally loomed in front of you, all lit up like a beacon in the night, a deep breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the same. Not anymore.

The family wasn’t here, at least, not all of them. It was strange, like stepping into a house full of ghosts and memories. You couldn't shake the feeling that things had shifted in ways you couldn’t yet see. But you were about to find out, weren't you?

Alfred was the first to greet you, of course. His warm smile, the familiar twinkle in his eyes, felt like home. He wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws and he also brushed you off for the imposter, but there was no one else who had ever been as constant, as unshakeable in your life.

“It's wonderful to see you. I trust your ride was pleasant?” Alfred asked gently, as he took your luggage from you and wrapped you into a gentle and warm hug. His voice, though calm, held something you couldn’t quite place. It was the way he always spoke when there was trouble brewing underneath the surface.

You bit back the rush of emotion threatening to spill out. The hurt you felt after he just allowed Bruce to exile you. You could feel the eyes of the manor on you, too many memories to process, too many ghosts to acknowledge. "It’s good to see you, Alfred," you said, and even though the words were kind, your stomach twisted with an unfamiliar unease.

Alfred never made you feel this way before, what changed?

He nodded, glancing briefly at the front door. "Master Bruce has been expecting you," he said, and though it sounded almost casual, there was something in the way he said it, something cautious, like a warning wrapped in politeness. "If you'd like, I’ll have your things brought up to your room."

Your heart dropped, Bruce was expecting you? Since when did he stay up late to wait for your arrival? Did Tiffany say something? Did he find you finsta? Your tik tok??

You shook your head, masking your unease and licking your suddenly dry lips. "No, it’s fine. I’ll head straight to the study, it must be important and it won't take long hopefully." You said almost reassuring yourself.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was clear he knew better than to ask more. He simply offered a silent nod, stepping aside to let you enter the familiar grand hall.

Every step echoed as you walked through the long corridor, your shoes clicking on the polished checkered marble floors. The place looked untouched, the same lavish decor, nothing changed so why did it feel different? It felt like a time capsule, but you felt distorted, twisted in ways you didn’t quite understand yet.

And then, when you reached the study, the door was open an invitation, though not warm. Your heart picked up pace as you crossed the threshold.

Bruce sat at the large desk, his posture tense, the shadows of the room stretching long against his features. His eyes lifted from the documents in front of him when you entered, but there was no immediate anger in his eyes or anything hostile; so what did he want if not to scold you?

“You’ve made it. I hope your trip was pleasant.” There was a bite to his words, something you couldn’t place, but his eyes never wavered from yours. You realized then that something had shifted in him too. Something had changed.

"It was good. How've you been? Busy? Your phone fixed yet?" you asked coolly, crossing your arms, eyes narrowing slightly. A jab at him for never answering your calls and texts.

Alfred had mentioned that Bruce was expecting you, but he hadn’t said why.

“You could say that," Bruce responded, leaning back in his chair, his steely gaze never leaving yours. "But now that you’re here, I think we need to have a conversation."

Your false confidence was shaking and you were reduced to a scared child standing in front of her all-powerful father. You couldn't handle being blamed for anything or pushed aside for Tiffany anymore.

You faltered, the tension between you both palpable. "About what exactly? I haven't done anything wrong."

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the large monitor beside him, flicking a few buttons. The screen lit up with files, encrypted footage, and images you didn’t recognize at first glance.

You could already feel your pulse racing. This was about to get interesting.

"About Tiffany," Bruce said, and the very mention of her name made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t explain. His eyes never left you as he clicked the first file open. “I think it’s time you knew the truth.”

You felt a sick satisfaction knowing you were right all along, that you figured out what The Batman couldn't.

As you watched the first videos, you couldn't stop yourself from scoffing, this wasn't anything new. You knew Tiffany was a spy, but as the videos continued, your skin began to crawl.

Tiffany walking into your room at night and coming out with arms full of things you thought you lost.

Tiffany following you into the library and reading all the books you read. Imitating everything you did.

What really made bile rise to your throat was the last video, there Tiffany was, in the laundry room sniffing and wearing your dirty clothes.

You stood in front of Bruce, frozen and naesous, waiting for him to speak.

" You knew Tiffany was a spy, you told me of how she treated you, and I brushed you off and called you a liar; for that you have my never ending apology and regret. However, there are things about her that even you didn't know." Said Bruce standing and walking toward you, his eyes were different from how they usually looked. Usually cold and unforgiving, they now held remorse and regret, and if you didn't know better, love.

He gently grabbed your hands and turned you toward him, "I'm sorry. For everything. I am the world's biggest fool for how i've treated you these years."

That was all you wanted to hear for years, those sentences healed the cracks in your heart but your eyes burned with tears and you quickly took a step back; snatching your hands from his calloused ones, "Sorry changes nothing." You bit back, suddenly feeling a rush of anger and hurt that gave you confidence.

Your father sighed and took a step back, "I know." He said looking at you with longing.

You turned your head, acrylics burning and digging into your crossed arms. You couldn't bare to look at him, he looked pathetic when he pulled that face. He looked like you. He looked at you in the same way you looked at him all these years, longing and desperate for love.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" you asked faking nonchalance when in reality you couldn't wait to get in your bed and cry.

Bruce sighed again, "No. I need to explain why we all reacted that way to her and we need to talk about your own special.....abilities."

For the next hour, you sat with Bruce in his study, closer than you've ever been, as he explained who Tiffany truly was and why she was able to fool everyone. Your mind was running a million miles per minute as he spoke, it all made sense now.

Why Tiffany had that effect of the family, why she was so popular at school, why she was there that fateful night when you were bit.

Tiffany was working with an unknown organization, PATIENCE. She was planted into your school years ago to observe you and figure out how to infiltrate the Family. She was able to deceive everyone because she was also bitten by the snake but her body couldn't take the full transformation so her abilities were weaker than yours and mutated. She was able to release pheremones that intoxicated the mind, you weren't affected because you were immune.

She was there that night because she was also on a mission, a mission to kill the snake but it ended up escaping and biting you.

PATIENCE was working with the Joker on a one time partnership, they would give the Joker intel on Batman's plans in exchange for him allowing them to bring drugs through Gothams ports.

The situation was handled now, of course, but it was a miracle you survived the bite.

By the end of the conversation you were exhausted, but had never felt that relieved. Everything made sense now. You looked at Bruce only to find her already staring at you and your eyes watered once again. He had a reason for the Tiffany situation, but what about all those other years?

As you both got up, you to go to your room and sleep, and him to go to the Batcave, Bruce gently pulled you back.

In the middle of the hallway, he brought you into tight hug. He towered over you and buried his face into your hair, muttering apologies almost deleriously; and as you felt hot tears fall onto you, you wrapped your arms around his waist and began to sob into his chest.

"I hate you." you said your voice muffled and cracked,

"I know." He replied, voice soft and tears still falling yet refusing to let you see him cry.

"I don't forgive you. This can't change the past." You said sobbing even more yet leaning into his hard, toned chest.

" I know." He replied again somberly and more composed now.

As you parted ways, you could feel his eyes on you, willing you to look back.

You didn't.

That night you slept like the dead, your chest felt lighter than it had in years. When you woke the next morning, you felt hope for the first time in years. Maybe Bruce could redeem himself, not anytime soon, but someday. He had to work for it first. Prove he changed, buy you a birkin in every color and a house in every country and then you would think about letting go of the past.

As you walked down for breakfast in your linen pants and your ex-boyfriends NYU sweatshirt, all hope you had faded. You were so caught up in Bruce's apology that you forgot about the rest of them. And there at the table in the grand dining room sat Bruce at the head of the table with everyone of your siblings surrounding him, all chatting in hushed whispers and immediately going quiet as you walked into the room and sat in the only unoccupied seat right in the middle.

Bitterness filled your heart as you realized they were probably talking about you.

You were seated next to Damian and Tim with Duke and Jason across from you. As soon as you sat Alfred brought out the food, Cinnamon roll pancakes, your favorite along with all your favorite sides. All the tension left your body as you beamed and dug into the food, eyes rolling back as you tasted heaven.

No one spoke, but Jason smirked fondly, Damian rolled his eyes and Dick beamed, Bruce looked interested and Tim just stared creepily from next to you.

You blushed as you noticed everyones eyes on you, and suddenly your mood was ruined again as Duke caught your eye and chuckled "Some things never change huh? You loved these, remember that time-"

You pushed your plate away from you, grabbing a piece of french and cut him off coldly "No, no I don't." Your feelings were still hurt from his betrayal and he thought you could go back to normal? To before Tiffany?

His face fell and he opened his mouth closed it, simply looking away sadly.

"He hasn't even said anything! Why don't you let him tell the story, we all want to know!" Said Stephanie enthusiaticaly from next to Jason.

Who does she think she is? Why does she assume she's entitled to your happy memories? After everything she's said and done? After everything they all said and did?

Blood rushed to your head, your teeth burned and sharpened and and you couldn't stop the scoff escaping you. "Literally who was talking to you? Mind your own fucking business, I really don't give a shit about what you want. Or any of you really." You say standing up angrily and almost throwing the plate in her face.

The hall went silent as everyone stared at your standing, hostile form. Jason looked entertained, Cassandra was shocked for once, Dick looked frantic and concerned, Barbra's mouth was opening and closing in a fish like manner, Steph looked like you stabbed her, even Tim looked taken aback, and Bruce simply stared at you.

It was Damian that really set you off, he pulled your elbow attempting to sit you back down, "There's no fighting or cursing allowed at the table. Stop whining and sit down and finish your pancakes. This display is pathetic." He said arrogantly rolling his eyes at you in his fancy pajamas and messy hair.

You hadn't help that anger in years. HE was lecturing you about whining and fighting? him? That's rich. You don't know what came over you but you don't regret a thing.

You harshly pulled your elbow out his grip and decked him.

Straight.

In.

The.

Face.

You'd show him what fighting at the table really was. Your punch knocked him out of his chair and you heard something crack and heard everyone gasp, rushing out their chairs while you hissed and grabbed your favorite pancakes and shoved them in his stupid, similar looking, arrogant face. You punched him again for good measure and for fun. You were reaching for the syrup to pour on him when Tim tried to pull you away so you decked his scrawny ass too.

Honestly, the moments after were a blur but somehow you ended up in your room with Jason standing in your doorway hours later with chicken nuggets and a smirk.

taglist:

#yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere damian wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere bruce wayne x reader

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neocrias · 4 months ago

Text

Making out with svt

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert; you might find it a little kinky at some point;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive;

Scoups

The whole night, Seungcheol tried to focus on dinner, the conversation, and the sophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant. But it was impossible. From the moment you appeared in front of him, wearing that outfit that hugged your body in a way that seemed tailor-made to tease him, nothing else mattered. His dark gaze kept falling on you every second, his jaw clenching every time you moved in a way that made it impossible to ignore the effect you had on him.

On the way home, the tension between you was palpable. The city passed unnoticed through the car windows while the only thing that truly mattered to Seungcheol was the sensation of your skin under his palm. His large hand rested firmly on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, occasionally pressing as if testing your patience as if making it clear what was coming next.

When he finally parked in front of your house, he got out of the car first. The click of the door opening echoed in the stillness of the night as he moved around, his calm, calculated movements with that dominant presence that made your breath hitch before he even touched you.

Seungcheol extended his hand, helping you out of the car, his eyes never leaving yours. As soon as you were standing, he shut the door behind you—and before you could even process the movement, his body was already pressed against yours on the car.

The impact was gentle but definitive. One of his hands found your waist, pulling you against him, while the other cupped the side of your face. And then, without hesitation, he took your lips.

The kiss was fierce, filled with everything he’d been holding back the whole night. Seungcheol wasn’t one for half-measures, and there, against the car, under the dim streetlight, he made that clear. His lips were demanding against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth without rushing, as if savoring every second, as if he’d been waiting for this for far too long.

When he felt you melt under his touch, the need for more took over. Without effort, one of his hands slid down the side of your body until it found your thigh, and in one swift move, he lifted it, pressing it against his waist. The contrast between the cold metal of the car and the heat of his body made a shiver run up your spine.

Dressed entirely in black, Seungcheol looked even more imposing. The dark shirt clung to his body, accentuating every defined muscle, and the strength with which he held you against him made it impossible to ignore how badly he wanted this.

The kiss didn’t slow down. Seungcheol deepened every movement, exploring, dominating, as if his intention was to etch the feeling into every cell of your body. The firm hand holding your leg against him, his chest rising and falling against yours, the muffled sound of heavy breathing between kisses – all contributing to the electricity that hung in the air.

When he finally broke the kiss, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with desire, he smiled crookedly.

— I should’ve brought you home earlier... — He murmured, his voice rough.

But the way he pressed his body against yours afterward made it clear that the night was far from over.

Jeonghan

The smell of your parents' house was familiar, a mix of fresh coffee and old wood that brought back childhood memories. Lunch had been peaceful, and Jeonghan, with his charming ways, had effortlessly won over your parents. He laughed at the stories they told about you as a child, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous interest only he could have.

After eating, you decided to give him a tour of the house. You walked through the rooms, stopping at every detail that was part of your history—the mark on the living room wall where you used to measure your height as a kid, the bookshelf filled with old books, the garden where you used to play. But it was in your bedroom that the tour truly ended.

The space felt smaller now, but it still carried your essence. Jeonghan was immediately distracted by the old photos scattered around, picking one up with an amused smile.

— Look at you here, such a cutie! — He laughed, holding a picture of you as a little kid. — Who would’ve thought that this innocent little face would grow up to be so bossy?

You rolled your eyes, throwing yourself onto the old bed with a sigh. The mattress creaked slightly under your weight, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting nostalgia wash over you. But before you could fully relax, you felt an added weight on top of you.

You opened your eyes only to find Jeonghan sitting on your lap, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as his fingers pinned your wrists against the mattress.

— Jeonghan… — You murmured, your heart racing.

— Yes? — He tilted his head, feigning innocence, but the playful glint in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

— My parents are in the next room.

He smiled even more, leaning down until his lips barely brushed against yours, teasing.

