#vibrating alarm watch

[savcir-faire]

TAEMIN 태민 'MOVE' (ft. Koharu)

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was watching a video of a guy explaining something and he was frequently going “uhhhhh” and the uhhhhs got louder and more gravelly and they were drowning out everything else until it was just a rhythmic “uhhhhhh… uhhhhhh… uhhhhhh…” and i was trying to make out words between them until I woke up and realized that was the sound of my roommate’s phone alarm vibrating.

[queerpumpkinnn]

Two Doors Down

2.5k words

Summary: Your vibrator dies mid-session, so your roommate offers to help you out.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: smut obviously, dom/sub dynamics, brief use of a vibrator, brief dry humping, cunnilingus, slight hair pulling (bucky receiving), pet names (sweet ones like honey, baby, etc. but also some on the more degrading side),scratching (bucky receiving), a healthy dose of degradation, nipple play, finger sucking, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, dumbification, slight edging but if you blink you'll miss it, let me know if I'm missing something!

While listening, I recommend you listen to enemies to lovers - a Spotify playlist by me!

~

"God fucking damn it!"

Your frustrated curse echoed off the walls of your bedroom, followed by a dull thump of your vibrator falling on the mattress. You sat up begrudgingly and flopped over the bed, reaching for the charger and plugging in the toy.

You huffed, sitting on the bed for a few moments before tugging your shorts back on and standing, leaving your bedroom to go explore the great unknown: your apartment.

The sound of the television was more audible when your door opened, the white and blue lights from the TV tinting the entire living room and kitchen area in a cold glow. While your eyes needed a second to adjust to the change from the dim, warm light of your room, Bucky, your roommate, was staring blankly at the television, listening to the newscaster droning on while sifting through a bowl of cereal with a spoon.

You didn't greet him, despite the tiny alarm in your head telling you it was bad manners. You stomped past him, headed for the fridge to find leftover pasta. Once a bowl was heated up, you stomped around over to the couch, flopping down beside him.

Bucky raised a brow. "You doin' alright?" He asked through a mouthful of cereal.

"Yeah."

"Then stop stabbing your pasta."

You looked down to see your fork digging into the bottom of the bowl, spearing through the noodles with more aggression than was necessary.

"I'm fine."

"Wanna tell me?"

Your mind raced just at the thought of his suggestion. "No. Nothing's wrong."

"Ah." He turned back to the television, one leg crossing over the other. "Thought it might have somethin' to do with your vibrator dying on you."

You nearly choked, head whipping around to watch him incredulously. "How-"

"TV ain't on that loud." He snorted.

You buried your face in your palms, cheeks warm. Bucky only laughed at your mortification.

"Hey, it's all good." Bucky waved a hand in dismissal, you caught it as you lifted your head. Your gaze somehow got stuck on it, specifically, his fingers. The thought of them on you made the heat in between your legs flare up again. You could practically feel them tilting your chin up, tugging your hips closer, prodding into your cunt...

Bucky seemed to notice your sudden interest, looking between your eyes to his hand and back with curiosity. He let out a soft 'ah', a grin of delight splitting his face. When you finally clocked in on his understanding, silent but knowing, you looked down in what was definitely the least subtle way possible.

"Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I can't remember a time when hands didn't get the job done."

That didn't help your embarrassment, and for some reason you continued the conversation. "Well, I can't get the right angle..."

Bucky exhaled, passing his tongue over his teeth. "Tell me to shut up if I've got the wrong idea. But I have hands." You peeked out from your hands. He wiggled his metal fingers slowly as if to prove the obvious. "I think you've noticed."

All of the thoughts you'd wrestled with moments ago came flooding in again. Sparks of excitement shot down your belly, and you swore your heartrate doubled.

You attempted to keep an even voice, but nonchalance definitely escaped you for the timebeing. "So... what's your point?"

You were terrified you might have misread the situation. That this excitement would die down and you'd be left wanting him. You needed him to tell you.

"My point is," Bucky uncrossed his legs, turning to face you and leaning forward. "That I'm offering to do what your vibrator can't."

You were shivering with excitement, voice shaking as you sighed,

"Please."

Bucky stood slowly, pushing off of the couch with his hands. His gaze was fixated on you, bordering on ravenous as he eyed you up and down. He relished the way your eyes followed his, and as a result, when he finally towered over you, he was met with a sight that made his cock throb.

You could feel your head turning cloudy, anticipation bubbling in your stomach as you peered up at Bucky. A single, metal hand came up to your chin, stroking slowly over the bone. Your eyes fluttered, leaning into his touch.

"Poor thing." Bucky tutted, shaking your head side to side a bit. "So pitiful. Can't even get off right, needs a toy to get the job done."

You whimpered when he used his grip on your jaw to make you nod yes.

"Shh, you're okay. 'M right here, gonna take good care of you. Yeah?"

"Yeah," you replied weakly.

"Good." Bucky let go of your face, opting to sit on the couch instead, legs spread wide. He patted one of his thighs, gesturing with the other. "C'mon, take a seat."

You crawled over him, hands resting on his shoulders tentatively. Bucky traced a finger up the column of your throat, sending a shiver down your spine. The pressure on the underside of your jaw brought your gaze upwards.

"Gonna need you to keep your eyes on me, dove, think y'can do that?"

You nodded slowly, itching to move but frozen in place by his attention.

"Good." Bucky's hand was a whisper around your throat, quickly finding its home again on your jaw. His thumb swiped over your bottom lip, to which your mouth fell open oh so slightly.

His lips quirked in amusement. His thumb pressed down, earning your jaw lowering further. Two fingers slipped past your lips to settle on your tongue and you happily took them, one hand coming to hold his wrist in place while you suckled.

His free hand began rising up your hips, and you straightened your posture at the feeling, almost tickling. They descended just after his thumb grazed your lower chest. You gasped around his fingers, and his subtle raise of brow made your cheeks heat.

You squeezed his wrist, and it moved from your mouth to your waist. Hands reaching for the back of his neck, you tugged him forward into a sloppy kiss.

Bucky wasn't sure where the line was before. He understood that he had struck a purely sexual deal offer, so kissing for some might be too intimate an exchange under those circumstances, but Christ did he love the feel of your mouth on his. The clash of teeth and spit, your soft moans swallowed up into his own mouth sounding like heaven. Even more so when he sucked on your tongue, pride coursing through his veins when you squeaked.

And oh, you just couldn't help it, when you started rocking your hips back and forth. It was his fault really, teasing you so much.

"So fuckin' needy, angel, just can't wait, huh?" Bucky groaned, head falling back for a minute before jerking back up. "Need to get you taken care of, isn't that right?"

You nodded pathetically, brain long turned to mush. Your senses, every atom in your body was on fire and so, so sensitive, but your head was empty.

And Bucky knew it.

Which is why he lifted you up, strong hands supporting you under the thighs, which wrapped around his torso to keep you up. Bucky groaned, the feel of your legs around his waist sending blood rushing to his cock.

It was a messy trip to your room, to say the least. Bucky had to stop multiple times in the hallway to press you up against the wall and stick his tongue in your throat, rutting into you and breathing heavy into your mouth. His groans were pure sin and you wanted to pull as many of them from him as you could.

Bucky set you down gently, but as you laid, he remained, towering over you with hungry eyes and bated breath.

"Look at you," Bucky grazed his metal fingers over your cheek. "So fuckin' needy, hm? So desperate, you just hop on the first dick you see."

His words didn't even register, not when his leg was pressed right between your legs, so you nodded along dumbly.

He chuckled, almost a bark of a laugh. "Lucky I'm here to take care of you, hm?"

"Yeah," you sighed, your feeble grip on his shirt attempting to tug him closer. "Please, Bucky, need you to take care of me, please..."

"Alright, alright, I've gotcha." Bucky leaned in, pressing wet kisses to your neck whilst his fingers slipped under your shirt, grazing feather-light over your nipples. You could feel him smirk when you arched into his touch.

"Can we take this off, baby?" His voice was soft, and you nodded, pulling your hands up so he could bare your chest.

Bucky gave a groan at the sight, his mouth traveling downward to press licks and kisses over your chest. He pressed his palm over your ribs, indicating you to lie back. Bucky followed, propped up on his arm. His other hand walked up the inside of your thigh, making you shudder into him.

"Buck, please," you breathed, eyes rolling back.

"Nuh uh, none of that." Bucky's hand was quick to reach up and grasp your jaw, this time with more force. "Eyes on me."

He nodded your head for you. He maintained a more intense stare as he moved, slowly and deliberately, down between your thighs. He watched you as he kissed up and down your thighs, pressed his thumb into the junction between your cunt and your leg, pressed a firm kiss to the area just above your clit. Your hips jerked up, following his touch.

"I know, I know. Bein' so patient, so proud of you." Bucky purred, tugging your bottoms down in one go. "And would you look at that, no underwear. God, you're soaked."

Bucky actually moaned at the sight, like the idea of going down on you was pleasurable for him. And Lord, was it.

He started with, for lack of better word, toying with you, thumbs pulling your lips apart to watch your slick web from them. Even though he wasn't watching your face anymore, your eyes were glued to him. His fascinated expression, his strong arms holding your legs apart, his toned back rippling under every movement- somewhere along the line he had lost the shirt; you couldn't remember when but Christ was it better he did.

You nearly levitated off the bed when a finger came to collect your slick onto your clit, followed by lips attaching to the nerves and tonguing over it lasciviously.

Your hesitancy to make noise had gone out the window the minute his mouth was on you, jaw falling open to let out your sounds of bliss. The only thing keeping your head from falling back was the sight in front of you; Bucky was pure sex incarnate. His head swayed back and forth, groans and muffled praises vibrating against your skin, hair tickling your thighs.

"Taste so damn good angel, so fuckin' wet." Bucky tugged you impossibly closer- you swore you saw his hips moving into the sheets. "Should let your vibrator die more often."

Your breath had all but escaped you, coming out ragged and whiny. Your hands reached for his hair, tugging at the roots softly- harder when he groaned louder, sending both of you into a frenzy.

"Fuck, Bucky, right there, fuckfuckfuck-" your noises, if even possible, got louder when the man under you found just the right spot to prod his finger. It slipped in so easily, the wetness helping you welcome him in.

It didn't take Bucky long to figure out where that spot was inside of you, pulling moan after gasp after cry of his name once he bullied his fingers into it just right. He repeated the motion until there was a sheen of sweat on your forehead, grasping onto his hair, his arm, whatever of him you could find as if he was your lifeline.

"Oh, just like that, so close Buck..." You kicked your hips up into his face, rolling them for any kind of friction you could get- friction he was elated to give you.

You nearly sobbed when he pulled his face away from you, fingers leaving your pussy feeling unbearably empty.

"I know, honey, I know. Gonna give you something even better, hm? Gonna give you my cock, fill y'up real nice."

