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cosmictheo · 5 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | kang dae-ho

—summary: a sudden closeness of you and player 333 makes dae-ho's usually sweet mood swing in the opposite way, triggered by pure jealousy. why would you ever need anyone else when you've got him right there? —pairing: kang dae-ho/player 388 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —contains: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, really passionate sex, voyeurism, public sex, sub dae-ho!!! (canon), slight praise kink if you squint, he talks to you through it, jealous and possessive behavior, fluff, dae-ho being so in love with the reader.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Kang Dae-ho had been protecting you ever since he had helped you survive Green Light, Red Light, the first game of all this hell in disguise as a promising new opportunity.

Not knowing you from absolutely nothing, he stepped right in front of you, stretching a hand out to the back to hold yours and guide you across the arena, playing human shield until together, you had crossed the finish line.

And that basically summed up the kind of person Dae-ho is; kind-hearted, courageous, selfless, caring. He was one of the best people you had ever met and he was making this whole calvary into something much better, something brighter, something to keep fighting for until you made it out of there.

Since that, he had stuck by your side, practically standing as your own shadow, constantly putting you first, looking out for your well-being and safety. Without him, you would probably be dead by now, devoid of purpose.

The other players had already gotten used to seeing the two of you together, always watching each other's backs and fooling around and strategizing. Through thick and thin, you were together.

It was only a matter of time —hours—; before something else began to spark between the two of you, growing every time your hands brushed, or when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders or when your bodies cocooned in each other's warmth at night when you slept. A tension was just starting to build, an emotion that for some reason, would always make Dae-ho nervous and flustered, whenever you'd smile at him or clasp his bicep to be by his side every time Gi-hun related a story from his past experience at the games, or when you'd lean your head on his shoulder or when you'd hug each other every time a game ended.

Whatever it was, out of the same feeling, Dae-ho sensed a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if his guts were constricting like a viper, every time you chatted with the 333 player.

He looks at you from the distance, frowning slightly as you laugh at something the guy says, he doesn't even know why he dislikes him so much... he just does.

“Why are you all puckered up?” Jung-bae questions him, pausing his own story to express concern for his teammate's face, following his gaze until he finds you, naturally.

Dae-ho clicks his tongue, shaking his head gently, his tone of voice fluctuating between disbelief and annoyance, "Why is she even over there? It's dangerous"

“Dangerous? Buddy, she's just talking to him. He saved her in the last game, remember?” Jung-bae answers him, confused by the uncharacteristic grumpy attitude of the younger man, used to the sight of him being so cheerful and jovial and optimistic.

“If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here,” Young-il adds, also glancing at how you whisper with player 333, “She's just being polite.”

But Dae-ho huffs humorlessly, forcing his eyes to drag from you to Jung-bae standing in front of him, his fingers still grasping his fork tightly, not really feeling like eating lunch today, “Bullshit, I would've saved her anyway. She didn't need him.”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, sitting by his side as he quietly observes the whole scene, chewing a mouthful of rice, “You're just jealous, man, admit it,” he pronounces with his mouth half full, eyes attentively scanning Dae-ho's reaction.

The whole group of men laugh upon seeing Dae-ho's face morph to one of embarrassment and some offense, cheeks blushing furiously at Gi-hun's fake allegation.

“I'm n-not jealous” he tries to defend himself with a stuttering voice, looking frantically around the amused faces of the men around him, his fingers letting his fork drop by his twitching and nervous state, attracting the attention of a few players who were nearby, including yours, which only makes Dae-ho to blush even redder.

Jung-bae smiles playfully, picking up the fork that had fallen to the ground, “And you're being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Dae-ho squeals, his brow furrowing as he stands up and yanks the fork out of Jung-bae's hand. As the whole group laughs at him, his eyes again search for you in the crowd, finding you in record time, and his whole face darkens again as he notices the way your hand is resting down the player 333's forearm, like you would usually do with him.

He sighs heavily and for the first time, he seriously considers the words of the older men.

Time passes unnoticed within that place, hours perhaps, days? No one really knows.

But the warning that the lights go out in thirty minutes usually means that you should lie down and rest for the next event that the monsters who created this have planned for you all.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at the bed you share with Dae-ho, is that he is lying on his side with his back to you, which concerns you a little, since he never had his back to you when he would sleep.

Something is off.

“Dae-ho?” you call out his name in a gentle whisper, sitting down on the bunk and looking across the broadness of his back with worried eyes, “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey,” you try again gently, thinking that maybe he's not exactly having a good day, considering the current situation you're stuck in.

Dae-ho is feeling his chest heaving as he senses your hand laying on his shoulder, fingers delicately squeezing his flesh beneath the tracksuit jacket.

And suddenly, he's cracking up.

“I'm trying to sleep” and yet, he replies to you curtly, without showing even the slightest sign of rolling over and wanting to actually look at you.

You admire his back with unconvinced eyes for a moment, lying down on the bed and resting your head on the pillow, your hand moving from his shoulder, down his back, across his shoulder blades, before dropping to the surface of the bed.

“You sound off.”

Dae-ho considers his options; whether to just keep talking to you in that oh-so-ungentlemanly way —which made him physically cringe—; whether to express everything he was feeling or just stay quiet and pretend to sleep.

In any case, he acts on impulse, rolling over so he can finally look at you, his eyes softening the instant they meet yours, his heart beating hard and fast, pounding in his ears.

“It's not good for you to associate with players outside our group,” he suddenly blurts out and sees how you just stare at him with further confusion washing over your pretty face, “It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, silently urging him to elaborate on his point. You are quick to notice how deadly serious his face is, his lips lightly pursed and his eyes solemn, a look that is unusual on him. You don't like to see him like that, like everyone there usually acted.

“Player 333,” he replies, jaw clenched, his eyes following you as you sat up again on the bed, looking down at him in sheer confusion, as if somehow, you aren't recognizing him, “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

He sounds... hurt? Disappointed?

“Lee Myung-gi” your face turns enlightened, finally understanding what he's referring to now.

Dae-ho deflects his gaze away from yours, slightly rolling his eyes. Whatever that idiot's name was...

“I was just talking to him. He saved me in the last game, Dae-ho,” you explain in an overly naive tone, a little smile curving the corner of your lips, “I went to thank him”

“But I am the one doing that, that's why I'm here. You didn't need him, you have me,” he retorts back to you instantly, your name being pronounced by his lips like a plea for mercy, gesturing to himself with his hand for emphasis on his words. Your brow furrows at the same time as his, your lips turning into a small pout, feeling like a scolded child, “I was going to save you anyway! You only need me, no one else...”

His voice fades the more he speaks, shaky hand brushing through his loose hair. And now you notice it, the betrayed and hurt expression on his face, his eyes hiding something more than friendliness, something much deeper and bigger.

He is jealous.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” you are questioning him, getting more comfortable on the mattress, your voice keeping low so as not to wake the others, but also firm on your side of the little argument. You had done nothing wrong, “He was just being a good companion—”

“He didn't seem to be performing the good companion role,” Dae-ho interrupts you, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, rising himself up to also sit on the bed and face you, gesticulating with his hands, his tone of voice is fueled by sarcasm and subtle irony now, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you... neither how you were touching him with your hand.”

He crosses his arms and resembles a sulky kid who's had his favorite toy taken away, but you're too pissed off to pause and laugh at him.

Instead, you roll your eyes, starting to unbutton your jacket, feeling too hot all of a sudden, Dae-ho's eyes follow your fingers as they pull down the zipper, “You're being overdramatic.”

"I'm not!" he gasps-whispers, expression offended, he genuinely does seem to be feeling betrayed by what you had done. He leans close to you, so close that you feel the natural warmth of his body, but you stand your ground, looking at him with baffled eyes, his gaze remains soft yet aching, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“You'd rather I touch your arm then?” you raise an eyebrow on your forehead, dropping the jacket by the bottom of the bed, holding his gaze, “Is that what this is all about?”

The effect of your words in instantaneous on Dae-ho, blushing and causing him to pull away from you rather abruptly, brushing his hand through his hair again like a maniac.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty, the word barging into his throat before he could even think of a reasonable response, so he shakes his head slightly, “I mean no— I mean yes—” he cuts himself off, flustered by your attentive gaze, “—that's not the point! The point is that you don't need to go to anyone else when you have me right here.”

He gulps hard, eagerly waiting for your reaction through desperate, sheepish eyes.

“I know,” you whisper, letting out a soft sigh from your mouth, switching to a more empathetic postur. Then you nod your head and stretch out a hand towards him, who wastes no second in reaching out to take it and pull it close to his chest, nuzzling your knuckles with his thumb, “But he just dragged me with him, I couldn't do much,” you offer him a small apologetic smile, “I know you would have saved me anyway, Dae-ho.”

“Of course,” he murmurs your name, bringing your hand to his mouth to press his lips onto your knucles, kissing your smooth skin, “You're not alone, you're with me. You are everything...”

Without saying anything, you move closer to him and hug him. Dae-ho is more than happy to reciprocate your embrace, wrapping his beefy arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck, breathing in your sweet and comforting scent, the scent he so adores. You feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs through you from head to toe.

One of your hands goes up to his head, caressing his hair, fingers sinking into his dark long locks, the soothing and so intimate touch making him sigh.

“You're jealous,” you murmur after a moment of comfortable, heart-warming silence, and he stiffens, his body freezing, you can feel the way his muscles tense against yours.

Dae-ho pulls away from you just a little, far enough to be able to look at you, offering you a sheepish little smile, his cheeks blushing from all the attention and touch and closeness, the way you're talking and looking at him has him breathless.

“Maybe a little,” his expression shifts to one of shame as he dares to confess, valiantly enough to hold your gaze, letting himself fall into the gentleness of your eyes, always so lively and playful, but as beautiful and sparkling as a pair of gemstones, with your long lashes brushing your cheekbones every time you blink.

His hands gently squeeze your waist, contouring your curves and fitting into them perfectly, as if crafted for him to touch and hold.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweets,” you assure him, like a promise, a complicity, leaning into him again.

Dae-ho swallows loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels your beautiful soft lips press down onto his throat, kissing his bouncing Adam's apple. He can feel himself in heaven, letting himself be swept up by the way you are treating him, the way your hands run down his body, passing down his chest until they stop at his midsection, just at the moment your tongue traces across his skin, making him hiss, feeling all the air being knocked out of his lungs.

“Fuck— ngh,” he whimpers, his whole body aching with heat, his heart pumping hot blood into his crotch, heartbeats matching up with each of your wet kisses on his neck.

His big hands wander over your waist, lightly caressing your lower back, fingers barely grazing the curve of your ass above the fabric of your tracksuit pants, clasping the flesh, pressing you helplessly against his body. His touch is needy, but nonetheless respectful, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Is this okay?” comically enough he's the one to ask as your mouth reaches his chin by a wet trail of soft kisses through his skin and he almost feels himself cumming into his boxers by the way you open your eyes to look up at him, pupils dilated in pleasure.

You sigh out a soft chuckle and your breath crashes against his half-open lips, needily breathing in your air, breathing you in. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of his jacket.

“You want this?”

It's stupid that you even had the mere thought of that question.

“Yes, please, baby— please,” Dae-ho rushes to answer, hands squeezing everything they could grab from you, desperately, “Can I kiss yo—”

Before he managed to formulate the question your lips are on his and from one second to the next he pulls you close to sit on his lap, making you feel his erection press against the underside of your thigh.

Frantically, between kisses, tongues recognizing each other and hands grasping what they can of the other, he helps you to remove his shirt, breaking away for just a moment to pull it over his head, looking at you with eyes darkened with desire.

He groans against your mouth as you kiss again, your teeth nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

“Shh...” you coo against his lips, pushing him down to make his back lay against the bed, “You don't want the others to hear, do you?”

A playful smile stretches at the corner of his lips, squeezing your butt once you leaned over him to begin kissing his chest, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling the way your back arches.

“I wouldn't mind if 333 listens—”

“Dae-ho,” you name him disapprovingly, but your eyes are heavy with playfulness and longing.

He gazes adoringly up as you take off your shirt, eyes roaming down your neck, across your chest, down your stomach.

“You're so pretty, fuck— come here,” he tugs you closer to him to kiss you one more time, his hands detaching from your hips to lift his own, pulling down his pants and his now, wrecked boxers, clumsily sliding the waistband of the cloth down his thighs.

His dick springs free and it has you open-mouthed, staring down at it with eyes of raw longing and adoration. His mushroom-shaped, leaking, needy head bumps barely against his lower abdomen, lining up with his happy trail.

Dae-ho blushes under your gaze, one of his hands caresses your hip to attract your attention back to his face.

“Can you handle it, baby?” his tone of voice lowers sheepishly.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing from his words only and in less than ten seconds, you're stripping off your pants too, pulling your soaking wet panties aside. He can actually feel how wet you are when your pussy barely brushes against his bare crotch, he has to resist to keep from cumming right there.

“I can— fuck, yeah— I can handle it,” you babble tremblingly through gentle gasps as he reaches his cock, stroking it three times before he aligns it with your inviting hole, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit to scoop up all of your wetness, and use it as a natural lube.

Dae-ho bites down on his lower lip to muffle a moan that ascends his throat, feeling the head of his cock push up into the tight entrance of your pussy, plunging between your slick folds.

He leans his forehead flat against your chest, nestling right between your breasts, his whole body trembling from a riot of pleasure, muffling his moans and noises against your skin.

“Shit, y-you're— h-hah— you're so wet,” he raspes out into your bare skin, his lips slurring insults and name-calling you like a prayer, a poem through your sweaty skin, his tongue rolls out from between his parted lips, coating your skin with his drool.

His hands are roaming over your hips, each digit digging into the fat of your ass, never applying weight, giving you all the time you needed to settle onto his size, yet his voice was desperate and eager with anticipation, “So tight— so pretty.”

Your lips are pressed against the crown of his head, breathing shakily as you begin to lower yourself into him achingly slow, drawing a gasp from both of you. Your palms squeeze his broad shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry out with every inch he is pushing his way inside you, your pussy fluttering and squishing him deeper.

“Yeah, just like that, that's it,” Dae-ho is praising you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your tits, fingers caressing your lower back while his other hand pats your ass appraisingly, “just a little more, baby, a little m-more and I'm all yours— I'm yours.”

His words really touch your very core, hand sliding up his neck to sink into his hair and pull it, making him hiss as he licks your nipple. Your pussy swallows another inch of him and you feel him in your fucking guts by now. He feels your squishy walls clench around him like a vice and he refuses to even think about the possibility of a life without feeling like this again.

“Dae-ho,” you whimper his name as the bulging tip of his cock reaches a particular spongy spot and instantly your whole body reacts as well.

“Mh-hm,” his lips lick and kiss your collarbone all the way up your neck and then he kisses your lips, “I'm here. I got you, I always got you,” his eyes finally lock with yours again and you nearly feel every single muscle and organ in your abdomen twitch when you notice tears being held back in them, all from the flood of pleasure and bliss your body is giving him.

He can feel himself in heaven, beneath you, his hips grinding up into yours as his cock is plunged so deep inside you.

Dae-ho kisses you again, intoxicated, a thread of spit remains connecting your mouths once you part.

A few more long seconds and you're all the way down sitting on him, his heavy, throbbing balls pressed flush against your ass. Your pussy envelops him thoroughly, molding into his shape as you breathe a deep sigh and Dae-ho breathes out as well when your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“There you are, my baby, you're doing s-so good,” he croaks, fondling your backside affectionately, feeling your dampness dripping down his thighs, “Holy shit you feel good... I'm so deep—”

And when you start to move on top of him, he has to close his eyes, his sweaty palms pawing your ass, hopeless for your mercy.

But you have no mercy, your pussy, your thighs, your fucking hips, the way you look down at him and ride him, giving him whiplash with every bounce. And he can swear he knows you from another life, from the way his cock forms a shape inside you, reaching parts within you that no one else has been capable of reaching before, as if your body was made for him— no, as if he was made to fit your body.

“My God—” he hiccups and you press your forehead against his, seeking his lips with yours to silence you both, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the mattress.

The bunk just barely creaks beneath the relentless sway of your hips slamming into his, ass bumping hard down on his thighs, taking him all the way down and up again, so deep that every time you bottom out you feel him in your fucking throat.

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, looking down at him and all of his body is reacting to the petname.

You take in the gorgeous sight that is his face flushed with utter pleasure, eyes squinting, sweaty arms wrapping all around you and holding you impossibly close, his lower belly tensed and cramped.

He looks so pussy drunk, drinking and drinking in your body and essence, everything you provide. The tought makes you feel your insides flip, squeezing into a knot. And Dae-ho feels it too.

You bend down, lips falling onto his shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo on his side and when your tongue traces the black ink, exactly when his engorged tip brushes against your fucking cervix and your ass does a particularly powerful bounce on his thick thighs, he starts to feel his body twitching, reaching that exquisite release. He begins to cum, wracked by a rush of erotic bliss that has him seeing stars in the pitch-black.

His hips begin to meet yours in mid-between your wild bouncing and your pussy squelches around his cock, ready to take in all he has to give.

“I'm cumming— hah— b-baby, where—” he babbles through breathy hiccups and whimpers, his body is flushing, seeking your gaze with half-closed eyes, his chest gasping fast.

You kiss his tattoo one more time before answering him, having the nerve to smirk, as if you aren't jumping his bones, “Inside— mhm— fill me up, Dae-ho,” your eyes finally meet his and you squish his biceps, “please,” you beg him, with tears on your eyes.

“Holy shit— you don't have to convince me, love” he growls out hoarsely, and you have never hear him insult so much in such a short span of time. He kiss the corner of your lips messily, “I'm so fucking deep, you take it so well, baby— fuck.”

He chokes on his own voice and squeezes your hips until his palms are molded into your flesh. His tip touches that special squishy spot inside you again and you're cumming with him, both of you riding your own high, sinking into each other's bodies, souls becoming one. Straight into the core of the storm of pleasure.

His trembling fingers eventually loosen his grip on your ass, but his imprint stays right there, flushed. His cock softens deep inside you and you can feel it still spurting hot ropes up into your womb. Dae-ho whimpers flush against your mouth, gasping for breath. And you know you might as well die right there, tangled with his body.

Your head is empty, blurry with him and only him, your hips keep rolling on their own motion, slower. Your pussy squelches, full of him, the friction only makes him chant your name over and over in raspy whispers, like a hymn. Your orgasm is rough and strong, rocking your body like an earthquake. It makes you moan his name and he cuts you off, kissing you senselessly.

“Thank you, thank you...” he mumbles repeatedly against your mouth, hissing once you stop all movement on top of him. And he kisses you again, appreciatively, lovingly.

Dae-ho throws his head back on the bunk, trying to catch his breath, his hands drop to your thighs, always with a possessive hold, groping around for your ass, pressed down on his trembling thighs.

And it's ridiculous how absolutely majestic he looks there under you, in an afterglow that has him breathless, eyes narrowed and lost stare, gazing upwards as if he's suspended in paradise. His entire abdomen is sweaty and you hold back the urge to run your tongue across his cute little tummy, since your body is slowly beginning to give in to exhaustion, your legs wobbling.

You are satisfied with tracing your fingers along his sweaty skin, touching what were strong muscles, now softened under your thumbprints. Your hand makes an appreciative path up his pecs and he comes back to reality with the touch, looking up at you and patting your ass lightly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes amidst the darkness. The look of love.

“Don't do that, I'm about to get hard again,” he murmurs in a playful voice, a little sheepish smile growing on his lips. He is blushing, like he's not balls deep inside you, his cum leaking out of your cunt and trickling down your thighs.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, leaning down and snuggling close into his chest, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he tugs a blanket over the two of you.

“I had to take you on a date first,” Dae-ho blurts out suddenly, sounding more like he's talking to himself than to you, but you do manage to hear him, yet not really understanding what he's trying to say.

“What?” you ask curiously, still a little dizzy, fingers tracing light caresses on his chest, right where his heart is.

He clears his voice, bowing his chin so he can look down at you, gaze full pure love and adoration, his fingertips soothingly caressing your spine as he answers you in a hushed whisper, “I was supposed to take you on a date before.... all of this.”

You smile bashfully against his chest, looking up at him with big, soft eyes, “Well, we're not exactly in a position where having a date is doable, Dae-ho.”

But he is confident on the subject, fingers drawing little circles on the small of your back, “After we get out of this, I'll pick you up at your house and take you to the fanciest restaurant.”

You kiss him tenderly.

And he smiles like he's actually in love.

“I'll be waiting for you in my best dress, then.”

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dearieshima · 8 months ago

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determined

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷feat. xavier is determined to get your virginity before leaving philos.

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."

c.w spoilers to xavier's myth, dubcon, groping, scummy!xavier, coercion/manipulation, cherry popping, handjob, fingering, licking fingers after jizzing on them, jealousy, 4k+ words, halfway proofread

On the night of Xavier’s Gladius ceremony, he returned to the palace with a newly discovered understanding. Amidst the celebration, he pulled his father, the king, aside for a private conversation. He presented an irregular protocore to his father, its life force still pulsating in his hand.

“Shouldn't the protocore warrant a formal inspection?” Xavier asked, voice laced with suspicion.

“The lightblade deemed you worthy,” his father replied dismissively, his fingers absently tracing the protocore.

Xavier pressed, “Is there no need for formalities? Or are you unwilling? A heart was once in this protocore–am I mistaken?”

A flicker of tension tightened the king's jaw as he pocketed the protocore. “...I knew you'd catch on.”

The king immediately caught Xavier off, witnessing the disgust in his son’s eyes. “However, it is a necessary duty of the crown prince. It is also the king's responsibility.”

Xavier's mouth widened, and for a minute he stood there in silence. He then turned sharply, storming out without looking back, ignoring his father’s calls. His decision was already made.

He strode into the crowded hall, hoping to shake off his father’s gaze when he spotted you. His eyes darkened.

You were laughing at a joke some man had made, holding a flute of champagne. The dress you wore barely skimmed your knees, and Xavier noticed the man's eyes were fixed and imaginative, longing to see it up to your stomach.

You were a lamb among a den of wolves. If he left too soon, the pack would descend upon your fresh meat. He couldn't leave Philos without sinking his teeth into you first, marking you as his territory to warn others until his return.

He maneuvered toward you, brushing off congratulatory pats and embraces along the way. At one point, Jeremiah slung an arm around his shoulders, only to be harshly shrugged off, as Xavier’s focus remained locked on you. Jeremiah noticed his gaze and, not wanting to interfere, took a long sip of champagne and slipped away.

When Xavier finally reached you, he wrapped a hand firmly around your arm, his eyes flashing a silent warning to the other man.

“Come with me.”

"Hm? Why?”

Xavier's jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. Did you not notice how the other man had been ogling you?

“I have something I need to show you. It's urgent.”

Without waiting for a response, he guided you out of the ballroom, his hand gripping your arm firmly. He guided you out of the ballroom and steered you through the corridor of the palace, his steps determined and purposeful. His hand remained on your arm, his grip firm and possessive. When you reached his room, he ushered you inside.

You perched on his bed, still holding your champagne, swinging your legs. “So?” you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you twirled the drink in your hands. “What’s so urgent?”