— And? — His voice came out low, almost a whisper. — I don’t plan on making any noise.

And then, he kissed you.

The first kiss was slow, teasing, as if he wanted to test the limits of the situation. Jeonghan’s lips were warm and soft against yours, and the way he moved—always in control, always knowing exactly what to do – made your entire body react instantly.

But he didn’t stop there.

Jeonghan was a game of cat and mouse, and he loved playing with you. Every time you tried to catch your breath, he captured your lips again, stealing quick kisses, smiling against your mouth, his fingers lazily tracing your face, then trailing down to your waist, where he held you with deceptive gentleness.

The bed creaked softly beneath the subtle movements, and every time you tried to protest, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his lips molding to yours with more intensity.

Your fingers clenched around his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The way he dominated the moment, the way he whispered something between kisses just to tease you, made every cell in your body vibrate with anticipation.

And when he finally pulled away, just enough to look into your eyes, the satisfied smile on his lips made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

— See? — He whispered, his thumb slowly brushing over your lower lip. — Not a single sound.

But his eyes said something else. He was just getting started.

Joshua

The elevator doors close smoothly, and you lean against the wall, holding Joshua's hand, watching him with a suspicious look. You two had just returned from a date, and throughout the entire night, Joshua had behaved better than expected—no pranks, no teasing comments.

He's been too quiet, which is never a good sign.

Then, before the elevator even ascends a single floor, he presses a hidden button on the panel. The lights flicker, the elevator gives a slight jolt, and… stops.

— Oh, no… — Joshua murmurs, covering his mouth with an exaggerated expression of surprise. — Looks like we’re stuck.

Your eyes widen. — What?!

— Yeah, it happened again… These elevators are a bit unstable, you know?

Suspicion hits immediately.

— Joshua. What did you do?

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with pure amusement.

— Me? Nothing. — But the mischievous smile gives everything away.

You let out an exasperated sigh and reach for the emergency button, but he moves fast. Before you can even touch the panel, Joshua steps closer and cups your face with both hands, his palms covering your cheeks, his long, warm fingers pressing into your skin.

— Hey, hey, what’s the rush? — He murmurs, his voice low and lazy, his playful gaze shifting into something more intense. — Maybe it’s a sign from fate.

Your heart jumps when he leans in slowly, his warm breath grazing your lips before he finally captures them with his own.

The kiss starts as a tease – just like him. Joshua’s lips move against yours deliberately, savoring, testing, as if he’s relishing your reaction. But as you respond, he deepens it, making it slower, more consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a heated, intoxicating touch.

He smiles against your lips the moment he feels you melt in his arms, giving in to the kiss, your fingers dragging over the nape of his neck with growing need. One of his hands glides to your waist, circling it and pulling you closer, while the other discreetly moves behind you. His fingers find the right button, and without you even noticing, he presses it.

Suddenly, the elevator starts moving again.

You pull back with a start, blinking in surprise. — Wait…

Joshua lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

— Oops. Guess it’s working again. — He shrugs as if he hadn’t just tricked you once more.

— You…!

He grins like he’s having way too much fun, his thumb brushing lightly over your swollen lips. — Don’t look at me like that. You liked it.

The worst part? He’s right.

Jun

The muffled sound of the audience echoed through the backstage hallways, and you could hardly believe you were there, accompanying Jun to yet another one of the group’s shows. He seemed calm, but there was something in his eyes—a mischievous glint you couldn’t quite decipher.

— Let’s go grab some water — he said suddenly, his voice casual.

You didn’t find it strange. Jun was the kind of person everyone adored—sweet and attentive to those around him—and he hated being away from you when you had a day to be together, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary. None of the members even glanced in your direction, too busy with their own preparations. So, without questioning, you followed him down the hallways.

It happened too fast. Before you even realized it, Jun pushed open the door of an empty dressing room and, in one swift motion, pulled you inside. The soft click of the door closing sounded louder than it should have.

— Jun-?

Your voice was cut off as he leaned against the wall and pulled you against him, your bodies colliding in the narrow space. He smirked, a malicious glint in his eyes. — I didn’t scare you, did I?

His expression softened into feigned innocence, but his tone betrayed his true intentions.

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked nothing like the adorable Jun everyone knew—here, alone with you, there was something else, something undeniably provocative.

The question lingered in the air, but before you could respond, Jun slid one of his hands down your waist, giving a light squeeze. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and that cocky smile still hadn’t left his lips.

And then, he leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

— We’ve got a few minutes… — he murmured, the tip of his nose grazing your jawline.

— Yeah? — you asked, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and tilting up to capture his lips in a slow, restrained kiss. One that Jun wasted no time deepening as he held you by the waist with one arm, while his other hand tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck.

He used his grip on your hair to position you exactly how he wanted, making the kiss more comfortable for him—and better for you. He pulled you closer by the hips, leaving one leg between yours, your bodies pressed together enough to feel the rise and fall of each breath.

Outside, the show was about to begin. But at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter except the way Jun looked at you—and what he wanted to do with those stolen minutes.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo was off today and decided to spend his free day playing the game he had been waiting for over the past two months. He was sitting comfortably in his gaming chair, the room lit faintly by a soft yellow LED light.

The sound of the keyboard clicks filled the air, and the soft light of the late afternoon illuminated the space. Since the beginning of the afternoon, Wonwoo had been immersed in the game, as if nothing else in the world mattered. You watched him for a moment, respecting the fact that he needed this time for himself after working so much. However, it was already night, and the longing for his touch, for his presence, started to weigh on you.

You quietly approached, leaning against his back. Your hands, soft and delicate, began massaging his shoulders, feeling the tension accumulated there. Wonwoo let out a slight sigh of pleasure but kept his focus on the game, as if trying not to get distracted. But it was impossible not to notice the touch of your presence and the warmth of your proximity.

After a few seconds, he tilted his head back, his eyes meeting yours. His smile was gentle but full of something you recognized well: desire, affection, and a slight complicity.

Without hesitation, you moved closer and, with a quick motion, kissed him in the Spider-Man and Mary Jane style, your lips meeting gently as he was still leaning back. The kiss was soft, gentle, and even a bit playful, but full of undeniable chemistry.

Fortunately, that wasn’t enough for Wonwoo – and even less so for you. He took control, spinning the chair to face you without missing a beat, and with one firm hand, placed it behind your thigh, slowly pulling you onto his lap.

The movement was smooth, but full of intention. You settled there, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away. He was closer now, and the distance between the two of you seemed to vanish completely.

The kiss quickly escalated, going from something gentle and playful to pure need and desire. Wonwoo held your waist, pressing you down against him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, instinctively arching your back.

— Your game... — You murmured between kisses and caresses.

Wonwoo simply hummed, not paying attention to your words – he had better things to focus on: marking the length of your neck and shoulders. The sound of battle filled the space between the two of you's panting breaths. The game long forgotten.

The night was just beginning, but you knew that, beside him, time would just be a word.

Hoshi

The office was finally silent. After hours immersed in the group's new project, you and Hoshi were the last to leave. He stretched, intertwining his fingers above his head before casting a casual glance in your direction.

— Ready to go? — He asked, already walking ahead.

— Always. — you replied, grabbing your bag and following him down the hallway.

Hoshi pressed the elevator button, but when the doors opened, he suddenly made a face as if he had just remembered something important.

— Oh, wait... I think we'd better take the stairs. I heard the elevator has been acting up lately. — He scratched the back of his neck, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, not buying his excuse but also not protesting as he started heading toward the stairwell. Hoshi smiled innocently and began descending, still leading the way. You kept following him until, two floors down, he suddenly stopped and turned to you, biting back a mischievous smile.

— Already? — You crossed your arms, tilting your head to the side. — Couldn't keep up the lie for too long, huh?

He didn’t answer. Instead, in one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a step, making you stumble slightly. Before you could regain your balance, his hands were firm on your waist, pressing your body against his. Hoshi leaned back against the railing, a playful glint in his eyes.

Before you could say anything, Hoshi leaned up, capturing your lips in a deep, yearning kiss. Stealthily, his palms slid along the sides of your waist until his fingers pressed firmly against your skin, keeping you close.

For a moment, the world around you disappeared, leaving only the heat of his body against yours, the intoxicating taste of his kiss. His touch became gentle again, filled with hidden intentions, but the way his fingertips moved was so light that you barely felt them creeping upward.

Not until he reached your chest, teasingly squeezing them.

You pulled away, breathless, your face flushed. Your heart pounded wildly as you opened your eyes again, only to find that satisfied smile on his lips. His scent, mixed with the faint, enclosed air of the stairwell, made your head spin slightly.

— You should know by now that I could never resist an opportunity like this. — He murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You could feel his breath far too close to your skin – warm and enticing. The empty stairwell, the silence around you, the way he held your waist as if he had no intention of letting go… everything seemed to conspire against any chance of escape.

But did you really want to escape?

Woozi

You and Woozi had decided to have another one of those afternoons where you both worked on your own projects while enjoying each other's quiet company. His new comeback was approaching, and he still had many songs to work on, while you had to deal with the planning of this new project your boss had made you responsible for.

The room was immersed in a tranquil, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The soft strumming of Woozi’s guitar filled the space with an enchanting melody, blending with the sweet aroma of the warm cookies on the table.

At first, everything felt perfect. Your cup of your favorite drink was still warm between your fingers, and the ambiance seemed to conspire in your favor, helping you focus on the project assigned to you. But as the hours passed, the open pages on your laptop remained nearly untouched, the blinking cursor a cruel reminder that you weren’t even halfway through your planning.

A tired sigh escaped your lips, and Woozi, ever attentive, noticed. He stopped strumming, placing his guitar aside before standing up. His quiet steps didn’t immediately alert you, but soon you felt his firm yet gentle touch as he pulled your chair to turn you towards him.

Before you could question him, Woozi slid his hands around your waist, effortlessly lifting you, making a small laugh slip from your surprised lips. He didn’t say a word, simply carrying you in his arms toward the bed and laying you down gently on the mattress. His eyes met yours for a moment, a silent invitation reflected in the dark shimmer of his gaze.

He lay down beside you, pulling your leg over his hip, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands traced slow, deliberate paths down your back, making your breath hitch. The kiss that followed was deep and sensual, filled with tenderness and intent. His tongue moved slowly against yours as his fingertips ghosted over your skin, coaxing you into relaxation in his arms.

You let your nails trail lazily down his abdomen, sending shivers across his skin, making him smile against your lips. Every touch was a silent promise that here, in his embrace, you could finally rest. The warmth of his body surrounded yours, and without even realizing it, your eyes began to close.

And just like that, clinging to him, you finally surrendered to sleep.

Dokeyom

You and your boyfriend were having yet another secret rendezvous at your place – just a night to binge-watch some random Netflix series while eating too much pizza and ice cream.

The house was filled with laughter, and footsteps hurried against the floor, as if, instead of a grown-up couple, two mischievous children had taken over the place. Every time you and Dokyeom were together, time seemed to rewind, and each date turned into a collection of questionable decisions and pure fun. The latest one? Play-fighting.

It all started harmlessly – a fierce battle for the TV remote. You grabbed it first, clutching it to your chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Dokyeom, with his usual mischievous grin, tried to snatch it from you, the two of you wrestling as if the fate of humanity depended on who would pick the next show.

What you didn’t realize, however, was that behind your boyfriend’s gentle and smiley nature, there was actual strength. And it was only when, in the blink of an eye, he grabbed your ankle with firm hands and pulled you down onto the couch that you understood how dangerous it had been to challenge him.

— Hey! — you exclaimed, trying to regain your balance, but it was too late.

Dokyeom laughed out loud, triumphant, and before you could turn around or come up with a counterattack, he was already on top of you. He pinned your wrists above your head with humiliating ease, his absurd strength contrasting with the bright, innocent smile he always carried.

— Did you really think you could win against me? — he teased, leaning in a little closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. — You really shouldn’t underestimate me like that, sweetheart.

Your heart pounded – partly from the fight, partly because the sudden closeness between you made everything feel even more electrifying. Dokyeom held your wrists firmly but not tightly enough to hurt, and the way he hovered over you, his hair falling slightly over his eyes, made the world seem to slow down.

Dokyeom brushed his lips against yours, giving your lower lip a playful bite. You gasped against his mouth, and he finally took your lips in a gentle kiss, his tongue making its way into your mouth.

This kiss would be just like the others you’ve shared, but there was something different about this one – something more intense, something that sent shivers down your spine, that twisted into a familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, and all because of the way he’s manhandling you and pressing you into the couch effortlessly.

— I haven’t given up yet — you breathlessly challenged when he broke the kiss, squirming in an attempt to free yourself, but Dokyeom only laughed, tightening his fingers just a little around your wrists.

— Oh, really? Then convince me.

The challenge was set. And whatever the next bad decision of the night would be, one thing was certain – you two wouldn’t come out of this fight without consequences.

Mingyu

The kitchen was warm, filled with the aroma of spices and the soft sound of the knife slicing ingredients on the cutting board. Mingyu stood beside you, big and imposing, absentmindedly stirring the spoon inside the pan. But no matter how much he tried to focus on the food, he kept watching you – a gaze heavy with something intense, something that made your whole body tingle under his attention.

You tried to ignore it, continuing to chop the vegetables, but his presence was impossible to overlook. The way he moved, how his broad shoulders seemed to take up all the space around you, how the difference in size between you both became even more obvious every time he leaned in slightly to grab something from the counter.

And then, suddenly, you realized. His gaze wasn’t just a gaze. It was a warning.

Before you could react, Mingyu slid closer, his warm body brushing lightly against yours. He didn’t say anything – he simply pushed the scattered utensils and ingredients aside, clearing the counter. Your heart skipped a beat as you slowly turned to face him.

He was already there, too close, too tall, too broad, with those dark eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped when his hand found your waist, long fingers pressing firmly into the curve. But what truly caught you off guard was when he slipped his other hand under your leg, gliding up to the back of your knee before lifting you effortlessly.

A small gasp escaped your lips as your body was lifted as if it weighed nothing, and within seconds, you were seated on the counter, with Mingyu standing between your legs.