You almost drooled at the sight of Bucky sat up, nothing but sweats being hastily pulled down until the bulge fell heavily over the band. He kicked his bottoms away to some forgotten corner, stroking himself languidly a few times, kicking his head back.

You whined a bit at the lack of attention, thighs pressing together. That seemed to have alerted Bucky, as he tilted his head back down to face you. "Sorry, sunshine. Won't keep you waitin' any longer, yeah?"

Bucky lined himself up with you, teasing your sopping entrance with the tip. However, when your legs hooked around his waist, just like before, all notions of control were lost on him as he sheathed himself inside of you. A guttural groan, more sensual and more animalistic than before, ripped through him and sent sparks shooting into you. He stretched you deliciously, the friction electrifying.

"Don't fuckin' clench, holy shit- not gonna last long," Bucky huffed, rocking slowly into you. He was leaned over your body, almost folding you in half so that he could mutter filthy praises into your ear, tonguing at the shell of it lightly.

If he wasn't gonna last, what could be said of you? Your orgasm was approaching fast, if your throbbing cunt and frantic moans were any indication.

"There we go, y'gonna cum? Fuckin' cum for me, honey, make a mess on my cock, go on."

White-hot pleasure drowned you as you scratched faint pink lines down Bucky's chest. This time your eyes screwed shut, but Bucky chose instead to help you ride out your high, pistoning into you until he let himself go, filling you up in a way that left you feeling warm and full and very, very satisfied.

Only the sound of yours and Bucky's panting could be heard in the room, the air suddenly thick and musky with the smell of sex.

After a moment, he pulls out, murmuring 'shit' to himself a few times. "Gonna get you cleaned up, 'kay?" Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple, picking his boxers up on the way to his ensuite bathroom and coming back with a rag a minute later.

"Feeling alright?" Bucky asks. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, you were great." You huffed, a stupid hazy grin tugging your lips. "Bit thirsty, that's about it."

"Noted," he mused. "I meant it, by the way."

You cocked your head. "Meant what?"

"You should let your vibrator die more often. I'm just two doors down, and I reckon I know a few more tricks than that piece of junk you've got." He gestures to the vibrator, which had fallen onto the floor at some point.

You definitely made sure to keep that in mind.

~

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[peaches-creek]

Random Simon Riley headcanons that i think of while im working

He physically cannot bear when you are sick and hurt, so inconsolable he needs to be around you to feel okay

He has one of those vibrating alarm clock watches because he sleeps to heavy around you

Unironically watches the office (UK version)

Makes his kids take swimming lessons even if they don’t want to

Has dimples when he smiles

Favorite American meal is biscuits and gravy

Has a blue loofah in the shower

Is a fucking menace and doesn’t care when his socks get wet

Like when your hair is up so he can playfully tug on it

If your hair is short, when you guys are snuggling he likes to twirl the strands around his finger

If your hair it too curly to be played with like that he will insist on giving you back scratches

When he is sitting in his big office chair he likes when you crawl behind him and sit there, thinks it’s funny.

Uses a lot of fucking toothpaste, like too much.

Doesn’t really like cologne, he just makes sure he smells clean and wears deodorant

Likes vanilla/caramel scents on his s/o

Goes to the same barber as he always has since he was a kid

Still has his baby blanket his mom made him, its in storage

Wears socks to sleep

Favorite candy is the chocolate oranges

[studioghibelli]

burnt- a joel miller x reader

summary: life is sweet, but your big, tough, roughed up husband is sweeter. just for you…. only ever you. domestic life is full of happiness, bliss and….. kinky sex?

warnings: daddy kink (sorry not sorry), no outbreak!au, big fat girthy age gap (20s/late 40s), smut (finger sucking, thigh riding, light choking, f receiving oral, creampie, pinkus in vageenja sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink.) no use of y/n.

note: this hasn’t been proofread, so sorry for any grammar errors. xx

You couldn’t remember when it happened.

When the sleepless nights tangled up in his arms, where neither of you quite knew where the other would end or begin, bled into the quiet mornings spent tangled in the other’s arms. When breathy moans evolved into deep conversations about the afterlife and family values. You couldn’t remember when Joel went from the wild, rugged cowboy you rode for hours on end, to the supportive husband who protected you, made coffee for you, mowed the lawn and took care of you.

It happened quietly. Naturally. Perfectly.

No more were the nights of stumbling around drunk, fooling around behind your friends’ backs, leaving the labels far away and out of sight.

Oh, no. Not anymore.

The silver band engraved with flowers, a pretty, shimmering gemstone sitting on top, reminded you every day of that.

Now, Joel still had that wild streak in him, that dark tint to his eyes. He still let you know he could, and would, fuck you in to high Heaven, show you just how good of a girl you are. But the sweet, simple domesticity of dancing in the kitchen, grilling for friends, watching the news and shaking your head together- that was all new.

Autumn was dawning over the sticky heat of Texas, the air cooling off ever so slightly, days shortening toward cool, navy nights. Your front porch in the mornings, as the sun rose up, offered you solace away from the sappy humidity, that seemed to cling against your skin like tar.

So, each morning before the world would awake, you would sit on the rocking chair that your doting Joel made just for you, and you would drink your coffee, your tea, your chocolate milk- whatever you were in the mood for during that particular moment- and you would watch your front lawn come alive with bursting rays of light.

Occasionally, on a particularly quiet day, you would see a wild bunny hop through your yard, or a sweet black cat drag its side against the white picket fence of the house across the road.

You relished in these little interactions with nature. You craved them.

And when they were done, before the clock even had the chance to click past 8AM, you would climb back in to bed with your bear of a husband, wrap your arms around his back (which had inevitably turned away from your side through the night), and fall back into a peaceful snooze for the next hour or so, until the blaring alarm on Joel’s phone would begin ringing.

And then, he would awake.

Joel would turn to you, with a goofy, love sick grin on his face, and gently kiss your nose, pulling you flush against his warm, sleepy chest. His deep breaths would vibrate against you, his hands inevitably finding their way to the band of your panties or hem of your shirt, and you would spend the first half hour of your morning feeling his cock inside of you, or his fingers in your mouth, or his tongue against your clit.

Being married….. well now, that was a treat. One you would never get tired of devouring.

The clock had slowly been ticking towards 6 P.M.

Husband Joel would be walking in through those doors at any moment now, and you were still struggling through the recipe, the book propped up on the counter, the shiny pages now tarnished with the smears of paprika, melted butter- anything you had touched in the kitchen, really.

The house was alive with the smell of cooking chicken and boiling pasta. You had tried, and failed, to make garlic bread from scratch. You enjoyed cooking, but Joel never expected it, and what was what you loved.

He never treated you like his slave, or his subservient house wife. You were equals, partners. If whatever dinner you were cooking failed, he had no problem ordering chinese, or making you breakfast for dinner, fluffy pancakes and all.

The thought made your stomach grumble.

You figured today was a beautiful September day, and your husband was a wonderful husband, and he deserved some delicious fucking pasta when he walked through the front door.

When he walked through the front door…..

Sweaty from an honest days work, those curls slicked to his forehead, arms bulging beneath the tight sleeves of whatever old shirt he chose from his closet, worn and faded from the hand of the sun.

Oh, when he walked through that door….

Your knees were already growing weak.

You clutched the edge of the counter, nails gently digging in to the wood. You focused your eyes on the boiling pasta water, your mind wandering with thoughts of Joel. Always of Joel.

His hand had wrapped itself around your neck, belly pressed against the cool counter of the kitchen. The feeling of his fingers gently pressing in to your skin sent shock waves of pleasure rippling throughout, straight to your pussy. He hadn’t even touched you anywhere south of your tits.

Joel was kissing you like a starved man, his hot lips searing your skin, like a poker branding your skin with the mark of his love. His undying, unwavering, steadfast love.

“Joel,” you whimpered, “I need you. I need you to touch me.”

“Touch you where, babydoll? Here?” He asked, his fingers gently tweaking your left nipple. You shook your head no, stifling a moan. “Oh. Hmm. How about here?” He gently brushed his fingers against your belly, tickling your skin until a soft laugh erupted. You shook your head again. “I think I know where.”

Joel used his knee to spread open your legs, pressing you down flat into the counter, your cheeks now resting against the cold surface. His rough palms lay flat against your skin as he dragged them down to your ass, spreading them open as the searing heat of shyness spread through your chest.

“Let me see.” Joel pondered a faux thought, before a smirk overtook his face and he dipped his fingers into the soaked entrance of your cunt, knuckle deep as his body pressed against your back. You felt the outline of his hardening cock jutting through his tight boxers, a shiver running down your spine. “Here. Right?”

“Y-Yes!” You squealed, your nails digging into the wooden countertops. You felt it flaking beneath your grasp, and you knew an indent would be left. Oh well, you thought.

“That’s what I thought-”

Your deep, emphasis on the deep, thought was cut short by someone grabbing you quickly, showering your neck in familiar kisses.

“Joel!” You gasped, jumping as his hands made contact with you. You burst into a fit of laughter, his stubble tickling your jaw line as he spun you towards him.

And there he was. Just as you suspected.

His graying curls were soaked with sweat, framing the sides of his face ever so slightly, and a love sick, honey sweet grin reserved just for you was atop his perfect lips. The sun had almost set, and the amber light flooding in through the transparent curtains had shrouded his figure in a burst of light.

“Evenin’ my-” Joel paused, nose lifting into the air. “Somethin’s burnin-” The fire alarm cut him off, just in time.

“God dammit!” You turned around to see your chicken black as charcoal, smoke fanning from the pan. You were so lost in thought, you completely ignored the food. “Fuck!”

Joel had undone the fire alarm atop the ceiling quicker than you had fanned the smoke away, opening all the windows with a groan. You fell on the couch, dejected and annoyed, holding a crocheted pillow to your chest in a moment of well-deserved self pity. Joel turned to look at you, amusement behind his eyes.

“I was trying to make you a nice dinner!” You explained with a dramatic fling of your arms.

“Mhm… and what happened?” There was a sense of charming fun poking at his words.

“I was…. I was just, uh, I was thinking about some things.”

Joel was getting closer to you, his steps slow. “I’m sure. You are quite the thinker, sweet girl. What was it that was so important, you completely forgot about everything else?”

“Taxes!” You blurted out before you could even stop yourself.

He couldn’t help but laugh, sitting down beside you. His hand gently rubbed your stomach, down to your thighs, your body like jello beneath his touch. Joel’s face was close to yours now, his nose brushing against your cheek ever so slightly. “‘S that so?”

“Y-Uh…. mhm.”

“Now I trust you’d never lie to me.” His breath was hot on your face, and you shivered as his hands ran up and down your torso, paying extra attention to the hem of your sports bra.

“I wasn’t thinking about taxes.” You admitted, guilt evident on your face.