Xavier shut the door with a soft click, then slowly turned to face you, a strange expression on his face. He reached over, took the flute from your hand, and placed it on his dresser. “Don’t drink that.”

You frowned, almost pouting. “Hey!”

He ignored your protest, “he could’ve slipped something into it.”

He strode to the window, pausing. “Besides, I want you clear-headed for what I’m about to show you, that's so urgent.” He pulled open the curtains, revealing a brilliant, star-studded sky. The sight drew you to your feet, and you stepped over, awestruck.

Xavier stood close behind you to make space. His chest brushed against your back as he rested his chin on your head, his warm breath fanning over your hair.

“There’s one more thing I want to show you,” he whispered, voice low in your ear. He pointed upward, guiding your gaze. “See? Just above the dipper—that’s the star of our planet.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you spotted the tiny glimmer in the sky, remembering your talks about eloping there. You’d joked about it, but seeing it now made your heart ache with a longing. “It’s beautiful…”

Xavier chuckled, the low sound making your skin tingle. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed flush against his.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding wildly. “X-Xavier…”

He held you tighter, his hand splaying across your waist. "You should be more careful," he murmured. "Don't you realize how many men in there were looking at you the same way I was?”

“The way you…?”

“—Like a piece of meat.” He was unaware he was contradicting himself. “You're too naive and innocent, and they were preying on it. If I hadn't taken you away..."

He leaned down, his lips just inches away from yours. He hesitated, as though he might ask permission, a question lingering in his darkening gaze. It died as he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a gentle yet assertive kiss. He drew you closer, his tongue exploring with confident ease.

He was desperate; you could feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, in the way he kissed you as if he was starved for you.

You melted into the kiss, your hands lifting to cradle his face.

Encouraged by your response, he gently lowered you back onto the bed, his forehead resting against yours as he followed you down. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the deep, unspoken yearning in his touch.

“Xavier—” Your protest was cut off as he deepened the kiss, his lips capturing your voice, drowning any resistance as he poured himself into the moment.

You was a bit tipsy, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions, making you pliant beneath his touch. Xavier's lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a blazing path of desire on your flushed skin. He pushed you down, straddling your hips as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him.

“X-Xavier…?”

Your clothes were rumpled, your hair tousled, your cheeks stained with a becoming flush. Xavier swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he finally had you right where he wanted you. This was what he'd been fantasizing about, dreaming of, for so long. And now, with you soft and willing beneath him, he couldn't hold back any longer.

His hands roamed your curves, slipping beneath your clothing to caress the silky skin beneath. He needed to feel you, all of you, with no barriers between you both. His fingers found the zipper of your dress and tugged it down but you pushed his chest, knocking him out of his delusion.

He blinked, as if surprised you would do that.

"What's the matter?" He murmured, his voice gruff. His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, pushing it up, revealing more of your skin.

"X-Xavier..." You repeated, flushed. You scooted further into the bed, away from him until your back pressed against the headboard.

He followed, his hand slowly trailing back up your thigh, sending shivers through your body. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice coaxing. "No one has to know. It can be our little secret." His fingers reached the hem of your dress, slowly inching it up.

“N-No…” you stammered, reaching down to hold your skirt in place. “I… I don’t…”

Xavier’s face fell, his fingers curling into the fabric, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “You don’t want this?” he asked, voice low. “I though…–You were kissing me.”

“You kissed me back, you let me…” he continued, his voice trailing off as he looked away, shoulders slumping. “Why did you let me, just to pull away?”

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I… I didn’t mean to lead you on. I thought… it was just a kiss. Then it got too fast…”

"Too fast? Why was it too fast?" He glanced up, his brows knitted in frustration. "We've known each other for a while. We're alone. Why are you acting so shy all of a sudden?”

"I, I don't know..." You whimpered. "I don't... I don't know... Xavier, I…”

"You don't know, you don't know," he repeated. "You've been teasing me all this time, sending me mixed signals. And now, when I'm finally giving you what you want, you're pushing me away?”

You opened your mouth but closed it again, struggling to find the right words. “Xavier, it’s not… I just… You’re a prince…”

His lips pressed together, eyes dimming, reminded of the title he hated. "I'm a prince, so what?" His voice was soft, almost resigned. "Do you think that means I can't have you? That I don't have any feelings? That I can't desire you like any man would?”

“It’s not that… you're just…” you stammered, cheeks heating. “You’re meant for someone else, Xavier…”

"Someone else? Who are you to decide that? I don't want someone else, I want you. I've always wanted you." His expression softened, though his frustration was clear. He traced circles with his thumb on your foot. "Don't you want me?”

You bit your lip, finally looking up at him. “I… I like you, Xavier. More than… than I probably should.”

“Then why push me away?” he asked, voice thick with disappointment. “If you like me… then let me have you.”

“I… I don’t know, Xavier…”

He sighed. "You don't know again. Why don't you know?”

"Because I'm scared, Xav��”

"You're scared?" he echoed, his eyes softening. "Scared of what? Me?” Perhaps you've heard the rumors of him frightening away any students who showed interest in you; his father who showed an interest in your heart.

"N-No, that's not true," you pouted, fumbling nervously with your fingers. "I... I've never done it... This before... I…”

"So... you're scared because it's your first time?"

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat. “Yes…”

He remained silent for a moment, his fingers lightly caressing your hand. "I didn't know," he whispered, though it was a lie. In truth, he was well aware. It was he who had kept you pure, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to claim your innocence for himself. He would never allow another man to take what rightfully belonged to him.

“But Xavier… I’m not sure I’m ready…”

His body tensed again at your refusal. He wanted you, and he was determined to ease your hesitation.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice warm and reassuring. "You like me, I like you. You don’t want anyone else, and neither do I. Wouldn't it feel right to do it with someone who’s been by your side your whole life, someone you love and could trust, instead of a stranger?"

He held your gaze, "those other men... they wouldn't take care of you like I would. They wouldn't be gentle–they wouldn't take their time with you. They'd just use you, Y/N.”

In your silence, Xavier took it as a small victory. Seeing you listening to him, processing his words, gave him hope that he was getting through to you, that you were listening to his reasoning. He pushed forward, continuing in a low, husky tone.

"They wouldn't treasure you like I would. They wouldn't make love to you the way I would. They wouldn't want to... to protect you, and cherish you, like I do.”

He could see the hesitation in your eyes, feel nervousness in your body as his fingers continued their path up your thigh, caressing your skin softly. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his voice a low plea.

"Please... let me show you what it could be like... with me.”

Xavier's lips slowly melded into yours, breaking the final barrier of your resolve. His tongue brushed softly against your lips, testing, seeking entry as he drew you deeper into the kiss, making it clear he wanted all of you. When your mouth opened, he slipped in without hesitation, claiming the moment entirely. He explored each part of your mouth, tasting and savoring, leaving no doubt of his intent. His body pressed against yours, his weight grounding you, pinning you with a warmth that left you breathless.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your skin. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer to him, as if trying to merge your bodies into one.

He could feel your body trembling beneath his touch, the way your hands clung to his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself. He reveled in your response, the way you whimpered and mewled in his mouth, the way your body reacted to his every touch.

The heat of his mouth seared your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck, each one more intense than the last. Your head lolled back, giving him better access as he nipped and sucked, marking you as his. The sting of his teeth on your sensitive flesh sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

His hands roamed your body with a desperate urgency, as if he couldn't get enough of you. They slid under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your stomach before cupping your breasts. You gasped as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

"G-Gentle…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I'll make it up to you."

His hands roamed your curves, one cupping your breast through the silky material. With a swift tug, he pulled the dress and your bra down, freeing your breasts from their confines. They spilled out, immediately pebbling without the warmth of your bra.

His eyes darkened with lust as he drank in the sight of you. He wrapped his arms around your lower back, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head to capture a nipple between his lips. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

His other hand came up to massage your neglected breast, kneading the soft flesh. He switched between your peaks, lavishing each one with attention until you were writhing against him, desperate for more.

Xavier released your breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple. He trailed kisses up your chest, between your breasts, along your collarbone, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking against yours as he deepened the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair, angling your head to give him better access. The other slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, before dipping between your thighs. He cupped your mound, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex, inciting a hiss from you.

"You're so wet already," he smiled, his voice a low murmur.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist him, the cool air infiltrating from the open window hitting your heated skin. “X-Xavier…”

He smiled as he saw how wet you were. He spread your legs apart and ran his hand along your inner thigh, spreading them wider. "So pretty," he whispered, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making you jump.

“Relax," he whispered, his voice gentle. His touch became firmer, his thumb slowly rubbing circles over your hot, swollen nub. He watched your face intently, memorizing every gasp, every flush of your cheeks, every dilation of your pupils. "Have you touched yourself before?"

You nodded.

"Show me," he demanded, his voice low. He wanted to see what you liked, what you didn't. He wanted to know everything. He brought his other hand up to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your peaks as he continued to toy with your core.

You peered up at him incredulously. "Xavier…–!"

"Please," he whispered. "I want to know. I want to know what you like, what feels good. Show me, please." His touch was hentley, coaxing.

Slowly, tentatively, your hand drifted downward, brushing over the soft curls at the apex of your thighs. Xavier's breath hitched as you parted your folds, revealing the glistening pink flesh beneath. "That's it," he encouraged, his gaze locked on your movements.

Your thighs clamped shut around your plunging fingers, but Xavier forcefully pried them apart. "Keep them spread," he instructed.

You let out a desperate whine, groping your breast as you frantically pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping slit.

"Shh," he soothed, his eyes never leaving your hand. "Add another finger. Stretch yourself for me."

"I-I can't..." you protested weakly.

He nodded his head as he slowly pushed one of his alongside yours, stretching you deliciously wide. "Yes you can," he breathed. His digit trailed down to join yours, stroking that spongy sweet spot deep inside. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around the stretch.

"Right there?" he asked, his voice low. He crooked his fingers inside of you, pressing against that spot over and over again. He watched your face contort in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you gasped. "Come for me.”

Your back arched off the bed as ecstasy crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as you reached your peak.

His dark eyes were transfixed, watching with rapt attention as his hand worked you through your release, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the sheets, spent and trembling. Slowly, he withdrew your slick finger from your dripping core and brought them to his lips. His tongue darted out, curling around your fingers as it lapped your essence, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

He leaned down and kissed you hard, his tongue sliding into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him. His hands flung to his pants and began to unfasten his belt with eagerness.

As his pants fell away, your eyes widened at the sight of his impressive manhood standing at full attention. The swollen head glistened with pearlescent drops of precum, the color a striking contrast to the milky smoothness of his skin. Prominent veins ran along the underside, pulsing with his heartbeat. He was magnificent, a work of art sculpted by stars itself.

"Sit up.”

You complied, your movements languid as you propped yourself up on your knees. Your breasts swayed enticingly with the motion, nipples pebbled and begging for attention. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily, drinking in every curve and valley.

He took your hand and guided it to his throbbing member, wrapping your fingers around his impressive girth. "Touch me," he breathed, "like this.” He showed you, moving your hand up and down his length.

As your fingers closed around him, he let out a low groan, his hips thrusting forward slightly. "Just like that," he encouraged.

You swallowed hard, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. "Is this okay?" You asked softly, his length growing even harder in your grip.

"Squeeze a little tighter," he instructed, his voice strained with pleasure.

Focusing intently, you squeezed just as he asked, marveling at the way his shaft pulsed in your palm. Your eyes were glued to where your hand met his flesh, watching in fascination as you pumped him, his swollen head disappearing and reappearing with each stroke.

He hissed through his teeth, his head falling back. "Just like that," he praised. His hips jerked forward, his body tensing. "Harder," he groaned. He brought your other hand up to play with his balls, showing you how to gently roll and squeeze them.

He gripped your wrist, his breathing growing ragged. "Keep...keep doing that," he hissed. He thrust into your hands, his movements growing jerky. "I'm… I'm going to..." He broke off, his whole body convulsing as he came in your hands.

He threw his head back, tendons straining in his neck as he gulped. Releasing your hand, he gripped his own thighs, fingers digging into the firm flesh.

You gazed at your palm, glistening with his copious release. Mimicking his earlier actions, you brought your hand to your lips, tongue swirling around your fingers to lap up every drop of his thick, salty essence.

His eyes were riveted on your display. With a sigh, he asked you to lay back once more. Seizing your hips, he yanked you towards him, his face flushed and debauched, mouth agape. He reached out and gently spread your thighs, stepping between them, the swollen head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance.

“Condoms…!” You cried out, “Xavier, what about–”

"Shh, don't worry about that now," he said. "I'll pull out, I promise.”

His hungry gaze raked over your quivering form, committing every dip and swell to memory. "Don't look so nervous," he crooned. “I'm right here.”

"Be gentle..." You breathed. “Please.”

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. You were adorable. "I'll be gentle.”

His fingers delved between your thighs, parting your slick folds to reveal your glistening entrance. He groaned at the sight. "So pretty.”

He then rubbed his thick head against your wetness, coating himself with your fluids. He pressed against your hole, his hips slowly pushing forward. He watched your face, his own contorted in concentration. "Breathe in," he instructed softly.

And before you actually could, he thrusted in.

“A-Ah!”

Tears streamed down your face as he gradually pushed deeper into your tight heat. He paused, allowing you a moment to acclimate to his impressive girth stretching you open. His fingers tenderly caressed your cheek, wiping away the salty drops. "You're doing so well," he praised softly. "Just a little more." With one powerful thrust, he hilted himself fully inside you, breaking through your barrier.

A sharp cry escaped your lips at the sudden sting of pain mixed with overwhelming fullness. Your nails dug into the sheets as you gripped them for dear life. "Wait... ngh... I can't..." you whimpered, trembling beneath him.

Xavier captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries. "Shh, you're okay. I'm all the way inside now," he murmured against your lips. He held still, letting you adjust to the intense new sensations as your body stretched to accommodate him. "Open your eyes. Focus on me and you'll forget the pain."

"Hmgh..."

He began to set at a slow, rhythmic pace, his hips gently rocking against yours. He grunted each time he bottomed out inside you. "Look at me," he commanded gruffly. "Open your eyes and look at me." He reached out and gently tilted your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

Your body clenched around him, the initial sting of pain gradually melting away into waves of pleasure. A breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt yourself surrender to the newer sensations.

Xavier's face tightened, and his head fell forward between his shoulders. "God, when you do that…" he hissed through gritted teeth. He continued to pump his hips, his rhythm growing faster. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he instructed hoarsely. "I'm gonna go a little faster."

You complied and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer. When he mentioned he was going to pick up the pace, you weren't prepared for the relentless pounding that followed.

Bracing himself on his hands, he began to ruthlessly slam into you over and over again. Leaning down, he claimed your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, muffling your desperate moans. His hips moved like a machine, driving into you with animalistic cruelty.

"G-Gentle...! Mgh–! P-Please!" you whimpered against his lips.

But Xavier was lost in his own pleasure, ignoring your pleas as he continued his merciless assault on your body. "You can handle it," he huffed. Gripping your hips, he adjusted your position, allowing him to plunge even deeper inside you. "You're too tight… I'll be gentle after I'm finished breaking you in."

"X-Xavier…! Xav–Ngh!"

He reached between your legs and grabbed your wrists, pulling them above your head as he continued to ravage you. His face was a mask of intense concentration as he continued to thrust into you, his hips moving like a piston. "You're so loud," he hissed, his voice thick with passion.

"Xavier! Xavier!"

His thrusts slowed to a torturous crawl, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before he hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders and folded you nearly in half. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each powerful stroke. Your back arched off the bed as your arms wrapped around his neck, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin. A strangled moan tore from your throat.

"It's too much… please... please..." You babbled, your voice hitching with every thrust to your cervix. "Xavier... it hurts…!"

"It's supposed to," he grunted. "It feels good, though, right? Just bear it a little more. I'm almost done." He let your legs drop, pushing your knees to your chest as he pounded into you.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving long, ten crimson trails in their wake. Xavier grunted in pain, his face contorting as he thrust into you harder. "Mark me all you want," he huffed. "I'll mark you right back." He buried his face in your neck and bit down hard, sucking on your skin as he continued to thrust into you.

"Ahh! Yes! Fuck!" you cried out, your words dissolving into incoherent babble. "You prom–eh…! you promised…!”

Xavier's eyes were closed, his face buried in your neck as he fucked you without a care in the world. The sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed in the room, mixing with your screams and pleas. "God… fuck, fuck," he chanted to himself, his voice muffled against your skin.

"You're so meannnn," you whimpered, drawing out the word as a sob caught in your throat.

Xavier's eyes flashed, dark and feral, as he lifted his head. "I'm mean?" he growled, voice dripping with mock hurt. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you flush against him. "You're the one getting off on this, aren't you? I can feel how wet you are." To punctuate his point, he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit roughly, making you gasp and arch into his touch.

He gripped your chin firmly, forcing your gaze to meet his intense stare. "Look at me," he commanded, voice low and dominant. "I want to see those eyes glazed when I make you come undone. When I claim every inch of you as mine.”

Xavier groaned, his thrusts becoming even more brutal. "You're gonna make such a pretty mess."

The words were like a match to gasoline, igniting the inferno raging inside you. With a keening cry, you shattered, your walls clamping down and bursting as ecstasy consumed you.

Xavier's eyes widened as he felt your walls clench around him, your orgasm triggering his own. "Ah! Yes…–yes!" he cried, his hips stuttering. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed spurting against your cervix.

Xavier let out a low groan, his body trembling as he filled you. His grip on your thighs loosened, his hand caressing the marked skin gently. As he came down from his high, Xavier's pace slowed, his hips rolling forward in shallow thrusts as he milked the last of his release into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the world fading away until only the pulsing pleasure remained. With a final shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, your consciousness slipping away.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you went limp beneath him. He peppered your face with gentle kisses, his touch at odds with the rough way he'd just taken you. "Shh, sleep now," he murmured softly, "You did so well.”

As much as he didn’t want to leave, he gently began to slip out of bed, his body trembling, spent. He pulled the blankets up around you, making sure you were wrapped warmly before crossing the room to close the window. Quietly, he turned to his closet, carefully reaching for his lightseeker uniform and slipping it on, moving with a gentle but determined grace.

He searched for his sword, finally spotting the star-tasseled handle hidden under the bed. Just as he reached for it, he felt a soft weight on his head, your hand, draped sleepily over him.

He froze, worried he might've woken you–worried he would have to explain he wasn't abandoning, but saving you–, but then you let out a soft, contented snore, and he couldn’t help but smile. Slowly, he lifted your hand, pressing a tender kiss to the back before leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead, damp with extertion.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “I love you.”

3K notes · View notes

norristrii · 20 days ago

Text

I KNOW LOVE (NOSTALGIA).

“We started off friends, how you end up here next to me?” — After eight years, your friendship with Lando felt the same—until the bet. Fake dating was just a game, but the feelings weren’t. Somewhere along the way, the truth surfaced. It was never just friendship.

pairing. Lando Norris x childhood friend! fem! reader.

warnings. fluff, angst if u squint, 12,5k words, friends to lovers, fake dating, lando being menace, drinking alcohol, monaco gp 2025, pet names (sweetheart, darling, baby), a lot of teasing, possible grammar errors. PART ONE — NOSTALGIA.

music. I Know Love by Tate Mcrae ft. The Kid LAROI // Carry You Home by Alex Warren.

─── ONE MONTH LATER , may 2025

A MONTH PASSED, AND SOMEHOW, it felt like time had folded in on itself—like the years apart had shrunk, like the gap between then and now had quietly disappeared.

Nothing had changed, not really. Lando still remembered your favorite movies—the ones you had obsessively rewatched, the ones whose quotes you could recite without thinking, the ones that had always stayed the same. He still knew the exact spot where you were ticklish, still knew the food you ordered without needing to ask. And despite everything, despite all the time lost, despite all the ways life had pulled you both in opposite directions, it felt easy.

He was in your space just as often as you were in his, your things scattered across his apartment like they had always belonged there, his hoodies ending up in your wardrobe without either of you really noticing. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t awkward, wasn’t something you had to think about—it just happened, naturally, effortlessly, like the years apart had only been a long, quiet pause instead of a full stop.

And one day, you realized—you weren’t bitter anymore.

───

The soft hum of the song filled the space between you, slipping into the quiet like an old friend, like something familiar, something undeniably yours. It took only a second for recognition to flicker in Lando’s eyes—a glint of understanding, a knowing look, a memory shared in silence.

Your childhood song.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You sat perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, watching the way his expression shifts—how nostalgia washed over him in waves, how all the years apart disappeared with the simple melody floating through the air. He leaned against the counter opposite you, arms folded, head tilting just slightly, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

Then, without warning, he moved.

His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, his grip warm, steady, certain—a pull that sent you forward, off the counter, into his space, into the rhythm of something you both remember but haven’t shared in years. He lead effortlessly, far too serious for something so simple, his movements deliberate like he’s guiding you through a real dance, like this isn’t just a moment caught between laughter and history.

“You’re ridiculous,” you breathed, smiling despite yourself, despite the way he’s taking every step too seriously, despite the way he spun you with exaggerated precision, despite the way the years apart seem to dissolve between the music, between the movement, between him and you.

Lando grinned, eyes bright, alive, holding onto this moment like it’s something worth keeping. “You love it,” he teased, pulling you closer, his voice low, warm, familiar.

“That’s surprisingly romantic coming from someone with a reputation like yours,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you can stop them, teasing but undeniably true.

Because yeah—he was a player. Or at least, that’s what the headlines said. Articles filled with speculation, blurry photos, flirty interviews that never seemed to lead to anything serious. A reputation built on fleeting moments and effortless charm, something you had never fully questioned but had always noticed.

Lando let out a scoff, shaking his head with that infuriating, reckless grin—the one that somehow manages to be both self-assured and unapologetically smug. “Please,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I could make anyone believe I’m the perfect boyfriend.”

Your brows lifted slightly, unimpressed. “No one would buy that.”

His smirk deepened—too confident, too knowing, too dangerous in the way only he can be. “Everyone would buy that.” He paused for half a second, just enough for the tension to shift, just enough for a challenge to settle between you. “You wanna bet?”

Your smirk deepened, curiosity flickering behind your eyes as you leaned in just slightly, watching the way Lando held himself—unshaken, confident, like he already knew you wouldn’t say no.

“Fake dating?” you echoed, pretending to consider it, dragging the words out just enough to tease him. “That’s what you’re suggesting?”

His grin only widened, too reckless, too assured, like he had already won before the game had even started. “Give me this weekend,” he repeated, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing in his expression. “By the end of it, the whole world will think I am the best boyfriend to ever exist.”

There was something entirely too entertaining about the idea—about the way he said it so easily, about the way he looked at you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And the worst part?

You were so in.

The list had come together surprisingly fast—far too fast, actually, considering the absurdity of the situation. You sat across from Lando, leaning over the kitchen island, scribbling rules onto a scrap piece of paper like this was some kind of business deal rather than a completely ridiculous, impulsive plan.