His warmth seemed to consume everything around you. Your breath was uneven, and you barely had time to say anything before he leaned in, his hands gripping your waist tighter as his lips met yours.

The kiss started slow, intense, as if he wanted to savor every second, as if he had waited too long for this. His lips were warm, firm against yours, and as the tension between you both grew, the kiss deepened, turning hungrier, more demanding.

Mingyu slid his fingers across your skin, holding you against him as if he didn’t want to let you go. His left hand trailed up to the base of your throat, his long fingers wrapping around it, applying just enough pressure for you to feel him there, but not enough to choke. Your body fit against his almost naturally, and the sensation of contrast – your height against his, his strength against your fragility – made your heart race even faster.

When he finally pulled back, your faces remained close, breaths mingling. Mingyu’s eyes were darker, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

— Forget the food. — He murmured, his voice husky. — I have a better idea...

And before you could respond, he kissed you again, stealing any words that might have left your mouth.

Minghao

The deserted beach looked like a scene straight out of a dream – the sky painted in warm hues of orange and pink, the salty breeze caressing your skin, the sound of waves crashing softly against the sand. Minghao had chosen this place carefully, a secret hideaway where the world seemed to exist just for the two of you.

He stood in front of you, his gaze fixed on you with that intensity that always made your heart race. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his light pants, his posture relaxed, but his eyes said something else – he was having fun, and you knew that meant he was in a teasing mood.

— I have your present. — He announced, his velvety voice blending with the night breeze.

Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you practically bounced in place, clasping your hands together like a child waiting for candy.

— Give it to me! Let me see! — You insisted, a wide smile spreading across your face.

Minghao let out a short, muffled chuckle, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the corner of his lips curving into an arrogant smirk. His gaze darkened slightly, glinting with veiled mischief as he replied:

— Beg me. — He answered. — Beg me, and maybe I’ll show you.

Your smile faltered for a second, weighing your options. Minghao loved this kind of game, and you knew the only way to win was to play along. So, slowly, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him a little closer.

Your eyes traveled up to his, softer than usual, and you blinked a few times, leaning slightly into him.

— Hao... — Your voice came out lower, almost a whisper.

He laughed, a low, amused sound, and squeezed your waist with one hand before shaking his head.

— I know what you’re doing, but it wont work. — His fingertips brushed along your jaw, tilting your face up slightly. His smirk deepened, a spark of anticipation dancing in his gaze. — I want you to beg for real.

The way he said it, with his voice slow and dripping with provocation, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. Minghao wanted you to truly beg, and judging by the way he looked at you – with that lazy smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes – you knew he wouldn’t give in easily.

So, taking a deep breath, you leaned even closer, your arms still wrapped around his waist, your fingers tracing subtle patterns along the hem of his lightweight shirt. Your gaze lingered on his lips before slowly meeting his eyes again, filled with something deeper, something more genuine.

— Please, Hao… — Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, and your fingers pressed gently against his waist as if urging him closer. — Give it to me…

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. You saw his smirk falter slightly, his eyes darkening as he took in your words and the way you said them. Then, Minghao tilted his head to the side, his lips curling back into that satisfied smile.

He hummed, looking at you with a predatory glint in his eyes, and finally, he leaned in toward you.

The kiss started off slow, a delicious contrast to his earlier teasing. His lips met yours with patience, as if savoring every second, drinking in the taste of your surrender. But it didn’t take long for the softness to shift into something more intense—the rhythm picking up as he gripped your waist tighter, deepening the kiss.

His fingers traveled up your back, the light touches sending shivers through your skin as he pulled you even closer, as if trying to erase any space between you. You felt his breath mix with yours, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric separating you.

When he finally pulled back, that same smirk lingered, but his eyes now held a different shine – less playful, more intense. He kept his hand tangled in your hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you tilted toward him, and rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist firmly.

— Now that’s more like it. — He murmured against your lips, his voice low and satisfied.

You smiled, breathless, your eyes shining with expectation.

— And my present?

Minghao let out a soft chuckle, sliding his hands down to your arms before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

— I’m already giving it to you.

Seungkwan

The court was empty at that hour, illuminated only by the tall lampposts scattered around the space. The scent of dry earth and freshly cut grass mixed with the night breeze, and the only sound besides the rustling of the trees was Seungkwan’s slightly quickened breath – and your quiet, satisfied laughter.

— Stop laughing. — He grumbled, crossing his arms, but the glint in his eyes betrayed that he wasn’t actually mad.

— I’m not laughing. — You lied shamelessly, holding back another chuckle as you watched him huff.

You had made a bet. Seungkwan, always competitive, had sworn he could make ten consecutive shots without missing a single one. Knowing his exaggerated confidence all too well, you had doubted him. What he hadn’t expected was to miss the very last attempt, and now he was standing there, staring at you with feigned indignation while you basked in your victory.

— Come on, admit it. I won. — You teased, tilting your head to the side. — I told you you couldn’t do it.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, tossing the basketball away before stepping closer with slow, deliberate steps.

— So what? I missed a single shot, that means nothing. — He grumbled, his voice lower now, laced with that same playful provocation he always used to throw you off.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you held his gaze.

— On the contrary, it means you have to do whatever I want for a full minute.

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms again as if weighing the idea. The problem was, despite his stubborn front, he already knew he was doomed. The way you looked at him, a mix of mischief and that touch of sweetness that always disarmed him, made his pride waver just a little.

— And what do you want? — He asked, wetting his lips before looking at you more challengingly.

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth of his body despite the cool night breeze. Your fingers trailed slowly up the fabric of his shirt, stopping at the collar.

— You know. — Your voice came out soft, almost a whisper.

Seungkwan let out a short breath through his nose, as if frustrated with himself for giving in so easily, but the way his shoulders relaxed betrayed the truth.

— You’re impossible. — He murmured, and then, before you could respond, he pulled you in by the collar of his own shirt, his lips meeting yours with the perfect mix of urgency and teasing.

The kiss started firm, dominated by his competitive nature, as if he was proving a point. But then, as the seconds passed, the initial tension melted away, giving way to something more genuine. The rhythm slowed, his lips moving against yours more languidly, the heat of his touch consuming every part of you.

Seungkwan cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he deepened the kiss with a satisfied sigh. He had wanted to tease you, but in the end, he was always the one who got lost first.

When he pulled away, his eyes still closed, he took a moment before finally speaking, his voice a little husky:

— I bet you cheated.

— You missed all on your own, babe. I had nothing to do with it. — You laughed, resting your forehead against his.

He opened his eyes, narrowing them slightly before smirking. — Best out of three.

— If I win again, will you kiss me again?

Seungkwan let out a dramatic sigh, but the smile still lingered, hidden at the corner of his lips. — You’re not gonna win.

But judging by the way he was already pulling you toward the ball, you knew he wouldn’t mind losing again.

Vernon

It was only the first month of your relationship with Vernon, and you were already sure he was everything you could ever want: fun, funny, kind, and even a little shy. But there was a problem.

The kiss… or rather, the lack of one.

Vernon always came up with excuses whenever you had the chance to be alone, and it was starting to seem like he preferred anything over kissing you. So when he invited you over for a movie night at his place… you were surprised, to say the least. Was it finally going to happen? Did he want to make it special?

Everything was perfectly set up, the dim lighting in the living room making the atmosphere even cozier – and more romantic. You and Vernon were sitting on the couch, a forgotten bucket of popcorn beside you, while the movie played on the screen. You were the one who picked the film, excited by its premise – TikTok edits – but before you even pressed play, Vernon had already commented:

— I'm pretty sure I saw some bad reviews about this one…

You ignored him, more focused on other things than the movie. But as the minutes passed and nothing you expected happened the slow-paced plot and forced dialogues started to weigh down. Boredom filled the air. You sighed, resting your head against the back of the couch, and without realizing it, you started playing with the soft strands at the nape of his neck, gently twisting them between your fingers.

Vernon, on the other hand, was distracted, his eyes on the screen, but when you started bouncing your leg non-stop, he smirked, recognizing your restlessness. He didn’t say anything, simply enjoying your impatience in silence.

— This movie is so boring — you huffed impatiently after a few more minutes.

Vernon let out a low chuckle and turned to you, murmuring teasingly: — I told you so.

You huffed again, sinking into the soft couch, but Vernon was more cunning than he seemed, and you barely noticed his warm breath approaching your neck in the dimly lit living room. A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned in closer, lightly rubbing his nose along your neck before leaving a soft kiss on your skin. A mischievous smile immediately formed on your lips.

Slowly, you tilted your head to the side, and your eyes locked on his. For a second, everything faded into the background – the forgotten movie, the justified bad reviews, the untouched popcorn. Vernon still had that playful smile on his lips when you leaned in, and he welcomed you eagerly.

It started slow and comfortable, filled with repressed longing. Vernon gripped the back of your neck firmly, deepening the kiss. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Sensing that, Vernon swiftly slid his free hand down to your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a strong, quick motion.

The movie kept playing on the TV, but your attention was on something far more interesting.

Dino

Your boyfriend had to cancel the dinner you were supposed to have because of the rehearsal for his solo launch, but he felt bad about rescheduling with you, knowing how much those moments meant to you – he also didn’t want to be away from you that night. That’s why he invited you to watch the rehearsal.

The muffled sound of the music still reverberated in the air as Dino monitored each step of the choreography in the mirror like a hawk. During the rehearsal, he barely took his eyes off you. Every movement of yours, every reaction, every subtle and hurried touch during the breaks between the clean-up of the choreography seemed to carry something more, an intensity and veiled yearning between the two of you.

And you felt every furtive glance he cast your way, sensing something growing between you, something irresistible.

Now, at the end of the session, the mood was different. The empty room and the sudden silence seemed to make the atmosphere more tense. Dino approached you unexpectedly, his steps firm, almost challenging. He stopped right in front of you, and in a swift movement, he pushed you against the door, trapping you between his body and the cold wood. His gaze was full of intensity, as if he was measuring the moment with precision.

His lips were close to yours, the heat of his body radiating onto you. The pressure of his presence was almost physical, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, but you also felt a delicious shiver, as if the air around you had changed in temperature.

Time seemed to slow down as he looked into your eyes, trying to gauge if you were ready for the next step, for what had yet to be said. His usual confident smile was now tinged with something more mysterious, something deeper, something between provocation and anticipation.

Dino tilted his head, his eyes locked on yours, and you felt as though the air around you was condensed into a single point of tension. He lowered his voice, almost whispering, and his words were laden with something you could barely understand:

— You know what I want, don’t you?

The question lingered in the air, like a provocation and a promise. He moved closer, his body pressed against yours, and you felt the intensity of his presence like never before. Dino held your chin, tilting your head to the side, and let a couple of kisses and light bites along your neck.

You deeply gasped, feeling the heat of his body against yours. He hid his smile in the crook of your neck, lifted his head up, locking his eyes on yours again, then bit your lower lip, making you whimper softly.

— The others… — you started, but Dino cut your words off before you could continue.

— There’s no one here anymore, beauty — he murmured on your lips, and in the next second, he took your lips in a hungry kiss.

His hands traveled down along your side, lifting you with no effort and pressing your back against the door, his body pressed on yours. After that, he slid his hand right to your butt, squeezing your soft flesh and pulling you against him, pressing your bodies together with fervor and desire.

#'svt x reader #svt scenarios #svt fluff #svt smut #seventeen #svt imagines #svt headcanons #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt x you #svt reactions #seventeen reactions #svt angst #slightly suggestive #svt reader #svt x reader

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fear-is-truth · 4 months ago

Text

ft. in-ho (001) ‧ hyun-ju (120) ‧ nam-gyu (124) ‧ su-bong (230) ‧ se-mi (380) ‧ dae-ho (388) ‧ jun-ho

a/n — did these bc i was bored… english is not my first language, sorry if there’s any mistakes !

HWANG IN-HO (황인호) / PLAYER 001

in-ho doesn’t let his jealousy show. not even a twitch of the eye. when he sees someone flirting with you, his expression remains calm—maybe even a little amused. the mask never slips, but there’s something cold and calculating beneath it, like a viper watching from the grass.

he has a habit of always “coincidentally” being nearby. yeah.

in-ho knows exactly how to manipulate without being overt. he never accuses, never demands. instead, he asks harmless little questions like, “you two seem to be getting along well.”

and then, after a small pause—he adds, “be careful who you trust. some people don’t have your best interests at heart.” his tone is casual, but he’s planting seeds of doubt, nudging the situation just enough to make you second-guess. his gaze flickers briefly to gi-hun, like he’s searching his face for confirmation. am i right?

then, as if to break the awkward tension, in-ho lets out a light laugh. “i suppose you can’t completely trust us, either.”

tl;dr — man doesn’t always slip up, but when he does, he backtracks FAST

CHO HYUN-JU (조현주 ) / PLAYER 120

she’s a pretty straightforward and genuine, so her jealousy would come across in a very honest, but an insecure way. when she notices someone flirting with you, she won’t try to hide how she feels, though she also won’t cause a scene in front of them.

instead, she’ll try to naturally slide into the conversation, maybe offering a friendly smile or a casual comment just to insert herself without being too obvious.

afterward, when it’s just the two of you, she’ll admit that she didn’t like how things went. she’d be direct but still unsure, maybe looking away or fiddling with her hair as she confesses, “i don’t know… i didn’t like how they were talking to you. it made me feel… weird. i know it’s silly, but…” even though she’s admitting her feelings, she’ll follow it up with a self-conscious laugh, brushing it off in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t want to burden you, even if she just needed to say it.