“There’s the truth. Now that’s daddy’s good girl. C’mere.” He patted his lap and you willingly obliged, straddling his thigh as Joel wrapped his strong arms around you, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and pressing against the small of your exposed back. “Now,” he brushed a stray piece of hair away, “what was it you were thinkin’ about?”

“You.”

“Me? Well darlin’, I am flattered. What about me?” His voice was low, right against your ear.

You ignored his question, tilting your neck instinctively as his lips found their way to your skin. You whimpered quietly the first time he kissed you, right beneath your ear, squirming against his denim clad thigh, thick and tantalizing beneath you.

Joel found the waistband of your leggings, slipping his fingers down your panties, into the sticky hot mess that had made itself home in your underwear. His index finger traced your folds, your cunt aching beneath his touch.

Right now, the world was him, and he was you, and your movements were one. Nothing else was as important to you as Joel Miller making you orgasm, over and over and over.

“Oh.” Joel tutted, removing his hand, ignoring the protests that escaped you. “I know what you were thinking about.” There was a charmingly sardonic pull to each of his syllables.

“Do you?”

“Mhm. You were thinking about me fuckin’ that tight little pussy. Weren’t you?”

A sharp breath caught in the back of your throat. You felt that coil, sharp and deep within you, just waiting to be cut, waiting to be relieved.

Even after all this time, Joel still sent shivers down your spine. He still made your knees weak, still made your heart flutter.

You remember people telling you he was too old for you, that he was going to slow you down. That, one day, the honeymoon phase would wear off, that one day it would feel like you had settled for an old man who you’d have to end up taking care of- that was many moons ago…

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

You looked into the eyes of Joel, his orbs darkening as he caught sight of you. He removed his fingers from the waistband of your pants, slowly moving them up towards your mouth, lips thick and glossy with desire.

“Suck.” He commanded.

You obeyed, gently grabbing his wrist with both your hands, inching his ring and middle finger slowly into your mouth. You made a spectacle, put on a show just for him, as you began swirling your tongue around the tips of his digits, giggling quietly as he hummed out in satisfaction. With his free hand, Joel gently grabbed the side of your head, his fingers running through your hair.

“Good girl. That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

You grounded yourself against his thigh, humming softly as he moved his hands to your waist, his grip tight, secure, protective.

“That’s right, grind that little pussy on my thigh. Give me a show, girl.”

You smiled at him, that charming, dazzling smile that made Joel’s heart pound, and slowly took your shirt off, your red bra on full display in front of him. Joel grabbed your tits, kneading them in his rough palms, calloused fingers gently pinching and twisting your nipples, the friction making you moan out.

“Been thinkin’ bout these all day.” Joel murmured, leaning forward and burying his face in the valley between each of your breasts. He groaned into your soft skin, licking a thick, hot strip up your neck as you moved against him. Your clit, swelling and screaming beneath the fabric of your underwear, dragged circles against his jeans as his bare hands grasped the curves of your hips, helping you move and sway against him.

“Joel.” You whispered, begging.

“What, honey? Use your words.”

“Fuck me.”

“‘S that what my pretty girl wants?”

“More than anything.”

Joel pushed you beneath him on the couch, the leather cool and comforting against your bare back. He looked at you, devouring you with his eyes. He was drunk on you now, orbs blown black like charcoal, lips tightened in a carnivorous snarl.

He was hungry.

“God damn, girl. Never gonna get tired of this view.” He moaned out your name as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your belly before taking your pants off, his thumb dragging across the soaked strip imprinted into your panties. Joel leaned forward, following the line his thumb made with his tongue, his ears perking at the sound of your moans.

Joel thumbed the skimpy fabric down your legs, his palms rubbing against your smooth skin, before he propped your legs on his shoulders, face to face with your throbbing, soaked pussy.

His index traced over your fold, watching as it became coated with your wetness.

“All for me?” He hummed out, the pad of his digit now grazing over your clit. It thrummed against his skin, your pussy clenching wantonly against nothing. “Guess I should do somethin’ about this, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to leave my lady hanging like this. All wet and ready for her daddy.”

You whimpered, lips pressed in a tight line, as you watched your husbands every move.

Joel leaned forward, his tongue flat against your clit, looking up into your eyes. He left his tongue there, no hint or movement, as the corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk.

“Please.” Your voice was pathetic, a quiet, distant plea.

“Ohh.” He chuckled between his syllables. “You want me to lick you? Want me to suck on this pretty clit if yours?”

“Please!” You repeated, practically a shout.

Joel chuckled, a deep, throaty, gorgeous chuckle, before wrapping his lips around your clit. His hit tongue swirled slowly around it, your pussy throbbing against his face. He moaned against you, hands grasping ahold of your thighs as he kept your legs apart, his mouth focusing on your pussy.

“Oh, Joel. Oh!” You ran your fingers through his graying hair, curls falling in his forehead as you held him there.

He pulled away, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he spread your lips open, exposing your cunt to his eyes. Joel ran a tongue over his lower lip, pushing into your tight hole with two of his digits, knuckle deep as he watched you squirm and moan for him. Your nails dug into the leather couch, marks you knew would inevitably be left there. You didn’t care right now. How could you? Joel had set you on fire, every nerve panting his name like a chant. No thoughts of the world, of taxes, of burnt dinner- only of him.

Your back arched against the couch as he ducked you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing circles around your button as he kissed his way up your belly and to your chest, stopping to pay extra care to your tight, stiff nipples. You watched as he sucked them, his every move burning in to your brain, before he came face to face with you.

The curve of his nose pressed into your own, the scruff of his cheeks burning against your face as he pressed his mouth onto yours, a deep, passionate kiss engulfing the both of you. He continued thrusting your fingers deep inside your pussy, yet your hands travelled lower, undoing the buckle of his belt, the zipper of his jeans, until all that separated his thick, throbbing cock from your pussy was the right black material of his briefs.

A shaky breath escaped you as he pulled his hand away, slowly moving it to your throat. Joel was careful not to apply any pressure, instead focusing his grip on the sides, a devilish smirk glimmering down at you.

“Use your words, baby. What do you want from me?”

“Cock. Please. Fuck me.” You were begging now, hips squirming into him.

Joel pulled away momentarily and you watched as his long fingers pushed down his underwear, a thick, veiny, angry cock falling out, slapping against your thigh with a quiet noise. He wrapped his fist around his dick, slowly pumping it with one hand as he held you in place by your neck with the other.

“I could just hold you here, ‘til I cum all over your belly.”

You groaned out in protest, dejected.

“Not want you want? Hmm. Oh. You want me to fuck you, don’t you? Want me to fill you up with my cum, ‘till it’s dripping out of you? Yeah, that’s what you want. I see it in your eyes, girl. You want me to pump you full of cum, fill this cunt right up.”

“Y-yeah.”

He shook his head no. “Mhm.” He warned, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. “Words.”

“Yes please.” You corrected yourself, watching as his handsome face became plastered with a smile.

“That’s more like it. See? Manners maketh man.” He teased, his cock now resting right at your entrance. He moved his hand from your throat, both his arms now at the side of your face, before filling you up with one swift push of his hips.

You were full to the hilt, the tip of his leaking dick pressing against your cervix, a jolt of pain, pleasurable and electrifying, rushing through you. Joel pulled away slowly, watching as the folds of your pussy spread again his shaft, a dirty and sexy sight just for him. He groaned, lip caught between his teeth as he started fucking you proper.

“So tight. So fuckin’ tight. You’re such a dream, darlin’. Such a fuckin’ pretty girl for me.”

Joel reached down, thumbing your clit. He watched the way your back curved off the couch, the way your baby hairs stuck to your forehead, the way your lips parted, singing their sinful song of lust- oh, Joel could’ve cum just from looking at you.

“Wanna cum.” You gasped for air, his fingers dancing against your button as he pounded in to you, hips on hips cracking like whips, sweat forming between your bodies, glueing you together like puzzle pieces.

“I’ll make you cum, honey. Don’t you worry.”

His cock was thrusting deeper and deeper, his tip hitting against that spot that made you shudder. Your shoulders rocked forward as you threw your arms around him, bringing him closer to you. You kissed him again, hungry and wanting, fingers knotting into his hair as you felt your belly clenching. Your cunt wept against his cock, and you felt your orgasm brewing.

“Gonna cum.” You whispered. “Gonna cum on you. Gonna- gonna-“ Your orgasm washed over you, hips thrusting into him as you came.

“Thatta girl. Good girl.” He cooed, his hand rubbing your belly gently. “Look at me.”

You looked at Joel, face slack with tiredness, your orgasm wiping the energy out of you. Nonetheless you held him tightly, legs tight around his waist, his movements now sloppy and wanting as he drove in to you.

When your eyes met, Joel’s face softened, the hint of a smile on his mouth. “So pretty.” He whispered, gently holding your throat again. “I love you, you know that?”

You nodded, rubbing your nose against his. “I know. And I love you.” You whispered, promising, smiling against his mouth as he kissed you once more.

“I’m gonna cum.” Joel snarled into your mouth as his cock twitched, spurts of hot cum painting the inside of your pussy, his body tensing as he held you close and tight, groaning your name into your hair. “Oh, fuck.”

You sighed into his chest as he fell into you, rough hands massaging the softness of your sides as Joel drew you in closer.

You laid against him, packed tight like sardines on the couch, before he looked down at you, eyes glimmering with a sparkle of amusement.

“So.” He began.

“So?” You giggled.

“What’re we gonna do about dinner?”

[vivwritesfics]

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Three

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Mafia AU

1.6K

Series Masterlist

She missed her alarm the next morning, but that was the consequences of staying up all night, texting.

When she woke up, she was a mess. Hair all over the place, imprint of her sleeve on her cheek, and very late for work.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She cried as she climbed out of bed. She raced into the bathroom and worked on fixing her hair as she cleaned her teeth. She attempted to throw her pyjamas into the hamper as she ran back into her bedroom.

It took her five minutes to get dressed, another three get her get jewellery in. She did her makeup as quickly as she could and ran out of the door, heading to her office.

At three minutes past nine, Y/N walked into her office. She could feel the eyes on her as she walked over to her cubicle and sat down.

Her phone vibrated against her desk. She picked it up and checked it. I've got dinner with that asshole and his dad tonight, Lando had texted her. No good morning, he was straight to it. She liked it like that.

Y/N logged into her work computer before she replied. You should put salt in their drinking glasses.

She didn't hear from Lando for the rest of the morning. She worked quietly, slowly, still tired from the night before.

At her lunch break she checked in her bag but, of course, her lunch wasn't there. No, in all of her rushing around, she'd left it at home. "Fuck," she hissed as she pulled her jacket over her shoulders, placed her bag on her back, and ran down to the nearest shop.

She had just twenty minutes to buy and eat her lunch. If it came to it, she could eat at her desk, but those whose cubicles joined to hers wouldn't be happy. She had no time to check her phone as she bought a meal deal from her local corner shop.

As soon as she was back at her desk, she pulled out her phone and checked her messages. A message appeared on her lock screen and she rushed to open it.