Lando, of course, was fully relaxed, arms folded, eyes bright with amusement as he watched you work, barely contributing, barely questioning anything you laid out. It was almost infuriating, how at ease he was about this.

Rule one: In public, yes—but absolutely no couple behavior when no one’s watching. This is a performance, not real life.

He smirked at that, drumming his fingers against the counter. “So no cute little moments when we’re alone?”

You shot him a look. “Absolutely not.”

Rule two: PDA is allowed, but keep it minimal. Holding hands? Fine. Kissing? Only if necessary.

Lando hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Define ‘necessary.’”

“If someone asks us to prove it,” you reply instantly, not playing his game.

His grin widened, far too entertained. “Dramatic, public make-outs? Noted.”

You groaned. “That’s not what I said.”

Rule three: No backing out. Once you commit, you see it through. No half-measures, no suddenly deciding it’s too much.

Lando looked far too smug for his own good. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I never back out of a bet.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at that. Ignored it.

Rule four: Don’t make it weird. Light touches are fine, casual affection is fine—but don’t, under any circumstance, make it weird.

“Me?” Lando said, pressing a hand to his chest like he was offended. “Making things weird? Never.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

And finally, rule five—the most important one: No real feelings. Absolutely forbidden.

A moment of silence stretched between you as the final rule sat there, bold, unchallenged, unchangeable.

Lando tapped his fingers against the counter once, twice, then flashed you that too-sure, too-effortless grin. “Easy.”

Just three days to survive.

─── friday: day one

The chaos of the Monaco Grand Prix was already buzzing outside—the hum of engines, the flurry of people moving through the paddock, the cameras waiting to capture every moment. This was the race, the crown jewel of the season, the one weekend where everything felt bigger, louder, more intense.

Lando’s navy blue McLaren pulled to a stop, the sleek lines of the car reflecting the early morning sunlight. The moment his hand hovered over the door handle, you stopped him—a quick, pointed reminder before stepping into the world that would now be watching.

“Fake dating, Lando. Fake.” Your voice was firm, low enough that only he could hear, warning him, setting the boundary before the cameras were on you, before the articles wrote their own versions of whatever this weekend would bring.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t tease. He just nodded, lips twitching slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he stepped out onto the pavement.

Then, without hesitation, he stepped out, rounding the car with the kind of effortless confidence that came far too naturally to him. And when he opened the door for you, his hand was already waiting, palm up, steady, offering something that felt far too practiced to be anything but convincing.

“Yeah, fake,” he said, looking at you with that infuriating, too-sure smirk. “But real enough to make them believe it.”

The paddock was alive with movement—voices overlapping, the hum of engines in the background, cameras flashing, catching every moment. And right in the middle of it, you and Lando, walking hand in hand, stepping into a world that felt a little too aware of you.

You could feel the glances, the curiosity settling into the air, the way people stole quick looks before refocusing on whatever they were supposed to be doing. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there—the quiet stir of speculation, the beginnings of a story that hadn’t existed yesterday but suddenly seemed like something worth paying attention to.

Lando didn’t react, didn’t hesitate, didn’t even acknowledge the shift around you. He moved easily, the way he always did, his grip on your hand relaxed but firm guiding you through the maze of the paddock like he’d done a thousand times before—except this time, you were a part of it.

Then, just as effortlessly, he stepped into the McLaren garage, slipping into conversations with engineers, exchanging greetings like it was just another day. You barely had time to process it, barely had time to prepare before—

“This is my girlfriend, Y/n.”

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t exaggerated. It was smooth, delivered with zero hesitation, like it was simply fact, like it was something real.

“So you’re the Y/n?” one of the engineers asked, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. You blinked, caught off guard by the phrasing. The Y/n?

“The one he’s always talking about.”

Your stomach flipped. Always? Lando talked about you? To them? You turned to him instinctively, searching for some kind of reaction—some kind of explanation. But, of course, he was already smirking, leaning back with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to tell whether he was actually unfazed or just pretending to be.

“Oh, yeah,” he said casually, too smoothly, like he had been waiting for this conversation. “They probably got sick of hearing about you ages ago.”

The engineer chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not that bad.”

You went to his driver room with him, Lando moved with zero hesitation, pulling off his shirt and swapping it for the fireproof layer beneath his race suit like it was second nature—like you weren’t even there, like this wasn’t something to think twice about. And maybe that was the craziest part. Because for him, it was normal.

Unbothered, effortless, as if he had always changed in front of you, as if the past years apart had never actually happened. You leaned back against the wall, watching as he tugged up the sleeves of his suit, adjusting them, fixing the collar, smoothing out the fabric before finally meeting your gaze again—grinning like he had already planned whatever came next.

He stepped closer, voice too damn smug, too playful, too knowing, the kind of confidence that made it impossible to tell whether he was being serious or just testing his limits. The air between you shifted, charged with the same unspoken tension that had been building since the moment you set foot in the paddock. Then, with that infuriating smirk, he leaned in just a little too much, just enough for you to know exactly what was coming before he even said it.

“Kiss for good luck?” His tone was casual, teasing, like this wasn’t an outrageous request—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You scoffed, shaking your head, but the way your lips twitched betrayed you. You were already smiling, already seeing through the act, already ready to shut it down before he got even more confident. “Don’t even try.” Your hand moved without hesitation, pushing his face away, forcing him to stumble back a step, laughter bubbling between the both of you.

He recovered quickly—he always did—but the grin on his face was even wider now, even more annoyingly smug than before, like he had already won something. Because that was Lando. All confidence, all recklessness, all charm. And Monaco had only just begun.

You stood at the edge of the garage, arms loosely crossed, watching as Lando settled into his car with the same effortless confidence he always carried. There was no hesitation in his movements—just precision, familiarity, a routine he could probably do with his eyes closed.

A light nudge against your arm pulled you from your thoughts, one of the engineers grinning as he tilted his head toward you. “Nervous for your man?”

Your stomach flipped at the wording—your man—like the whole thing had already been bought into, like it wasn’t even a question anymore. They believed it.

You blinked but recovered quickly, shaking off the moment, keeping your expression cool, unreadable. “I’m not,” you said, voice steady, effortless. “He knows what he’s doing.”

The session was about to start, tension hanging in the air like the calm before a storm. Lando sat settled in his car, fingers flexing briefly around the steering wheel, every movement deliberate, controlled. You stepped closer, watching as he lifted his helmet, the smirk already tugging at his lips before he even spoke.

“Last chance for that good luck kiss,” he murmured, voice laced with teasing as he slowly pulled the helmet over his head, visor still slightly raised, leaving just enough room for you to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

You didn’t hesitate, didn’t entertain it, just exhaled, shaking your head with a small laugh before reaching out and tapping the top of his helmet. “Go drive your car, Norris,” you said, your tone light but firm, cutting off whatever ridiculous response he was about to throw back.

He let out a muffled chuckle through the layers of his gear, adjusting his grip on the wheel, focus shifting as the reality of the session kicked in. And just like that, with a flick of his wrist and the hum of the engine, he rolled forward—onto the track, onto the moment where everything else disappeared except for the race ahead.

───

The sky had deepened into shades of orange and pink, Monaco settling into the golden haze of early evening. The day had slipped by faster than you realized—two practice sessions, hours spent lingering around the paddock, conversations blending into the hum of engines and movement. You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until now, until the weight of the day finally began to settle in your bones.

You sat back in the chair, watching as Lando packed up his things, casual, effortless, like this was just another weekend. But then—without thinking, without any hesitation—he reached for your hand as he spoke, fingers brushing against yours, slipping into the space that had already begun to feel too familiar.

“We can go," he said, voice easy, steady, like nothing about the moment was unusual. And even more instinctively—almost like muscle memory—you let your fingers intertwine with his.

The realization hit after—after the warmth, after the quiet certainty of it, after the way neither of you acknowledged it outright. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t exaggerated. It was just natural.

The quiet ease between you should’ve felt normal, should’ve just been part of the act, but Lando? He wasn’t going to let it be simple.

As you both stepped further out of the paddock, fingers still loosely intertwined, he let out a casual hum, glancing over at you with way too much amusement in his eyes. “You’re getting really comfortable with this whole girlfriend thing,” he mused, the teasing lacing his tone clear as day.

You scoffed, giving his hand a pointed squeeze before swiftly pulling yours away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His grin widened instantly, like he had already won, like your reaction had just confirmed something for him. “You literally held my hand back,” he pointed out, tapping his temple as if he had just cracked some kind of secret formula. “Instinctively. No hesitation. Just—bam—right into it.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping ahead slightly to avoid the smugness radiating off of him. “Maybe I was just making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet,” you shot back.

Lando laughed, a full, unrestrained laugh, shaking his head as he jogged a few steps to catch up. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

The car hummed steadily as Monaco’s streets blurred past, the golden glow of streetlights flickering against the windshield, painting the inside of the car in fleeting shades of warm amber. The city had settled into the quiet hum of evening, the rush of the paddock fading into memory, replaced by the steady rhythm of the drive. It should’ve been a moment to breathe, to regroup, to let the day settle.

But then—his hand.

It landed on your thigh like it was meant to be there, like there wasn’t a single reason to hesitate, like he hadn’t just obliterated every rule you’d barely had time to set. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t tentative. It was casual, deliberate, the warmth of his palm sinking through the fabric of your pants, sending a sharp jolt of awareness straight through you.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs before your brain could fully process the moment, before you could convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal. But it was—because this was the first day, because you weren’t supposed to blur the lines, because this wasn’t supposed to feel as natural as it did.

You turned toward him, brows furrowing, voice steady but pointed. “Lando.”

His smirk was already forming, the kind that told you he knew exactly what he was doing, that this wasn’t some absentminded action, that this was intentional.

“You’re breaking a rule,” you muttered, pulse uneven, fingers twitching by your side.

He glanced at you briefly, way too unbothered, before shifting his grip slightly on the wheel. And then—the audacity—he tilted his head, smirk deepening like he had already won whatever game had just begun.

“I’m not if you’re enjoying it too.”

The words sent heat straight to your cheeks, a reaction you despised, because there was zero chance he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t already clocked the way your breath hitched, the way you hadn’t immediately shoved his hand away.

You scoffed, finally snapping out of it, finally pushing his hand off your thigh with more force than necessary, shoving his arm like you were undoing whatever had just happened.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he settled both hands back onto the wheel, the smugness radiating off of him like he was thrilled with himself. “Alright, alright,” he mused, completely unfazed. “I’ll behave.”

The exhaustion from the day had settled deep in your bones, the weight of it pressing down as you stepped inside—his home, again. It wasn’t unfamiliar anymore. The way the lights spilled across the sleek countertops, the hum of the city just barely audible through the windows, the lingering scent of whatever ridiculous air freshener he had decided was the best option—it all felt far too normal now.

Lando wasted no time—dramatically collapsing onto the couch like he had just survived something traumatic, despite the fact that his day had mostly consisted of doing exactly what he loved. His limbs sprawled out lazily, head tilting back, an exaggerated sigh leaving his lips before he finally glanced over at you.

“I need cuddles from my girlfriend after a day like this,” he announced, stretching his arms toward you, voice half pleading, half teasing, the corners of his mouth twitching in barely restrained amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing instinctively. “You’re still playing it?”

The amusement sharpened in his gaze, flickering bright beneath the soft glow of the living room lights. He wasn’t just playing it. He was thriving off of it.

“We’re off duty now,” you reminded him, voice firm, pointed, like you were establishing a clear boundary—like you were reminding him that this had limits, that it wasn’t supposed to bleed into moments like this.

But Lando? Completely unfazed.

“I’m committed to the role of your perfect boyfriend,” he mused, settling deeper into the cushions, fully embracing his own ridiculousness “That’s what a lot of actors do.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, because of course he was framing it like this—as method acting, as if that excused the fact that he wasn’t dropping the act when he should have.

“I think you just like having an excuse to annoy me,” you muttered, eyeing him suspiciously, refusing to give in, refusing to entertain the idea of indulging him.

His grin widened, eyes glinting with pure mischief. “Maybe.”

Lando didn’t move from his spot on the couch, arms still outstretched, still fully committed to the bit, eyes watching you like he was waiting for you to give in.

You didn’t.

Instead, you crossed your arms, narrowing your gaze slightly, exhaling slowly. “You do realize you’re taking this way too seriously, right?”

He tilted his head, considering that for all of two seconds before smirking again. “Or, maybe, I’m just really dedicated to my role.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head. “It’s fake, Norris.”

Lando gasped, hand clutching his chest like you had just mortally wounded him. “Darling,” he breathed, shaking his head, mock betrayal dripping from every syllable, “Don’t say such things. It’ll ruin my motivation.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips twitched, the way pure amusement flickered behind his gaze, told you exactly what he was doing—pushing, testing, seeing how far he could take this before you finally caved.

But you weren’t losing this round.

“You need motivation?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. “Every great actor does.”

You scoffed, walking past him, pointedly ignoring the way his arms were still stretched toward you. “Then maybe go watch some method acting interviews instead of begging for cuddles.”

─── saturday: day two

The energy in the McLaren garage had become familiar now—less overwhelming, more comfortable, like you had started settling into the rhythm of it, the movement, the people. The engineers and mechanics no longer glanced at you with the casual curiosity of someone new; instead, they greeted you like you belonged there, like you had always been part of this world. Lando had mentioned it in passing the day before—how quickly you had blended in—but you hadn’t thought much of it until now, standing in the middle of it all, watching the final preparations unfold before qualifying.

Lando was focused, in full race mode, his demeanor shifting the moment he settled into pre-session rituals. His gloves tightened around his fingers as he flexed them, his visor propped up slightly as he scanned the monitors, listening to the soft murmur of his engineers running through the final details. He had been teasing, pushing the boundaries, finding every possible way to turn this into something more than just pretend. And if he could do it—if he could toe the line without hesitation—then so could you.

So, without warning, without thinking twice, you called for him. “Come here.” And the second the words left your lips, he obeyed, instantly, without hesitation, like it was instinct, like there wasn’t even a moment of questioning it. He stepped toward you, brows lifting slightly, almost amused, like he was waiting for whatever tease you had planned—but there was no tease. No build-up. No warning. Just action.

Your lips pressed against his, firm, decisive, deliberate, and for half a second, you felt him freeze—caught off guard. But only for that. Just half a second before he recovered, before he responded without hesitation, before he got away with it like he always did. His lips moved against yours with a practiced ease, like he had already anticipated how this was supposed to go, like he had already mastered playing this game. But this wasn’t just about the act anymore. At least—not to you.

You pulled away slowly, steady, keeping your expression unreadable as you exhaled, as you let the moment settle between you. “Good luck, baby.” The words left your lips with the same teasing confidence he had used so many times before—except now, you were the one in control. You were the one shifting the rules. You were the one pushing the boundaries.

His gaze lingered, flickering with something unreadable, something that wasn’t entirely just amusement, something more complicated. And that was the real problem. Because while Lando had spent the last two days playing games, teasing, testing, pushing—there was one crucial difference between you. You weren’t sure if any of this was real or fake.

Lando lingered for a second longer than necessary, eyes flickering with something undefined, something you couldn’t quite name. But then—like always—he recovered.

A slow, lazy smirk spread across his lips as he tilted his head slightly, like he was studying you, like he was dissecting the moment for every possible meaning. “Didn’t realize we were taking it to that level,” he murmured, voice just light enough to sound playful, but just sharp enough to suggest something deeper.

You shrugged, crossing your arms as the faint hum of the garage buzzed around you, voices calling out final adjustments, the tension of qualifying thick in the air. “Figured you needed the full boyfriend experience,” you mused, the edge of amusement curling around your words. “Besides, that’s how we do it, right?”

His smirk didn’t waver, but his gaze held yours—just slightly longer than it should have. Just long enough to make something settle in your chest.

“Right.”

The single word carried weight, wrapped itself around the space between you, settled into the air before he finally—finally—stepped back, tugging at his gloves, rolling his shoulders, slipping back into race mode.

“Guess I better win now,” he said casually, like the moment hadn’t just shifted something irreversibly, like none of it mattered more than the seconds ticking down to qualifying.

And dear God, that man set whole new track record a hour later.

The air around the McLaren garage was thick with energy, alive in a way that only happened when history had just been made. Engineers still stood frozen in front of monitors, eyes flickering over numbers that didn’t seem real, mechanics exchanged looks that held a mix of pride and awe, and team members clapped backs, shook hands, embraced like they had just pulled off something impossible. The roar of celebration spilled beyond the barriers, past the podium setup, past the paddock, into the entire racing world, because today—today, Lando Norris had done something unforgettable.

But through the chaos, through the wave of victory that swept over McLaren like an unstoppable force, he ran straight to you.

It wasn’t measured. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t wrapped in hesitation or second-guessing. It was pure instinct—fast, decisive, undeniable. His suit was still warm, damp with sweat, his body humming with the adrenaline he hadn’t come down from yet, and the second his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, holding you tight, it was impossible not to feel the sheer gravity of what had just happened.

His heartbeat was rapid, pounding against your own as the weight of the moment settled between you, as everything—the lap, the record, the significance of it all—pressed into your skin, wrapped around you like something you weren’t meant to forget.

“You are insane,” you muttered, voice barely audible over the cheers surrounding you, breath catching, arms curling around his back. Your grip tightened slightly, fingers clutching the fabric of his race suit, grounding yourself against the sheer scale of it all.

Lando pulled back just slightly, enough for his eyes to meet yours, his grin stretched wide, bright, undeniably victorious, the spark of triumph burning in his gaze. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but he was thriving, fully alive, standing there like he had just conquered everything.

“Fastest man in Monaco, baby,” he declared, voice charged, thrumming with adrenaline, so smug, but somehow—somehow—more real, more significant than ever before. His grip on you hadn’t loosened, not yet, not even as reporters hovered nearby, cameras flashing, microphones extending toward the newly crowned record-breaker.

And without thinking, without measuring your words, without checking if this was too far, the phrase slipped out—so natural, so easy, too easy.

“I love—”

The realization hit instantly, the weight of the words pressing down, and you pivoted quickly, mid-sentence, pulse hammering against your ribs. “I’m proud,” you corrected, shifting just enough to mask the slip, keeping your voice steady, controlled, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

Lando’s expression didn’t shift dramatically, but something flickered, something sharp, something you couldn’t quite read. His grip remained firm, his body still angled toward you, and though the podium ceremony was waiting, though interviews and celebrations were lined up, though the world was watching—he didn’t move.

The words barely reached you, his voice just a breath of sound against the chaos around you, but they landed sharply, unmistakably.

“I heard that.”

───

The intensity of the celebrations had finally settled into something quieter, something softer, but the energy of the victory still lingered in the air, wrapping around you both like it wasn’t quite ready to fade. Monaco had witnessed history today—McLaren had witnessed history today—and as the night stretched on, it was clear that no one wanted it to end just yet.

The podium had come and gone, the champagne had been spilled, and now, the final act of the night was unfolding: a team dinner, a moment to revel in what had just been achieved, one last chance to soak in the sheer gravity of setting a new track record in one of the most prestigious circuits in Formula 1.

Back at the apartment, you moved quickly, stripping away the remnants of the race weekend, replacing them with something sleeker, something more refined, something that suited the occasion.

Your mind was a whirlwind, flickering between thoughts too quickly to grasp—the record, the podium, the celebration, the kiss, the weight of Lando’s touch, the way something had shifted between you today. You hadn’t had time to process any of it yet—not fully—but the echoes of each moment still rang in the back of your mind, still lived in the spaces between each breath.

Now, standing by the elevator, waiting for the doors to open, you felt his presence—strong, grounding, undeniably familiar. Lando’s arm was draped easily over your shoulders, his grip loose but firm, his fingers brushing absently against the fabric of your dress, like the contact was thoughtless, instinctive. Maybe before today, it had been just that—just part of the act, just effortless banter, just teasing at the edge of something playful. But now? Now, you weren’t sure.

Tilting your head slightly, you glanced up at him, your voice carrying a teasing edge, but also something else—something that wasn’t quite light, wasn’t quite casual. “Don’t you think that celebration was too much?”

Lando chuckled, his body shifting slightly, adjusting his hold but not letting go, eyes flickering down toward you with amusement—predictable amusement, but something beneath it felt different.

“Baby, I just set a new record in Monaco,” he declared, tone confident, smooth, the smirk slipping effortlessly into place. “So no, I don’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head slightly. “And the kiss?”

There was the briefest hesitation, something unspoken curling at the edges of his expression. But before you could press him, before you could dissect the pause—he answered, simple, effortless.

“I was excited.”

The elevator doors slid open before you could respond, before the moment could linger too long, before you could ask the question you weren’t sure you wanted an answer to yet. The moment was broken—interrupted—but the thought remained, lingering in the back of your mind, refusing to let go.

Inside the apartment, Lando moved quickly—too quickly—changing into something equally polished but effortless in the way he always carried himself. Meanwhile, you stood in front of the mirror, fingers adjusting the fabric of your dress, smoothing over edges, trying to focus, trying to ground yourself in something other than the thoughts still spinning in your head.

Behind you, sprawled across the bed like he had no plans to move just yet, Lando lay there, watching you, gaze unwavering,

locked onto you in a way that made the air in the room shift slightly. The attention was undeniable, heavy, lingering, and you felt it fully—in the reflection, in the silence, in the way your pulse didn’t quite keep steady.

“You’re staring, my dear,” you mused, smirking into the mirror, your voice light, controlled, teasing even—but your pulse betrayed you.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

“Can’t I admire my beautiful girlfriend?” His voice was low, smooth, charged, carrying something deeper beneath the teasing edge, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

Lando’s words hung in the air, settling between you like a challenge, like an invitation, like something neither of you were entirely ready to define.

You held his gaze in the mirror, the corners of your lips curling into something amused, something teasing, something controlled—but your pulse betrayed you, beating just a little too fast, racing just a little too wildly.

“You’re really committing to this, huh?” you mused, shifting slightly, adjusting the strap of your dress, still watching him, still very aware of how his eyes hadn’t moved from you.

Lando chuckled, stretching lazily on the bed, but his smirk didn’t fade, didn’t waver, didn’t lose its edge. “What, admiring my girlfriend?” His voice was light, easy, but the weight beneath it was impossible to ignore.

You scoffed, shaking your head, turning slightly to face him. “You know, the more you push it, the harder it’s going to be for you to backtrack later.”

He hummed, considering that, tilting his head slightly. “You think I want to backtrack?”

───

The dinner had been nothing short of seamless, laughter spilling across the room, glasses clinking in celebration, conversations flowing effortlessly. McLaren’s team had bought into the dynamic between the two of you without hesitation—no skepticism, no questioning glances, just complete acceptance. In their eyes, you and Lando fit perfectly, a seamless pair that seemed to work as naturally as any other couple in the paddock. And that should have been comforting. That should have been proof that the game was working.

But the problem was—it wasn’t a game anymore.

Now, walking through Monaco’s streets, hand in hand, the city lights casting golden reflections against the pavement, the reality of the situation settled heavily between you. Lando’s grip wasn’t just for show, wasn’t just effortless muscle memory, wasn’t just playing pretend. No, his fingers curled around yours like he wanted to hold on, like it was instinctive, like it wasn’t something he had to think about anymore. Maybe there had been rules once—lines drawn, boundaries set, reminders that this was all part of something bigger than just the two of you.