NAM-GYU (남규) / PLAYER 124

nam-gyu’s jealousy is ugly. unlike thanos, who masks his irritation with forced camaraderie, nam-gyu doesn’t even try to hide it. the second he catches you talking—laughing—with someone else, his expression sours.

his eyes flick away like he can’t be bothered, but his irritation lingers in the small, compulsive gestures that follow. fingers twitch toward his face, rubbing his temple and dragging down his cheek in a slow, irritated motion as if he’s physically restraining himself from saying nasty. then, he tucks his hair behind his ear, fingers lingering at the ends before dropping back to his side.

tl;dr — just am interesting quirk i noticed lol

but later? when it’s just the two of you? suddenly, he’s different. as if the bitterness never existed in the first place. his hands disappear into the sleeves of his jacket, the fabric bunching at his wrists as he curls his fingers inside like paws. he tilts his head slightly as he leans closer, “y/n~” he drawls, dragging out your name. “why were you talking to them for so long? you’re not getting bored of me, are you?”

and the person who got a little too comfortable in your presence? yeah, they’re screwed.

nam-gyu doesn’t just make their life difficult—he makes it fucking dangerous. during games, he’s reckless with them. a sudden, well-timed shove at the worst possible moment. a convenient distraction that nearly gets them eliminated. nothing that can be traced back to him, of course.

when he passes their bunk, he gives a small shove to the back of their head as he walks by, the kind that makes it look like an accident, but it’s far from it.

CHOI SU-BONG (최수봉) / PLAYER 230

thanos wouldn’t be subtle about his jealousy—he’d be super obnoxious about it.

the moment he catches someone flirting with you, he’s all over them, acting like they’re best friends. throws an arm around their shoulder chummily, “my boy!” he grins, smacking them on the back so hard it nearly knocks the air out of them. his overall demeanour is playful, but there’s something off about it. like he’s sizing them up. like he’s deciding how much of a problem they’re about to become.

later, he and nam-gyu make it their personal mission to make their life even more miserable than it already is.

during mealtime, the person just so happens to trip right in front of everyone. maybe it’s thanos’ foot, maybe it’s nam-gyu’s—either way, they did a face-plant. thanos crouches beside them, fake sympathy dripping from his voice. “damn, that must hurt,” he says, shaking his head. “maybe you should be more careful, yeah? how else are you gonna survive the next game?”

it doesn’t stop there. at the bunks, he and nam-gyu make a point of cornering them, bodies blocking any easy escape. thanos grins, “so, you’re real friendly with y/n, huh?” with nam-gyu smiling cutely menacingly in the background. if they try to shrug it off, he just laughs. “aw, don’t be shy! we love meeting new friends.”

if the poor bloke ends up alone in the men’s bathroom? bad luck. thanos is suddenly right there, leaning against the urinal stall, inspecting his colourful nails. “hey, man. funny thing…” his voice drops, and the humour is gone. “you don’t wanna make yourself a problem, yeah?” he doesn’t have to say it outright. the message is clear.

SE-MI (세미) / PLAYER 380

se-mi’s reaction is barely noticeable. when she sees someone flirting with you, her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes get a little colder, and she might look away, focusing on something else.

she might look at you for just a second too long, as if waiting for you to catch her gaze and understand without saying anything.

she doesn’t hold a grudge, but she definitely keeps her distance until she feels like you’ve figured it out on your own.

KANG DAE-HO (강대호) / PLAYER 388

when he sees someone flirting with you, dae-ho doesn’t get angry—he just feels a creeping sense of inadequacy settle in his chest.

if you try to talk to her after, her responses are polite, but there’s a certain sharpness to them—like she’s not fully engaged. every now and then, she’ll throw in a comment, maybe something about not trusting people easily or how “everyone has their own agenda,” but it’s all under the radar.

being the good-natured person that he is, dae-ho doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t push himself into the conversation. but if there’s a chance to naturally one-up them, he’ll take it. dae-ho’s jealousy is a bit more showy, but not in a malicious way. he straightens his posture a little more. rolls up his sleeve to expose the marine tattoo on his arm.

dae-ho isn’t one to sulk, but he goes quiet. fidgets more, rubbing the back of his neck, cracking his knuckles, anything to keep his hands busy. when he looks at your direction, it’s fleeting—like he’s afraid of seeing something he doesn’t want to.

he never lets it turn into resentment. dae-ho doesn’t want to be that guy, doesn’t want to make it your problem. but later, when it’s just the two of you, he gets a bit clingy.

HWANG JUN-HO (황준호)

a gentleman to his core, jun-ho’s jealousy doesn’t come with flare or outward signs. when he sees someone flirting with you, his smile remains polite, almost cordial. posture stays poised, tone respectful—nothing gives away the annoyance bubbling inside.

if the other person crosses a line—that’s when the temperature drops. a slow blink. a slight tilt of his head. a stare just sharp enough to unsettle. jun-ho doesn’t need words to make his presence known.

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roturo · 6 months ago

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❝ MOVE, IT'S A FALSE GOD ❞

A rising drug dealer returns to Zaun, igniting a "dangerous" power struggle. Tension turns into passion, old routes blur, who will control the game?

⤹ warnings: power dynamics, older man/younger woman, age gap, dom/sub dynamics, angst, begging, pwp, sexual tension, afab!reader praising, pet names, fingering.

⤹ songs used: move - taemin, false god - taylor swift, black swan - bts, danger - txt, automatic - red velvet.

The air in Silco’s private office was thick with smoke, curling around the dim amber light that spilled from a single lamp. You leaned against the chair, the same old chair you used to sit to just watch the man infront of you start creating what would be the ruin of Zean, his blue eye lifting from the long forgotten documents he was supposedly reading before your entrance— arms crossed, your confidence unwavering despite the sharp gaze he leveled at you— or at least, that’s what you try to pretend.

“It’s been a while,” you said pretending nonchalantly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “I almost thought you’d forgotten about me, Silco. But here we are.”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a slow drag from his cigar, letting the silence stretch. It was the same with him as always—every move, every glance, carefully calculated to put others on edge. Once, it had worked on you.

Not anymore.

“I don’t forget,” Silco said finally, his voice low and deliberate. “Especially not those who think they can play in my waters without permission.”

You chuckled, a sound that carried a hint of mockery. “Is that what this is about? Permission? I didn’t think you’d care, considering how… insignificant I used to be.”

His eye twitched, just barely, and you knew you’d struck a nerve. It was subtle, but years of knowing him had taught you how to read those tiny cracks in his armor.

“You were a child then,” he said, his tone clipped. “A reckless, naïve—”

“And now?” you interrupted, stepping closer, your confidence cutting through the haze of smoke. “Still think I’m a child, Silco? Because from where I’m standing, I seem to be doing just fine without your approval. Even starting to strike your own success.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His good eye studied you, cold and unblinking, but there was something else there too—something that betrayed his calm exterior.

“You’ve built quite the reputation,” he said at last, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Impressive, even. But reputations don’t protect you when you’re making enemies on all sides. Especially not mine.”

You smiled, slow and sharp. “Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.”

He laughed, his breathless old laugh bringing the same warm (and rare) feeling to your chest. He looked at you in a way you couldn’t describe, he was always the one you looked up for, not Vander, not Vi, him. Even when everything went to shit.

“You think i’m feeling threatened by your presence here when you’re the one who always kept following around when you were just a clueless teenager trying to survive here?”

He smirked to himself, if you didn’t know him all this years you wouldn’t be able to see it, he took another long drag of his cigarette, making sure to look at you with a tentative face, like he’s testing the waters.

Silco’s smirk lingered as his gaze roamed over you, deliberate and slow. It wasn’t the predatory kind that most in the Undercity wielded like a weapon—no, this was something subtler, more dangerous. He let the silence between you stretch again, his presence pulling the air tight, as if daring you to speak first.

You didn’t.

He leaned back in his chair, the sharp edge of his posture softening just enough to make him seem almost at ease. The movement was calculated, you knew—it always was with him—but the faint trail of smoke curling lazily from his cigar only added to the intimacy of the space.

“You’ve certainly grown,” he said, his tone low and silken, as though the words were more for himself than for you.

It wasn’t a compliment. At least, not entirely. But the way his eye flicked down to where your fingers rested on the edge of his desk, nails tapping a faint rhythm, made you feel as though he was cataloging every inch of you.

“Out of your shadow, I’d say,” you replied smoothly, letting your lips curve into a faint smirk of your own. “Which I imagine doesn’t sit well with you, does it?”

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Is that what you think this is? Some petty tantrum over losing control?”

“Isn’t it?” you countered, stepping closer. The glow of the lamp cast a golden hue across your skin as you closed the space between you, slow and deliberate.

You saw his eye darken slightly, his gaze following your movement with the precision of a predator assessing its prey. But he didn’t move away. If anything, the tension between you only seemed to tighten as you came to a stop just shy of touching him.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re playing a game you’re not prepared to lose.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Maybe I intend to lose. Maybe I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The sound he made—a low, amused hum—sent a shiver down your spine. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint metallic edge of smoke and shimmer clinging to his suit.

“Do you, though?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk, the movement drawing you in until there was barely a breath of space between you.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to look away. His good eye searched yours, his smirk softening into something more dangerous. Not threatening, but something far worse: intrigued.

“You’ve always had fire,” he said softly, the words hanging in the air between you. “But ambition without restraint… That’s a dangerous thing in this world.”

“And yet, here I am,” you shot back, your voice steady, though your chest tightened at the weight of his words.

His gaze dipped briefly—to your lips, before sliding back up to meet your eyes. It was fleeting, but unmistakable.

“You’re bold,” he admitted, his voice dropping further, the gravel in it brushing against your nerves. “But boldness doesn’t mean you can stand the heat when you step into the fire.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning forward until you were close enough to feel the faint warmth of his breath on your skin, “I just enjoy the burn.”

For the briefest moment, you saw something flicker in his gaze—something he quickly buried behind a sharp inhale and another pull from his cigar. But the tension lingered, coiling tight between you like a rope about to snap.

His eye sharpened as your words hung in the air. That flicker of intrigue you’d seen moments ago twisted into something darker, something colder—and yet impossibly more magnetic.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out,” he said, his voice soft but cutting. “That your rise makes you untouchable. But even kings can fall.”

Your lips parted in a quiet scoff. “Kings fall when they stop watching the board. And as far as I can see, you’re the one sitting comfortably on your throne while the ground beneath you starts to crack.”

His laugh was low, more exhalation than sound, as he leaned back in his chair. “A clever metaphor,” he murmured, his tone almost amused, silently nodding to your point. Who would’ve known you would turn this way, follow his path—and even his words? The realization sparked a strange feeling deep in his stomach, a warm, fuzzy sensation creeping up his neck.

“But let me remind you,” he continued, his voice still smooth, “who built that board you’re so eager to play on.”

“And let me remind you,” you shot back, stepping even closer, “that no one stays untouchable forever—not even you.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of tension between you, the air too thick with smoke and unsaid words. And then he moved.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, not with Silco. He didn’t need one. Instead, he stood, the slow scrape of his chair against the floor sending a chill down your spine. By the time he was upright, he had erased the distance you’d carefully maintained, stepping into your space with a precision that left no room for retreat.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. The closeness made it feel like a growl. “You might end up liking the view from your knees.”

You felt your breath hitch before you could stop it. The words struck something deep and primal, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of faltering—even though those words stirred something inside you, a desire, a want… a need.

“And you might find,” you said, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded, “that even from my knees, I can be the one in control.”

Something in his expression shifted—just barely, but you caught it. That sharp, calculating mask cracked for a fraction of a second, and you saw the flicker of frustration—or was it fascination?—beneath it.

He reached for the desk behind you, his hand brushing the edge as he leaned in, caging you against it without ever truly touching you. The faint smell of smoke and ash filled your senses, grounding you even as the tension spiraled. All you could smell was his expensive perfume mixed with the burn of his daily cigarettes—his scent, only his.

Maybe your group was waiting for you, wondering what the hell you were doing with Silco, maybe even planning what to do if he killed you. But the situation you were in now was far better than anything else you’d ever experienced. This was the dirty, dangerous dream of a naïve teenager—the dream you’d always had since the first time you met him. You couldn’t risk losing it now.

“You don’t understand what you’re toying with,” he said, his voice lower now, almost a rasp.

“Don’t I?” you challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You’re the one who called me here, Silco. So tell me—what exactly are you afraid of?”

The silence that followed was deafening. His eye bore into yours, searching, testing, as though trying to unravel the web you’d spun between the two of you.

And then he smiled. Not the sharp, mocking grin you’d expected, but something slower, quieter—dangerous in its restraint.

“Fear isn’t the word I’d use,” he said, his voice like silk. “But perhaps… curiosity.”

Silco's gaze never wavered from yours as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no more room between you—no space for retreat, no escape from the storm building in the air around you. His scent, his presence, overwhelmed you, filling your lungs and sinking into your skin.

His hand reached up, but this time it wasn't to push you away— it was to lift your chin, gently, but with undeniable force. His touch was cold, his fingers rough against the delicate curve of your jaw, and yet the heat radiating off him burned you alive. You could barely breathe beneath the intensity of his stare.

“I'm curious,” he murmured, voice low and dark, like the very shadows that filled the room. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, soft yet commanding, testing, teasing.

“Do you know what you're asking for?”

Your heart was pounding, but you refused to show weakness. You forced your gaze to stay locked on his, your breath shallow as you leaned into his touch, letting the burn of his fingers draw you closer. You could feel the weight of his presence, the power he exuded, the way it seeped into your very bones.

“I think,” you breathed, voice trembling just slightly, “I'm asking you to show me.”

The words had barely left your lips when his face closed the distance between you, his breath mingling with yours in a shared, heated exhale. His lips hovered above yours, close enough to taste, but he didn't kiss you —no. Instead, he let the anticipation hang, let it build, until you were certain you couldn't take it anymore. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire, and all you could think about was the want-the desperate, aching need that had been simmering between you for so long.

“Show you?” he repeated, his voice thick, almost a growl. “You're bold to ask for that.”

Without warning, he pulled you closer, his hand gripping the back of your neck with a quiet authority that made your pulse spike.

His lips finally brushed against yours, a fleeting kiss, as light and delicate as the whisper of a shadow. But that brief touch was enough to send a jolt of heat through your entire body, making your knees threaten to buckle.

Before you could recover, he deepened the kiss-fierce, hungry, as if he'd been waiting for this moment as much as you. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was suffocating, your bodies tangled as the kiss grew more desperate, more urgent. You could feel his heart pounding in sync with yours, the strength in his body pressed against yours, both of you craving something neither could name.

The kiss was a collision of fire and ice, a dangerous dance of control and surrender.