Salt is in the drinking glasses Will keep you posted

Both of the messages were from Lando. She smiled fondly as she typed out her response.

***

Lando's day job didn't often allow him a moment to text pretty girls. He was essentially the head of the Norris family, but he was also 'The Enforcer'. It was his job to go around to businesses that paid the family for protection and scare them into paying.

And, if they couldn't pay, it was Lando's job to deal with it. He loved it, loved watching the fear in people's eyes as he cracked his knuckles. There was always a point, usually when he pulled out his gun, where the fear left their eyes and they accepted their fate. It was rare that it had to get that far, but Lando had felt another mans blood on his face far too many times.

He was a monster, and he was proud.

This was where he was on his way to when he began texting Y/N that morning. He was pissed, he'd just found out he'd be hosting the dinner with the Sainz family and he wanted to kill something.

She'd given him a good suggestion, one that would start an all out war, though. Lando couldn't say that to her, not unless he wanted to scare her off.

So Lando took some time to think of his response. He climbed out of his car and walked into the small, family owned bakery. It was time for The Enforcer to do some enforcing.

He didn't come out of the bakery covered in blood. As soon as he had walked in all other customers had left and the Matriarch of the family had run to get Lando the money he was owed. She pleaded with him, said they needed the money to live, but Lando pocketed it and left. Not before leaving a pretty nasty 'warning' on the face of the baker, the father.

Lando climbed back into the car and pulled out his phone. He sent a response to Y/N and sat back in his seat, allowing himself to be driven home. His response was a lie. He wasn't going to attempt to put salt in Sainz's glass, not unless he wanted to die.

Before she could respond, Lando sent one more text. Come to the club tonight - i have a feeling i'm gonna need a drink

She agreed quickly, the text coming through as Lando left the car and walked up to his house. He walked quickly through the house, heading up towards the room where his father was currently laying, currently dying.

"Dad," he said as he sat in the chair beside his bed. Lando fished the money from the bakery from his pocket and presented it to his father. "Dunn's Bakery paid up," he said as his fathers frail hand reached for the money. "They shouldn't be late again."

His father counted through the money and handed it back. His lifted his hand to his mouth and coughed, his entire body moving with the force. "I have one last job for you before you take your sister to Spain," he said.

Lando sucked in his breath. He was dreading taking his sister to Spain, to marry Carlos Sainz Junior. If he was lucky, this job his father was going to give him would take weeks, would let him put off this trip to Spain.

"HC Publishing hasn't paid their rent yet," his father said. Lando nodded his head and stood up. He put the money back into his pocket and walked out of his fathers room.

***

The dinner with the Sainz family came and went. As soon they had left Lando went to his car. He sat there for a moment, looking up at the windows of his impressive house, looking at his sisters window as she closed the curtains and turned out the light.

Lando started the engine and drove away from the house. He headed towards the club, driving much faster than the speed limit. But Lando was a damned good driver, getting there in one piece.

As soon as he was parked out the back of the club, he texted Y/N to come and meet him. He made his way into the club, waving to the girl dancing and heading straight over to the bar. "Hey," he said to the bartender as she immediately poured him a whisky, never with ice. "There's gonna be a girl coming in here. If she looks lost, can you tell her to come to the back office? She knows where to go."

With that, Lando headed to his office. It was a mess, pillows from the couch on the floor and paperwork spread everyway. He put the whisky down and began clearing up the paperwork. Only some of it was meant for him, the rest for the manager to complete.

He tidied his liquor cabinet and put the cushions back into the couch. He sorted through his desk and made the office look more presentable.

Thirty minutes later the door to his office opened. "How did the salt go?"

Y/N strode into the office. She had her bag slung over her shoulder as she walked into the room and sat on the now presentable couch.

Lando stopped tidying and turned towards her. "You got here quick," he said, holding his whisky towards her. But she shook her head, frowning at just the smell. "I had to swap the glasses for clean ones," he said as he pulled open his liquor cabinet and poured her a weak gin and tonic. "My dad would have murdered me if I actually did it."

"Next time," Y/N said as she gratefully took gin from him. "Or you could put vodka in their glass instead of water," she proposed, head tipped towards him.

Lando laughed. "Do all of your plans involve putting something in someone's drink?"

"You're not ready for my other plans, Lan," she said, his tone teasing. Fuck, Lando hadn't been prepared for that. He almost choked on his whisky as she laughed at him. But the laughter stopped as she sipped her gin. "But how was it."

The smile dropped from Lando's face. He finished his whisky and placed the glass down onto his desk. "It was... okay at first. But then we got into business and then I was trying to do everything to keep my sister as protected as possible."

"Protected from what?" She asked as Lando joined her on the couch.

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I just want to make sure she's gonna be taken care of when she's married." She offered him her gin and he gratefully took it, having some before passing it back. "My dad is really sick," he said as soon as he swallowed the gin. "We're gonna lose him soon and I wanted to make sure she could come home for his funeral. If they don't let her I'm gonna fly where myself and get her," he said, cracking his knuckles.

Y/N took her gin from him. She stood and walked over to his liquor cabinet, putting a little more gin into her drink and handed it back to Lando. "Come on," she said. "We're getting you drunk."

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[rosenhypen]

mirrorball

˗ˏˋ enha as ts songs

in which ... after months of being with your boyfriend, park sunghoon, you can't help but feel as though he is getting bored of you. feeling as though you will never compare to the beautiful idols he sees on the daily, you try everything to keep him interested.

word count : 3.6k

hurt and comfort, mild swearing, self esteem issues.

"Angel!" The sound of Sunghoon's voice tore you attention away from admiring what you believed to be one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you had ever seen. It was Christmas morning, your first Christmas as a couple and Sunghoon had given you the magnificent necklace for the occasion. You had asked him where it was from and he told you he had it custom made, making it all the more special. Turning around to face him, you see him recording you using the video camera you had just given him. Your boyfriend had always had an interest in cameras.

Noticing him zooming in on your face, you laugh softly, covering your face with your hands. "Hoon, stop, I'm not wearing any makeup." You respond lightheartedly. He only continues to zoom in on your face.

"You look pretty, though. C'mon show the camera your beautiful face."

Rolling your eyes playfully at his cheesy words, you move your hands from your face. "Well aren't you just perfect?" he chuckles lightly as he zooms out to have everything from your messy bedhead, bare, makeup-free face and fluffy Christmas pyjamas in frame.

"Shut up!" you laugh, moving out of frame to sit down beside Sunghoon. Giggling, your boyfriend placed the camera down on the couch beside him. "Seriously, though, you look so pretty, princess. I'm so lucky to have you." He hummed before pulling you into a soft kiss.

"And this camera is so cool!" He picks the camera up from beside him. "Oh, it's still recording--" the video cut out.

You can't help the bittersweet feeling you get watching this footage back. Sighing, you turn your head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table, watching as the time blinked from 11:59 to 12:00. It's Christmas. This one, your fourth with Sunghoon. Although, this one isn't really with Sunghoon.

He's been really busy recently. Having made a comeback with his group and starting to MC, Sunghoon had been sleeping at the dorms for convenience. This was understandable but you feel as though you never see your boyfriend. You can't help but let your mind wander when you're spending this much time apart. You watch him work alongside girls who literally have being outrageously beautiful as a part of their job description.

This had always been a thought every now and then but you had always brushed it off. Sunghoon showered you with compliments, spent so much time with you and expressed his love for you so clearly. Now that you're seeing him less, though, and now that he's MCing with Jang Wonyoung, someone with virtually perfect looks, you can't brush it off. You can't fight the feeling that you weren't good enough for your boyfriend. You don't understand why he would choose you over all of these incredibly stunning women that he saw on a daily basis, who he very much had a chance with.

Shaking your head at yourself, you pick your phone up to text Sunghoon.

y/n : merry christmas baby

Hes probably asleep. He has been working hard lately. Snuggling under your blankets, you close your eyes to try and sleep only to jolt up at the sound of your phone vibrating. Sunghoon? Nope. Pinterest.

Rolling your eyes, you settle back down to sleep.

The next morning, you notice you still haven't gotten any response from Sunghoon. He's probably busy. He's MCing for the Christmas special award show today.

Starting to get ready for your day, you can't help but spend an extra minute or so staring into the mirror. You doubt that Wonyoung, or any of those beautiful female idols you see have acne scars on their cheeks or freckles and sunspots on their noses. Blinking at your reflection, you quickly start to apply your foundation, trying your best to shake that strange feeling in your stomach off.

It wasn't until you were eating dinner with your family that Sunghoon finally responded to you. You immediately excused yourself from the table and went out to the hallway upon receiving his text.

hoonie : sorry, ive been rlly busy today hoonie : merry christmas babe

Sitting down on the bottom step of the staircase, you call him only for your call to be rejected after a few seconds of ringing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you move your phone from your ear to see that Sunghoon was typing

hoonie : can't talk rn sorry hoonie : im practicing with wonyoung for our special stage later hoonie : talk soon, ok?

Just replying to the last message with a heart reaction, you place your phone down beside you. You feel a lump in your throat as you twist your lips to the side, fiddling with the cuffs of your sleeves.

Letting out a shaky breath, you stand up and go back to sit at the dinner table.

It was two days later when Sunghoon was finally able to come by and hang out. The two of you had planned to exchange gifts and you were beyond excited to see your boyfriend. Having washed your hair and done your makeup nicely, you sit on the couch in a pretty red dress, buzzing with anticipation.

Hearing the door unlock, you quickly hop up from your couch to greet your boyfriend. "Hii!" You call out before even seeing him. Once face to face with him, you see that the exhaustion is visible on his face. Regardless, you smile brightly at him, waiting for him to speak.

Sunghoon's eyes moved from your face down to your outfit, then to his own sweats. He blinked once, then twice, then looked up at you. "Was I supposed to dress nice? I'm sorry." You can't help the way your smile falters a little at his words. Was that all he had to say? He hadn't seen you in person in over two weeks.

Trying your best not to take it to heart, you shake your head. "No, of course not, I just got this dress recently and wanted a chance to wear it-- Come on, I want to give your your gifts." You blurt out all at once, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the couch.

Once you were both situated on the couch, you hand him your gift box. Unwrapping it carefully, Sunghoon looked at his gifts and smiled softly. You had crocheted a penguin plushie keyring for him, bought him some of his favourite snacks, made him a card and gotten him a bracelet.

You had originally seen the bracelet in a shop window and you immediately knew that Sunghoon would love it. You spent months saving up for it, pinching every last penny until you could finally buy it for him. Honestly, Sunghoon could probably purchase it himself without blinking an eyes, but it was a lot of money for you.

"Thank you so much, baby," he hums, picking the crocheted penguin up. "This is so cute."

"Oh, but the bracelet, did you see the bracelet?" You speak eagerly. "I did, its really nice, thank--" Before he can even finish his sentence, you're taking the bracelet out of the box and pulling his sleeve up to put it on for him.