But those rules?

Gone. Completely fucked. Every single one of them.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice cut through the quiet, casual but with a weight that hit you instantly.

“Y/n, you know you’re my type.”

You blinked, heart stumbling, stomach twisting into something dangerously close to real panic. No way. No way.

“I noticed, Lando,” you replied, keeping your voice even, steady, controlled—like you weren’t suddenly questioning everything.

But he shook his head, squeezing your hand just slightly, just enough for the warmth of his touch to register, just enough for you to realize that this wasn’t teasing, wasn’t banter, wasn’t pushing boundaries for the sake of the game.

This was real.

“No, I mean it, Y/n.” His voice was softer now, more deliberate, his gaze scanning your face, focused, serious, carrying an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “You grew up into such a beautiful woman.”

Your breath hitched, just slightly, just enough for him to notice.

You felt his gaze linger on you, felt the way his thumb absently brushed against your skin as he held your hand, as he walked beside you through the quiet streets of Monaco, effortlessly pulling old memories into the present like they had never faded.

“I still remember that little shy girl you were,” he murmured, voice low, edged with something gentle, something careful, something that made your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t expected.

You exhaled, slow, measured, letting the words settle, letting them sink into the space between you like something undeniably significant.

“That was a long time ago,” you finally muttered, tilting your head slightly, offering him a sideways glance, watching for whatever he wasn’t saying outright.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head slightly, squeezing your hand just enough for you to feel it. “Not that long,” he mused, his smirk flickering briefly before it softened, before it melted into something that wasn’t teasing anymore.

“I guess,” you finally muttered, glancing at him, eyes scanning his expression, searching for something—for confirmation, for meaning, for whatever the hell had just shifted in this dynamic that had once felt so predictable, so contained.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head slightly, and then—without hesitation, without pretense, without playing into the teasing rhythm you had both mastered—he said it.

“You were always beautiful.”

─── sunday: day three

The early morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel room, illuminating the undeniable reality of what had transpired in the past forty-eight hours. The energy of Monaco still lingered in the air, wrapping around the space between you both, pulling every moment from yesterday into sharp focus—the victory, the celebrations, the way things between you had shifted so irreversibly.

You stretched slightly, sinking deeper into the plush pillows, the warmth of sleep still clinging to your limbs, your thoughts slowly piecing together as the morning settled. But even through the haze of waking up, you felt it—his presence, the way Lando’s body rested beside yours, not hurried, not distant, not pretending that the closeness was something either of you needed to second-guess anymore.

And then, there was him—already awake, already invested in his phone, brows furrowed in that unmistakable way that meant he had discovered something worth dissecting. His focus was sharp, unwavering, and you couldn’t help but observe him for a moment, taking in the way his expression flickered through amusement and intrigue, the way he barely reacted to your movements as you shifted closer.

Finally, your voice broke the comfortable silence, soft, still tinged with sleep, but laced with curiosity. “What’s going on, baby?”

The term of endearment slipped out effortlessly, smoothly, like it had always been part of your vocabulary with him—like it wasn’t something you even thought about anymore.

Lando barely looked up, his grip on the phone firm, still immersed in whatever he was reading, his attention divided between scrolling through articles and listening to you. Then, with the simplest motion, he handed his phone over, lips curling into something amused but undeniably invested.

“Look at these articles,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, eyes flickering back toward you as you took the device. “We are everywhere.”

You blinked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you scrolled through the articles, headlines spilling across the screen in bold, dramatic fonts—each one dissecting every single detail of yesterday, of the celebrations, of the way the two of you had looked at each other like no one else mattered.

Lando chuckled beside you, stretching lazily, the smirk still resting on his lips, entirely unbothered by the attention, by the assumptions, by the fact that the internet had officially lost its mind over whatever the hell was happening between you.

“From fuckboy to wholesome boyfriend,” you muttered, shaking your head slightly, glancing over at him. “That’s quite the transformation, Norris.”

He grinned, eyes still flickering toward the screen, fully enjoying every moment of this chaos. “Well, I do pride myself on character development.”

You scoffed, scrolling further, your brows raising slightly as you read aloud another headline. “Lando Norris loves his girlfriend too much for love to be real.”

That earned a full laugh from him, deep and genuine, ringing through the hotel room, unfiltered in a way that made your chest tighten just slightly.

“You’re so fucked up falling for me, my dear,” you murmured, the words slipping out effortlessly, carrying that teasing edge—but this time, it wasn’t fully teasing.

It should have been simple—just another joke, just another throwaway comment to keep the rhythm going, to keep the tension wrapped neatly in the same playful game you had both mastered so well. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. Not when the air around you felt thicker, denser, charged with something undeniable. Not when Lando was watching you like this, like he was seeing something more, like he wasn’t about to laugh this off like every moment before it.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head just slightly, but the way he reacted—it wasn’t the usual deflection, wasn’t the expected brush-off, wasn’t him pulling back into safe territory. If anything, it was confirmation, quiet but certain, settling into the space between you with weight.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, voice low, smooth, deliberate—undeniably real.

───

The paddock was alive with movement—mechanics darting from one side of the garage to the other, voices overlapping, data streaming across telemetry screens, the unmistakable hum of final race preparations filling the air. The energy was palpable, the kind of intensity that only race day could bring, where every second mattered, where every detail could be the difference between victory and disappointment.

But you and Lando? Utterly unbothered.

He sat casually on the counter, fingers lazily drumming against the smooth metal surface, his race suit hanging loosely around his frame, only partially zipped, the edges of his fireproof undershirt peeking through. There was no tension in his body, no hint of nerves, just that familiar ease—that infuriating confidence that made it seem like he had already won before the lights had even gone out.

“You should go,” you told him, nodding toward the car waiting in the garage, the vehicle that would soon carry him to the grid, to the battle, to the chaos that was about to unfold.

But Lando didn’t move.

Instead, he turned to look at you, his expression shifting, amusement glinting in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly, just enough to tell you that he had already decided something before you even realized the conversation was happening.

“Not getting into that car without my good luck kiss.”

The words landed effortlessly, smooth, casual, like they had always belonged here, like this was just a normal part of his pre-race routine now.

Your breath hitched, just slightly, stomach twisting with something you weren’t quite ready to name, something that sat just beneath the surface of your amusement, something that made the air thicker between you.

You scoffed, shaking your head, crossing your arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

Lando grinned, shifting slightly, feet swinging as he leaned back against the counter, completely at ease. “I’m serious.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer, tilting your head just slightly, watching him carefully. “Since when do you need a good luck kiss?”

His smirk widened just a little, and for a second, you could swear his gaze flickered toward your lips.

“Since now,” he said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like this moment, this request, was completely normal—even though you both knew it wasn’t.

You knew—without a doubt—that this wasn’t something Lando was going to let you forget.

For the rest of your life, he would bring it up at the most ridiculous moments, reminding you, teasing you, dragging it out for dramatic effect, making sure that no matter how much time passed, you’d still hear about this exact second when he finally got what he wanted.

So you kissed him.

Lips on lips, soft, deliberate, careful yet certain, the kind of kiss that settled deep, the kind that meant something, the kind neither of you could brush off anymore.

And that bastard?

He was enjoying every second of it.

His hand stayed firm on your waist, fingers curling just slightly, grounding you, keeping you close, like pulling away wasn’t even an option anymore.

When you finally parted—when the moment lingered, stretched between you like something irrevocable—his lips curled into that familiar smirk, lazy, satisfied, completely pleased with himself.

“Thank you, darling,” he murmured, voice low, edged with amusement, with something else entirely.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, knowing—without a doubt—that he was going to be insufferable about this for the rest of your life.

Lando stood before you, his race suit fully zipped, gloves secured, and helmet cradled between his hands. The usual pre-race energy buzzed around the garage—mechanics making last-minute adjustments, engineers scanning data, the hum of voices layered over the sound of engines roaring to life. Everything was moving fast, everything was precise, everyone had a job to do.

And yet—amidst all of that—he came to you.

“Is it good?” he asked, referring to the fit his helmet already sitting on his head. His voice was smooth, steady, but there was something underneath it, something unspoken, something that made you realize he wanted your reassurance more than he was willing to admit.

You didn’t hesitate.

With gentle hands, you reached for the collar of his suit, adjusting it just slightly, making sure everything sat perfectly. Your fingers brushed against the edges of his helmet, tilting it just right, securing it with the kind of precision that wasn’t just about racing—it was about him, about making sure he walked out onto that track with nothing on his mind except the drive.

“Perfect,” you murmured, the word carrying weight, carrying meaning, carrying something undeniably proud.

Lando grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching with something warm, something easy, something that told you this wasn’t just about the race anymore—this was about you, too.

───

Lando had always had a way of turning moments into something unforgettable, of making sure every victory, every achievement, felt bigger than just a race—and today was no exception.

Two hours later, he stood on the top step of the podium, his race suit clinging to him, still damp with sweat and adrenaline, his helmet long discarded, curls slightly tousled from the rush of celebration. The sun reflected off the trophy in his hands, casting shimmering highlights over the podium, catching on the beads of champagne that had started to drip onto the cool metal surface beneath his feet. He was at the center of it all, the cameras flashing, the crowd erupting, the emotion surging through the circuit like an unstoppable wave.

The champagne bottles sat idly, waiting for their turn, for the explosion of joy that would come as soon as the formalities ended. But now? Now, the moment belonged to him—the British anthem playing through the circuit, the crowd roaring, every camera, every fan, every voice locked onto the driver who had just dominated the race. His team stood beside him on the lower steps, hands clasped in triumph, their faces painted with the sheer joy of seeing their hard work turn into something real, something victorious.

And you? Standing beneath the podium once again, surrounded by his team, the sea of orange alive with pure exhilaration, shouts of triumph echoing in the air. The energy was infectious, buzzing in your chest, pushing through your veins, filling you with something electric. But none of it truly registered—not the voices, not the clapping, not the flashing cameras. It was all just background noise to the one person you were focused on.

Lando’s gaze swept over the crowd briefly, soaking in the scene, reveling in the energy, before his eyes found yours—steady, certain, glinting with something smug, something so undeniably him. The slow curl of his lips sent warmth spreading through your chest, a reaction you weren’t prepared to admit, and yet, there it was. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly the effect he had, exactly how this moment would settle into something neither of you could forget.

Then, effortlessly, he winked.

A smirk followed, stretching across his lips, settling into something infuriatingly triumphant, the kind of expression that said, I told you so without needing a single word. You could already hear the teasing that would come later, the way he would remind you of this moment, the way he would make sure it stayed with you longer than just today.

Your stomach twisted, a warmth settling deep in your chest, a realization creeping up that you had been right earlier—he wasn’t getting into that car without his good luck kiss, and now? Now, he was standing up there, watching you from the top step, knowing, without a doubt, that it had worked.

The champagne sprayed across the podium, shimmering under the bright circuit lights, cascading down the suits of the top three drivers as they reveled in the moment, in the victory, in the culmination of everything that had brought them to this point. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a mixture of cheers, applause, and celebratory shouts that echoed across the circuit, wrapping itself around the podium like a living, breathing force. The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with the kind of energy that only came with a moment like this—a victory earned, a dream realized, a legacy cemented in history.

Lando stood at the center of it all, completely unguarded, beaming, laughing as he turned the bottle in his hands, directing the spray toward his team below, toward the crowd, toward the chaos that had erupted around him. His eyes sparkled with something raw, something pure, something that hadn’t been clouded by doubt or pressure or expectation. It was just joy—unfiltered, unrestrained, the kind that made everything else disappear. The way he smiled, the way his laughter rang out, the way he held himself with that effortless confidence—it was something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

And that was when it hit you.

The tear slipped free, unplanned, unexpected, but undeniable. It wasn’t sadness, wasn’t regret—it was something deeper, something softer, something whole. Because watching him like this, seeing him in his moment, seeing him where he was always meant to be—it stirred something in you that you hadn’t fully processed before.

You had missed this version of him—the one who radiated joy, the one who didn’t overthink, the one who belonged here, on the top step of the most iconic race in the world. For so long, there had been questions, uncertainties, lingering thoughts about what could’ve been, what should’ve been. But now? Now, looking at him standing there, looking at the way victory settled around him so naturally, you realized something with absolute clarity.

Maybe, in some strange, bittersweet way, you were glad he had left all those years ago.

Because if he hadn’t—if things had unfolded any other way—he wouldn’t be standing here now. He wouldn’t be soaking in this moment, wouldn’t be gripping the trophy with hands that had fought so hard for it, wouldn’t be surrounded by the kind of triumph that had been years in the making.

And watching him up there, soaking in his moment, drenched in triumph, surrounded by everything he had worked for?

You wouldn’t change a single thing.

After the podium celebrations had settled, you found yourself tucked away in McLaren’s hospitality lounge, waiting for Lando to finish the rounds of interviews. The hum of conversation filled the space, mechanics and engineers drifting in and out, the scent of victory still lingering in the air.

With your phone in hand, you watched the interviews unfold, scrolling through clips as they surfaced, catching bits and pieces of his words between questions about tire strategy, race pace, and overtakes. But then—one particular question caught your attention.

“We’ve seen you and your girlfriend together in the paddock all weekend,” the reporter noted, voice smooth, curious, leaning in slightly. “Do you think she was the key to your success today?”

Your brows lifted slightly, interest piqued, your full attention now locked on the screen.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

His grin spread, easy and confident, amusement flickering in his eyes as he replied, “You mean my girlfriend was the key to my success?” He paused just slightly, enough to let the words settle before he nodded once, firm, certain. “Definitely. She’s my lucky charm.”

And just like that, your stomach twisted, a warmth settling deep in your chest—because he said it like he meant it.

The reporter’s question had been straightforward, part of the usual post-race inquiries about what contributed to Lando’s success, but the weight of his answer settled into something deeper—something personal, something real.

His smirk softened, the usual post-race adrenaline still coursing through him, but now edged with something sincere. His posture remained relaxed, but there was a shift—a quiet moment of recognition in his expression, as if he was fully aware of the gravity of what he was about to say. He exhaled slightly, rolling his shoulders back before speaking, his voice steady and undeniably certain.

"I'm glad my Y/n is here with me," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his gaze flickering toward the camera, as if the words weren’t just meant for the reporter or the audience—but for you, wherever you were, watching. "This win is for her."

The atmosphere in the room shifted just slightly, the laughter and chatter quieting for a beat, letting the words settle. His team, the journalists, the PR staff—they all carried on around him, but for that fleeting moment, none of them mattered.

Because it was about you.

And then, as if to cement the moment in history, as if to ensure you knew exactly what he meant, Lando’s smile widened, his fingers lifted in a small, casual wave, his expression holding that distinct mix of amusement and complete sincerity.

"I love you, baby," he added, voice light, but his gaze unwavering.

And somewhere—perhaps in the middle of the paddock, or tucked away in the McLaren lounge, or still watching through the glowing screen of your phone—you felt it.

The warmth.

It was ridiculous, really—how much he loved you. How much you lingered in his mind, how much the thought of you had settled into his bones like something he couldn’t shake, couldn’t ignore, couldn’t turn off even if he wanted to.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to.

Not even a little.

Because there you were, always, in the back of his thoughts, in the quiet moments between races, in the adrenaline-fueled highs and the exhausted lows, in the way his hands absentmindedly reached for his phone just to see if you had messaged, even when he knew you hadn’t.

He was so fucked.

But then again—so were you.

Because for all the ways he thought about you, all the ways you ran through his mind like an unstoppable force—you were doing the exact same thing.

───

The music pulsed through the crowded room, a steady beat that seemed to sync with the rhythm of Monaco itself—an endless celebration, a city that never truly slept, especially not on a night like this. The race had come and gone, the results were final, but none of it mattered now. Here, in the heart of the victory party, the lines between triumph and defeat blurred into nothing.

Monaco was different from any other race on the calendar. Here, everyone celebrated. Whether they had stood on the podium, missed out by fractions of a second, or endured the brutal reality of a retirement, it didn’t matter. The atmosphere was infectious, drowning out thoughts of past regrets or future pressures, replacing them with nothing but laughter, music, and the electricity of the night.

And in the center of it all, there was you and Lando.

His hand found yours effortlessly, fingers curling around your wrist as he twirled you, spinning you into the sea of people before catching you again—firm, steady, his. His grip was easy, natural, and the way he pulled you back to him was completely unguarded, like holding onto you was as instinctive as breathing.

The flickering lights overhead bathed his features in golden hues, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, illuminating the curve of his grin, the familiar spark in his eyes. He was glowing, alive, moving with an energy that wasn’t just post-race adrenaline—it was something else entirely. Something lighter. Something real.

And as the music swelled, as the world blurred around you, as his arms tightened around you just slightly, grounding you in this moment, in him, you realized something with absolute certainty.

This—this exact moment—was his favorite kind of win.

The music was loud, the air thick with celebration, bodies moving in every direction, laughter spilling into the night. Monaco had wrapped itself around you both, drawing you into the pulse of it, into the warmth, into the chaos that was somehow so perfectly right.

Lando’s hands were on you, strong and steady despite the way the champagne had settled into his veins, making everything feel just a little lighter, just a little easier, just a little too honest. His grip was firm around your waist as he swayed with you, his laughter bubbling up, uninhibited, raw, completely unfiltered.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice barely above the music, but close enough—close enough that it sank into you the way his touch did. “I think I might be a little bit in love with you.”

You laughed, shaking your head, because this was Lando—your Lando, messy and drunk and unbelievably obvious.

“A little bit?” you teased, tilting your head, amusement dancing in your tone.

His grip tightened as he pulled you in, so close you could see the way his pupils were blown wide, the way his expression softened just slightly, just enough to be real.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, his voice lower now, heavier. “A lot Like, stupidly, annoyingly, completely, all-the-way in love with you.”

You didn’t have time to react before he spun you again, pulling you back just as fast, his grin unapologetic, his hands never leaving yours.

You shook your head, amusement flickering in your eyes, though the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed you. "You're drunk, Lando," you teased, brushing off the weight of his words, the confession woven into them.

But he wasn’t having it.

Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his grip firm, his fingers pressing into your skin like he needed you to listen, like he needed you to believe him. His breath was warm against your cheek, his voice softer now, rougher, laced with something too real to be ignored.

“I mean it, Y/n."

He hesitated, his eyes searching yours, lingering for half a second longer than they should have, like he was waiting for something—some kind of reaction, some kind of reassurance, some kind of anything that told him he wasn’t just saying this into the night.

His fingers curled slightly against your waist.

"I don’t want this to end."

Your stomach twisted, your pulse stuttering as the meaning settled between you, hanging in the space neither of you had dared to touch before. But still, you asked, because you had to, because you needed to hear him say it even though you already knew.

"What?"

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his hold tightening as he finally let the words fall.

"This," he murmured, his voice lower now, heavier. "The bet or whatever it is. Us."

You took his hand, fingers lacing through his without hesitation, and guided him away from the crowd, weaving past the swirling bodies, past the laughter, past the electricity of Monaco’s endless celebration. The music pulsed behind you, but the further you walked, the quieter it became, the lights dimming, the chaos settling into the background until it was just the two of you, standing in the shadowed corner of the venue.

He let you lead him, no resistance, no questions—just quiet curiosity, just the steady grip of his hand holding onto yours like he wasn’t willing to let go. And then you stopped, turning to face him, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart pounding, your thoughts tangled, every word you wanted to say sitting on the tip of your tongue but refusing to fall into place.

“I don’t know what’s real and what’s just pretending, Lan,” you finally admitted, your voice softer now, rawer, laced with something too heavy for the moment, something too real. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against his, unable to look away, unable to pull back, unable to escape the way his gaze searched yours with that same intensity, the same depth, the same knowing. Because deep down, you already had your answer—you just wanted to hear him say it.

Lando’s expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker with hesitation or uncertainty. If anything, he looked like he had been waiting for this conversation, waiting for you to bring it up, waiting for the chance to say what had already been sitting between you for far too long.

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, grounding you, steadying you, keeping you present when your instinct begged you to run from whatever this was. “I don’t pretend anything since the first day, love,” he murmured, his voice carrying something firm yet gentle, something sure, something that left no room for doubt. The way he said it, the way the words fell effortlessly from his lips, sent something rushing through you—a realization, a truth, a confirmation of everything you had already known but refused to acknowledge.

Then, his thumb brushed against your skin, slow, deliberate, and he went further. “I mean, I want you to be mine,” he continued, his voice dropping just slightly, almost careful, as if it carried more weight than he knew how to hold.

His eyes searched yours again, not for permission, not for reassurance—just for the moment, just for you, just for the understanding that this wasn’t a joke, that this wasn’t something fleeting, that this wasn’t just part of the game. “Truly mine.”

Lando’s voice was lower now, rougher, heavy with something undeniable. The distance between you had disappeared, the warmth of him wrapping around you, drowning out the rest of the world, pressing into something real. His fingers curled against your waist, slow, deliberate, his grip not demanding but certain, like he was holding onto the truth of his words as much as he was holding onto you.

“I’ve never wanted someone so badly the way I want you, Y/n,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any sign of doubt, any hint that you might pull away, might retreat into excuses, into hesitation.

The weight of the night pressed against your skin—the heat of Monaco’s endless celebration, the pulse of music vibrating through the walls, the distant roar of voices spilling over in laughter, in cheers, in pure adrenaline-fueled revelry. But none of it mattered. Not the party, not the race, not the noise—because here, in this quiet corner, tucked away from the chaos, it was just you and him.

Lando’s grip was firm, grounding you, steadying himself, his fingers curling against your waist like he was afraid the second he let go, this moment might slip away. His breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide, the remnants of champagne and excitement lingering in the way his chest rose and fell in shallow movements, in the way his lips parted slightly like he had more to say but wasn’t sure how to say it.

He wanted you. Needed you. Craved you in ways he hadn’t fully realized until now.

And you?

You were just as gone for him.

Everything—every single thing—had changed this weekend. What started as something simple, something playful, something undefined had shifted into this, into something so much heavier, so much more real than either of you had been prepared for. Every moment spent together had turned into something impossible to ignore, every fleeting glance now carried meaning, every touch lingered longer than it should.

All the years of pain, of hesitation, of uncertainty didn’t matter anymore.

He had changed. You had changed. But in a way, he was still the same. Still Lando, still the boy with the teasing smirk, with the wild energy, with the unfiltered laughter that had always drawn you in. But now, that same boy was standing in front of you, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world, like you were his like this moment meant more than any podium finish ever could.

Your chest tightened, breath shaky, fingers twitching slightly against his as you finally let the words slip, raw and completely unguarded.

“I’m yours, Lando.”

─── monday: the end ??

The headache was manageable. The weight pressing against your chest? Not so much.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room, painting everything in muted tones of reality that you weren’t entirely ready to face. The warmth of sleep still clung to your body, but it wasn’t enough to keep the creeping thoughts at bay. Not today. Not when everything felt different, when the ease of last night had been replaced with something heavier, something impossible to ignore.