His lips were demanding, possessive, but you matched him, not allowing him to dominate entirely. Every time he pulled back, you followed, chasing him like a moth to a flame.

He pulled away suddenly, leaving you breathless, eyes dark with a mixture of lust and something more complicated-something deeper.

“I've always liked fire,” he rasped, voice rougher now, as though the kiss had burned him just as much as it had you. “But fire... it burns. And you're playing with it.”

You weren't sure if it was the heat of the moment, the way his hands had claimed you, or the raw hunger in his voice-but something inside you snapped.

“I'd say l'm more like an ice burn,” you murmured, your voice dripping with defiance.

Before he could respond, you surged forward, taking control, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was anything but delicate.

The hunger between you was instantaneous, primal, as your hands gripped him with a new sense of authority. Silco had always been the one in charge, but now the roles had reversed, and you were the one pulling him closer, pushing him back against the desk with an intensity that left him breathless.

His shock didn't last long. Silco's hands moved, as though to regain control, but you were quicker. You pulled him firmly against you, forcing him to the edge of the desk, caging him there with your body. Your kiss was hungry, urgent, as though you were trying to consume him, and it felt like you were doing just that-biting, tugging, exploring him in ways that left no room for hesitation.

Silco's breath hitched, but this time it wasn't from power-it was from you. You were the one dominating the kiss now, your hands roaming across his chest, your body pressing him down with a quiet strength. He groaned against your lips, caught off guard by your sudden shift, and yet there was no resistance in him now. Only the heat of his body, the fire in his gaze.

His hands found your hips, but you didn't let him move you. You weren't done. Not yet.

“You think you control everything,” you said between kisses, your voice low and teasing.

“But even you can't resist me now.”

His hands tightened on your waist, but he didn't pull you away. Instead, he seemed to surrender to it, to you. His kiss deepened, now one of want-raw and desperate, matching your own intensity as you continued to trap him against the desk.

“Then show me,” he growled against your lips, hands gripping your back, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. “Prove it.” Silco's growl sent a shiver down your spine, his hands tightening on your waist with just enough pressure to remind you exactly who was in charge here. You may have thought you could control the moment, but Silco wasn't one to be caged-or tamed.

The smirk tugging at your lips faltered as his hands moved, sliding up your back and pulling you flush against him. His strength was effortless, his grip commanding, and the air between you seemed to crackle as he tilted his head, his lips grazing yours in a way that sent a jolt of heat through your entire body.

“Mercy?” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft, though his grip on you was anything but. “You seem to be under the impression that I allow mercy.”

The air between you crackled with tension, charged with an electricity that prickled your skin as Silco's hands tightened on your waist. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the power in his grip, and it only fueled the fire burning within you.

"I don't want mercy," you breathed, your voice low and husky, your lips hovering just a hair's breadth from his.

His good eye darkened at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest that you could feel more than hear. In a swift movement, he grasped your thighs and lifted you onto the desk, his body moving between your legs as he pinned you there with his weight.

The sudden shift left you breathless, your heart pounding wildly as you looked up at him, his face illuminated by the dim amber light of the lamp. His eye searched yours, intense and focused, as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden beneath your skin.

"Careful what you wish for," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. His hand slid up your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he leaned in closer, his lips ghosting along your jawline. “Who would’ve thought you would turn into this nasty dearly thing huh?”

You shivered at his touch, at the way his breath felt against your skin, hot and heavy with want. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you arched into him, desperate for more.

"I'm not afraid of you," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. "Are you?"

His response was a sharp nip to your earlobe, followed by a low chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Oh, I'm not afraid," he murmured, his hand sliding higher, fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt. "But you should be."

You gasped as his fingers pushed under the fabric, trailing fire across your skin as they moved higher and higher. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in the sensation, in the way his touch ignited every nerve ending in your body.

"Enlighten me, Eye of Zaun.”

Silco's response was a low growl, a sound of pure hunger as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you, possessing you, as his hands roamed your body with a desperate need.

You moaned into the kiss, your own hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, deeper. The heat between you was suffocating, all-consuming, and you felt like you were drowning in the depths of your own desire.

His hands slipped under your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare skin as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. You arched into him, head thrown back in ecstasy as he left a path of fire across your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point.

"You want me?" he growled against your skin, one hand sliding up to cup your breast through your bra. "You want to see what I can do to you?"

You nodded frantically, too lost in the sensations to form words. Your body was on fire, every touch of his hands sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

With a low chuckle, Silco's hand deftly unclasped your bra, tossing it aside before his fingers closed around your sensitive peak. You cried out, hips bucking involuntarily as he pinched and rolled the hardening bud between his fingers.

"That's it," he purred, his voice dark with lust. "Let me hear you."

His other hand slipped through your bottoms into your panties, fingers gliding through your slick folds. You were already wet, already aching for him, and he groaned at the feel of you.

“I could practically kill you right now. Cage you— Torture you.” He chuckled as he looked at you, your mind already too lost to answer him. "So ready for me," he murmured, circling your clit with a feather-light touch that had you writhing beneath him. "So desperate."

You couldn't deny it. You were desperate, needy, aching for his touch like nothing you'd ever felt before. This was embarrassing. You always had a crush for the man, but you never stopped this low. Your hands scrabbled at his back, nails leaving crescent marks on his skin as you tried to pull him closer.

"Please," you whimpered, too far gone to care how needy you sounded. "Please, Silco."

“Who’s in control now, dear?”

“F-fuck you Silco.”

“I think it’s the other way around.” He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

His fingers slid through your slick folds, teasing, taunting, stoking the fire that burned within you. You were already so wet, so ready for him, and the knowledge only seemed to spur him on.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. "So desperate for me, so needy."

He circled your clit with a feather-light touch, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You cried out, hips bucking involuntarily as he kept up the maddeningly slow pace.

"Please," you whimpered, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded. "Silco, please..."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His fingers continued their torturous dance, dipping inside you, stroking along your inner walls before retreating to circle your clit once more.

"What do you want, dear?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you need."

Your head thrashed on the desk, fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer. You were so close, teetering on the edge of release, and yet he kept you there, balanced on a knife's edge.

"I want you," you gasped, your voice breaking on a moan as his fingers curled inside you. "I want your cock, Silco. Please, give it to me."

He groaned at your words, his eye darkening with lust. With a swift movement, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping core, leaving you empty and aching.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Beg me to fuck you."

You didn't hesitate, too lost in the throes of your own need to feel anything but the desperate hunger that consumed you.

"Please," you sobbed, your hips rolling shamelessly against him. "Please, Silco, I need your cock. I need you inside me, filling me, fucking me. Please, I'll do anything, just give it to me, give me your cock, please..."

You begged and pleaded, desperate for the touch of his cock, and Silco finally relented. With a low growl, he tugged your panties down your thighs, exposing your dripping core to the cool air of the room. You shivered at the sensation, at the way his eye raked over your body, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. "So perfect."

There was a calculated intensity in his gaze, a sense of purpose that sent a thrill of excitement through you. Silco was a man who knew what he wanted and went after it with unwavering focus.

He pushed your legs apart, settling between your thighs as he freed his cock from the confines of his pants. It sprang forth, hard and thick and already dripping with precum. You licked your lips at the sight, your core clenching with anticipation.

But Silco didn't rush, didn't give in to the desperate hunger that burned between you. Instead, he took his time, his fingers tracing along your slick folds with a maddeningly slow pace. You squirmed beneath his touch, your hips rolling shamelessly as you sought more of him.

"Patience," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I'll give you what you need, but first, I want to savor every inch of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that left you trembling. Silco was a man who took control, who demanded submission, and the thought of being at his mercy only fueled the fire that burned within you.

With a single, measured thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you wide around his thick length. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the desk as he filled you completely.

But even as he claimed you, there was a detachment in his movements, a sense that he was simply taking what he needed without any real emotional investment. He set a steady pace, his hips rocking against yours with a calculated precision that left you breathless.

Each thrust was designed to push you closer to the edge, to shatter the fragile control you clung to. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he used you for his own pleasure. There was no tenderness in his touch, no whispered words of affection or praise. Instead, there was a cold, clinical efficiency to his movements, as if he was simply fulfilling a basic need.

You could feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core, your body responding to his touch despite the lack of emotional connection. Your nails scrabbled at his back, leaving crescent marks on his skin as you tried to pull him closer, to force some kind of reaction from him.

But Silco remained impassive, his eye never leaving yours as he continued to pound into you with a relentless rhythm. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, his jaw clenched tight with the effort of holding back his own release.

You could tell he was close, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. But still, he didn't give in to the pleasure, didn't let himself fall into the abyss of ecstasy that threatened to consume you both.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he found his release. You could feel the hot spurt of his cum filling you, marking you as his own, and a part of you thrilled at the thought of being claimed by him.

As he pulled away, his softening cock slipping from your well-used core, you felt a sudden chill, a sense of abandonment that left you aching for something more. But you knew better than to ask for it, to beg for the affection and tenderness you craved

For a moment, his eye raked over your naked form, taking in the marks he'd left on your skin, the way your body trembled in the aftermath of your shared pleasure.

But then, as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. Silco straightened, his expression closing off and hiding the small bit of tenderness you could see once in him, becoming once again the cold, calculating man you knew him to be.

He passed you some tissues, "Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice clipped and businesslike. "And don’t forget to tell your group to stay off what it’s not theirs"

With that, he turned and strode towards the door, leaving you lying there on the desk, exposed and vulnerable. You watched him go, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. There was the lingering heat of your shared passion, the ache of your body as it remembered his touch. But beneath it all was a growing sense of emptiness, a longing for something more than the cold, clinical coupling you'd just experienced.

You knew Silco was not a man given to tenderness or affection. He was a survivor, a fighter, a man who took what he wanted and moved on without a second thought. And yet, even knowing this, even understanding the futility of your desires, you couldn't help but wish for more.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself up from the desk, wincing slightly as your sore muscles protested the movement. You grabbed your discarded clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands. As you smoothed your clothes, you couldn't help but wonder what would happen next. You were sure this was not the only time you would be here begging for him after all this.

Only time would tell. But one thing was certain - you were in deep, and there was no turning back now. Silco had claimed you, marked you as his own, and whether he admitted it or not, you knew that you would always be his, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

#silco x reader #silco smut #silco #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane #arcane smut #arcane s2 #silco x you #league of legends #arcane season 2 #lol #i need him so bad

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kylieastro · 6 months ago

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𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

I'm not a professional astrologer yet, nor a native english speaker

☆ Sun in the 1H may have some downsides which many people tend to overlook: high ego and egocentric behaviour. These people at worst may be enormous attention seekers, drama kings/queens and can't stand being away from the spotlight for long.

☆ Aquarius Mercuries hate being silenced for having different opinions, they're the ones always ready to fight for their ideals and it's very difficult to make them change an idea, they can be very stubborn about their beliefs.

☆ Moon Square Venus people may tend to have conflicting relationships with women/feminine figures, their inner feminine energy is often a bit repressed and they struggle to embody it healthily.

☆ Taurus Risings very often carry a fascinating contradiction within their personality, they ooze a calm, serene and collected demeanour lookin' all cute and warm while having an impressive amount of boundaries, strength, determination and hard working spirit. They carry the "silent strength" aura very well, and they often get to be perceived as more fragile than they actually are or even "babied" from other people.

☆ Capricorn Risings in most cases aren't actually "cold and intimidating" looking as descriptions claim them to be, they tend to have very large doe and dark eyes and cute cheeks, yet an aura which exudes mystery and boss vibes.

celebs examples: Damiano David, Kylie Jenner, Ariana Grande, Monica Bellucci, Jeon Junkook, John Legend, Aishwarya Rai, Naomi Campbell, Dakota Johnson, Charlie Puth, Lorde, Olivia Rodrigo

☆ Pluto in the 10H may face a lot of changes within their public image throughout the years, and they often tend to have people who have polarised opinions about them, people either love and obsess over them or completely hate them for no reason, they may go from being seen as the hero to the villain and vice versa in 3 days straight.

☆ Scorpio Rising always wins the award as the "Most Sultry, Seductive & Mysterious Rising Sign" hands down in my opinion, along with Pisces Rising

☆ Gemini Moons are one of the most overlooked moon signs along with Virgo & Taurus Moons. No one ever talks enough about how disgustingly smart and quick minded they are, most of them aren't actually "cheerful little clowns" as descriptions claim, they're way deeper than that and hugely intellectual and calculative, great strategists.

☆ Mars in the 11H/3H tend to face a lot of hardships and arguments around their friends, they may have friends turn to enemies real quick or a very teasing relationship with their friends. On another level they're the ones always ready to speak up and defend their beliefs, this one is a great placement for lawyers and debaters.

☆ Jupiter/Sagittarius in the 4H may come from very large families, they may be the ones having lots of brothers/sisters/uncles/cousins or their parents got married more than once. They may come from very religious homes/economically well-off/funny families.

☆ Saturn/Capricorn in the 4H on the opposite side, may indicate a small family, being an only child or just having few cousins/uncles, at worst it may even indicate not having a good relationship with their own families or a very cold/business like relationships with them.

#astro tumblr #astrotumblr #astrology #western astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #astrology notes #astrology observations #astrology tumblr #zodiac signs #natal chart #birth chart #birth chart reading #astro content #astro #astrologer

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lalo0 · 1 month ago

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INSIDE AESPA EP. 1 ┃ The Wrong Door

Male reader x Giselle

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing

I didn’t even want to be here.

Concerts aren’t my thing. Screaming fans? Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder, sweating, pulsing to the bass of some pop anthem? No thanks. I like silence. I like my own space. And I sure as hell don’t like being herded like livestock through a stadium entrance just to watch people I’ve never even heard of pretend to sing over backing tracks.

But Jackson insisted. And Dev had already bought the tickets. “It’s not about the music,” they said. “It’s about the experience.”

The experience. Right.

Now here I was, drowning in noise and neon and perfume and sweat, trying to keep my breathing steady while Korean girls I didn't care about danced like their lives depended on it. The crowd—mostly teenage girls and a few dangerously enthusiastic fanboys—screamed every time one of them so much as flipped their hair. Phones were everywhere. Lights blinked like strobes. It was a full-on sensory assault.