You stop in your tracks, though, when you see the exact same bracelet you had gotten for him already on his wrist. "Ah.." he says quietly.

"Since when do you have this?" You ask as you look up at his face, disappointed and confused.

"Oh, well, Wonyoung and I decided to buy each other a small gift each to celebrate our special stage going well. We worked really hard on it." He explains. Sensing the awkwardness between the two of you, he speaks up again. "I mean, you definitely know what I like, I picked it out myself.

Small. Small gift. Another girl had already given him the gift you had spent months saving up for as a small gift. A memento, even. You nod. "I see.."

"Oh, open your gift." He says, quickly handing you your present as a way to try and ease the tension.

He had gifted you a black and gold Prada bracelet along with a Prada lipstick. You thank him profusely, telling him that he didn't need to spend so much money on you.

Both of you now having opened your respective gifts, you ask your boyfriend if he'd like a drink. He says that he's alright and you head to the kitchen to get one for yourself. Entering the kitchen, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. As you start to pour yourself a glass of water, you hear Sunghoon calling from the living room. "Hey, babe? I have to go." "What?" Making his way to stand in the door frame, he speaks again. "My manager just texted me. He wants me to meet with him." he explains. "Talk to you soon, yeah?" he says, followed by a chaste kiss before leaving your apartment.

Standing in the middle of your kitchen wordlessly, you can't stop rhe tears from forming in your eyes.

That evening, you decide to take a look at Sunghoon's recent special stage with Wonyoung. Usually, when watching a performance your boyfriend was in, your eyes were glued to his figure the whole time. This time, however, as much as it feels like torture, you can't seem to tear your eyes away from Wonyoung.

The next day, you and Sunghoon had planned to go out for dinner.

Sitting at your vanity, you stare at your reflection for a few seconds, wondering how to do your makeup and hair. After a few seconds of thinking, you pull your phone out. You can't help but feel stupid as instead of straightening your hair as usual, you add volume and add delicate waves and instead of your usual matte, semi-nude lip colour, you opt for a deep pink lip tint instead, following a picture of the famous Jang Wonyoung as a reference.

It wasn't long before Sunghoon showed up at your door wearing his usual masked, all-black attire, looking noticeably less tired than yesterday. "Hey, princess." he speaks with a small smile. "You look pretty." You smile softly at the compliment although it feels a little weird. You had tried to make yourself look like Wonyoung and he was calling you pretty. You shake your head at yourself. It was a hairstyle and some lip tint. You need to relax. "Thank you.." you hum quietly as you grab your jacket.

He holds his hand out for you and you take it, heading out for your date. The two of you chat while eating and Sunghoon tells you all about he's been up to recently, seemingly purposefully leaving Wonyoung's name out of the equation.

"Are you doing anything for New year's?" he asks you. You're somewhat surprised, it's the 28th and Sunghoon hadn't mentioned New Year's eve at all up until now, so you assumed he would be working or something. "Oh, no. I'm not. You're not busy?"

You make plans for you to ring in the new year at Sunghoon's dorm with him and his members.

After heading back to your apartment, Sunghoon washes up and changes into the sweats he keeps there. Emerging from your room, he plops down on the couch next to you. "I'll go wash up, too." You say as you stand up. "Okay. Oh, baby?" He calls as you start to walk away, causing you to turn around. "I really like your hair today. It's so pretty." Ah. You give him a small smile, which he returns before heading to the bathroom.

He ends up sleeping over and when you wake up the next morning, the two of you decide to go get some coffee. Doing your makeup with your usual matte, semi-nude lip and straightening your hair as normal. As usual, Sunghoon changed back into his all-black clothes and put his mask on. Getting your coffees to go, the two of you walk back to your apartment and sit together in your kitchen to drink your coffees before making some breakfast. Once finished with breakfast, Sunghoon leaves to go to dance practice.

Not a single compliment. He didn't call you pretty once today.

The next day Sunghoon invites you to hang out at his dorm for a bit. You decide to use that picture of Wonyoung as a reference again. The voluminous, wavy hair and the pink lip lip tint. This time, though, you take it a step further by finding the same shade of blush, which is more pink than your usual shade and copy her placement.

When you get to his dorm, Sunghoon smiles softly at you, engulfing you in a hug. Pulling back to look at you, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You look beautiful." The two of you just hang out in his room and cuddle for a few hours. "Did you do your makeup different today?" he asks, kind of catching you off-guard. "Uh, just different blush." You say quietly. "It looks really pretty" he smiles at you. You just nod quietly. "Thanks.."

After a bit, you head home.

Laying in bed that night, you're lost in thought. He really does prefer you when you do your makeup like Wonyoung. It was bothering you but if it made him find you pretty, what was the harm? It wasn't like he was complimenting Wonyoung. He was complimenting you. It does leave a sour taste in your mouth, though.

You feel like a stalker as you find yourself scrolling through pictures of Wonyoung, talking in every detail of her makeup, her hair, her style.

Soon enough, you fall asleep, your mind filled with thoughts of how to do your makeup, your hair and what to wear to see Sunghoon to ring in the new year tomorrow.

It was 6:45 pm when you began getting ready to see your boyfriend. Freshly showered, you dry your hair with a round brush to add volume and put the waves in your hair that Sunghoon seems to love so much. Instead of just the lip tint and blush, you copy her eye makeup, too and wear some lip gloss, having noticed that in a lot of the pictures you had seen last night.

Wearing a white mini dress, you leave to meet Sunghoon. He showers you with compliments all night and its working you up more and more. He just wants you to be a carbon copy of the woman he works with, doesn't he? Heading to the bathroom at 11:55, you reapply your lip gloss.

"3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!" Sunghoon leans in and kisses you softly.

"God, I hate that stuff." Sunghoon spoke lightheartedly in reference to the lip gloss, wiping his lips with his arm. "Are you serious?" "Huh?" "Are you serious?" Confused, Sunghoon tilts his head at you. "What do you mean, babe?" "I'm wearing it for you." He furrows his eyebrows. "Because Wonyoung wears it, and clearly you like her a lot fucking more than me." Sunghoon stares at you with wide eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?" The other members are starting to look at you now, confused.

"I mean, seriously, do you even like me? Not my makeup, not my hair. Me. Do you think I'm pretty? Or is that only when I'm fucking cosplaying as Wonyoung. If I'm not good enough for you just say it, because I can't keep pretending to be someone else." Your voice cracks a little and Sunghoon looks beyond confused.

"You only ever compliment me when I do my hair and makeup like her. You only think I'm pretty when I try to look like her." Your eyes are steadily filling with tears now, and Sunghoon swears he can feel his heart breaking more and more with each word you say. "Of course I think you're pretty. You're beautiful, Y/N."

"Well it doesn't seem like it, does it? If you're bored just say that. I wouldn't blame you, to be honest, she's perfect and talented and you're out of my league." You sniffle, rushing to go grab your jacket. "Y/N?" Sunghoon calls after you as you walk out the door. Running after you, he grabs you by your shoulders and turns you around. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't make time for you, I'm sorry that I don't compliment you enough, I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't good enough. I love you so much, princess, and I promise you, I find you so pretty. I genuinely feel you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on. I got too comfortable. I got so used to having you that I forgot how lucky I truly am. I do find you pretty. I think it every time I see you even when I don't say it. Every time I called you pretty while you were trying to be like someone else was because I do find you pretty. No matter your makeup or your hairstyle. I only said it then because I noticed that you did something different with your appearance. It made me think you wanted it to be acknowledged. You're more than enough for me. You're everything. You're the only one I want. I could never be bored of you. I took you for granted, and I'm sorry."

You blink slowly at him, trying to take in everything he had just said to you.

"Please don't go." he speaks, his voice cracking. "I love you."

You can't say no to him. Hugging him tightly, you bury your face in his chest. He strokes your hair gently, genuinely heartbroken that he had made you feel this way.

After spending more time talking everything out last night, you slept over.

The following morning, you wake up to see Sunghoon still sleeping. Heading to the bathroom, you begin to wash your face. As you're drying your face with a towel, you hear Sunghoon's voice calling out from behind you.

"Angel!" Turning around to look at him, you see him recording you with his video camera, a cheeky grin on his face. You cover your face with the towel. "Hey, show your face." He pouts. You reluctantly move the towel from your face. "You're so beautiful."

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 5

previous part

tw: violence, blood, heavy angst, abuse, PLEASE be warned <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Day eight came easy, as did day nine.

Simon would stick around for as long as he could, but it was enough to satiate the linger of loneliness you felt when he was absent. He’d spend time in your apartment, stealing the leftover pastries you had from day seven of your deal where he’d confessed to wanting to get to know you more than just the weakling client that had hopes of dying.

Waking up on day ten, you woke up to a text from him, saying he’d be busy until further notice, but would stop by to see you when he could.

It was nice, having him let you know rather than leaving you wondering. He knew it would provide a comfort of knowing he was still around and had all intentions of seeing you make it to the finish line.

Just the thought of him beginning to learn your comforts was enough to have your heart running marathons and your cheeks aching with a never ending smile. You hadn’t felt giddy over another being in a long time, and the butterflies in your stomach had been withering for so long that when they found life again, it was an explosion of ticklish vibration. Their wings wisped away the growing dust that had begun to build, and eased away the prickling coldness to replace it with an earthy warmth.

Like the previous days, work was spent with joyful courage and building anticipation. The change in attitude was obvious to everyone around you, and no one dared to disrupt your craft when you buried yourself in it. You worked tirelessly to create the perfect mix of pastries in hopes of taking them home one day and gifting some to Simon during one of his visits.

Things finally felt as if they were falling into place, and for the first time, you could say you were happy. Whether Simon remained a friend or carried into something more, only time would tell, but you felt satisfied with his existence either way.

Even as your body ached in every joint as you finally closed up shop and began your travel home for the night, you somehow felt light on your feet with every step. There were no heavy weights anchoring you to the pavement, no drag of your shoes along the gritty gravel, and there was certainly no anxiety spouting in your chest like a wildfire.

You felt at peace.

It was a lovely feeling to revel in after such a long time spent in isolation and imprisonment. Freeing, even, to no longer have bars and chains linking your mind to all the troubles that settled inside like a shitty tenant that refused to leave when unwanted.

Simon saw something in you that you hadn’t before, and it was slowly unmasking itself, no longer fearful of the light.

Gliding up the stairs to your apartment, your eyes instinctively searched for Simon before reminding yourself that he wouldn’t be making it tonight. But when they landed on the door, where it was slightly cracked open with barely a sliver of dim light passing through into the hallway, your first thought was that he was there to surprise you. He had gotten his, ah, work done early and let himself in while you were at work.

You ignored the alarms going off in your head that were desperately trying to remind you that Simon no longer went into your apartment on his own accord. He’d started to wait outside for you, leaned up against the wall like a form of security until you got home. 