Beside you, Lando stirred. Shirtless, tangled in the sheets, limbs sprawled across the bed like he hadn’t quite processed the morning yet, like he was still lost somewhere between last night’s celebration and the reality waiting outside these walls. His breathing was slow, steady, rhythmic in a way that should’ve been comforting—but instead, it gnawed at something inside you, pulling at the edges of a thought you weren’t quite ready to examine.

You could get used to this.

The sight of him, the warmth of him, the way everything about this felt natural, like it belonged. But at the same time, something inside you hesitated, wavered, pressed against the weight of knowing this wasn’t supposed to be real, wasn’t supposed to last.

You sighed, reaching for your phone, fingers fumbling across the screen as the device lit up, notifications flooding in like a wave crashing against the shore. And the second your browser opened, the world greeted you with stark reality.

Photos.

Everywhere.

You and Lando, caught in flashes, frozen in moments that weren’t meant to be dissected by the rest of the world, splashed across headlines with catchy phrases that barely scratched the surface of what really happened. But that wasn’t the worst part.

It was the interview.

It was the way he had said all the right things, played the perfect role, made everyone believe what they wanted to believe.

It was proof that the bet was over.

And that Lando had won.

He had convinced the world that he was the perfect boyfriend. Charming, devoted, unbelievably convincing. And maybe, just maybe, he had convinced you, too.

The thought twisted deep in your stomach, tangled in something uncomfortable, something terrifying, something you weren’t ready to unpack. Because if this was over—if this was all just part of the game, part of something meant to end—then what happened now?

Were you supposed to go back to being friends?

And if so…

Why did that feel like the last thing you wanted?

You moved slowly, almost too slowly, as if the weight pressing down on you made it harder to go through the motions. Packing your things should’ve been easy, mindless, routine—but instead, every item you folded, every piece of clothing you shoved into your bag felt heavier than it should. Like somehow, leaving this room, leaving him, leaving this entire weekend behind, was more than just the end of a bet.

Was it really over?

Was it supposed to be?

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the fabric in your hands, thoughts swirling faster than you could process them. After everything—the teasing, the lingering touches, the way his gaze had held onto yours like it meant something, like it was more. After last night, after his confession, after the way he had needed you.

But maybe that was all it had been—a moment fueled by champagne and adrenaline, by the high of the night, by the fleeting rush of Monaco’s magic.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly, convincing yourself that it was just that. Just drunk words. Just impulse. Just Lando being Lando. Just something temporary—something that shouldn’t matter as much as it did.

Just as your fingers brushed against the door handle, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, halting your movement, pulling you back before you could take that final step. The warmth of his touch was steady, solid, anchoring you to the moment before you could slip away from it. Your pulse stumbled, your breath hitching as his fingers tightened, not harshly, not demandingly, but deliberately—as if he knew that if he didn’t stop you now, you might never stop yourself.

“Where are you going?” Lando’s voice, rough from sleep, carried a quiet intensity, a gravity that settled in your chest, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to acknowledge. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t making light of the situation. He was serious.

You swallowed, eyes flickering over his face, searching for something—an escape, an easy answer, anything that would make this moment less real. But nothing came. No excuses, no rehearsed responses, nothing to fill the space between you except the raw truth you had been trying to avoid since the second you woke up. “Home?” you answered, though it came out more like a question, uncertain, fragile, like the word didn’t belong to you anymore.

But Lando didn’t waver.

His grip tightened just slightly, his gaze steady, unwavering, knowing. There was no hesitation in his expression, no uncertainty in his stance, no doubt in the way he looked at you like he had already decided what this was, what this meant.

“But you are home,” he said, and the conviction in his voice hit something deep inside you, something you had tried so hard to ignore, something you weren’t sure you could fight anymore.

Because deep down, you knew the truth—you were home. After eight long years, after everything, after all the hesitation and uncertainty, you had finally found your way back. And it wasn’t just Monaco, wasn’t just the comfort of familiar places or the rush of the weekend—it was him. He was your home.

But admitting that felt too big, too terrifying, too final. So instead, you let the words slip out, sharp and deliberate, forcing a distance between you both before the moment swallowed you whole.

“You won the bet, remember?”

Lando’s expression shifted, the certainty in his eyes flickering just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. His grip didn’t loosen, but something in his stance changed—a subtle hesitation, a brief flicker of something uncertain, something vulnerable.

“I don’t care about the bet,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, rougher, edged with something too real to be ignored.

You exhaled slowly, heart pounding in your chest, fingers twitching where his held onto yours. You wanted to believe him, wanted to lean into the warmth of his words, into the comfort of the truth they carried—but it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple.

“Lando…” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

“I didn’t win anything,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. His fingers slid down to lace with yours, gripping tighter, like he needed you to understand—really understand. His lips parted, breath uneven, his gaze locked onto yours like he was afraid you were going to slip away, like if he let go, you would vanish completely. “Not if you walk out that door.”

And suddenly, the bet—the thing that had started all of this, the game that had set everything in motion—felt so insignificant compared to what this had become.

For eight years, you convinced yourself that losing him was inevitable—that people came and went, that feelings faded, that memories blurred into nothing more than passing thoughts that didn’t carry weight anymore. You had spent years learning how to live without him, how to ignore the way his name still tugged at something deep in your chest, how to pretend the absence didn’t feel so vast.

But standing here now, feeling the warmth of his grip against your wrist, hearing the quiet certainty in his voice, all of that fell apart. Because the truth was—you never really let him go.

“I let you go eight years ago,” Lando said, his voice low, rough around the edges, laced with something unshakable. His fingers curled tighter, grounding himself in the moment, in you, in everything that had come rushing back between you like time had never passed at all. “And I’m not letting that happen again.”

The words sat heavy between you, lingering in the space where doubt had once lived, where hesitation had once thrived, where every unspoken fear had kept you both apart for far too long. They pressed into the silence, into the quiet moment that felt too fragile, too raw, like any wrong movement might shatter the certainty building between you.

“I can’t lose you again, Y/n.”

But now?

Now, none of that mattered.

Because when he said it—when you felt it—it wasn’t just something fleeting, wasn’t just words tossed carelessly into the air. It was a truth, a choice, an impossible confession wrapped in quiet certainty, in undeniable finality. And that changed everything.

“I can’t lose you again,” he repeated, softer this time, voice dipping into something rough, something raw, something undeniable. The words were meant for you, meant to wrap around the air between you, meant to stay. He wasn’t just saying it for the sake of it—he needed you to hear it, needed you to understand that this wasn’t just impulse, wasn’t just adrenaline, wasn’t just the remnants of the night clinging to him.

He meant it.

And you did, too.

Because deep down, you felt the same.

You couldn’t lose him again. Not after eight years of silence. Not after everything. Not after the way this weekend had torn down every last wall between you, had stripped away the hesitations, had forced you to see what had been there all along.

Not when he was standing here, holding onto you, refusing to let go, refusing to let you slip away the way you had once before. Not when his fingers curled against your skin like he was terrified of losing this moment, of losing you, of losing everything all over again. Not when his presence swallowed you whole, when his warmth seeped into you, when every racing thought screeched to a halt under the weight of this moment, of him, of the realization that maybe—just maybe—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The words sat on the edge of your tongue, lingering, heavy, tangled with years of emotions too vast to contain, too powerful to ignore. You had spent so long convincing yourself that time had changed things—that the anger, the frustration, the ache of his absence had chipped away at everything else, had left you with nothing more than resentment and a hollow space where love used to live.

But standing here, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapped around your wrist, seeing the way his eyes searched yours, the way he held onto you like he wasn’t willing to let go, everything you had buried came rushing back.

Because despite everything—despite the years apart, despite the walls you had built, despite the way you had once convinced yourself you could live without him—you still loved him.

And when the words finally escaped, they carried more weight than you ever thought possible.

“I love you, Norris.”

babsie radio ! Thank you for the positive feedback on nostalgia, I’m so glad you liked it as much as I did! I know you guys wanted slowburn but I just don’t know how to write it haha, but I tried, hope it’s slowburn enough and you’ll enjoy it <3

taglist ! @haniette @hazzasmunchkin @stilesks @freyathehuntress @fictionalfanatic123 @evilive

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spookysanta · 2 months ago

Text

Keep Your Eyes Open. (MBJ)

Summary: When she talks slick, she has to pay the price.

Pairing; Michael B. Jordan x reader

Warnings: porn without plot, basically. rough sex - hair pulling, choking, spit, whole nine. unhinged michael.

a late idea i had. you're welcome.

MINORS DNI

It started with her mouth.

It always did.

She’d been talking slick since the moment she woke up. Half-whispers while brushing her teeth, playful digs over coffee, brushing up against him as she passed by just to smirk and keep walking. It wasn’t even full-blown teasing. It was worse. Constant. Casual. That quiet, confident tone she used when she thought she had the upper hand.

Michael let it ride. He didn’t say a word.

All day long he’d just watched her. Tracked every word she said, every swing of her hips when she turned a corner, every stretch of her thighs beneath one of his old T-shirts. No bra. No panties. Just the shirt and her mouth.

It had been building for hours.

When she walked through the bedroom that night, barefoot and freshly showered, humming to herself like she hadn’t been a menace all damn day, he barely looked up from his phone. But when she paused in front of the mirror, caught a glimpse of herself, and turned just slightly to admire the curve of her ass in his shirt, she did it.

She smirked. Right at her own reflection.

And that was it.

Michael set his phone down and stood.

She didn’t hear him at first. Not until he was behind her. Not until his hands were at her waist and his mouth was at her ear. “Stay right there. In front of the mirror.”

Her breath hitched. She looked up. Saw his eyes in the reflection — low, dark, unreadable.

He pushed her forward gently until her palms were on the dresser and her face was nearly pressed to the glass. Her shirt rode up with the motion, exposing the curve of her hips and the soft dip of her lower back. He stepped back just enough to look at her. Really look at her.

The mirror showed everything. Every inch of her skin. Every shift of her weight. Every nervous flutter of her eyelashes. “Michael—”

His hand slid up her spine, slow and firm, until it reached the back of her neck. He held her there, thumb brushing the hairline behind her ear. “You wanted attention,” he said, his voice low and calm. “So now you’re gonna watch what it looks like when you get it.”

He didn’t give her time to respond. One hand held her steady, and the other gripped her hip, guiding her back onto him in one hard, hungry thrust.

She gasped, eyes went going in the mirror, lips parting in a silent scream. Her knees almost buckled.

“Look at you,” he muttered, drawing back just far enough to slam into her again. “Watch your face when I fuck the attitude out of you.”

She tried to. Tried to stay focused. But it was impossible to hold her own gaze when the sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the room and her body shook with every thrust.

Michael’s grip was unforgiving. One hand anchored on her waist, pulling her back to meet every stroke, the other sliding between her legs, fingers slick with the evidence of how much she loved this. His fingertips circled her clit, slow and brutal, until her moans got louder, sloppier, higher-pitched. “You feel that?” he said, breath hot against her ear. “You feel how soaked you are for me?”

She nodded, eyes fluttering.

“Say it.”

“I feel it,” she moaned. “Fuck, Michael—I feel everything.”

He growled deep in his chest. Fucked into her harder. Her thighs slapped against the dresser edge, hips arching, tits bouncing beneath the shirt that clung to her sweat-damp skin.

Then he stilled.

Pulled out.

She whimpered from the loss, confused and dizzy.

He turned her around by her shoulders, pushed her down to her knees. “Open.”

She did, mouth wide, tongue out, eyes up.

He gripped the back of her head, slid into her mouth inch by inch, slow enough to savor it, deep enough to feel her swallow around him. Her lips were soft and warm and so eager. Spit coated his cock almost immediately. She was messy with it, drool dripping down her chin, her own arousal practically pouring between her thighs just from the act of pleasing him. “God, this mouth,” he breathed, hips starting to roll. “I could live in this fucking mouth.”

She moaned around him. That sound vibrated against him, sent a pulse of heat straight up his spine.

“You love when I make a mess on your pretty face?”

She gagged as he thrust deeper. Then he pulled back, wiped the spit from her cheek with his thumb, and let it trail down to her neck.

“Say it.”

“I love it,” she panted. “Love when you make a mess of me. Love when you use my mouth. Love it—need it—”

“Good.”

He didn’t warn her.

He just came.

Hot and hard across her tongue, groaning as her eyes fluttered, as her lips stayed open and perfect to catch it all. He let it drip down her chin, smearing it with his thumb, then kissing her forehead like a prize.

She was still trembling when he lifted her again.

Still dizzy when he turned her back around and bent her over the dresser.

“You thought we were done?”

She shook her head, too gone to speak.

He buried himself inside her again, slower this time. No less intense. Her walls clenched tight around him and he moaned like it hurt. “You’re taking it so well,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder, nipping the back of her neck. “So fucking good for me.”

She tried to hold herself up. She really did. But her knees gave out with the first deep thrust.

Michael caught her and kept going.

One arm around her waist, one hand gripping her hair, pulling her head back until she could see her ruined reflection again.

Her mascara had smeared. Her lips were swollen. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow bursts.

The mirror fogged.

So did her brain.

“You feel dumb yet?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I feel dumb,” she sobbed. “So—so fucking dumb for you.”

He reached around, thumb on her clit. “You gon’ tap out?”

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she cried.

He slowed.

Dragged his hips deep. “You’re mine, baby. You can take it.” He leaned in close. Mouth on her neck. Teeth scraping. “Look at you. Your head's empty, isn't it? You don’t think when I’m in you. You can’t.”

Grunting, swearing, hips jerking against her until she cried out from the sensitivity, from the ache, from the stretch and the heat and the absolute ruin of it all.

He didn’t let go right away. Just held her there, pressed against the mirror, his chest to her back, breath heavy in her ear.

Her legs gave out completely.

He caught her again. Lifted her, laid her gently onto the bed. Pulled the shirt off over her head, kissed the center of her chest, and brushed his fingers along the bruises he’d left.

She was silent. Mouth slightly open. Face still messy.

Michael looked at her like he’d just claimed a kingdom.

“You gonna talk shit tomorrow?” he asked, voice low and wrecked.

She smiled weakly. “If I can walk.”

He laughed, pressing one last kiss to her neck.

“Bet.”

—

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ja3yun · 6 months ago

Text

On the Roof || S.JY

stranger!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), cream pie, fingering, marking and biting, sex with a stranger, weirdly fluffy, petnames (princess, baby), mentions of bad relationships with parents, alcohol, comforting, do not have sex with strangers you meet on a roof, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: when you stumble across a boy on your apartment rooftop, you can't help but invite him to stay. a/n: hi! it's me. this is my first work back and honestly, it's not great but i just needed to get back in the swing of things so please be kind. I missed you guys a lot and the time away was exactly what i needed. thank you all for understanding, and i love you unconditionally!

The winter air tickles your senses as you push open the large, unfairly heavy door to your complex’s rooftop. It might be bitter, but it’s welcomed - your body creating unnecessary heat from both the walk up the three flights of stairs and the discomfort of your day.

Your shift was hard, too hard. Considering it’s a brand new year, you had stupidly thought that people would be a lot nicer to public service workers, yet you were proven wrong. With countless patients’ loved ones screaming down the phone to you, doctors barking demands at you because they see you as lesser than them, and not to mention the one man who decided that spitting in your face was a rational reaction to you politely telling him that he can’t see his grandmother who was in the middle of an operation.

Safe to say, you’ve had better shifts as a hospital receptionist.

But there was always one place you could count on to take a deep breath and reset. The rooftop. It’s quiet, overlooks the city, and helps you put into perspective that murder is not the answer to your life problems. But sometimes, God, you wish it was…

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way to the chairs you so perfectly placed underneath the solar-charged fairy lights, which hang half-arsed off the unused 1990 aerials. It’s not really how you would like to decorate the place, if you had it your way, you would have it looking reminiscent of the rooftop from Wish You, the same one you committed to memory as Lee Sang kissed In Soo for the first time. But since you’re not even supposed to have access to this part of the building, you’ll count the pathetic attempt at creating sanctuary as a win.

The lights guide you to your seat when you see a figure hunched over, one hand holding a beer and the other holding his head. This is not what you were expecting to see. No one comes up here, not past 10pm anyway. There is one neighbour who occupies the premises when he needs a smoke without his wife knowing, but he works the night shift. So this person is new.

“Um,” you begin, clearing your throat ever so softly to alert them of your presence without giving them an acute heart attack. “Hi?”

Their head jolts up from their hand, eyes wide and face shocked. Clearly, they didn’t expect to have company tonight either.

You focus on the figure in front of you – a boy, no older than yourself – scrutinising his features with a careful eye. As a woman, being vigilant around unfamiliar men has become second nature, an unfortunately ingrained habit of self-preservation you have mastered since before you can remember. So, your mind ticks through the usual checklist: is there a need to run? Are your shoulders getting that deep tingle that crawls up to your jaw? Is your gut making you want to vomit? None of those alarm bells ring. Instead, you’re met with something else entirely - uncertainty, maybe even sympathy.

The boy seems…fine, at least on the surface. No initial gut-wrenching unease claws at your insides. Emboldened by the absence of any red flags, you take another ginger step closer, studying him in detail.

His large, tired brown eyes peer out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, the weight of exhaustion evident. The glasses sit securely on his pretty thick nose. His lips, naturally full and a muted pink, are set in a neutral line, though the light could be softening their actual colour - it’s hard to tell beneath the hood’s shadow. Greasy, near-black hair clings to his forehead, unkempt but thick.

His outfit doesn’t fare much better to be honest; a mishmash of layers that hints at desperation more than deliberation. Faded grey jeans hang loose and crinkled, clearly worn more than once without a wash. Over a white t-shirt sits a black hoodie, topped off with a jacket far too big for him, the kind of size that suggests it doesn’t belong to him at all. The entire image strikes you in a way that leaves concern pricking all over your chest.

Steeling yourself, you step closer again, your voice soft but firm. “Are you okay?” The question is sincere, meant to come across as a kind gesture - like when you let a cat sniff around your hand before you just go in for the pet. Your eyes meet his, offering as much warmth as you can muster. There’s something about the way he sits, cold and crumpled, that pulls at your humanity.

At first, his expression flickers, betraying something fragile beneath the surface. But it doesn’t last. In an instant, his jaw sets, and his shoulders square in a defensive shift. His cheeks hollow as his tongue presses against them, words unspoken but clearly brewing. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and awkward.

It’s as if your simple question has poked at a bruise, tender and raw. You’ve touched something buried, and for reasons you can’t yet work out, his reaction irks you. Of all things to take issue with, why this? What on earth had he expected - for you not to ask a very valid question? Perhaps it’s the day you’ve had that’s caused the unnecessary offence on your behalf.

He averts his gaze, the connection between you severed. Instead, he tips back the beer bottle in his hand, his focus shifting to the cityscape below. The quiet glug of liquid slipping down his throat is the only response you get, and it grates against the care you offered.

A flicker of irritation sparks within you. Perhaps it’s the brush-off, or maybe it’s the contradiction in his actions. He’s sitting here in your space, looking like the embodiment of a cry for help, yet recoils at the smallest act of kindness. Still, you don’t back down. Instead, you shift your weight and tilt your head, keeping your tone neutral but unwavering.

“Fine, If you don’t want to talk, that’s sound,” you say, folding your arms against the cold. “But sitting out here, looking like the world’s chewed you up and spat you out…people are going to ask questions like ‘are you okay’ or ‘what’s the matter’. Just saying.” You huff out and follow his gaze to the city. People are having a much better day than you out there, and envy jabs at you.

For a moment, you think he’ll continue ignoring you; his shoulders remain tense, his grip on the bottle firm. But then he sighs, the sound long and weary, like air escaping a deflating balloon, one being pinched and controlled. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, a surprising Australian accent whistling through the wind.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the words lack conviction. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, steadfastly avoiding yours.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you counter, letting a small, dry smile tug at your lips. “And you’re also not allowed up here.”

A tense silence follows, broken only by the chug of a train in the far distance. It’s not exactly comfortable, but neither is it unbearable. You find yourself wondering who he is and what’s brought him to this specific rooftop.

“You can’t get up here unless you’re a tenant,” you blurt out, trying to get any morsel of information from him. You figure the quicker you find out what he’s doing here, the quicker you can find a solution for him to leave and then have your safe space back to yourself. You might have sympathy for him, clearly having a hard time of life, but so are you - and your comfort outweighs a total stranger who can’t even bother to look your way.

“Okay,” he says bored, sipping his beer again.

“That’s your invitation to either tell me that you moved in recently, or, your queue to leave because you’re trespassing.”

“Invitation declined.”

He is so rude, you think to yourself, though you wonder whether you should just call him out for it and at least gain some reaction for him.

Instead, you park yourself in the seat next to him, huffing as you drop down. “Well I’m not leaving until you do,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to not let his presence ruin your mood even further. You suppose, if he sits and shuts up, you can at least pretend he isn’t here invading your space.

Though technically, you’re invading his, but you get the idea.

The boy side-eyes you, a small, angry smirk etching onto his cold rosey face. “Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be here for a long fucking time.” He spits his words out, frustration laced within each syllable, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. The boy is so far in his own head that you begin to realise that any discontentment he might have has less to do with you and your presence, and more to do with the reason he’s hibernating on your rooftop.

So, you sit back, and leave him be. To be honest, you’ve dealt with far worse and crabbier people today, in comparison, this boy is like rainbows and kittens.

Closing your eyes, you let the white noise of the night take over you, infiltrating all your tension and disdain towards the day, and settling you into a comfortable silence. The fairy lights above add a serene atmosphere that you crave after work, the faint lights providing some fake warmth. They were not easy to get up there, but a few falls and tangles later, you realised that all the scrapes and twirls were worth it.

The hooded boy beside you peaks over, finally taking you in as more than an inconvenience. He notices how you breathe in deep, exhaling with a sigh of relief and a cloud of warmth that combats the freezing air.

It doesn’t take him a minute to realise that you’ve had a bad day too, and a pang of guilt hits him. He’s being unfair to you when you probably just want to relax under the night sky and here he is taking up space.

He takes up too much space.

Reaching down at his feet, he picks up a bottle of beer from his case, the clinking not even disturbing your quest for serenity. He pokes your thigh with the bottom of the bottle, gaining your attention. When your eyes meet once again, there’s a sorrowful look on his face, the alcohol a form of apology for being an arsehole. It’s an apology you’ll gladly accept.

“You look like you could use it,” he murmurs, offering a tight smile as he waits for you to take the brown glass bottle.

You wrap your hand around the base and lift it up in thanks. “I could use ten sambucas and a pint of tequila to wash them down,” you snort out a sarcastic chuckle, beginning to unscrew the cap. You need to thank whatever genius decided that bottle openers were too much hassle and gave people a much easier and more practical way to open a bottle of beer. You hope they’re having a good night.

The boy lets out a laugh, short but genuine, raising his own bottle to his lips. “That bad, huh?” he asks, voice muffled slightly by the glass.

“It gets like that,” you shrug, taking a long pull from the bottle, barely savouring the taste, routing around for the effects of calmness that it will bring rather than its pallet. “Comes with working in a hospital.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding his gloom “Nurse?”