And I? I wasn't interested. I was one wrong beat away from walking out.

I got lucky. The screen overhead blinked INTERMISSION — 15:00 and the music stopped. The crowd didn’t exactly calm down, but they started shifting, standing, stretching, running for merch and bathrooms and selfies. I used the opportunity to slip out the side aisle and into the nearest hallway marked RESTROOMS + VIP SUITES.

It was quiet almost immediately. Blessedly so.

The noise of the stadium dropped behind me like a curtain, replaced by sterile lighting and the low thrum of vents overhead. I passed the bathrooms but kept walking. I needed a breather more than anything, a second to think, to feel like myself again. I checked my phone—no signal—and kept walking down the hall.

That’s when I saw it: a door left ajar. Soft light spilled out.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve thought, Maybe this is someone’s private space. But something about the glow—the hush, the mystery of it—pulled at me. I was curious. And when I get curious, I don’t stop.

So I pushed it open.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t alone. The room was dim, expensive, quiet. Everything in soft gold tones and warm leather. A mirrored vanity glowed along one wall, surrounded by bulbs. The scent hit me next—perfume, heady and rich, wrapped around the chill of champagne. I was halfway through processing the velvet couch and the untouched strawberries on crystal glassware when I saw HER.

She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror, half-turned, her back to me. Her outfit was more lingerie than clothing—black mesh, sequins, leather straps. Her pink hair was up but imperfectly, pieces falling like silk down her neck. She was in the middle of unclasping something at the back of her neck, unaware of—or ignoring—me.

And then she spoke.

“You’re early.”

Her voice was smooth, low. American accent. A little amused.

I froze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively. “I think I’m—uh, lost.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused with her fingers on the clasp. Then she looked at me over her shoulder—one eye catching the light, sharp as a blade.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are.”

I blinked. “I really am. I was looking for the bathroom and I guess I just—”

“You opened a marked door.”

“I didn’t see any signs—”

“There were signs,” she said, finally facing me.

She was beautiful. I’m not saying that in the way people do when they meet a celebrity. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t recognize her. I wasn’t starstruck. I was just... caught.

She had presence. Poise. Her body was slim but curved in all the places that made it impossible not to look. Her eyes didn’t smile, but they weren’t cold. They were calculating. Like she was building a character around me, testing how I’d react.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Is that real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t look like a Mylo.”

I smirked despite myself. “What do I look like?”

She thought for a bit. “Like someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t. I was just leaving—”

“No,” she said again, softly. “Stay.”

That word—that tone—should’ve sent me walking. But it didn’t. I stayed.

She moved toward me slowly, a kind of predatory grace in her bare feet and parted lips. Her body language was relaxed, but deliberate. Every step said she was in charge. Not of the room. Of me.

And I let her.

I couldn’t explain why, not then. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not like I was a stranger, but like I was hers. Like she already knew what she wanted to do with me and was just deciding whether I’d be worth the effort.

“You’re not one of the staff,” she said, mostly to herself.

“No.”

“You’re not with the crew. And you didn’t come with security.”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then what are you doing here, Mylo?”

“Wrong door,” I said again, but it sounded less convincing this time.

She took one more step, close enough now for me to feel the heat of her skin. Her eyes traveled down my body, not shy, not rushed. She lingered on my chest, my hips, the tension in my fingers.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

“No.” I hesitated. “Should I?”

That amused her. I could see the moment her mask cracked and something real flickered beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or interest. Or something darker.

“No,” she said finally as if she didn't believe me. “That makes this easier.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there in front of me, arms loose at her sides, one foot slightly forward like she was deciding whether to get closer or make me come to her. She didn’t blink much. She watched me like she was reading, not listening. And somehow, I was the one who felt exposed, even though I still had all my clothes on and she… didn’t, really.

There was a quiet sort of violence in the air. Not danger exactly. More like potential. She hadn’t said what she wanted. But I knew she wanted something.

She turned back to the mirror without another word and picked up a square of folded tissue, wiping under one eye with careful precision. Glitter dusted onto her collarbone like something expensive and accidental. The strap of her outfit was still hanging loose, but she made no move to fix it.

I wasn’t sure if I should speak. So I didn’t.

“You said your name’s Mylo,” she said, her voice low again, casual. “Where are you from?”

“Long Beach.”

“Not local, then.”

“Close enough.”

She nodded, then looked at me in the mirror.

“What are you doing now?”

“Wrong turn.”

“No.” She tilted her head. “Now. In life.”

I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“I’m serious.”

“Right now I’m… working freelance. Web development. Bit of UX. It’s not exciting.”

She turned. “Then why did you say it like it’s a secret?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She stepped closer, slowly, like she was making sure I didn’t spook. And I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was.

Her perfume hit me again—soft, floral, expensive. I still didn’t recognize her, but that was starting to feel irrelevant. She could’ve been an actress, a singer, a rich girl playing pretend. None of it would have changed the way she looked at me.

Like she was curious about how far she could push me before I’d say no.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled. “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Her hand brushed the front of her thigh, fingers trailing slowly along her skin, just shy of deliberate. My brain scrambled for something to say, something to anchor me to reality. I was in a stadium. There was a concert happening. There were fifteen thousand people and a very real possibility that someone would walk in and see this.

I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You’ll find out when you’ve earned it.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“No.” She tilted her head. “But you’re fun to play with.”

Her foot arched slightly against the rug as she took another step forward. Close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, could see the light sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch her. Just one fingertip. Just to know she was real.

“Don’t,” she said softly, like she’d read my mind.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Liar.”

A pause.

She looked down at the front of my shirt, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who follows orders.”

“I’m not.”

Her smile was slow and private. “Good.”

She reached for the strap still hanging loose on her shoulder. Slid it back into place. Not to hide. Just to reset the board.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the velvet loveseat.

I hesitated.

“I said sit.”

So I did.

She crossed the room without looking at me again, poured a fresh glass of champagne, dropped a single strawberry in like a garnish. Then she sat on the couch—opposite to me, one leg tucked under the other, facing me directly. Like we were equals. Like this wasn’t her room and I wasn’t the one trespassing.

“You ever break into places, Mylo?”

“No.”

“Shame. You’re good at it.”

I watched her run a finger down the side of her glass. Slow. Rhythmic.

“You think this is a mistake?” I asked.

She looked up. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

She didn’t touch me.

Not at first.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

“You’re being... a lot.”

Her smile curled slightly. “Too much?”

“No.” I shifted. “Not enough.”

She tilted her head, pleased. Her eyes dropped to my hands. I didn’t realize I’d been clenching them. She noticed everything.

“You like following orders,” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Not usually.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “But you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I guess I want to see what happens next,” I said.

That seemed to satisfy her. She leaned back into the couch, legs crossed, and looked me over like I was both trespasser and specimen.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She gave me a look—subtle, expectant.

I took off my jacket.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was intentional. Like she was seeing how comfortable I could get under pressure.

“You ever think about what it would be like,” she said, “to be told what to do?”

“I’ve had bosses before.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

A pause.

She stood. Walked over to me—slow, barefoot, measured—and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. Her knees brushed mine. She didn’t reach for me. Just looked up, eyes steady, close enough that I could see the darker ring around her irises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I am going to take you apart.”

My breath caught.

“And when I do,” she added, brushing her fingers just barely against the inside of my thigh, “I’ll expect you to say thank you.”

Still, I didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed on me.

She watched the way I exhaled. The way I shifted in my seat. She could feel the tension building, and she didn’t need to do a damn thing to feed it.

“You like restraint,” she said, almost to herself.

“You’ve seen me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t need more.”

I smirked. “And what do you like?”

“Control.”

“That’s obvious.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Not power. Not winning. Just control.”

“Is there a difference?”

“One makes you loud. The other makes you patient.”

She stood again and walked past me toward the mirrored vanity to admire herself. This time, she didn’t check to see if I was watching.

She knew I was.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” she said.

“I don’t usually wander into strangers’ rooms.”

“Yet here we are.”

She turned, walking back—slow, sure, calculated. There was nothing casual about it. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but she moved with the intention of heels. Stopping just in front of me, she leaned in and placed both palms on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. Not quite.

But her body was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. Her breath was just below my mouth. Her perfume wrapped around me like a second atmosphere.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

I hesitated.

And she smiled—knowing, satisfied.

“Thought so,” she whispered, and pulled back before I could say anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the couch again, back straight, watching me like a tiger lounging just out of reach.

“What do you do,” I asked, voice a little hoarse, “when you get bored?”

Her smile was a slow burn. “Get un-bored.”

She tapped the empty cushion beside her.

“Come here.”

I did.

She turned to face me fully, legs folding under her again, this time closer. Her thigh touched mine. Her hand landed on my knee.

“You’ve been good so far,” she said. “I think I’ll keep going.”

The air in the room tightened.

She moved slowly—her hand trailing up my thigh, featherlight. Her nails grazed the fabric of my pants. Her fingers reached the crease at my hip and paused.

“You can stop me at any time,” she said.

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to.

She leaned in. Her lips were glossy and full and tasted like strawberries and something darker. The kiss was slow. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Commanding.

She kissed me like she was showing me how. Like I’d do it wrong if she didn’t teach me.

Her hand kept moving—along the inside of my thigh, up, then over. She didn’t grip me yet. Just touched. Just explored. The anticipation was maddening.

And then she whispered it, low against my mouth:

“Undo your pants.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. It threaded into me like static. I looked at her—half disbelieving, half burning.

She arched one eyebrow, still calm. Still collected. Like we were discussing dinner options, not sex.

My fingers moved before I could overthink it.

Button. Zipper. The sound was deafening in the quiet. Her eyes never left my hands. She watched the reveal like it was a gift she already knew she’d earned.

“Good,” she murmured.

Her hand slid under my waistband, nails grazing skin, and that was the first real contact that made my breath catch. Her fingers were warm, deliberate. She wasn’t shy. She wrapped them around me like she’d done it a thousand times—but wanted to relearn this exact shape.

She exhaled softly, pleased. “You’re hard.”

“Of course I am.”

“Because I told you to be?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Liar.”

Her thumb dragged slowly over the head of my cock. I flinched—too much, too sensitive, too not-in-control—and that just made her smile widen. She leaned in again, kissed me with that same slow, claiming heat, and her hand stroked lazily, like she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how fast not to go.

I kissed her harder.

Tried to take some ground back. Hands moving to her hips, her waist, her lower back. But she broke the kiss and pulled back an inch.

“No hands.”

I froze.

She held my gaze, waiting.

And I let go.

Her smile told me exactly what that gave her.

She leaned in again and bit my bottom lip—just enough to leave a sting.

“You’ll touch me when I say you can.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

My breath left me all at once. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Her hands slid my pants down further, then my boxers, freeing me completely. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she lowered her head and pressed the flat of her tongue against the base of my shaft.

Slow.

Upward.

Warm, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through my whole body.

She didn’t rush. She licked. She tasted. She dragged her mouth along me like she was memorizing the shape of my shaft. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, she took me into her mouth—just the head, just enough to make me want to shove my hips forward, just enough to make me hold still.

She knew.

She was watching for the twitch of my thigh. The clench of my jaw. Her hand stroked in time with her mouth, lazy, devastating, a rhythm designed to drive a man out of his body without ever letting him finish.

And she wasn't letting me finish.

Every time my breath caught, she stopped. Pulled back. Let her tongue flick once, twice, too lightly to give me relief. She kissed the tip like she was thanking me for the privilege. Then started again.

And again.

Until I was panting, fists clenched at my sides, every part of me straining not to move. Not to grab her. Not to fuck her mouth the way I wanted to.

She pulled back completely.

Wiped her mouth with her thumb.

Then looked up at me with those sharp, unfazed eyes and said, “Good boy.”

She stayed on her knees.

Not because she had to. Because she liked the angle. She liked the view. She liked that I was still sitting there, pants around my thighs, chest rising like I’d just finished a workout—and she wasn't letting me cum.

She dragged the back of her fingers up the length of my thigh, the touch so light it barely existed, like she was testing whether I was ticklish. I wasn’t. But I was sensitive. Every nerve tuned to her. Every inch of me vibrating from her touch.

She looked pleased with herself. No—she looked composed. Like she could’ve done that to anyone and stayed perfectly unaffected.

That bothered me.

Not enough to stop. Not yet.

“Still with me?” she asked, smiling like we were just chatting over coffee.

“Barely.”

“Good.” She stood. Slow again. Unbothered. She stepped out of the loose arc of my pants on the floor, hands smoothing down her sides as she crossed the room.

She didn’t go far. Just to the mirror again. Touched up her lips. Adjusted a strap. Like this was an intermission in her show.

She glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ve got a nice mouth when you’re quiet.”

“Thought you liked control.”

“I do.”

“Don't get used to it.” I said with a slight smile

That earned me a sharper look. But no protest. She let the tension sit.

Then she walked back to me, bent over, and kissed me again—harder this time. Her tongue pushed into my mouth with zero hesitation, and she moaned softly when I kissed her back like I meant it.

She tasted like strawberries.

Her body moved against mine—shoulders, chest, hips—grinding down slow as she pushed me back into the cushions. She swung a leg over and straddled me, her outfit brushing bare skin in all the right ways and none of the convenient ones.

She reached behind her, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled them up over my head.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her hips rolled against me once, then again. Her breath caught—just slightly—and I caught it, too. Her control wasn’t an act. But it had cracks. Beautiful ones. And I liked finding them.

She leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

I swallowed. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll wait.”

Her hips shifted again—slow, deep grind, no friction where I needed it, just enough heat to scramble every thought in my skull.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, like it was a lecture. “Until I’m done with you.”

I met her eyes.

“And what happens after that?”

She smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She reached between us, tugging the crotch of her bodysuit to the side with practiced ease. I heard the slick stretch of fabric, the shift in her breath as her fingers slid down—coating her inner thighs, spreading herself open right above me.

She was wet.

Not fake-moaning wet. Not porn-scene wet.

Dripping.

She held me in place, pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, and then—

She sank down, inch by inch.