Your racing heart won over the voices in your head, and the eagerness to get inside and see Simon once again for another nightly ritual of watching him smoke while you talked about your day took over all warning signs.

Entering your apartment, you pushed open the door, stepping inside and locking the door behind you. Your eyes searched for the familiar mass that always took up the whole room, and when you saw it hunched over the kitchen counter, facing away from you, you brightened.

“Simon!” you greeted cheerfully, but when Simon’s head snapped up to look at you, you froze.

Simon certainly didn’t have a head of hair for you to openly admire. He didn’t have an unmasked face that showed off thin lips pulled into a threatening sneer.

Your mind completely blanked when you saw the man impersonating Simon. No, he wasn’t impersonating – because he could never be Simon. He could only ever be the person who you’d drag down to hell with you and throw into the pit of flames to watch his sick soul burn into ash.

“Simon, huh?” That voice, filled with nothing but venom that dripped from his tongue and spat out to your face. It could melt you into a puddle of sticky goo mixed with flesh and blood the way it expelled from his lips. It was the voice that filled your nightmares, that forced you into a cold sweat when you’d wake up in the middle of the night, eyes staring at the ceiling with burning tears and a heavy, broken heart.

The very man you’d run away from, who you’d cried to Simon about when life felt like it had run its course, was standing right in your kitchen, hand tightly gripped on to the napkin Simon had given you days ago with his number and doodle of a skull.

Your ex-boyfriend was somebody you never expected to see again, nor did you ever want to see him, not in your worst dreams. He was the reason you had gotten to the point of hiring Simon when he was Ghost, planning on paying him with all your hard-earned money just so he could kill you and you would be free of being trapped in a hellish life.

Yet here he was in the flesh, nothing but pure, unfiltered rage burning in those dark irises of his.

“Finally found you after all this time, just to find out you’re fucking somebody else,” he tsked, glancing at the napkin in his grasp before up at you. He looked downright sinister, the way he grinned at you. It was full of pointy teeth that bared at you in warning. “What did I always tell you I wanted?”

Your feet felt as if they were in quicksand, pinning you to the floor, leaving you immobile. All you could do was gape at him like a fish out of water.

“Loyalty,” he answered for you, spitting the word out with the burn of a thousand fires. “But you haven’t been loyal, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

It made your stomach turn when he called you it. Coming from Simon, it was coated in endearment, soft and sweet, like icing on a damn cake. But from your ex-boyfriend, it was littered with splintering daggers that tore into the surface of your flesh, cutting you open and wringing you dry.

It wasn’t right. That was Simon’s name for you. Only Simon’s.

“I’ll remind you who the fuck you belong to if that’s what has to happen,” he taunted, and when he took the first step forward, that’s when your feet willed you to move.

Everything happened so quickly, it felt like you were in a timelapse.

One moment, you’re paralyzed as you stared the face of your nightmares in the eye, and the next, you’re bolting. You practically threw yourself in the bathroom, locking the door and pressing your back against it. He preyed on you like a lion to an antelope, hounding on you the second he saw the shift of your body language.

Infuriated fists pounded on the door, livid feet kicked at the weak frame. His shouts filled the air with a crippling sense of dread, and you realized there was no way out of this.

Just like your mind had been all this time, you were trapped, imprisoned in a cage of misery, clawing at the bars with failed attempts to release yourself.

Your body jolted with every bloodthirsty smash into the door, the wood slapping and shuddering at each brutal hit. Your hands shook in staggering distress as you fumbled for your phone that laid stuffed in the pocket of your jeans, and it took multiple feverish tries before it was tugged from its confinement.

Swiping it unlocked, you found Simon’s contact, not sparing a single moment before slamming the call button.

The call rang. And rang. And rang.

The dial tone engulfed your body with calamity. The air in your lungs felt littered with toxics, extracting all of the oxygen out and leaving you suffocating. Sweat leaked from your neck and forehead, leaving you with a sheen of brooding panic.

The bathroom was closing in on you, and it only felt smaller and smaller the more he beat your door in.

You tried calling Simon again. And again. Each time, the ringing echoed in your ears, worming its way in your brain and infesting you with the realization that he wasn’t picking up.

He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t going to save you. He wasn’t going to see you take your final laps around the track, nor was he going to watch you race over that desired finish line of triumph and success.

He wasn’t going to be the one to kill you like all was intended in the first place.

Your ex-boyfriend was going to take away everything new, just like he had taken away the identity you wore before.

Your phone clattered out of your hand and slid across the tiled floor until it hit the side of the bathtub when the door finally gave in, the lock making a sickening snap when it burst out of the hinges.

You were pushed forward with aggression as he shoved past the doorway, allowing himself free access in the small place you chose as your temporary safety net. That net was thrown off of you, leaving you exposed to the imposing danger that was destined to come your way.

Your ex-boyfriend was shouting profanities at you, but all you heard was a dull ringing as your mind fully checked out, leaving you in a paralyzing daze. His mouth moved, but made no sound, and you watched with an empty stare the way the venom pooled out in a frothing foam around his lips.

The first hit sent you staggering on your feet. You lost your balance, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Then the second came. Then the third.

The relentless abuse kept coming, battering your body black and blue, staining your skin with a sticky red.

During the entire display of violence and bitter authority, your mind began to replay your times with Simon. His lovely, baritone voice filled the emptiness in your head with a soft lullaby that lured you far away from the virulent aggression being hissed in your face between every ferocious strike.

It distracted you from the strain on your mind and being. It turned you away from the damage, disengaging you from temptations to open your eyes and take a look at what was in front of you.

It was enough to leave you unsure of how long the dispute went on. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. All you know is that when your body was on the brink of full blown collapse, teetering on that edge with your feet grasping for stability so you wouldn’t lose balance and pummel right off of the cliff and into the endless abyss, that was when he decided to stop.

That was it. He didn’t want to kill you, because he wanted you to suffer.

This was his subtle reminder that you ran from him, and it came to bite back at you. You were never free in the first place, only granted a brief time away from solitary before he came roaring back with his teeth sunken into your neck, stalking his prey down when the time was right.

With one last attempt to push you into a freefall over that cliff, he crouched in front of you, head tilted as he sneered at the bloody sight of you.

“If I find you being disloyal again, I’m going to let you fucking die next time,” he muttered with distaste, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

He stood, unsparing of another glance before he left you in the bathroom on the cold, mucky floor, making sure to slam your front door shut to leave it rattling your eardrums.

You didn’t move an inch. Surely, you could’ve mustered up the strength to crawl back on your feet and clean yourself up in the sink. You were stronger than this. Simon was teaching you that.

But you didn’t.

It was hours that you laid there, or at least that was what it felt like. Time moved tirelessly slow when you were a broken version of yourself, glued to the tiles like your body wanted to mold itself into them.

It wasn’t until the sound of the front door being opened did you spark the courage to shift your head, eyes drifting towards its general direction.

The mass that you thought was Simon earlier was here. Except this time, it really was Simon. There was no mistaking the balaclava with a hand painted skull on the mouth, or the way he had to lightly duck under the doorway so as not to hit the very top of his head.

Simon was calculated in his movements, throwing himself to the open bathroom in which you laid. He was panting as if he had run all the way to your apartment. Your tired eyes watched the way his chest rose and fell in an erratic pattern, the view of it coming closer as he scurried to you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out as he crouched next to you. The sound of the nickname coming from his mouth rather than your ex-boyfriend’s was like music to your ears. “Fuck, m’so sorry, m’so sorry.”

He ripped the gloves off his hands in order to cradle your head in them, his skin warm to the touch and offering a temporary relief to the cold chill that rattled you to the bones from lying on the cool tile. He inspected every inch of you, taking in the bloodshot redness that infested your eyes, the blood that caked and crusted your nose and mouth, the swelling of your cheeks that made you resemble a pufferfish.

His eyes were filled with pain and regret, but behind that, a fire burned. It was faint, embers burning slowly and mixing with fresh ash, but it was there. And it was angry.

Simon was gentle with the way he carefully eased your body up so you were sitting flush against the sink cabinets, shoulders slouched and head bobbing sluggishly. He rummaged through the small bathroom closet, quick to fish out a clean washcloth and run it under the faucet before returning back to you.

His touch was delicate as he attentively cleaned off the mess from your face. Red stained white cotton, and the sight of it made you queasy.

“You didn’t answer,” you whispered, words burning your throat with a sharp dryness that you tried swallowing away.

Simon froze, his hands pausing its notions across your skin. It stayed there, hand slightly shaking with a burning sense of penitence.

“I–”

“You didn’t answer,” you repeated. You were choked up, surely beaten down from the lacerating corruption to your own body. “I called you. You didn’t answer.”

Simon sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flickering over yours. He could see the emptiness in your pupils, void of everything he’d seen you work so hard to restore.

There was nothing. It was hollow.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea how sorry I am, I should’ve looked at the phone, I should’ve checked to make sure you got home,” he rambled, words thick with a heavy layer of guilt.

You shouldn’t be angry with him. Hell, Simon should be the last person you were angry with. After all, he had been the one to pick up the pieces of your shattered being when he had no reason to. He had been the one to pick friendship over compromise when you first hired him to kill you.

You shouldn’t be angry with him.

But right now, you wished he had just pulled the damn trigger when you first told him to.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” you wailed. Your resolve was cracking more than it already was, leaving you exposed to nothing but pure pain. “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Simon said nothing, and he allowed you to bubble out snotty tears and crushing cries. He wiped every tear away with the washcloth, swiping gently over your skin and absorbing all of the evidence of your tribulation. He let you break, he let the rubber band snap into two, even if it meant stinging him in the process.

He didn’t stop, not even when your tears ran dry and your body slumped in exhaustion, forehead planted on the plain of his shoulder.

Simon was fighting an inner battle himself. Where he saw a woman he felt compelled to protect, he saw the man who had failed to fulfill it.

He didn’t know why you were different from the others. He was a man with a life path full of gruesome roads that were littered with bloodshed and other people’s torment. He didn’t attach himself to people, and he had made his own promise to himself that he’d keep an arm’s length from anybody willing to see through him.

That didn’t stop him from seeking you out.

What he saw in you, he saw in himself. Deep inside, he saw the broken, little boy he was that had never received proper love. He saw the boy that everybody turned a blind eye to, who pretended to not see his suffering.

You were a mirror he looked into every time he found himself around you, and it was a mirror he didn’t want to watch explode into millions of tiny shards.

Simon might not have been able to save himself, but he could save you. He could stop you from becoming what he was, and that was exactly why he allowed himself the one, single chance to slip into your life.

The fire that brewed in his eyes had now become a full, raging forest fire, burning everything in its wake. It fueled with the burn of anger and rancor, festering through the optic nerve and burrowing itself in the lobe of his brain.

That bloodthirsty fervor crept its way through his veins.

The color in his vision turned red.