“Receptionist.” You correct him, hissing out as you absorb the alcohol. Beer is not your favourite taste, a Sex on the Beach is much more appealing, but you would down a tank of gasoline if it meant you could get rid of this stress.

He sucks in an empathetic breath, whistling low as he leans back against the seat. “Yeah, you need a gun, not alcohol.”

The comment catches you off guard, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh - really laugh. It bursts out of you, raw and unrestrained, carrying away the weight of the day. Life isn’t inherently awful, but it’s lonely sometimes. Working back shift in the hospital makes it hard to keep friends or any semblance of a social life. The most interaction you get that isn’t disgruntled patients or angry phone calls is on twitter with your online friends, but even then, it’s a rise-and-repeat conversation cycle of ‘for real’ and ‘same’ replies to posts you make about Jang Kyungho when no one is looking.

Not exactly the deep human connection that people need.

So this, being able to laugh and have a bit of understanding for even a second, is comforting. It almost makes you feel bad for cursing the boy out in your head.

Smiling, you extend a hand to him, “Y/N.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Jaeyun,” he replies, offering you a smile in return. It’s faint but sincere, a crack in the armour he’s wearing so tightly.

As he grips your hand in his, you feel the ice-coldness on his skin, a clear indicator that he has been up here for quite some time. Or at least out in the open air. It only makes you more intrigued - and with him being a little slither more open with you, you decide to take the nugget and run with it.

So you talk, and talk, and talk. It feels like forever but it’s actually only two hours. Not a lot is said, but you learn some things about him; hobbies, interests, friends, his favourite TV shows and Films. All surface-level stuff, yet it feels like you’re speaking to an old friend. He learns about you too - the same stuff, with added anecdotes about working in a hospital.

But there is one thing that you are dying to know.

“So,” you begin, twisting your patio chair to face him fully, the legs scraping along the asphalt of the roof. “You can guess I’m here after a bad shift…why are you here?” Your face is expectant, waiting for an answer while you drink your beer.

But Jaeyun’s face is overcome with a flash of rage, partly due to your question, but more the fact that your question made him think about the reason he is here. Though, as quickly as his face shows agitation, it dissipates just as fast. Instead, he opts for an obtuse response. “Just wanted to enjoy the view. That’s all.”

“Couldn’t do that from your own building, no?” you tease lightly, humour softening the prodding tone. But your persistence nudges too close to something real. “Oh... did your girlfriend kick you out?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, too sharp and intrusive.

Unfortunately, it’s a habit of yours to be so nosey that it comes off inconsiderate or produces ill-timed questions. In this instance, it’s both.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle. The knuckles whiten, the tension visible. For a moment, he studies the label, reading the same ingredients over and over as if they hold the secret to life's greatest mystery - what happened on that fishing trip in Gavin and Stacey.

“My parents did. Yeah.” His confession is sharp, devoid of emotion

Your stomach drops. “Oh...” It’s all you manage, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts. You’re so stupid for poking Y/N! You inwardly scold yourself. Obviously, this issue is so much bigger than you can process. Still, your mouth will continue to flap around.

“Yep.” He pops the p with bitter precision, his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Apparently, I need to ‘get my act together.’” He says with accompanying quotation marks from his fingers.

“As in?”

“As in I need to be their perfect little boy and follow in my brother’s footsteps - be a lawyer.” The words fall flat, heavy with resentment.

Nodding along, the pieces form enough for you to make your own solid conclusions. “And I guess you don’t want that?”

“Fuck no.” Jaeyun scoffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m more likely to need a lawyer than be one.”

“Ohhh a bad boy huh?” you wiggle your brows, trying to interject some semblance of humour into the moment while sussing him out, to lighten his load even just a smidge. You can’t begin to imagine what his parents said or did to him once he rejected their concept of a perfect life, and you don’t really want him to dwell on it right now either.

He laughs despite himself, a quiet sound that momentarily lightens his expression. “Maybe.” It’s a noncommittal answer, but he seems content to let you spin your own version of events.

Honestly, he is not bad in any shape or form. But when he says he would need a lawyer rather than being one, he means that that career is so absurd that even a goody too shoes like him is more likely to get in trouble before he stands in a suit.

He just wants to live his life without this great expectation, without people demanding he ‘do better’ when he knows he is doing just fine; he’s in a great University, studying music and production, and has a decent part-time job at the record store, which isn’t loads of money, but enough for him to pay his mum and dad digs and still have a life outside their constraints. He’s doing fine, or so he believes.

But fine isn’t enough for his parents. Their love towards their own son is tied to the weight of their expectations, ones he can’t - or won’t - carry.

“So they just…kicked you out?” you ask carefully, noting the sorrow in his features as he turns the events of the past few months in his head. Sympathy creeps back into your chest, any lingering annoyance dissipating along with the last sips of your beer.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sighing and shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Are you staying with friends or…” You don’t finish the question because you’re scared of the answer; the dishevelled clothes and hair are enough to semi-confirm.

Jaeyun looks up, his gaze catching the glimmer of the fairy lights, their soft glow reflected in his dark irises. “I was, until a few days ago. You can only couch-hop for so long before people start to feel like you’re intruding.”

He holds no malice towards his friends, no bitterness in his tone, and honestly, his best friend Sunghoon said he could stay for as long as it took him to save up for an apartment of his own. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, the boy already doing more for him than most would have. Even Jay, his other friend, offered to loan him the money for the first month's rent on a flat uptown.

But Jaeyun’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of their kindness. He would manage on his own, no matter how hard it got.

Seeing the pity in your eyes, he waves his hand to brush off your concern. “It’s fine, I’ve scraped up enough money to get rent now. I just need to find a place,” he smiles softly, appreciative of your sympathy even if he doesn’t want it. “I’ll be fine. I’m going looking tomorrow.”

There’s a sense of relief that his words bring you. Although his predicament isn’t ideal right now, it looks like it could be on the turnaround, and for that, you’re thankful.

“If it’s only for one night, do you want my couch?” The offer spills out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself.

Jaeyun laughs heartedly, eyebrows knitting in disbelief and amusement. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Huh?!” you exclaim in shock. It’s not really the response you were expecting. A yes? Sure. A no? Absolutely. But an insult to punctuate your act of kindness was a curveball.

Sitting up straight, he places his beer on the ground, an amused smile softening his features. “I’m a random man you’ve known for a couple of hours. I could do anything to you in your own home, and you don’t seem the slightest bit worried about that.”

Okay, maybe he has a massive point. You don’t know him and he could literally attack you at any moment. And considering earlier you had to assess him before approaching, it shows that you do have the common sense not to let him stay with you.

But he poses no threat, none whatsoever. He’s just a boy in a fucked up situation, and your kind heart can’t see him freeze; god knows how many nights he’s been out. He’s already reminiscent of Jack Dawson turning into a block of iced body parts.

“Well, you won’t right?” You throw the question back to him. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve let men in my bed for a lot less than a tiny conversation and a beer.”

As soon as the words tumble out of your mouth, your cheeks flush to match his cold ones, neck tingling in embarrassment. You’ve just confessed that your standards are abysmally low - you’ve slept with men who didn’t even have the decency to buy you a drink nevermind learn your name.

Jaeyun stifles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “For your pride, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” The smile on his face is so beautiful that you’re caught off guard a little. Now you wish he was one of the men you let roll around on top of you for a compliment and a ride home.

His expression shifts, returning to a more serious note, though the smile lingers. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you for the offer, but I only have” - he glances at his watch - “six hours before sunrise anyway.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble-”

“I’m serious too,” he interrupts gently, slouching back into his seat. “You should go in. It’s cold, and after the day you’ve had, you need sleep.”

“I-”

“Y/N.” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His refusal stings in a strange way, the rejection of your kindness more personal than it should feel. But you know better than to argue with someone so resolute. It never ends well. So, with a resigned nod, you down the last of your beer and stand.

“Okay,” you reply, setting the empty bottle aside. “I’m in 4A if you change your mind. I can grab some blankets? Pillows?”

Jaeyun places a hand over his heart, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. But I promise I’ll survive.”

And so, you leave him there, your heart tugging at you to insist, to argue, to make him take shelter in your tiny flat. But your feet keep moving, respecting his wishes.

As you reach the door, you glance back one last time, the words caught in your throat. You just hope he’ll be okay.

_____

The rain lashes, jolting you awake. It’s not the pretty white noise rain that you enjoy, it sounds like hundreds of tiny little pebbles being pelted at your window. Strange. It was forecast as clear skies until at least Tuesday.

You blink groggily, groaning at the interruption. You can’t have been asleep for more than two hours - if that. Begrudged, you turn your back to the outside, shielding yourself from the rain that cannot attack you. Yet, an unsettling feeling stews in the bottom of your stomach, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your mouth gain moisture.

It’s not uncommon for you to have random spouts of anxiety, all your life you’ve suffered from it, but this isn’t your typical ‘my brain is going to bring up that one time I peed myself in primary 2 and had to be sent home’ anxiety. This is something more.

Fuck.

Jaeyun.

The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning and your body moves before your mind can catch up. You fling off your pastel pink duvet, slide your feet into your beloved fuzzy slippers, and throw on a housecoat to cover your half-naked form. If you had the right mindset and not half asleep and half in panic, you would have grabbed a rain jacket and some trainers instead.

Thought, without thinking about your own state, the chilly air cuts at your skin as you make your way to the roof. The rain, now mixed with hail, pelts down hard, each sting enhancing your concern. Your eyes roam around near the seated area, one of your hands shielding your eyes from the brutal hailstones, each one nipping your hand in anger.

"Jaeyun?" you shout, your voice cutting through the storm, only to be drowned out by the constant rain. You get closer to the seats and see nothing. Panic overwhelms you, hot and stifling. "Are you still here?"

As you spin around, your eyes finally land on him. He’s slumped up against the rooftop enclosure which acts as a headboard to an uncomfortable concrete bed. His jacket and hoodie are doing as much to protect him as a candyfloss blanket, each soaked through and clinging to his skin. How can he sleep like this? It makes you wonder if he lied about just how long he had stopped couch-crashing and living out in the open.

Quickly, you drop to your knees beside him, ignoring the puddle that entrenchs your legs, and place your hand on his shoulder as you shake him awake. “Jaeyun?” you bellow, loud enough for him to startle awake and instantly put a guard up.

“Huh?” he mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

“Come on, I’m not leaving you up here,” you inform. This time, it isn’t a question but a demand. You have too much compassion to willingly leave him up here any longer.

Jaeyun’s eyes squint through his water-splattered glasses as he takes in your figure. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing? You’re soaked,” he states the obvious, yet oblivious to his own state. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you,” you fire back. “Grab your things.”

“But-”

“Either that or I stay up here with you,” you cut him off, voice firm though only kindness shines through.

You can see the conflict in his face, his concern for your drenched state outweighing his stubbornness. He sighs, defeated, and finally nods. “Fine.”

If there is one thing Jaeyun hates to be is a burden, but it seems no matter what happens, he will inconvenience you in some way - might as well choose the drier option.

Standing upright, you extend a hand, offering him some help up, but he refuses. Instead, he grabs the duffle beside him and clumsily gets up, following you down and into your apartment.

As soon as he walks into the warmth, his bones leap with excitement and his shoulders relax in contentment. You flick on the lights which allows him a better view of your personal space. And it is exactly how he imagined it.

Your walls are covered in art and photos of you and your friends, lyric posters from bands he has never even heard of, and a shrine to TO1 in the corner. It’s cosy, lived in, and he feels a massive pang of envy.

“You can use my shower,” you say while subconsciously tidying up, removing the cups and wine glasses that have piled on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, I like wearing guy’s clothes on my period so I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’ll just, dry off with a towel or something, No Stress.” He doesn’t like the fuss but he can’t deny he doesn’t feel a little fuzzy as you make space for him.

Scoffing, you turn around with a perplexed look on your face. “A towel? Jaeyun, you’re soaked to the bone. You need a shower and then you can have a towel, okay?”

A grateful grin adorns the boy’s face as he takes his shoes off. “Okay. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously.” Jaeyun nods, clutching his damp duffle as he trudges towards the bathroom.

You point out the way, adding a quick, “Towels are on the rack, and there’s shampoo, soap, and more in there. Just use whatever you need, okay?”

With another muttered thank you, he waddles to your bathroom, suddenly enthralled with how the night has panned out. It’s been a while since he had a decent shower, and the ones in the Uni’s lockeroom are made more for a quick wash down than a deep cleanse.

As he disappears into the bathroom, you let out a sigh, glancing around your apartment. It isn’t a mess by your standards, but you suddenly feel self-conscious about the clutter. Usually, when people are up, it’s those who are either only making their way to your bedroom or those who do not care and have known you long enough to understand that you like a bit of mess.

A messy home is a home loved.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom, and you take the moment to rummage through your wardrobe. You pull out a pair of joggies and an oversized hoodie that has seen you coming every cycle for the past three years. You can’t get much more comfort than these. They’ll be a bit loose on his slim frame, but they’re warm and dry.

Speaking of which, you glance down at your own rain-soaked state, grimacing. The slippers squelch faintly with each step, and the damp housecoat clings unpleasantly to your skin. Without hesitation, you pull out a baggy t-shirt and some old pyjama shorts, slipping into them after quickly drying off your hair with a towel that’s close by. It’s not inherently clean, but it serves its purpose, so that’s good for now.

Satisfied, you place the clothes Jaeyun will borrow on the sofa before heading to the kitchen. The kettle hums to life as the storm outside continues its symphony, the hail getting more dangerous and cutthroat. A hot cup of tea feels like just the thing to chase away the chill, after all, there’s little problems in life that a good cuppa can’t fix.

Just as you reach for the tea bags, the creak of the bathroom door pulls your attention.

Jaeyun steps out, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin. A towel sits promiscuously low on his hips, and despite yourself, your gaze trails downward. The delicate silver chain around his neck catches the light, the cross pendant resting at eye level with his pretty brown nipples. Your eyes wander further, taking in the faint definition of his toned abs, the subtle dip hinting at a v-line. And his cock is outlined perfectly to give you an idea of his size and width but you can tell it still doesn’t do him justice.

You realise with a jolt that your mouth is slightly open, and the train of your thoughts is taking a decidedly inappropriate detour. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your mind conjures up scenarios you’d never admit aloud. A pang of guilt follows swiftly - this boy has been through hell, and he’s come to you for solace, not to be gawked at.

“Sorry,” Jaeyun says, breaking the spell. His voice is soft, a mix of embarrassment and strange pride, as he catches your lingering stare. “I’ll get dressed. I just…didn’t know where the clothes were.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat and nod toward the sofa, purposefully keeping your gaze above his shoulders. “Yep, just there. Help yourself. I think they’ll fit.”

As he moves to retrieve the clothes, you busy yourself with literally anything else - studying the ceiling, adjusting the kettle, anything to avoid the moment and stop trying to catch glimpses of his cock.

You don’t hear the rustling of clothes though, instead, you just hear yourself breathing, which piques your interest. Why isn’t he changing?

Subtly, your eyes glance over to him and then you see it, the look on his face as he stares at the clothes. You’ve had that look before too, the one that comes with the mixed feelings of disbelief, shame, sadness, hope, and every other conflicting emotion that arises when you’re down and out.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “For all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, taking a few small steps forward. But Jaeyun shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, really,” he insists. “I…I don’t think I’ve met someone as kind as you in a long time.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he quickly looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability slipping through.

He has his friends, they are kind and generous much like yourself, but being kicked out of his own family has also shown him the darkest parts of humanity, the ones that he doesn’t let others know that he’s experienced. Truthfully, he’s just a scared boy who needs his family.

The admission punches through your chest, leaving no room for hesitation. You glide over to him as your arms wrap gently around his shoulders.

If a cuppa can fix most things, a hug can fix them all.

At first, he stiffens, unsure how to respond, but then he relaxes, his head lowering slightly against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

Jaeyun’s arms tentatively come up to return the embrace, and for a moment, the storm outside fades into irrelevance. His eyes close and for a change, he believes that it will be fine. This moment isn’t going to last forever, once the morning blooms, he’ll be out of your life and trying to get back on his feet, but he’s thankful for the reassurance and hope right now.

Pulling back slightly, his arms still lingering around you. His eyes, uncertain and yearning, flicker between your face and your lips. Then, without a second thought, he leans in and presses his lips to yours - a fleeting, hesitant kiss that seems to catch even him off guard.

His lips retract from yours as he draws back, his face flushed with embarrassment and horror. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Why the fuck would he kiss you without consent when you’ve been so kind towards him? He thinks. His hand twitches at his side, as though unsure whether to retreat or reach out again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Would it make you feel better?” you interrupt gently, your voice soft but steady.

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“Would it make you feel better?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly. There’s no judgment in your tone, no hesitation. “To kiss me?”

“Really, no, it’s okay-”

This time, you close the distance, your lips capturing his before he can finish the sentence. It’s slow, deliberate, a kiss that tells him you’re here for him despite still being strangers. His initial surprise melts into something deeper, something warmer, as he responds cautiously at first, then with more certainty.

It actually is making him feel better, the human connection, it’s nature's balm.

So he follows your lead, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you impossibly close as his hands splay over your back, covering most of the surface. The way his plump lips move against yours is magnetic, sucking and pulling you into his world. You’ve been kissed more times than you can count - shamelessly to say - but his mouth feels a little different; a little less icky than the others and a lot more like they’re meant to be on yours.

With that feeling charging your bloodstream, your hands fly up to his damp hair, craving to have him on each of your senses. You can’t get enough of him, his taste of beer from the numerous bottles he downed on the roof, the touch of his silky locks that are in need of a haircut, his scent of your strawberry milk body wash mixing in with his own musk, how he sounds when he growls into your mouth, showcasing that he’s just as desperate as you are for this.

You need him…

Swiftly, your hands trail from his head, down his neck, your nails lightly scratching down his collarbones until you reach the veins just above where you were unabashedly looking not 10 minutes ago.

Jaeyun pushes your ass against the sofa, bucking up into you, hips deliciously working to place your hand on his cock. God, it feels beautiful, even with the fluffy barrier.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans deeply into your mouth, passing the need from himself into you. Your hand grips his covered shaft as you palm him teasingly. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to.”

Honestly, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make this stop, his body pulsing with the desire to have you wrapped around him. But he also believes in consent, and while you both might be horny-induced 22-year-olds, you’re also strangers.

Shaking your head adamantly, you grip his dick harder, smiling at the whimper it draws from him. “I want this, Jaeyun.”

“I suppose, men have been in your bed for a lot less, right?” he chuckles into your mouth. And while it could come across as an insult to some - that he’s essentially throwing back your own slut-shaming dialogue from earlier - you feel no degradation or malice behind his words. You can tell he’s playful, under all the dreary circumstances. He’s a boy who has light and laughter built into his DNA.

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s a soul connection, or maybe it’s the fact that you need to bounce on his cock within the next five minutes or you’ll perish that’s clouding your judgment.

Either one, you let it slide.

So, playfully, you slap his chest and break the kiss. “Keep talking and you won’t get the chance to see my bedroom.”

“That’s okay, I can fuck you here,” he replies quick-witted, suddenly hoisting you up on the back of the couch, the wood and material digging into your ass not uncomfortably.

You laugh and so does he, looking into each other’s eyes, and it all feels so right.

Bringing your hand up to his face, you push his hair off of his forehead and reveal his eyes - the light from your living room dancing in his pupils, much like how they had been on the rooftop, but this time, there is an abundance of happiness that adds to the shine.

“You’re so pretty,” you confess, that no-filter brain coming into full effect once again. Granted, a much better consequence of it.

A faint, rose blush crawls across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, a bashful grin on his mouth. “Thank you. Personally, I think you’re prettier so…”

“Guess we can be pretty together, huh?”

“Pretty good together you mean?”

Another laugh jumps out of you and you cup both his cheeks, the warmth of them comforting and worth cherishing. You peck his nose. “I should have known a pretty boy like you would be a charmer.”

He shrugs, kissing your nose back, not bothering to rebut. Instead, his hands guide your legs to wrap around him, hands finding your ass, and he lifts you up. You can’t ignore his cock now semi-hard pressing into you as he bounces you into a comfortable position.

Securing yourself, you circle your arms across his shoulders and kiss him once again, letting him lead you down your hallway, anticipation and greed passing through your breaths and tongues.

“Which one?” he pants out, squeezing your ass as he does so.

“This one on the right,” you point half-arsed, too lost in the moment to give it a full thought.

Awkwardly due to your wriggling body, Jaeyun opens the door, trying to view a path to which he can reach your bed without falling over your clutter. Shoes and more lay abandoned over your carpet, creating an obstacle, but one he refuses to lose.

Jaeyun finally reaches your queen-sized bed and gently places you down, his cock pressing into you even more.

It’s only then that he realises that along the way from your living room to your bedroom, his towel has fallen down, leaving his exposed cock rubbing against the fabric of shorts. “Jesus fucking christ.”

You look at him and see the pleasure on his face, biting his lips as his eyebrows knit together, rubbing against you again. It makes you giggle, you don’t know why, but he just brings it out of you.

The sound from your lips draws his attention back. “What?” he breathes out heavily, cock thumping with need as he humps you again.

“Maybe you should be inside of me while you thrust - kinda how this whole sex thing works,” you playfully jab, biting your lips together to stop from laughing. But he laughs for you, resting his forehead on your chest and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shut up, I’m just excited.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

It’s easy with him, you’re noticing, like you’ve somehow been in a relationship for years and you’ve just come home from a couples date with your married friends, two bottles of red wine consumed, and adoration palpable in the air. You have two dogs, maybe three if you can get your way, and you are the annoying pair that people hate to hang out with because your love for one another never dwindled, not even after all those years.

Maybe you shouldn’t be fantasising about a life with this random man you met on a roof, but that’s where your brain immediately goes each time you banter or giggle with one another.

He’s different.

Jaeyun stands up, letting you see his cock as he pumps it gently, getting it to full mass. The fact that it’s standing at 5 inches already and still growing causes an ache in your stomach. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good inside of you, your walls are already leaking out for it, staining your pyjama shorts.

His hands grip your shorts and peel them off, hurriedly throwing them on the floor, only adding to the chaos. Your legs instinctively spread and the juices from your excitement gleam in the moonlight, looking like a ripe fruit just ready to be devoured.

And devoured it will be.

Hoisting you down, Jaeyun positions you at the end of the bed until your ass is almost hanging off, kneeling down between your thighs. Not exactly how you thought the turn of events was going, but you are the furthest from mad at it.

“You look so fucking delicious, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s comment makes you feel exposed but not in a bad way, yet, you still want to hide from him. As your legs try to close, he places his large hands on your thighs, shaking his head. “No, princess, the only way you're shutting your legs right now is if you’re clamping my head between them.”

“Jaeyun…” you whine, both at the petname and his breath ghosting over your hardened clit, making it weep again - much to Jaeyun’s delight.

“I know, princess. You need it, huh?” Jaeyun whispers, kissing up your inner thigh and around the area you crave him most.