No rush. No pause. Just steady descent, her heat swallowing me whole, her breath catching, then stuttering out in a quiet, barely-there gasp. My hands gripped the sides of the chair so hard I thought the frame might crack. Her walls clenched around me like velvet and vice, her thighs tightening at my hips, her nails raking lightly over my chest as she adjusted to the full stretch.

She didn’t move right away. She stayed seated on me, full and still, like the moment itself was enough.

And then she whispered:

“There.”

Her hips began to move—smooth, controlled rolls, grinding down into me like she wanted to leave a bruise. Every time she shifted, I could feel how deep I was inside her. I could see the concentration on her face. This wasn’t for me. Not yet. This was her rhythm, her pressure, her high.

And god, watching her take it was better than any porn I’d ever seen.

Her hair came loose as she moved. Her head tilted back. She bit her bottom lip hard, and I wanted to suck it out from between her teeth. Her body flexed, sweat starting to bead at her chest, and I couldn’t decide where to look—her tits, bouncing just under the thin mesh of her bodysuit, or her face as she came closer and closer to the edge.

I held still. Let her use me.

And then she started talking.

“Harder,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Faster—fuck—just like that.”

Her hands slid up my chest, to my shoulders, and she grabbed tight. Used me for leverage. Started bouncing, not gently now—driven, messy, beautiful. She moaned, cursed, clenched tighter with every bounce, until—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, over and over. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She was riding me like she owned me.

And in that moment, I let her. I fucking loved it.

Her pussy was unreal—tight, soaked, gripping me like she wanted to wring every drop out of my body. Her thighs slapped down against me with each stroke, and the sound of it—wet, hot, shameless—made it impossible to think. I was deep inside her, over and over, my cock pulsing every time she ground down and stayed there just long enough to clench.

I looked up at her—body arching, lips parted, eyes half-shut—and I swear I could’ve come just watching her move.

She was into it.

Head thrown back. Moaning with every bounce. Fingernails dragging across my chest. Riding like she needed it, like she was getting off on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to move.

And I wasn’t. I didn’t grab her hips. I didn’t flip her. I held still and let her take it.

Because watching her unravel like this?

Fucking addicting.

Her hands found the back of the chair, bracing. She leaned forward and the change in angle made me groan—deeper now, tighter. Her tits bounced right in front of me, barely covered by her bodysuit. I leaned up, took a nipple in my mouth through the mesh, sucked hard.

She gasped. Bucked.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she begged, riding harder, fucking me like her orgasm was right on the edge and I was the last thing holding it in.

I bit her. Just a little.

She lost it.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! AAAH!”

Her body locked down around me—tight, hot, pulsing as she came. Her moan was sharp, sudden, desperate. She grinded through it, wringing herself out on my cock until she was panting against my neck, shaking.

And then, breathless—still straddling me—she laughed.

Low. Lazy. Satisfied.

“God,” she murmured, “you fuck like you’re broke.”

That word hit different.

I blinked.

“What?”

She looked at me, smiling. Still high off it. “I mean it as a compliment,” she said. “You fuck like you need it.”

The air shifted.

She leaned in, playful, mouth against my ear. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

No answer.

“I could,” she purred. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You could just do this—stay hard, stay pretty—let me keep you. I have a lot of mon-”

My hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not hard, not dangerous, just enough to shock her system.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

“Ah—!”

I shoved her back, flat on the couch, my grip still snug around her throat, and she gasped again, this time sharper. Her legs twitched around me. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something clever—but no words came.

“You think you can buy me?” I said, voice low, rough.

She shook her head slightly, lips parted.

“I was just teasing—”

“Bullshit.”

“Mylo…” Her voice cracked, breathy and high. “Wait—”

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to lead anymore.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her chest rose faster.

But she didn’t push me off. Didn’t tell me to stop.

She wanted to know what it felt like when I wasn’t pretending.

I grabbed her wrists, pressed them hard above her head, and crashed my mouth down onto hers—biting, taking, tasting the gloss off her lips like punishment.

She moaned against me.

“Mmnh—fuck—!”

My hips slammed forward. She gasped again, eyes flying wide as I pushed back into her in one deep, hard stroke.

“Oh! Ohhh—f-fuck—!”

Her body jerked. Her legs reflexively wrapped around my waist, but I wasn’t gentle. I slammed into her again, holding her down, making her feel it.

“AHH—ah—Mylo!”

“You wanted this,” I snarled. “So take it.”

She whimpered.

“Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—!”

I gripped her hips and rolled them up, shifting the angle, and slammed in again, deeper this time. Her back arched and she screamed.

“OHHH! GOD—AAAH!”

Her whole body was starting to fall apart. Her voice was shaky, her hands scrambling for anything to hold. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Her tits bounced wildly beneath me with every thrust.

She bit her lip. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” I growled. “I want to hear it.”

Her eyes fluttered.

And then she let go.

“…more…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, like it had to claw its way up from deep inside her.

But I heard it.

And I fucking delivered.

I grabbed her by the thighs, yanked her body to the edge of the couch, and stood up just enough to drive into her with my full weight.

“AHHH—!”

Her scream echoed.

She clawed at the cushions, gasping, moaning, totally undone.

Her pussy was soaked—wrecked—from her orgasm, still fluttering around my cock, begging for mercy it wasn’t going to get. I pounded into her, fast and deep, hips snapping against her ass, and the sound of it was obscene—wet and hot and perfect.

“FUCK—! Mylo—ohmygod—ohmygod!”

“You’re still talking?” I growled. “I thought you gave that up.”

“Ah—ahh—! I—I can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You’re taking every inch,” I said. “Don’t pretend you can’t.”

I pinned her thighs wide with one arm and leaned down, dragging my teeth across her chest before I sucked one of her nipples deep into my mouth. Her body arched.

“OHHH—oh fuck! Fuck—Mylo—yes!”

Her hands flew to my hair, pulling, scratching, grounding herself while I sucked hard, my hips never stopping. I bit down—just enough to make her cry out again—and switched sides, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, wet and relentless.

She was panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

Completely gone.

“Ahh! Oh—ohh fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—”

“Good,” I grunted. “Give it to me.”

I reached down, thumb circling her clit, tight and fast, no mercy.

“No—no no no—fuuuck!”

Her thighs clenched around me, hips bucking wildly, and then her whole body snapped. She screamed—

“AHHH—AAAHHH—OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Her pussy clamped down on me like a vice, her second orgasm crashing through her like it caught her off guard. She sobbed my name, twisting underneath me, heels pounding the couch, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body convulsed.

I didn’t stop.

I grinned.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered—shaky, broken, breathless. “M-Mylo—please—!”

I pulled out.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

But I didn’t give her time to think. I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, and shoved her onto her knees.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders. Her back arched. Her ass was round, high, perfect—and dripping.

I lined up behind her.

“You’re gonna remember this,” I said.

And I slammed back inside her.

“AAAHHH! OH FUCK!”

Her hands clawed at the couch, knuckles white.

I gripped her hips and drove into her like I wanted to split her in half. Her pussy was tighter like this, deeper, hotter—perfect. She was shaking already, moaning like she couldn’t stop.

“F-fuck—yes—yes! HARDER—!”

“Like this?” I growled, slamming in faster.

“AHHH! FUCK YES—!”

Her ass slapped against my hips with every thrust, her breath coming in broken gasps, her cries bouncing off the walls.

“You love being used,” I said.

“YES—!”

“You love when I fuck you like this.”

“YES! YES—fuck—I’m yours—!”

My hand tangled in her hair, yanked her head back. I leaned over, chest against her back, lips at her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Fuck—Mylo—I’m yours!”

And then she broke.

Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking, pussy clenching so tight I nearly lost it.

“Ohhh—oh fuck—I’m gonna—gonna—AAAHHHH!”

She came again, louder than before, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears in her eyes, body jerking against mine like she couldn’t control it anymore.

I wrapped my arms around her and kept thrusting.

Long.

Deep.

Cruel.

She sobbed my name like a prayer. Like she meant it.

“Ahh… Mylo… ohhh—fuck—fuck—”

And I was still inside her.

Still pounding her. Still filling her. Still using her.

But slower now.

Crueler.

Each thrust was long, deep, deliberate. Dragging along every inch of her, making her whimper and gasp as her whole body melted forward against the cushions.

Her thighs were twitching. Her hands limp. She was trying to stay upright, trying to catch her breath—but I didn’t stop.

I wanted her at the edge. I wanted to fuck her into something wordless.

So I grabbed her hips and slammed into her again, harder than before.

“AHHH! Aghh—ohmygod—Mylo!”

She nearly collapsed. Her forehead hit the cushion. Her ass quivered with the shock of it. Her pussy clenched like she was trying to hold me in.

“You hear that?” I growled, pulling almost all the way out—then driving back in, fast, loud, wet.

Slap.

“F-fuck! Ahhh—yes—yes—!”

I kept going. Hard. Brutal.

My balls slapped against her with every thrust, heavy and obscene. Her moans pitched higher and higher—raw now, broken, no rhythm or performance left.

“AHH! AH! I-I can’t—! Mylo—I—”

“You can,” I snapped.

She tried to shake her head but her body betrayed her.

And then she started crying out.

Short, fast, choked cries between gasps.

“Ahh! Oh! O.. Oh! M-Mylo—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking—AAAHHH!”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and hauled her up to her knees.

“Not yet.”

She sobbed. Literally sobbed.

“Mylo—I c-can’t—please—I’m gonna—”

I reached down and rubbed her clit. Just once.

That’s all it took.

She exploded.

Her whole body locked. Her mouth dropped open and a noise came out that wasn’t even human.

“AHHH! OHH! AAAHH—MYLO—FUCK—FUCK—FUUUCK!”

Her pussy milked my cock, hard. Over and over. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, twisting her body into mine, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. She was panting, trembling, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop.

I pulled out—slowly, watching her body shake.

Then I flipped her over and dragged her down onto the rug in front of me.

On her knees.

Her face was red, glowing, dazed. Her lips were parted, shining with spit. Her chest rose and fell fast, tits marked from where I’d sucked them raw. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I grabbed my cock—wet, slick, twitching—and jerked it in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“I want you to see it,” I said.

She nodded. Barely.

I stroked. Hard. Fast.

She stuck her tongue out. Just a little. Just enough.

I groaned—fuck—I was close.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered.

Her hand slid between her legs instantly.

She moaned.

“Ahh… ah—fuck…”

Her fingers rubbed frantically against her clit, still sensitive, still soaked. She didn’t even try to play it cool anymore. She moaned like a whore—desperate, breathy, begging for it.

“Cum with me,” I said.

And we did.

I growled, jerked hard—and exploded.

Hot ropes splattered her lips, her chin, her tongue. She gasped, eyes closing, moaning as her own orgasm took her again—so raw she didn’t even scream this time, just shook, body twitching as I painted her skin.

She came without a word. Just noise.

“Mmhh… ahh… ahhh…”

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Eyes glazed, face ruined.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

She leaned into my chest, breath hitching, heartbeat stuttering.

And for the first time that night—

She was quiet.

Curled up against me, silent, skin hot and flushed, her breath still uneven. I could feel her heartbeat through her chest, fast and light, ticking against my ribs like a metronome that hadn’t slowed down yet.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t need to.

Her body was saying everything.

The way she clung to me—legs tangled with mine, face tucked into the curve of my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach like she couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. She felt small like that. Breakable. Even though five minutes ago, she was grinding on top of me like she was trying to kill me.

Now she was soft. Quiet. Bare.

My hand ran lazily up and down her back. Just skin and slow movement. Every few seconds she twitched, her hips jolting just a little—oversensitive, still riding out the shockwaves.

She made a little sound into my chest.

“Mmh…”

“You good?”

She nodded against my skin. “Mhm.”

“You sure?”

She laughed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think my legs work.”

I smiled.

“I can’t feel my face, either,” she added.

I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“Cute,” I said.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, nudging me with her nose.

But she smiled. I felt it.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Cooling off. The tension between us had gone slack, melted down into something warmer. Calmer. Her body fit against mine like it was supposed to be there.

I looked down and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, nuzzling against my chest like a sleepy cat.

“Seriously though,” she said after a while, voice scratchy and small. “That was…”

She didn’t finish.

“That was,” I agreed.

She laughed again, then yawned, and her leg slid between mine.

“God,” she said. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. You fucked someone you don't even know the name of.”

“I asked. It also didn't seem that important at the time.”

“Still doesn’t?”

I glanced down. “I suppose it does. Your name?”

She looked up at me, half-lidded.

“Giselle.”

We just stared at each other for a second. Neither of us smiling now. Just… seeing each other.

“I liked when you didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I liked it too.”

She rested her cheek on my chest again. Slower now. Breathing deeper.

“Just… don’t get weird about it.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like…” Her voice softened. “Don’t start acting different now that you know.”

I hesitated. “Know what?”

She lifted her head, squinting slightly. “You know… that I’m… in Aespa?”

I blinked. “What’s Aespa?”

She stared at me. Silent. Waiting for the punchline.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

She blinked. Twice.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, half-laughing. “You really don't know!”

“Nope.”

“You came to our concert.”

“My friends dragged me.”

“Jesus.” She flopped back down on my chest, stunned. “I think I just came harder.”

We stayed like that for another few minutes. Her body pressed against mine, skin warm, lips still curled in that breathless little smirk. Every so often, she’d hum, or shift slightly, or let out this content, melted sigh like she still hadn’t landed yet.

“You’re insane, you know,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle on my chest.

“Because I don't know who you were?”

“Because you don't care.”

I smiled, eyes closed. “Still don’t.”

Her fingers stopped moving. For a second I thought I’d said the wrong thing.

But then she whispered, “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

I cracked one eye open. “That’s saying something.”

��Oh, I know. I was there.”

She leaned up and kissed me, slow and unhurried. I kissed her back, brushing my thumb along her jaw, letting her taste linger. She pulled back just an inch.

“So what happens now?” she asked, voice small.

I paused.

“Whatever you want.”

Her lips pressed together. Not uncertain. Just… thoughtful.

But then—

Knock knock knock.

Her entire body froze.

I lifted my head.

There it was again—three clean knocks, firm and casual.