Simon told himself he would protect you. And if that meant hunting down the prey posed as a predator, then he’d go to the ends of the earth to make it happen at the power of his own bloody hands.

posting this at almost 1am when i gotta be at work at 5am but i was itching to let the juices flow so have another chapter <3 thank you to my lovelies who helped me brainstorm ideas for this chapter, i love y'all

[lovedazai-archived]

SUNNY SIDE UP

about dazai doesn’t like waking up, especially when he wakes up alone; he finds his own way to convince you to come back to bed.

ft. dazai + f!reader, unprotected sex in the bathroom, mirror sex (kinda), ur both sleepy & soft…mdni !!

every morning, you wake to the sweetest alarm: fingertips dancing up your back, soft lips kissing against your face, and the sweet sound of dazai whispering your name. today, your eyes open all on their own, and instead, you’re met with calm breathing against your neck, soft bangs pressed against your jaw, and the pretty sight of dazai’s lashes resting on his cheeks.

something pleasant flutters inside you as you watch him rest. you trace a finger across the straight edge of his eyebrow, down the slope of his nose, before your fingers ghost over his lips, watching them twitch. dazai always clings to you, but in his sleep he lets you go with no struggle at all; his arm slides off your waist, landing gently onto the sheets. you pull your comforter over his shoulders, pressing a parting kiss to his forehead.

you sneak into the bathroom as quietly as you can. your sleepy eyes are heavy, open just enough for you to smile at the sight of two toothbrushes on the counter before they close against the bright light. there are little pieces of dazai all around your apartment; his shirt tossed on your floor, an extra roll of bandages in your cabinet, a bottle of his favorite cheap sake in your kitchen. you carved out a space for him in your daily routine, and he fit inside of it perfectly.

the mint of your toothpaste settles against your tongue as you lazily brush your teeth, eyes fluttering open when soft hands sneak beneath your shirt. it never took long for dazai to seek you out, always gravitating towards you by some invisible force.

“why’d you leave me?” he whines, nuzzling his face into your hair as he pulls you into his chest. “don’t you know how cold i get without you to keep me warm?”

you uncap your cleanser, rubbing it into a lather as he presses open mouthed kisses where your sleep shirt hangs down and exposes your shoulder. you turn in his hold, feeling the soap slide down your wrists as he looks at you brightly, hands tightening on your waist, ready to pull you back to bed in victory before you boop him with your foamy hands.

he blinks at you, bubbles dripping down the tip of his nose. he swipes at them with his thumb before his lips curl wickedly, and without warning, he strikes; he grabs your jaw, pulling you into his reach and kissing every inch of your face until you’re giggling and squirming against the hard edge of the counter. you quiet when his mouth meets your own, his teeth grazing the fragile skin of your bottom lip. 

“come back to bed,” the words vibrate against your mouth, punctuated with another kiss as he rubs his nose against yours. “pretty please?”

it’s tempting; the way his eyes sparkle in the bathroom light, and his morning voice, deep and soft, caresses your ears like velvet. his warm hands stroke soothingly against your skin like he’s trying to get you to melt between his fingers. it was almost enough to make you consider going back. almost.

“you know we have work today,” you say instead, turning around in his hold as you rub the cleanser in circles on your face. he settles his arms around your waist once more, cheek falling to the top of your head with a sigh.

he refuses to detach from you for even a second, grip only tightening when you bend down and rinse the bubbles off your face, pressing back into his hips.

nestled against him, the indulgent part of youーthe one dazai has effortlessly charmed and wrapped around his fingerーcan’t help but regret getting out of bed. you rub your moisturizer into your cheeks as he noses behind your ear, warm breath a welcome contrast to the early morning chill that settled over your apartment.

he tucks your hair over your shoulder, pressing his lips against your nape with a tenderness he only allowed you. you shiver in his hold, grabbing onto one of his bandaged arms as it inches up your shirt. his fingers trail along your ribcage before he’s squeezing your breast, his other hand slipping beneath the elastic of your underwear.

“is this okay?” he mumbles, and you catch his sultry gaze in the reflection of the mirror as he trails to the spot below your ear, mouthing at your skin. his touch is warm against your chest, even through the soft cotton of his bandages.

you hum a quiet mhm as you grip the edge of the counter, unsurprised to feel his hardening cock straining through his underwear when you arch backward. you feel his exhale, so forceful his breath grazes the warm skin of your cheek when you grind against him.

your nipples poke through your shirt from his attention, and he pinches one between his pointer and thumb, the others digging into the soft skin of your breast. he locates your clit expertly with his other hand, circling it with just enough pressure to have you writhing before he strokes down to dip shallowly into your hole. you push back into his hand as he teases you, prodding two fingers into your warm cunt.

your lips part, breathing growing uneven as you press back against him impatiently. he kisses where he can reach, slipping through your folds before he circles back to your clit. you arch backward, pushing your chest into his hand before he pulls his hand away completely.

“dazai,” you whine, eyebrows furrowed when you feel his grin against your neck, the hum he lets out vibrating against your skin. “please.”

“please? i’m not sure i know what you mean, bella.”

he slides your underwear down your hips until they fall to your feet, and his cock presses against your bare ass as he pulls his own off. your fingers grip at nothing in particular on the counter as he drags himself through your folds. you almost want to whine and kick your feet in childish agitation, but you tilt your head back to pout up at him instead. he smiles down at you, kissing your head innocently.

“dazai,” it breaks off into a moan as he presses hard against your clit, breathily giggling against your ear. “i need you.”

“but i’m right here, aren’t i?” he coats his fingers in your arousal before he pushes two inside you, scissoring them gently. “you’re going to have to use your words if you want something more.”

“osamu,” his breath catches at the sound of his name, so breathy and desperate and needy. you don’t get the chance to be satisfied that you caught him off guard before you’re keening as he bends his fingers enough to graze that sweet spot inside you, your knees growing weak. “i need you to fuck me. now, please.”

he squeezes your ass in a silent command for you to spread your legs, and you do, nudging against him as you arch backwards. he keeps one hand on your hip, the other bunching the back of your shirt as he drags his cock across your folds.

you sigh when he finally, finally pushes inside of you; he fits so perfectly that you could swear he was made for you, and you knew he shared your sentiment. stuffed to the brim with his cock, flush against him, and caged against the counter, your sleep-addled mind clouds over. you’re only grounded by his thumb, rubbing small circles against your hips before you press backwards, and he starts to fuck you properly. he keeps a steady pace, and the rhythm lulls your eyes closed. you raise you onto your tiptoes each time he thrusts inside of you, moans embarrassingly loud as they ricochet off your hollow bathroom walls.

when you peek your eyes open, you’re met with the sight of yourself in the mirror, and you hear him groan when you clench at the view: the glow of your skin, dewy from your moisturizer and flushed from arousal, your lips plump and parted, and your shirt taut and lifted from how he has you pinned to the counter.

his hair covers his eyes, but when you moan his name, he lifts his head and meets your gaze. your stomach flips; even in the reflection of your mirror, you can see the warmth his brown eyes radiate and you’re certain if you looked close enough, he’d have little hearts floating where his pupils should be, like marshmallows in hot chocolate.

he pulls you upwards until you’re flush against his chest. you reach up and grip his hair between your fingers, his own tightening against your bare skin. even your teeth sinking into your bottom lip do little to muffle you, but he’s quick to pull it away anyway, eager to hear the way you cry out as his hand settles against your jaw.

“look at how beautiful you are,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse point on your neck as you tilt your head into his palm to give him better access. his movements stutter when you pull at his hair harder. “my gorgeous girl.”

he turns your head until he can press his lips to yours, hand on your hip guiding you with a gentle urgency to face him. he lifts you onto the counter, surface cool against your feverish skin. your underwear falls off your ankles and lamely onto the floor as your leg hoists upward, soft skin of your thigh squished in his grip. his eyes fall to your face immediately, taking in all of your pretty features as you’re on the edge of release, all because of him.

even without your instinctive need to cling to him, you don’t think you have it in you to steady yourself on the counter, mind foggy and body still limp with lingering sleepiness as he fucks you deep. his thrusts rock you back and forth, but you know he’d never let you fall. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your whines against his shoulder.

he has your body memorized from the inside out, your sweet spots long since burned into his brain, and he hits the most important one hard and quick, enough for the air to be stolen from you. your entire body tenses, and with his warm thumb circling your clit, you don’t stand a chance before every inch of your body floods with warmth, trembling as your muscles spasm with pleasure.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, fluttering closed when you feel him press languid kisses to your jaw. he meets you halfway when you tilt forward for more of him, whispering something you can’t hear as you cum. his lips trail to the corner of your mouth as you pant, scratching your nails against his scalp.

his voice grows in pitch, vibrating against your skin the closer he gets. you press a kiss to his ear, tugging at his hair in the way you know will make him moan, and he does, voice beautiful and broken. his thrusts grow frantic, trying to nestle as deep as possible inside of you before he finally cums. his grip is hard enough to leave an imprint of his fingertips in your skin as he pulls you as close as he can and pumps you full. your toes curl in delight, ankles hooked and firm from where the heels of your feet press into his lower back. you feel more than hear the heaviness of his gasps, but he still presses his parted lips to yours, tongue licking at your lips before he pushes into your mouth.

he kisses you until you're dizzy, and you forget you’re still in the bathroom until you open your eyes. there’s a string of saliva connecting you to him when you pull away, and he breaks it as he licks his lips.

his eyes fall to your tender cunt as he pulls out of you with a blissful sigh. he makes up for the lost contact just as quickly, hand firm against your back to pull you to his chest. you sleepily sag against him, pressing your forehead against his bandaged neck as your eyes close.

“are you ready to go back to bed?” you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling, a little mockingly, you’re sure, and you nod against his shoulder, hoping you remember to flick his forehead later on. he slides you off the counter gently, enough for him to hoist you by your legs as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

he carries you carefully, each footstep gentle against the wooden floor. you yelp when he practically throws you onto your bed, back bouncing on the mattress as you settle on the abandoned sheets. he makes himself comfortable between your legs, his chin falling to rest on your sternum as you pout at him.

“your hair’s all knotty,” you barely get the words out, combing through it with gentle, lazy fingers. he nuzzles into your touch as you tuck his bangs away, beaming at you when his soft waves are smoothed out and his cheek rests in your palm.

“ahh, this is so much better,” he sings, pressing his fingertips to yours before he slides them to intertwine together. “now you’re right where you belong.”

he looks up at you, only to see your pretty eyes closed; you fell back asleep quicker than he thought you would. he’s watched you sleep enough to have the sight committed to memory, but he admires it all the same. he smiles, resting his face in the soft curve of his arm, feeling the soft rise and fall of your chest as his thumb brushes over your hand gently.

his eyes shift to the side at the flash of your phone, and he’s careful not to disturb you as he grabs it from your nightstand. the agency’s office line calling, no doubt wondering where you were; his eyes harden, something icky and irrational settling in his chest that something else nearly interrupted you, again. he powers it off, tosses it somewhere in the sheets with a sigh before he lets his own eyes fall shut again. they could leave a voicemail. 

he hopes you’ll accept his apology in kisses when you wake up.