The heat in the room is electric, any cold you both felt from the rain now disappeared from your bones and replaced with scorching intensity. Your hips follow the blow of his breath in search of connection but he simply places a chaste kiss on your clit before pulling away, a smirk on his face as he sees you whimper and squeak.

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re desperate, Y/N,” he gloats, though it’s prideful and not arrogant. He means it, and that’s why he keeps teasing you softly, puckering at your folds and giving you just enough to have you humping the air and arching into him.

“I’m never letting you use my shower again,” you laugh in discontentment, your arm flying across your face as you hide in the comfort of your bicep.

Jaeyun huffs a laugh, echoing your own amusement before he speaks. “I know, I’m being so mean considering you’ve been so kind, huh? You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m about to become a bitch if you don’t do something,” you warn lightly, peaking down to look at him under your arm.

“Well, I better get to it then right?”

And with that, his thick tongue stripes up your folds, gathering and savouring your wetness. Your back arches off the bed and pushes just enough onto him that his nose catches your clit. “Fuck!” you bellow.

The tip of his tongue searches for your nub, and once it hits the spot and your hands fly to his hair, his lips suction around it, almost making out with it.

He’s not real you think to yourself. You can’t help the jealousy that rises inside of you as your brain works overtime to imagine just how many girls he has had to go down on for him to be this good at eating you out. If there was ever such a thing as a pussy eating contest, you know he would win hands down because he’s already got you chanting his name, punctuated by profanities.

“Right there, Jaeyun…fuck…”

His pride swells and he grows more confident, tongue flicking quickly over your button as he drools over your cunt. It’s safe to say that Jaeyun loves pussy. If he could have it morning, noon, and night, and elevensies, he would without hesitation. Especially yours. The taste of your tang and sweetness is enough to put him in a frenzy, long forgetting about his aching cock and focusing solely on drinking you up.

He humps the air though, as he always does, resembling a dog in heat as he slabbers and grunts into your cunt. He nibbles at your clit and soothes it with his wet muscle, a smile plastered on his face with each movement - your noises urging him on.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your pulsating hole as it clenches around nothing, deciding to give you some more relief. As he plunges in, you scream out in joy, an open-mouthed smile on your face as coherent words get lost in your throat. You clearly don’t get eaten out as often as you deserve, and that just spurs Jaeyun on more to be the best you’ve ever had.

“So wet for me, princess. Taste so fucking good I want to be here for hours.”

And while that sounds nice in theory, you need him inside of you now. His fingers, thick and beautiful, are nice for now, but that 6-inch, throbbing cock is calling your name. So, you pull him away much to your pussy’s weeping plea for him to keep going, his mouth covered in your slick which is perhaps the most beautiful sight you have ever seen - and you’ve seen the Northern Lights on a crisp autumn morning.

His fingers never stop though, just curling inside of you slowly, beckoning your climax still. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern weaving in his tone.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smile and pant, trying to maintain a steady voice while the tip of his fingers presses against your soft spot inside, jaw slacking each time he holds it for a little longer. “I need your cock so back, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” The words are desperate and real, shamelessly desperate.

“You sure you don’t want to cum right now? I can do it.” It’s not like he can’t make you cum over and over again anyway.

Shaking your head, you sit up, hunching over to cup his face. “Please. I really need you to fuck me.”

A primal desire flickers past Jaeyun’s eyes and a quick nod tells you that he needs it too. His cock jumping for joy at the thought of being enveloped in your tight cunt. So, he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, pulling on a show as his tongue weaves through his digits, wide eyes looking up at you with sheer longing. It stirs something inside of you, something that suddenly makes you want to grow a cock and have him choke on it.

But you quickly shake those thoughts, pulling him up by his hair and kissing him deeply. His tongue now tastes of you and you are so glad you love sweet juices and decided that for the past three weeks, cranberry spritz has been your favourite.

Jaeyun makes quick hands of stripping you of your t-shirt, leaving you both naked and clawing at one another.

“You got condoms?” he asks between kisses, trailing down your neck as his hands grip your hips so tightly that the skin turns white.

But you don’t want that. You want to feel him. Raw and unfiltered. Is it stupid? Of course, it is. But some would say letting him inside your home never mind inside your body is already wreckless, so, what’s another reckless abandonment on your list tonight?

“No. No condom, please,” you mumble against his hair as you kiss the top of his head, your conditioner filling your senses.

Jaeyun freezes his mouth and darts up, eyes seeking yours to make sure he heard you right. “Huh?”

“No condom. I’m on the pill,” you stroke his cheek tenderly, “Please, Jaeyun. Do this with me just once, yeah?”

For some reason, that ‘just once’ pangs in the boy’s chest and he hates the feeling more than anything. He doesn’t want this to be once, he wants this to be again, and again, and then some more. Jaeyun isn’t one to believe in fate but considering he chose your flat complex rooftop out of all the others in the city, and it decided to pour down - even though it’s been dry for the past two weeks - which led to you coming to get him and practically drag him into your home; he would say that doesn’t happen by chance.

Although, instead of getting in his head, he agrees, lust overpowering his responsibility to be safe. “I want it too, so fucking badly,” he leans down, rubbing his leaking cock on your slit, mouth moving to your ear. “I can’t wait to cum inside you, fill you up and make you suck me in.”

Does he know where this confidence came from? Perhaps it was the way you whispered into the air his name over and over again how good you felt while he ate your pretty little cunt, or maybe it's the fact that if this is your only time under him, he will damn make sure you’re thinking about him for the rest of your life.

The heels of your feet move with his ass as he gyrates his hips, allowing his cock to snag on your clit and elicit a hiss from both of you. Your lips messily leave open-mouth kisses over any skin that you can reach; his neck, cheek, lips, forehead, all of it, the feeling of his glistening skin on your lips addicting.

“Please, Jaeyun. Fuck me. Right. Now.”

Your pleading snaps him into full throttle, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, his bell expanding and contracting as he slips inside of you. Your groans of pleasure harmonise in the winter night, both your bodies connecting fully as he bottoms out slowly, balls meeting your ass as he pushes in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck, and you lock him in there, fisting his hair and bucking your hips for friction. He fills you up so good you wonder why humans are born empty and not with a permanent cock up their pussy.

You never want him to leave.

“Move, Yunnie, please.” The tone of your voice doesn’t carry much conviction but portrays your desperation for him. The nickname falling off your cock-drunk tongue much to his happiness. If anyone ever calls him Yunnie again, and it overtakes the way you whimper it out, he will commit murder. Only you can call him that, call him whatever you want, call him by his name, ever again.

Obeying your wishes, he begins to pull back his hips and move them painfully slow back into you, feeling each bump of your walls and how they meld perfectly with the veins of his fat cock.

While he loves savouring the moment of you taking him in, feeling how your hole adapts to his girth and length, creating way just for him. “Faster, Yunnie. God, please.”

“Asking God to help get what you want is crazy considering it’s me you should be begging,” he chuckles, never increasing his pace.

“Shut up, please,” you whine out, grabbing his ass and trying to physically move him to speed up.

“You can ask me to shut up but not beg me to move faster?” he tuts, going even slower, “C’mon, princess. Ask me nicely.”

You want to slap him, a dry laugh coming from your throat as you fight between your pride - telling you never to do as a man says - and your need for him to start jackhammering into you.

Well, you suppose you can let your pride have a night off for a chance.

“Jaeyun, please, move faster. I’m begging you. Fuck me faster and harder.”

Those sweet yet filthy words send Jaeyun into orbit, and he grants your prayers. With his hands pushing down your hips, he begins to thrust with ferocity, the tip of his cock not punching into your cervix. It’s much more delicious than you ever could have imagined, the way he snaps into your cunt with no restraint, your pussy taking a beating in the best way possible.

This is heaven.

“Yes, Jaeyun! Yes! Don’t fucking stop, please.”

And stop he does not. In fact, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, the new angle somehow reaching so deep you can feel him poking your stomach. You have never felt this good in your life. A cock has never made your brain turn to mush or made your hands literally peel the skin from your partner’s back before, yet here you are, chanting incoherent words into his ear and clawing up his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, princess. Taking my cock so well.” Jaeyun breathes into your neck, nipping at your skin and he marks you right back. His praise makes you smile, kissing all over his face in appreciation for the pleasure he is giving you right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N.”

You could cum that minute, and he feels how you clench around him, sucking him in further, making him tip his head back and move even faster. He wants you to cum together, and with how good your pussy feels, he isn’t far from it.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” he asks again, trying to gauge whether you could have changed your mind. But you grip his hair and stare into his eyes.

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you out back into the rain.”

Jaeyun laughs. Hard. Your threat is meaningless because you clearly would never leave him out there again to drown in the winter hail, but it does get your point across. You don’t just want his cum, you need it. And luckily for you, he is happy to oblige.

So, with your consent, he works on getting you both to the edge, his right hand coming down to your clit and rubbing it in smooth circles, a juxtaposition to his harsh thrusts. And you begin to see stars, constellations, as you arch your back and wriggle under him. The coil in your tummy burns with the insatiable pull.

“I’m cumming! Yunnie, I’m cumming,” you warn, happiness filtering the air as you buck your hips and match the rhythm of his shaft penetrating you. “Cum with me. Please, baby.”

Baby

His balls tighten at the petname and groans loudly. “Call me that again.”

“Baby, cum inside me,” you repeat within a moan, forcing your eyes open to lock onto his. “Cum with me.”

And just like that, with the final clench of your walls around him, he spurts his white seed inside of you, a primal roar escaping his lips as each rope coats your canal. You cum with him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you chant out in hymn.

“Squeeze it, princess. Take it all like you want.” He validates you without ridicule, a grin of glee etching onto his face as his body shakes with the euphoria he feels. You were right, cumming inside of you is much better than a condom.

After a while, both your hearts begin to slow down and his body collapses onto yours. His lips lazily kiss your sweaty skin on the top of your breast, your fingers threading through his now dry hair, the only wetness coming from persperation. Its intimate, despite the newness of the situation, and you can’t help but plaster a smile on your face.

It feels so right.

And you’re not the only one who believes so.

Jaeyun gathers some strength to lean on his arm, cupping your face as he strokes your cheek. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” His voice is wavering due to exhaustion, but it’s overshadowed by sincerity.

Placing your hand over his, you titter slightly, the sound making Jaeyun’s stomach knot and cock pulse inside you once again. “You mean having sex or staying in my house and abusing my shower privileges?”

“Both.” He murmurs earnestly, pinching your cheek. “I also want you to abuse my shower…when I get one.” The last part of that sentence falters slightly, his voice dipping as if suddenly comping back into his reality.

But you won’t let him dwell in it. Instead, you reach up to kiss him gently, lips expressing the reassurance you worry your words might not. And it seems to do the trick because, in an instant, he’s kissing you back with passion, taking each swipe of your tongue against his as confirmation that you want to have this again and see where it goes.

It could lead to nothing but it could lead to everything.

And he needs to find out.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #aj writes #jake x reader #jaeyun smut #jaeyun x reader #enha x reader #enhypen x reader

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sai-int · 3 months ago

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perv!johnny and perv!kyle who spot you at the public pool, lounging in that cute little string bikini, and decide then and there: they have to have you. but johnny's never been one for patience, so kyle ever the loyal accomplice, takes a little dive.

with a pair of goggles strapped on, kyle slips beneath the water, unseen, fingers deft as he tugs at the ties of your bikini bottoms. a quick pull, a flick of his wrist, and they’re gone. (kyle will put them to good use later, don’t you worry.)

you don’t even notice at first. not until you make your way toward the pool ladder, reach the first step, and feel a cool rush of water where fabric should be. panic sets in, your thighs snap together, and you sink back into the pool, trapping yourself beneath the surface.

enter johnny. ever the gentleman, he strolls over with a towel slung over his shoulder, offering it out to you with an easy grin. his cock chubs at the slightest glimpse of your bare ass as you wrap it around yourself, hurrying back to your lounge chair to slip your shorts on. when you return to hand him the towel, cheeks warm with embarrassment, you murmur something about how grateful you are, how you’d love to repay him somehow.

johnny tilts his head, smirks. that so?" his voice drops, low and inviting. "how do the showers sound?"

you freeze. gulp. but before you can even think of a response, his hand is already at the small of your back, guiding you inside.

the door swings shut behind you. and outside, gaz takes his post, arms crossed, standing guard until johnny signals him for his turn.

quite the duo, those two.

#♱ angel’s writing #ouuu they're so nasty #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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pearlymel · 11 months ago

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A duty— Capitano

Synopsis: You were set to marry a fatui... Wait, is that a fucking harbinger?!

Wc: 3.3k

Warning(s): fem reader for this one, reader gets called "wife", Capitano is described to have dark blue eyes (i swear i did my research and they said yes to dark blue eyes), MDNI masturbation but no sex between them.

Notes: don't ask the reason why you are in an arranged marriage, my brain is fried. You can come up with your own reasons ! Wrote this with my eyes cursing at me to sleep so half not proofread. Part 2 is out here. Part 3 is out here!

Tick tock.

You watched as the clock ticked louder than usual, cringing to yourself when the sound became unpleasant to you, it was ringing in your ears.

Even the fatui around you were like statue's, you considered for a minute to check if they were even alive and breathing.

The door then swinged opened, everyone's head suddenly lowering slightly which made you even more confused, but you mimicked their gestures nonetheless for respect.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the room, the sound only getting louder and heavier the closer it got you.

The steps finally stopped, and your glance up to see a big—no, giant man standing right infront of you. He seemed to be wearing a helmet to cover his face, long black hair that protrutes from the back of his helmet and over his shoulders, and the big coat that was full of fur draped around his shoulders.

You must say, he went all out with his appearance as a fatui.

"Are you perhaps..." You started, breaking the silence that hung think in the air, "... The person who I'm arranged to marry?" You finish off, tilting your head curiously.

He doesn't answer immediately, rather, he looks down at you, observing your features which makes you wipe your sweaty hands to your sides.

"Il Capitano," he finally spoke, a raspy voice, you noted. Capitano extended his arm out for you, and you willingly accepted it, giving it a gentle shake.

"Member of the fatui Harbingers."

His next words made your hand freeze. Did he just say Harbinger? Not even a normal fatui like you thought, but a whole harbinger. Standing right before you, and shaking your hand.

Well you were screwed because what the hell have you gotten yourself into.

You both were quiet now, staring at eachother that it's becoming almost painfully awkward.

"Your name?" He asks, letting your hand go and it's like you were snapped back to reality when you immediately blurt out your name.

He repeats your name like you were on his kill-off list, but that was just overthinking on your part.

"I'd like your company from now on." He announced, stepping a tad closer to you which made you hold in your breath.

"then i shall be at your company..." Giving him your best small smile, you bowed your head again.

•••

Your wedding basically consisted of a witness and marriage papers that needed your signature. You didn't even get the chance to wear a traditional wedding dress nor have a honeymoon, which you don't think is necessary for now since everything was going too fast for your liking.

And Marina, your new personal maid, has become your new friend in this big estate of Capitano's, teaching you everything you must and mustn't do. Kind of like a 101 guide on how to be a wife.

Ever since that day a two months ago, you have not done anything but cause trouble.

You wanted to go out? Well you need your husband's permission. You want to eat something? Ask Marina first and she'll whip it for you no problem, and no you're not allowed to cook by yourself. You bombarded Capitano with questions about himself, but his answers wouldn't be enough as they were about a word or a sentence long.

As boring as that is, this is your life now for... Archons know how long. But you remember it being temporary, if your memory did not fail you.

Capitano had returned back to the estate for the night, and for the first time, you greeted him at the front door with a smile, wishing you could see him smile back at you.

"My lord," you bow elegantly like how Marina taught you, speaking even softly like nothing ever happened a week ago, the fit you remember throwing at him, demanding an answer on why you couldn't do anything around.

The silence in the hallways was deafening, broken only by the clanking of his armor as he took a step closer to you, his towering figure cast an intimidating shadow upon you. "It is rare," he spoke in a blunt tone, "to see you this obedient." Capitano paused, his gaze scrutinizing your every move. "You have been behaving recently?"

You couldn't help but fidget with the hem of your clothes nervously like you have been caught, a nervous quiet laugh escaping your lips, "i believe I've always behaved."

Capitano let out a terse sigh at your answer, his eyes unflinching through the slits of his helmet. "To your luck," he muttered, "you have been... tolerable." The word 'tolerable' hung heavily in the air, making it clear that it was the most positive adjective he could summon about you.

"However," he added after a few moments, "you seem more compliant than usual today. This is an... interesting change." His tone was questioning, as if hinting that he was wary of your compliance, expecting a hidden scheme behind it.

"Shall we have dinner?" You change the topic, changing your position to stand by his side so that both of you could walk to the dining room together. Capitano nods curtly, acknowledging your suggestion. He allows you to approach, though there is a stiffness in his movements as he lets you stand by his side.

The two of you begin walking to the dining room, your husband's steps were heavy, and it was evident that he was still in his full armor, the sound of his footsteps filling the hall.

"You are not usually the one to suggest dinner," he commented, "I thought today was nice... Despite how i always fight you, forgive me." you mumble apologetically.

You become quiet when he doesn't answer back, your hands clasped infront of you instead.

You both soon reached the dining hall, now sat opposite eachother on the dining table, Capitano's gaze remained fixed upon you as you both sat across each other, the coldness in his eyes didn't waver as he observed you intently. The silence seemed to thicken as the only sound in the room was the clinking of silverware against the ceramic dinnerware.

"How was your trip?" You asked casually while stuffing some veggies in your mouth.

"The trip was... uneventful," he replied tersely, pausing briefly before continuing. "The usual Fatui business, nothing that concerns you, wife." His words were as biting as ever, indicating that he wasn't keen on discussing his business matters with you.

"nofing mfun?" You ask again with your mouth too full this time, "don't speak with your mouth full of food." You swallow your food down when you caught a glimpse of disappointment in his tone, maybe he was even frowning if you could see him behind his helmet.

"i will retire to my chambers after this," you place down the silverware on the tablecloth to reach for the glass of water next to you. Capitano doesn't answer, but he nods slowly in return.

•••

The world was still and the moon illuminated the grounds outside, casting a soft glow upon the landscape. You could hear the occasional sound of crickets and the whispered rustle of leaves, creating a peaceful atmosphere inside the expansive estate.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one seemingly longer than the last as you anticipated Capitano's return this time. You fidgeted with the sheets, as you waited, you recalled Marina's words, a distant memory echoing in your head, "It is custom for a wife to wait for her husband to return before she retires to bed." You never did that, no. You would always sleep before he did and he would always wake up before you did. It was rare to even see him on your side of the bed, only sometimes when you would wake up from a sudden heavy weight shifting next to you.

Despite being married for quite some time, the connection between you two was still distant and cold. Capitano didn't seem to care for you on any emotional level, instead seeing you as a mere accessory to his life as a mighty Capitano of the Fatui Harbingers. A possession rather than a wife, you thought.

Capitano's steps echoed through the room as he stepped into your bedroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He closed the door behind him with a thump, shutting out the outside world and isolating the two of you in the room.

He observed you quietly for a moment, "You're not in bed yet?"

"i was waiting for you."

"And why, pray tell, were you waiting for me?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Marina..." You mumble, standing up from the bed while looking away in a bit of embarrassment, "she taught me it was custom for a wife to wait for her husband."

Capitano seemed even more surprised upon hearing your answer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Marina... I see," he said slowly, of her name sending a ripple of irritation through him. Capitano disliked Marina's influence on you and how she seethe mentioned to be teaching you things.

He strode closer to you, by now you were used to his presence that it would not make you involuntary step back, you instead wait for his next move.

Lifting his hand to take a few strands of your hair was the last thing you expected. The strands resting on his hand as he lifted it closer to his helmet, almost like a gesture of kissing your hair which made you blink rapidly.

"You don't have to," he whispered, his thumb gently caressing the strands, "don't have to listen to Marina or anyone. You may do your own thing in this estate. I just want you well taken care of and safe."

You think you may have just fallen in love with the man because... Why is your heart beating so fast that it could explode? Or wait, can he hear it?

Capitano then let go of your hair, walking past you as he started loosening the straps of his armor, "it is late," he muttered with a rasp, his hands working quickly to remove his armor. The sound of armor being unthreaded echoed through the room, punctuated by the clinks of metal.

Taking off his helmet next so casually made your eyebrows furrow and sit back on the bed with your head tilted to get a closer look at him.

His eyes were glowing dark blue, the most beautiful shade of blue you think you've ever seen. The prettiest face too despite his dark and intimidating aura.

"you're beautiful." You whispered in awe, though Capitano, who was half-way through removing his armor, paused for a moment as he heard your words. He wasn't expecting such a compliment from you. It was rare for you to praise him, preferring to defy him more often than not.

"Beautiful?" he repeated, his voice gruff, you noticed his expressions and tried to act cool, your fingers nervously scratching your neck out of habit when you get shy.

"You're beautiful too, my wife." This completely caught you off gaurd, but it doesn't stop you from smiling and laughing it off quietly.

"Goodnight." Your head rests on the pillow, and this time you face him in your sleep, and he makes the effort to mimick your gestures.

"Goodnight."

•••

"Marina, where is my wife?" That was the first thing he asked your personal maid the moment he arrived back from his mission. His head looking around rather than looking down directly at Marina.

"The lady should be at her chambers."

"She's not."

"What?" Poor Marina's eyes widened, she was sure she just gave you a basket of fruits and snacks in your room, even asking you if you needed anything else.

"... Forgive me, my lord. She's probably in the bat—"

"She's not in the bathroom." He replied in a low, dangerous tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

Where are you, my lady? Marinas thought through gritted teeth before exhaling out shakily, "i shall go find her at once." Marina began looking around every corner of the estate, and each room she opened without you in it, she would lose two years of her life with Capitano following her.

You couldn't have escaped, right?

Finally when she hurriedly went to the back of the estate, she let out a sigh of relief when she saw you sitting outside on the grass with the basket of goods she handed you earlier.

You wave your hands and both Capitano and Marina with a bright smile, causing his shoulders to relax when you were at last seen having fun by yourself.

"you're going to get me killed one day." Marina mouthed at you, but since there was some distance between you both, you just smiled and shrugged at her.

Capitano approached you slowly, his purposeful stride carrying him towards you with measured steps. You were perched on the grass, happily savoring the treats in your hands, when he suddenly materialized before you. "Sit." You pat the space next to you, to which he obliged without hesitation.

"Have you ever done this before?"

"No."

"Never? It's nice."

"You do seem to be enjoying yourself." He hums thoughtfully, and your smile widens, "The last couple of months have been interesting, and i get to know you better now." You say before popping a blueberry in your mouth to chew on.

"Blueberry?" You offer, raising your hand while holding a blueberry in between your thumb and forefinger.

You might think your husband is shy by how he looks around at first before taking off his helmet, cute. Eventually he leans to take the fruit between his teeth before chewing silently, the slight fruit juice glistening on his lips before his tongue along with his thumb swiped over his lower lip.

"you know," you suddenly speak, drawing your hips near him, "we've never kissed yet."

He pauses, staring at you while thinking deep about it, "does it bother you?"

"No, does the idea bother you?" Your question held a mixture of uncertainty and intrigue.