“Giselle?” a voice called through the door. Female. Confident. “They’re waiting on us for the group shot.”

She swore under her breath and rolled off me, grabbing at the nearest sheet.

“Shit, shit—fuck, that’s Karina.”

“Karina?”

She gave me a wild look. “One of the girls. From the group.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

She scrambled for her phone and grabbed a tissue box off the vanity. I watched her wipe her inner thighs, dab under her eyes, fix her lips in the mirror. She still looked flushed. Hair tangled. But some of the damage was masked.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “I can’t walk out there looking like I just got wrecked.”

“You did,” I said.

“Don’t be proud of that.”

She shoved me toward the closet. “Hide. Please.”

I hesitated. She pushed again.

“Unless you want to get recognized and tossed off the balcony.”

That was enough.

I ducked into the small walk-in just as she called out, “Be right there!”

From inside, I heard the door unlock. Hinges creaking. Light footsteps.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked. Closer now. Her voice smooth. A little suspicious.

“Yeah,” Giselle replied, now perfectly calm. “Just needed a minute.”

A pause.

“You look like a mess.”

Giselle laughed, and it was almost too good. “Tried a new lash glue. Bad idea.”

Karina snorted. “It looks like you cried in a club bathroom.”

“I kind of did.”

“You want me to stall them?”

“No. I’m good now.”

Silence.

And then, just as the door started to close—

“You sure you were alone in here?”

My heart stopped.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “Of course I was,” she said, smooth as ever. “Why?”

Karina didn’t answer right away.

Then: “No reason.”

The door shut.

A lock clicked.

A few seconds later, the closet opened.

Giselle stood there—still glowing, still breathless, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her in for a kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2

#giselle smut #aespa #aespa smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader

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kngrose · 7 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

includes sevika violet jinx

WARNINGS: 18+, stalking, manipulation, implied violence, implied abuse, toxic relationships, NONCON touching, forced proximity, blackmail, mentions of punishments

sevika loneliness induction type

Sevika is fiercely loyal to those she associates herself with, and that’s not just anybody. There must be a substance that directly ties her to the cause. And though she’ll never come clean about what the substance is, if she becomes romantically obsessed with you, that loyalty will turn obsessive. She’s a master of control and patience; she’s very practical. Because she’s so calculated, most of her obsessive tendencies will manifest in quiet, almost unnoticed ways.

Her yandere tendencies wouldn’t involve loud outbursts or tantrums. Instead, she would be silently obsessed, methodically planning her moves and slowly, subtly creating a reality where you feel like you can only depend on her. She wouldn’t express her feelings loudly—rather, her obsession would be reflected in small, quiet gestures that make it clear no one else could ever take her place.

Before you two even "met" she was always around. Keeping track of your every move, watching you from a distance, ensuring no one else got too close. She'd follow you, lurking in the shadows, just to make sure no harm came your way—or to make sure you didn’t get too attached to someone else; romantically or platonically. Every time you’d explained the feeling of being watched to your peers, they’d brush it off. “There is nothing unusual about that,” they would say, “look where we live.” You’d suppose they were right. It would feel more strange if you didn’t feel like you were being followed.

Once Sevika finally makes her presence known, anyone who tries to get close to you, even in a friendly manner, will be met with cold, calculating hostility. She will even go as far as to subtly manipulate situations to isolate you from others, all while maintaining the facade of being the perfect ally. She would pay close attention to who you befriended and considered close before deciding who to pluck from your life. And pluck she would. You’ll start to notice slowly but surely that all of your peers have… disappeared. Which is strange; you guys never got into any trouble– you didn’t have any enemies, there’s literally no one who would be singling you all out. “It's dangerous out here,” she’ll say, “It's dangerous and vile and sick. And they couldn't protect themselves.” And she’ll gaze at you, a strange glint in her eyes, “But don't worry. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

She will use her intelligence and strength not just to protect you, but to shape your perception of her. Sevika is good at reading people, so she will slowly play with your emotions—gently pushing your boundaries little by little. To the point where you feel; like you can’t deny her. Her touches would start to linger too long, in places that friends don't touch. Her gazes were too intense. She’s embracing you, kissing you– calling you names friends don't call each other. Every interaction would feel charged as if she’s marking you as hers in ways that go beyond friendship.

Constantly grabbing at the fat of your thighs, dangerously close to your ass. She’s pulling you into her lap, fondling– much to your displeasure. You’ll tell her, “No, that’s not normal…” You’ll make it known that you don’t see her that way. Do you? But she’ll just shush you, tell you to “Relax.”And as the line between “friend” and “lover” would start to blur, Sevika would be pulling the last seam tightly. She’s got you exactly where she wants you.

She would be able to mask her jealousy with a calm and controlled demeanor, but beneath the surface, she would be seething. If you paid attention to anyone else, she’d nod along with the conversation, but her eyes would be cold, flicking between you and the others with disdain, watching for an opportunity to intervene or manipulate the situation. She’d never directly show how much it bothers her, but when you’re gone, she’d ensure that others get the message; your affection is not to be shared.

Aside from someone trying to deter your attention, if anyone ever tried to harm you, Sevika would always retaliate. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty, and her methods of dealing with threats would be brutal. For her, a threat is a threat, and she would see nothing wrong with taking extreme measures to handle it as soon as the opportunity presents itself. She’s not stupid, she won't just jump the gun. She values patience, which would call for a slow, painful death.

She would be adept at playing on your emotions, making you feel guilty if you ever question her or try to pull away. She might say things like, “I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I? So why would you doubt me now?” using her history of loyalty and support to bind you closer to her, turning any moment of doubt into something you feel you must make up for.

If Sevika truly believes you are the one for her, she would convince herself—and eventually, you—that you were meant to be together. Again, she is fiercely loyal and expects nothing less from you in return. In her eyes, she is the only person who truly understands and appreciates you, so anything else would be a betrayal. Please do not test her patience with this. If Sevika makes it clear to you that she doesn’t want you around anyone else, for any reason, do not be caught around anyone else.

When you make a mistake, which you will know when you've made a mistake, she will just give you this look. The look. The one where you know she's pissed off by just a glance. You’re in luck if you're in public; she won't act on it just yet. And she won't act as soon as you get home, either. I feel like Sevika would wait it out on purpose. By this I mean; If you ever did something that upset her, she would be deathly silent; quietly brooding around you, imposing her size on you in an intimidating way. And I'm not talking about a few hours or a day. I'm talking weeks. And it drives you mad. You’ll be walking on eggshells around her, terrified by the deafening silence. What is she thinking? What is she going to do? And this is all according to her plan. She wants you to think she forgot about it so that when she does exact punishment, it will take you by complete surprise. It’s a mind game. And that’s the first thing she’ll break.

violet self sabotaging type

Vi is fiercely protective, passionate, and can be concerningly impulsive, so pairing this all with yandere tendencies would bring forth a compelling mix of aggression, loyalty, and possessiveness. Let’s start where the root of the issue is; she is incredibly jealous. Unhealthily so. Vi's jealousy wouldn’t just be passive; it would be aggressive and reactive. If anyone even looked at you in a way she didn’t like, she’d be quick to intervene, usually with a punch or a threatening glare. Her jealousy would make her irrationally angry—if you decided to pay attention to someone else, she might lash out in frustration, even if she tries to keep a calm exterior.

Vi’s flirtation might be laced with possessiveness—playful jabs or teasing that has an undercurrent of "don’t you dare look at anyone else" embedded in it. If someone else tries to show affection toward you, she would be quick to remind them, through a sharp glare or a fist to the face, that you’re already taken—and that she’s not afraid to be a little violent to keep it that way.

She’s naturally protective over those she loves, but with you that protectiveness would take a much darker turn. She wouldn’t just defend you from external threats—she would also isolate you from anyone she perceives as a potential rival or distraction. Acquaintances, or even strangers would be seen as obstacles in her path, and she might resort to physical intimidation or threats to keep them at bay. She’s not shy about this either; In fact, more often than not you’ll find out this information firsthand as a witness.

She’s so nosy, omg. She has to know everything. Who you went out with the other night? Was that everyone who was there? Why were you out so long? Where did you all even go? Are you keeping something from her?

She’ll try to shrug this off as her being protective, but her protective nature would cross into obsession. Again, she’s not shy about this. She’s always standing close enough to overhear your conversations, idly breathing down your shoulder and making you and the other person uncomfortable. She’s always be nearby, ready to step in if she feels something is wrong. If you try to go out alone, she'd insist on accompanying you, always finding excuses to be in your personal space.

To most people, She would still appear to be the strong, caring, and honestly reckless person they know, but beneath the surface, she would have an all-consuming obsession with you. Anyone who saw her with you might think you both have a maybe somewhat overbearing, but affectionate relationship. But in truth, Vi would always be calculating, and slowly taking control of your life to ensure that you could never escape her.

She’ll always find a reason to touch you—putting a hand on your shoulder or wrapping an arm around your waist, all while making it clear that no one else is allowed this kind of closeness. The more possessive she gets, the tighter and more lingering her embraces would be, and she wouldn’t tolerate anyone else getting too close.

Vi would use her knowledge of your emotions to manipulate you into doing what she wants. You’re trying to distance yourself? No worries, she’ll be sure to draw you back in with sweet words and kisses you can taste– that always worked in the past. But if not? She’s angry, she’s confused. Why would you want to leave someone who’s so selfless and always ready to fight for you?

She’s guilt-tripping you, reminding you of all the things she’s done for you, how much she’s fought for you, and how no one else cares about you the way she does. And if that doesn’t work? Have fun pulling her out of whatever hole she’s about to dig herself into out of pure spite. Drinking herself into oblivion? Picking fights with any and everyone? Threatening to off herself, for fucks sake.

And if somehow her threatening to end her life doesn't work? That’s fine; just be prepared to clear up the most malicious rumors about yourself. The ones that make people alienate you. They’re spreading like wildfire, there’s no way you’ll be able to have it under control. At that point, who else can you turn to? You’ll have no choice but to worm your way back into the relationship you so desperately wanted to leave. The one person who didn’t turn on you in your time of despair. She’s stubborn and she’s childish and she knows this. But it won't deter her one bit. It’s only when you’re back under her arm that the rumors dissipate like smoke, leaving as quickly as they came. It’ll dawn on you then, where they originated.

jinx delusional type

Jinx is not afraid to harm you. Whether it be mentally, emotionally, or physically. Please understand that she is not above that. She has real psychological issues, so in this relationship being very careful is very vital. It might cost you your life. She is constantly putting you to the test, she wants to see what decisions you’ll make, and how you’ll react under pressure. She might create situations to see if you’ll abandon her or stand by her. If she perceives any kind of betrayal, even a small one, her obsession will deepen, and she will lash out to remind you of her hold on you.

She’ll do little things like leaving doors unlocked or leaving a key nearby, all the while watching silently from the shadows, anticipating your next moves. She enjoys creating confusion, making you doubt yourself, and feeding your insecurities, all while maintaining a façade of sweetness and care. More than likely you may start feeling like you’re losing your grip on reality, unsure whether her actions are out of love or something darker.

If you still have your freedom, you might catch her following you if you have a sharp enough eye. Whether it's sneaking into your room, watching you from afar, or listening in on your conversations, she’ll make sure she knows everything about your life. And if you seem distant or don't include her in your world, it sends her into a spiral of insecurity and she tries even harder to make you need her.

Her paranoia is a defining trait of her yandere tendencies. If you show any kind of affection or attention toward anyone else, she snaps, jealousy swallowing her whole. This can lead her to lash out, either through harsh words, tantrums, or more drastic actions. In her mind, only she should have your attention and affection.

You always have to watch what you say, constantly trying to pacify the thoughts in her in the hope that you’re not feeding into them. Sometimes you’ll catch her muttering things to herself as she stares off at nothing, intervening when her muttering starts sounding homicidal. You’ve learned not to let her talk to herself too long, or she’ll start getting confused. Once, she grabbed your face with an iron grip, jerking your face to hers. “You don't need anyone else, right Baby?” She smiled softly, scanning your face, though the smile didn’t meet her eyes. You were dumbfounded– you didn't know how to respond. You didn’t know how she would react– she was so unpredictable– “SAY IT!” You violently flinched, sputtering the words back to you. It seemed to pacify her then, as her soft smile returned and she pecked your lips. “Right..” She’d muttered, petting your hair idly.

Her emotions fluctuate rapidly. One moment, she’ll be sweet and charismatic, trying to be the perfect companion. You’ll almost let your guard down. But in the next, she could snap, lashing out in a fit of rage at any given thing. It could be something as little as you glancing away while she’s speaking; her eyes quickly darting to see what or who’s stolen your attention from her. She’ll feel betrayed.

Because she’s so unpredictable, you’ll never be able to create a mental routine of the “punishments” she gives you. You’ll drive yourself mad just thinking about it; how the hell can she possibly be coming up with so many ways of torment? Sensory deprivation, shock collars, pinning little bombs to your clothes– they won't explode but you’ll think they will. It’s all a game to her, once she feels wronged. She’ll do anything to make you feel the way she does inside, even if that means breaking the moral code.

Jinx loves having control over situations, especially where you are concerned. She’ll "accidentally" sabotage plans or relationships that threaten her sense of control. Or at least she’ll call it an accident when you bring it up. She also collects items that remind her of you—photos, scraps of clothing, anything that holds sentimental value. She’ll hide these items in hidden places as Jinx sees them as proof of her connection to you, and she’ll be upset if they go missing.

Part of me thinks Jinx doesn’t have an end goal, or she has too many. Too many different voices, too many different ideas, too many possibilities. What does she want from you exactly? Well, she doesn’t know. Does she love you? She does! Well, at least she thinks she does. Why else could she feel so passionately about you? But in the same instance– why does she want to break you so badly? Why does she have the urge to hurt you? You’ll catch her staring, shooting her a weary glance; she’s muttering to herself again. You wonder what it’s about this time.

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#sevika #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx arcane #sevika arcane #vi arcane #jinx x reader #sevika x reader #vi x reader #yandere #lesbian #wlw #ao3 #arcane jinx #arcane vi #arcane sevika

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