Without a warning, his hand held your left cheek with gentleness, his lips slotting against yours for three seconds max before it ended.

What?

Your eyes were wide open the whole three seconds of it too!

"What was that?" The horror in your eyes was evident, not because you were scared, but because you were caught off guard and your eyes were fucking open. Capitano, upon seeing your eyes, he immediately tried pulling away, thinking he might've scared you in some way.

But you were quick to hold his wrist firmly so it wouldn't leave your cheek. "I liked it." You blurt out with the reddest cheeks ever, and he's almost amused.

"But it was too fast," you clear your throat before tilting your head closer, "may i, husband?" How can he refuse when you asked so nicely too?

Your lips latch onto his for the second time, and this time, you were going to give him a proper kiss. With your lips moving with ease against his, the sounds of soft smacks of your lips together filling the air which makes the tips of his ears go red.

You don't continue after both of you pull away to catch your breath, your eyes staring deeply into eachother as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Let's not do this again," your heart almost drops at his words. Did you mess up again? Did he not like how it felt—

"In public, i meant. I wouldn't like anyone to see you in such a state."

You can definitely hear the crickets in your head. "So we can continue kissing?"

"Mm," he only hums back before reaching for his helmet to put it back on. "I have to leave, i will be back by midnight," and when he stands up, it was your cue to stand up to bid him goodbye.

"Take care, husband." You wrap you arms around him, and he circles his arms back around you into a tight hug. It was not your first hug together, so you got used to the feeling of not being able to breath for a couple of seconds before of his tight arms around you.

•••

Capitano expected you to be awake when he returned from a few errands he had to run earlier, expecting you to wait for for him so that both of you could sleep at the same time ever since you did that day.

But you were asleep, peaceful and relaxed on your shared bed. You, wearing nothing but a silky nightgown like you always do, the blanket shuffled messily on you which revealed your legs slightly parted, and your arms hugging the pillow underneath you.

You looked like an angel to him, so vulnerable.. so pretty like this—god was he pent up from today.

He hands clenched tightly into fists until his knuckles turned white as he looked away, instead busying himself in taking off his usually neat coat which was now covered in few splatters of crimson red.

The sound of the running water masked his muttering, instantly regretting his thoughtlessness. As he grabbed the bar of soap, he began to wash vigorously, trying to expel the memories of combat and the musky scent of carnage. His body couldn't be gentler with himself though, as he massaged his muscles that ached from the constant strain.

His heartbeat quickened as his mind wandered back to you. You were the sweetest thing in his life, and he would never ever hurt you, in fact, he would rather die than have your precious skin scratched. Or even cutting off the heads without hesitating if one would hurt you.

He hates himself for envisioning your body under his, or thinking about how skilled you would be with your tongue or hands. he thought he was a selfish lustful man for thinking of such thing when you were sound asleep and tired.

Unable to bear it any longer, he reached for himself, stroking slowly at first before heavier thrusts took over all while imagining how it would feel like to be inside your soft and warm cunt instead of his hard and rough fist. The steam from the shower served to muffle his low groans, half in agony, half in ecstasy. Closing his eyes, he pictured your warm smile or shy and embarrassed facial expressions as his release came steadily forth, his forehead hit the cool tiles as he let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

After taking a moment to get himself together, he turned off the water and faced the mirror. How can he go back to bed after jerking off to the thought of your smile and sleeping figure? He would very much rather bang his head on the wall.

But he dried off with a sigh and headed back to bed, trying to keep his eyes half closed with his back turned to you as he sinked down on the mattress, taking a bit of blanket to cover himself with his eyes forced shut.

Your sudden arms that enveloped around him from behind is what gave Capitano a scare. A literal scare to the big man.

Were you awake this whole time? Did you hear him back in the bathroom? Was he too loud?

But your soft snores made his stiff shoulders sag in relief, indicating you were still in deep in your dreams.

He decided to turn around to face you, looking down at how innocent you looked, how the moonlight seemed to glow on your face from the window, giving your features a glowy shine.

"You have ruined me," he whispered carefully while brushing off strands of your hair away from your face to press a goodnight kiss on your forehead. "I am yours, ruin me, break me, and love me as much as you want, my wife."

#il capitano #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #il capitano x reader #capitano #capitano x reader #fatui harbingers #genshin harbingers #capitano x you #capitano smut #genshin impact capitano

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mylonelylife135 · 4 months ago

Text

My Pathetic Family

The first.

You didn't remember much of your father as a baby.

You didn't hear so much of his voice. See his smile. Feel his hands guiding you towards him as you had taken your first steps.

No.

It was Alfred.

It was Alfred's voice you first heard, Alfred's kind face you saw when you first opened your eyes, Alfred's hands that were held out towards you as you stumbled towards him and falling into his warm embrace.

Your first words were addressing Alfred as 'Da!'

The only good one in this god forsaken family that you didn't want to hurt, his love was unconditional.

Bruce? his love was... You didn't know. You've seen his figure around in his room when he sometimes left it open. You sometimes heard his voice when he was he and Alfred would talk very loudly the room would feel suffocating, even for someone as young as yourself at the time.

After those conversations, you would see Bruce even less.

You didn't remember his face. You don't think you've ever seen it.

All you knew was that he probably looked somewhat like you. You didn't look much like Alfred, no matter how much you tried to find similarities in both your appearances.

You didn't understand the why Bruce was gone so often. it didn't matter if you were playing with toys in your bedroom, learning the letters of the alphabet with Alfred, reading beginners books about ants with Alfred and he would praise you on how you're such a quick learner, or walks to the park to play on the swings- Bruce was never there.

Only Alfred.

You were starting to wonder why Bruce was even here, he didn't even do anything.

That was until one day when Alfred woke you up, made you a bath despite your complaints, put you in a cute purple dress and brushed your hair to look nice. He didn't usually do this unless it was a special occasion. It wasn't your birthday, though.

"Al, why am I dwe-dress all pw-pretty?" You asked, your eyes staring up at the butler as he knelt down to your height to put a small bow hairclip in your hair.

"You are going to be meeting someone special today, (____). I have a feeling that you both will both have lots of fun together as you get older."

You weren't sure what Alfred was talking about until you were led to the living room. A spacious room with two large red couches, a fluffy carpet, a nice wooden table and TV... You didn't really come in this room often, other than when Alfred cleaned it and you sprayed surface cleaner on everything you could see to help.

This time, however, it was not so empty.

It was Bruce, his hand in a kid's that was maybe seven or eight years older than you. "(____), this is Richard. He will be living with us from now on. Think of him as your new older brother." Brother?

Three year old you was dumbfounded, your eyes looking up and seeing Bruce's deep blue ones. His chiseled features and raven hair-

Why did you have to look the same?

Your silent staring might have made Bruce uncomfortable, as he coughed and continued, "I know this is sudden but I hope that you both will adjust well to eachother."

Your grip on Alfred's pants tightened, glancing upwards to meet your new older brother's gaze.

The same eyes as Bruce, same hair almost the exact same features.

He looked like him, too.

"Hi."

"H-Hey..."

It seemed like your new brother was nervous, shy, withdrawn. Sad.

It reminded you of a kid who was getting pushed around at the park by older kids.

It stuck with you how no one helped the kid.

Did he need helping, too?

"I will have a bedroom set up for you, Master Dick. In the meantime, you and (____) can get to know eachother." Alfred said, your grip slipping away as Alfred would walk off, Bruce going with him as the door shut and you and Dick were standing there in the living room.

Your eyes looked towards the door, wanting to call out to Alfred and say both didn't have snacks-

There was tea and cookies on the table.

"Do you want to pw-play?"

"Uh, no, not really."

"Ok."

"..."

You were used to being told no. Alfred couldn't be around all the time and did have duties, like to Bruce.

It wasn't that bad playing by yourself alone, sometimes it was fun.

"...Are you my sibling? a real one?"

"No, I'm not." Richard crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes staring down at you with a flicker of annoyance.

You remember seeing an adult do that when scolding a dog.

Was he angry?

"You aren't?" You tilted your head, your voice full of confusion. You could see his face get all wrinkly.

"Then why did Daddy bw-bring you home?" You were taught by Alfred that it was good to be curious, to learn more about your surroundings and people to make friends since you were struggling or something.

"You don't need to know that." His posture was rigid.

"Why?" What was so wrong with asking? you wanted to know more about your new sibling.

"Because I don't want to talk about it." His hands clenched.

"Why?" No means no, but Alfred did say to get to know eachother-

"BECAUSE I SAID SO! Maybe you should learn to mind your own business." Richard yelled, his voice full of agitation and anger before storming off and out of the living room and slamming the door loudly.

Your hands were clenched to your shirt as you watched him leave, eyes wide.

You didn't understand why he got so mad. You wanted to get along with him.

You didn't know what was more pathetic, the fact that Richard got pissed off by a three year old or that you once wanted to have a close relationship.

You watched the door with slightly shaky breaths and teary eyes before going to sit down on the couch, reaching your small arms over and grabbing a cookie to munch on it.

You didn't really like your new sibling. He seemed angry and mean.

You didn't think that Alfred was right.

This wasn't going to be fun.

Relationship Status!

Bruce Wayne (Your father): 5/100 -You don't know your daddy well, it's weird calling him daddy.

-You only do so because Alfred said that you weren't his dad, it was Bruce.

-It feels weird staring at your daddy. You didn't really like that you looked similar.

Alfred Pennyworth: 80/100 -You wish he was your dad instead.

-You like clinging to him all the time since you're homeschooled.

(NEW character!) Richard Grayson: -5/100

-He's kind of mean.

-Why did he yell at you?

-What was so special about him?

#mev-fizzah-writes #sirenetheblogger #neglected reader #batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam #batfam x batsis #batsis!reader #batfam

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tbaluver · 4 months ago

Note

hi this might be a strange ask😔 as a girly who bleeds like a faucet and experiences tremendous pain when on her period, i wonder how the Lads men would react to a blood stain when they wake up in the morning? And take care of their beloved having cramps and other symptoms... okay thank you!!🩷🩷

Period Stains + Period Comfort- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader summary: when you stain the bed sheets/ blankets + period comfort genre: fluff fluff + comfort a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ dun worry this is not a weird ask at all bc i genuinely think they're gonna be so caring this time (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ the reaction to the blood stain is below the headcanons ! i hope it was alright and that you enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

This absolute angel will be taking care of you every single day of the week. He sometimes can get a little confused because your cramps can be unpredictable. Sometimes they fade away and other times they return immediately so he’s sticking by your side the entire time until every single one of them goes away. From snuggles to feeding you to your favorite meals and snacks until you need a little space from him. He hates to see you in pain and he’ll do everything he can to make this entire week easier for you.

He might go overboard on buying your favorite snacks that you two might not even finish the entire month. He might even buy something on his way there that reminded him of you as a little gift to make you cheer up

Whenever cramps hit, his hand gently spreads across your lower abdomen, soothing away the tension and untangling the knots in your muscles. He kneads softly and if it’s not enough, he’ll lay in between your legs, offering a comforting pressure and his warmth to relieve the pain away. He'll leave some kisses on your lower abdomen and stomach even though it might not fully relieve the pain.

When your mood swings hit, he’s never fazed at all. He’ll listen patiently, letting you talk through your feelings and every frustration that comes up. To him, it’s never a burden.

────

The iron grip that Xavier had around you in the morning was strong, even more so than usual when you try to slip out of bed. As much as you want to stay in his arms, you notice a glimpse of a faint stain at the sheets from last night reminding you of your period. Gently, you try to wake him up, planting soft kisses along his skin and caressing his cheek.

“Five more minutes..” He mumbles, nuzzling into your touch. A warm blush spread across your face as you told him that the sheets had been stained. Slowly, his eyes flutter open while loosening his hold on you. As you both got up and started to pull the sheets off, he stopped you, shaking his head softly. “It’s alright. Go freshen up,” He smiles softly, “I’ll take care of the sheets.”

You quickly freshen up in the bathroom, hurrying to change out of your pajamas and into your new ones, hoping to at least help Xavier with the bed. But as soon as you step out, the sheets have already changed and the bed looks as fresh as it did when you first laid down. Even the plushies on your side of the bed were neatly placed back.

Xavier soothes out the sheets, his focus shifting towards you the moment you walk in. His expression softens with concern, “How are you feeling? Does it hurt a lot?” Before you can answer, he’s guiding you back carefully toward the bed, his hand resting on your lower abdomen with a comforting pressure. “How about we order in some food? Anything you’re craving? Pick whatever you want.”

Zayne:

When Zayne is around during your period, you don’t have to worry about anything. The house will be clean, meals will be made or delivered, and you’ll be fully cared for.

Despite his busy schedule, Zayne always makes sure to take care of you as much as he can. You don't have to worry about running out of supplies or sweets because he's already gotten them for you. and Zayne never runs out of sweets. He’ll go through his calendar to make sure you have everything you need before your period starts. He’ll have everything you need such as things like pads/ tampons, heating pads, or medicine to ease the discomfort.

Sore boobs? Bra is unclipped, removed, and his hands are quickly on them, kneading them softly and gently. Whispers in your ear, "Is this alright?" "How does this feel?" which makes ovulation come by way quicker

Whenever nausea hits you during your period, he’s quick to make you a soothing cup of ginger or peppermint tea, or anything that will help you settle your stomach. When hot flashes happen, he’ll become your personal ice back to help you cool off.

During his breaks, he’ll check in on you and to see if you’d like a sweet treat later when he gets home. Even if you don’t want any, he’ll make sure to pick something up for you.

He also shares some helpful tips he’s learned about menstruation, like how to position a pillow a certain way in between your legs to ease your cramps when he’s not around and when he is there, he’ll replace the pillow with himself. If you’re up to it, he might suggest some light yoga or some walking. He’s learned that certain stretches can relieve pelvic pressure and he’ll do them all with you.

────

Your eyes flutter open, the comforting warmth of Zayne enveloping beside you. His hand rests gently on the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles as he reads. You groan softly, a sharp familiar ache stirs on your lower abdomen, hoping it’s just a stomach ache and not the possibility that it might be the start of your period.

Zayne’s gaze shifts towards you, setting his book down on the nightstand. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” He asks softly. “Today could be the first day of your cycle. I suggest you freshen up and check.” Zayne had been tracking your cycles since the beginning of your relationships, his predictions had been right most of the time. The moment you shift out of bed, you felt that familiar discomfort flowing down between your legs, confirming he was in fact right.

As you move toward the bathroom door, he grabs a fresh set of clothes for you, closing the door behind you with a soft click as he tends to the small stain left behind on your shared bed. He had noticed it before you, not drawing attention to it so you don’t have to worry about a thing.

You quickly freshened up and changed, hoping he hadn’t noticed the stain but as soon as you opened the bathroom door, he was calmly tending the bed already. Before you could speak or apologize, he was already ahead of you. “I changed the sheets,” He said softly, “I’ll make you some tea.” He gently pulls you closer to him, pressing a soft and reassuring kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to stain the bed.. I should’ve cleaned it.” Zayne shook his head, his lips curving into a gentle small smile.

“You don’t need to be sorry for something you can’t control. It’s natural. Now what would you like for breakfast?”

Rafayel:

Rafayel becomes your personal heating pad, carefully using his evol to warm your lower abdomen just enough to bring you comfort and to get rid of your cramps.

Cuddles with lots of soft feather-like kisses that make you giggle from how it tickles but not to the point where you’re squirming uncontrollably. He playfully talks to your abdomen as he slowly massages it. “Free her! She’s had enough! Let me take her pain!” to lighten your mood during discomfort

Rafayel never misses a chance to shower you with compliments. He knows how you might feel icky or uncomfortable with yourself during this time so he makes sure to lift you up instead, reminding you how beautiful and strong you are. He’s not letting you forget how deeply he loves and appreciates you.

He’ll also have some medicine in stock if you need it, bringing you a cooling compress to gently press against your forehead whenever your head hurts/ hot flashes

Bubble baths with him are a must. He knows how intense your cramps can be from knowing how much your cramps affect you and he believes a warm bubble bath will help. He’s super gentle, running his hands through your hair while soft massaging your lower abdomen to provide soothing relief.

────

Your eyes flutter open, the soft sounds of seagulls calling from outside the window stirring you awake from your sleep. Rafayel is already awake, propped up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on you with a soft smile. He watches as you stir awake, his heart warming at the sight beside him.

“Good morning cutie,” The corners of his lips slightly crinkled at the corners as he watched you. As much as you want to soak in this peaceful and intimate moment with him, that sharp pain in your lower abdomen makes you curl further into a ball, a small groan escaping your lips. The discomfort makes your face scrunt up and Rafayel immediately notices. “Aww, is it shark week already?” He teases, gently cupping your lower abdomen before massaging it in slow, soothing circles. “How about a bubble bath? Maybe that’ll help.”

The two of you slowly get out of bed, the flow of your blood makes the discomfort even worse. As you glance down, your heart sinks when you spot a stain on your side of the bed, making you feel a little embarrassed. Rafayel notices at the same time and gives you a reassuring smile as he reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. “Dun worry. I’ve got it covered. I’ll take care of everything.” He flashes a playful wink as he guides you toward your shared bathroom. “And I’ll make sure to take care of those sharks for ya later, promise.”

He helps you sit on the edge of the bathtub, adjusting the water to just the perfect temperature. While you settle in, he quickly leaves the room. You hear the soft rustle of the sheets being pulled away as he tosses them into the laundry bin and he later comes back holding a fresh set of clothes for the both of you.

“I’ll make sure the bed’s all fresh when we’re done.” He leans down, kissing your forehead, his lips lingering for a second before he pulls back. “I’ve got it all covered cutie.”

Sylus:

Sylus makes sure to put a lot of effort to make sure you were absolutely comfortable. He’ll provide as many meals, snacks, pillows, and blankets as you need. Whatever you want, he’ll provide it all for you. There’s no need for you to lift a finger or even a leg this week.

Anything you crave? He's already got it or it's on its way in a few minutes. If you want him to prepare a meal he'll make it for you or he'll get a personal chef to make it for the both of you so he can stay by your side.

If you’re dealing with a headache, he’ll close the curtains and dim the lights before pressing soft kisses to your forehead. After that, he’ll grab you some medicine to ease the pain and make you a cup of tea to make it all go away.

Sylus understands the pain you’re in and how sluggish you feel. Without hesitation, he curls up beside you, his warmth enveloping you. He showers you with gentle kisses, whispering soothing words.

He gives you all the massages you want. His large hands are heavenly on you, massaging any area that you want relief. It’s so soothing that it has your eyes fluttering shut as the tension melts away under his touch.

If any tears start to fall and you can’t explain why, he’s there by your side. He murmurs sweet things and reassurance to your ear and later pampers you if it makes you feel better.

────

You wake up to a dull ache in your lower abdomen, curling closer to Sylus to seek comfort in his embrace. Your limbs tangle together and though it should bring you relief, it doesn’t ease the sting. As you shift, you feel the dampness through your pajamas, your stomach sinks with the idea that you might’ve stained his expensive sheets.

Not wanting to disturb his peaceful slumber, you gently stir Sylus awake. His eyes flutter open slowly, his muscles relaxing to see you. “Hmm..? Since when did you start waking up earlier than me sweetie?” His voice low and raspy, pulling you even closer to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

You hesitate for a moment before explaining, “I think I might have stained the bed..It might be my first day..”

He pulls away slightly, “You think you stained the bed?” He places a hand on your lower abdomen, his fingers slowly try to massage the ache away. “How much does it hurt right now? Can you walk?”

You give him a small reassuring smile, “I should be fine..just uncomfortable.” His touch lingers for a little longer before he nods.

“Go change, I’ll take care of everything.” His voice stays calm and reassuring. Despite your offer to help, Sylus shakes his head with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it done.”

By the time you return, Sylus has nearly finished changing the sheets. You walk over to him, trying to help smooth out the sheets, a small frown tugging at your lips as you worry about the stain going through the mattress. “What if I ruined the bed? I didn’t mean to..”

Sylus turns to you, a soft chuckle escaping him. He steps closer, his hand gently cupping the back of your head before pressing a soft kiss, his lips grazing your hair. “It's just a bed sweetie. Besides, what matters is that you’re okay. I’ll handle everything here. Just focus on getting some rest.”

Caleb:

Caleb is experienced in this area when it comes to taking care of you during your period. He’s been there since the very beginning of it all. He remembers exactly what type of pads/ tampons you use and it’s second nature for him to pick them up from the store without a second thought. He’s never uncomfortable walking through the feminine care aisle at all.

He makes sure to pick up the snacks you love and doesn’t hesitate to text you if you were craving anything specific so he can pick it up before he comes home. He also picks up ingredients for your favorite meals, knowing the comfort of a delicious home cooked meal will bring a smile to your face.

Speaking of food, he’ll prepare you some warm and comforting meals that he knows will help you feel better. He’ll make sure you eat every single bite, gently encouraging you not to skip any meals.

He’ll come into your room with a tray of ice cream, loaded with your favorite flavors and toppings. “Hey pip-honey, I got you some of your favorite ice cream. I’ll make you whatever you want. I can whip up a sundae for you even if it’s just a Thursday."

He hates to see you in pain, it breaks his heart. He’s silently cursing the universe for making you go through this, wishing he could take it all away. But for now what he can do is stay by your side, massaging you as long as you need. His hands are gentle and steady, warming up heating pads and placing them on your lower abdomen to give you some relief. As he does this, he softly murmurs sweet reassurances in your eat and that 'Caleb’s here to help you through it.'

Caleb handles your mood swings pretty well and has so much patience. He never minds if you’re feeling grouchy or irritable. Whenever your emotions get the best of you and you snap a little, he’s always there to listen, letting you vent about anything you have a problem with.

────

“Hey..hey pipsqueak..” Caleb murmurs as he brushes a lock of hair from your face. “Juust for a second.. I need you to wake up.” Your eyes flutter open and that familiar sharp ache in your lower abdomen makes you wince, instinctively curling into yourself. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom?” You shake your head, not wanting to get up from his embrace just yet.

“mm..what’s going on?” You mumble sleepily.

“I need to change the sheets real quick,” His voice a little sheepish. “Then you can go back to sleep. I’ll make you some breakfast and you can stay right here okay?” You sigh as a gentle protest but nod. As you slowly sit up, the discomfort of the flow makes itself known as you make your way to the bathroom.

You’ve grown up together and something as natural as this could not make him see you any differently. He’s seen it all, the awkward moments, the cramps, the emotional and physical mess you’ve been through. Despite the discomfort you feel, he’s always there to help and tries his absolute best to make this easier for you.

He quickly strips the bed, changing the sheets to something more comfortable and fluffing your pillows just the way you like them. By the time you step back into your room, freshly changed, the bed is already made up neatly.

“There,” He says with a bright smile as his gaze locks on you. “All nice and cozy just for you pipsqueak.” He pulls you back into bed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Now, get some rest. I’ll take care of everything else.”

cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

a/n: also the caleb and the sundae part is a reference to a tiktok im still trying to find it bc i have to many edits saved-

here's a post i wrote that's similar to this! only all four of them for now When You're On Your Period

my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist Pg.1 , Pg.2

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