BSD MASTERLIST

[moonstruckme]

hi ml, wondering if you’d be able to do poly!marauders x hyperactive!reader who rlly gets the zoomies sometimes (me honestly) and out of nowhere she’s just super energetic and is like “hey sorry i’m gonna run to the store quickly for some stuff” and comes back and she’s got things to bake/cook and they’re all in bewilderment like ??? what is happeneing rn

Thanks for requesting lovely!

poly!maraders x hyperactive!reader ♡ 603 words

“I’m bored,” you say abruptly, knee bouncing so fast it’s shaking the coffee table. 

Sirius raises his eyebrows at the unfinished card game between you, him, and James. “Well, that’s a bit insulting.” 

You shake your head rapidly. “Not you, sorry. I just…” You gnaw at your lip, and Sirius and James exchange a bemused look. Remus had cut you off from the coffee pot hours ago, but you look like you’re about to start vibrating. “I don’t know, I need something else to do.” 

James looks at you consideringly. “Do you wanna start a movie?”

You shake your head again, and you’ve got a look on your face like you’re trying to see inside your own brain. 

“We could put on some music,” Sirius suggests.

“No.” You frown. “I feel like I need to climb a tree, or learn how to do a back handspring, or something.” You look at him. “You know?”

Sirius can’t say he does.

“Maybe you just need to take a lap around the block,” Remus says idly, flipping the page in his novel. 

You jump to your feet. “I’ve got it,” you announce, and head for the door. 

“Wait,” James says quickly, “wait, sweetheart, Remus was just joking.” 

Remus looks up from his book, vaguely alarmed. “Yeah, dove, don’t actually run around the block. It’s dark out.” 

“I won’t.” You wave them off, grabbing your bag and rushing out the door. You stop a few steps from the threshold, look down at your feet, and come back, slipping on a pair of shoes. “Be back soon!” you call, and before anyone can protest further, you’ve shut the door behind you. 

Sirius looks between his boyfriends. “What the fuck was that about?”

Remus shrugs, going back to his book. “Dunno. If she’s not back in twenty minutes, would one of you let me know? We should probably call the police.” 

Thankfully for them (and the police), you are back within twenty minutes. You and three bags of groceries. 

“Angel.” James stands as you speed into the kitchen, heaving the bags onto the counter. “What’s going on with you? What are you doing?”

“I’m baking cookies.” 

“It’s nearly midnight,” Remus says, at the same time as Sirius asks, “What kind of cookies?”

James has perked up at the mention of desserts, too. “Not sure,” you answer with a shrug. “I couldn’t decide between chocolate chip, earl grey, and these peppermint-and-chocolate ones I saw online, so I got ingredients for each and I’m gonna try them all.” 

“Dove,” Remus tries again, as James prances happily into the kitchen to help you set up, “it’s nearly midnight. How late are you planning to stay up to finish all that?”

“Also not sure.” You take out three big mixing bowls and begin measuring out flour for each of them. “The dough for the earl grey cookies needs to be refrigerated for a few hours, so I figure I can always freeze the rest if I don’t want to keep going after that.” 

Sirius raises his eyebrows, watching as you and James flit about the kitchen like busy hummingbirds. “Should we try and stop them?” he asks Remus quietly. 

“No.” Remus is frowning, and Sirius can tell that, behind a layer of weariness, his amber eyes are calculating. “She won’t be able to keep this level of energy up for long. She’ll conk out soon.” 

Sirius grins, leaning up to press a kiss to the taller boy’s cheek. “Alright, sunshine,” he says, joining you and James in the kitchen. He hops up onto the counter. “Tell me what I can do to help.” 

[pedge-page]

Will we get any more Sub Himbo!Joel? I miss him and his neediness…. :(

 Over the Edge

Sub!Himbo!Joel x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes Joel gets so caught up in making you feel good, he forget how to make himself feel good too.

Warnings: Sub!Himbo!Joel, Softish Dom reader, face fucking , oral F! Receiving, tongue fucking, edging, orgasm denial, naked Joel on his knees, squirting, hands free ejaculation, male masturbation, Mommy kink

18+ ONLY

- - - - 

Joel’s got the fluffiest hair.

 It’s so rich and lusciously thick, curls bouncing back into place each time you run your hand through their soft strands. Frames his face so perfectly.

He looks so good on his knees too. 

“You gettin’ your daily nutrients from Mommy’s pussy, huh baby?” You ask with a grin.

Joels mouth is latched between your spread legs, his pretty eyes peering up at you from below as you grind your pussy into his tongue. He hums in response. 

Naked and kneeling on the floor, his erect cock sticking straight against his belly with little jolts, Joel Miller falls into a state of hypnosis. He strokes along your smooth thighs and calves, the breath of his nose fanning against your folds. When he digs lower, the tip of his snout nudges your beady clit. His beard scratches along your skin, but it burns . Based on the way you sigh and roll your hips against his face harder, he can tell you like that. Mommy likes that, and he’s eager to do it more.

“Touch your cock, big boy.”

He doesn’t wait. His right beefy hand immediately fisting over his sensitive length. He grumbles into your mound, almost pulling away to gasp. Your hand quickly grips his hair and pushes him back into your cunt, making sure he keeps slurping like he’s supposed to. 

“You fisting your poor dick? Just like Mommy does it.”

He nods, gulping down the juices that were pooling in your mouth. His body quivers from pleasure, sticky beads of precum that had been oozing from his tip now generously coating him as he pumps himself.

His taste buds and dick feel so good right now, he feels himself rising off his feet. Euphoria building so quickly that his whole being is shaking and wiggling. His hand wraps around your ass to keep his jaw pressed to your sweet pussy.

“Good boy,” you whisper. You don’t even need to remind him. He’s learned now from punishment what happens when he takes his lips off, though some part of you suspected he liked the punishments.

You can tell he’s working himself near orgasm: nostrils flaring with quick breaths, tongue that is buried inside your walls going slack. Even his eyes faze in and out of focus. His whole arm working his cock like a mad man ready to burst his load—

“Off,” you command plainly.

He immediately removes his hand from his cock, whimpering into your pussy lips. His poor dick pulses angrily. Beat red and slapping his belly from denial. Joel’s mind is fighting the instinct to keep going, to deny himself his orgasm the way you demand it.

“That’s my good boy. Mommy’s good big boy,” you coo, rubbing his cottony head with affection. He breathes in your scent and closes his eyes in agreement. Stomach clenching and unclenching, he wills his body to calm down from the edge until he’s ready to eat you out at full speed again.

Again you make him touch himself, and he knows to pull away from his angry length when he’s close. The noises from his throat get more needy each time. They vibrate onto your numb as he rolls his tongue and sucks on it like a tootsie pop. Watching him shift on his knees uncomfortably, he tries to rub the ache in his balls with his heels if possible. But he knows nothing is going to feel as good as cumming when you let him. 

He’s waiting for it. Waiting for your praise and command to release, knowing he’s been such a good boy this whole time. Your approval is the single greatest pleasure of his life now, the thing that he looks forward to each day when you play with him like this.

Finally, a small alarm goes off in the kitchen.

You smirk. “Hear that baby? You did it!” 

Joel humps the air excitedly. It’s been a hour of edging and he hasn’t cum yet. His cock and balls hurt like hell, swollen and throbbing aggressively, but fuck he actually made it. In the past, he used to immediately blow his load the second he put his face between your legs and just sniffed your arousal. Its been a long time since then, and neither he nor you couldn’t be prouder.

“Tongue out.” You stick yours out for him to see.

He follows suit, tilting his head back so you can see its pink muscles flex. There’s a slight grin on his cheeks, knowing you’re going to take over. And all he has to do is sit back let you use him until you’re satisfied.

You lean back a little further, gripping the back of his head with your fists. The tug on his hair pains his skull, but it’s nothing compared to the way his tongue slips inside your entrance. You throw your head back and moan, beginning to fuck his tongue with fast ruts of your hips. 

It’s long and gummy, curls up in just the right places. He sits back on his haunches as you fuck yourself on it. His lips are stained with your succulent juices, and he feels trickles of it sliding down from the tip that’s plunged deep inside your walls down to the back of his throat, struggling to swallow. He really wants to eat your cunt all the time. It’s the best time of day, whether you ride his face, or shove him against your pussy and fuck him like this. 

“FUck—Joel—Such a good fuck toy—getting Mommy’s sweet nectar. Gonna make you big and strong. FUuuuccckkkkk—shit— Letting Mommy fuck your tongue. Nothing but a dumb little whore for Mommy’s pussy, huh sweetie?”

A strained grunt huffs from his esophagus and you laugh. You push your entire snatch against his face, suffocating him and rolling your hips as deep as they can go. You don’t care that he can’t breathe. Nosed stuffed against your pelvis with your thighs atop his shoulders. His tongue is such a good fuck, almost as good as a normal sized cock. The further it goes into you, the wider it gets, stretching your hole. You bite your lips as you feel the wire in your belly begin to tighten. 

You don’t care that Joel is tapping your thighs, begging for air. Fuck his needs. Not when he looks so good, red cheeks puffed against your legs, eyes bulging with love and fear. You fuck him harder, leaving no room to pull out of you.

“Nobody knows you get all your vitamins and minerals straight from your Mommy’s pussy. You drink every last drop, yeah? Get you all drunk before we go to the bar tonight. I bet not even Tommy knows you eat pussy on your knees like this. My little pussy-eating slut.”

He needs you to cum. Needs it like air and water, food and shelter. Life is better when you're cumming down his throat, or on his cock, fingers, any bit of him that makes you feel good, makes him feel heavenly. He'd let you put him in a collar and walk around town naked on his hands and knees if it means you'd smile down upon him and shower him with your praise.

Finding the right angle, his nose perfectly nudges your clit perfectly. You yelp and begin to cum, moaning loudly so he knows what a good fucking boy he is. So good in fact, that you squirt into his mouth without warning, and his dick almost explodes from excitement on its own had he not gripped his fist to stop it. 

Joel knows to swallow your juices. Flooding his mouth with squirt after squirt that he can barely gulp quick enough, yet he always manages to in the end. Never wasting a delicious drop. Joel lives for your squirts, knowing it doesn’t happen often. You’re on your tiptoes, practically hunched over his head for support as you hold on to that beautiful high that only Joel Miller knows how to bring you. 

Once the last roll of your orgasm subsides, you pull away just as Joel cough and gasps for air. He smiles lazily up, swollen lips and bushy beard dripping with your arousal. You push his face back in again, smearing your dripping cunt against his cheek, over his nose again and then to the other side. He just grins, letting you defile him with his favorite fucking pussy in the whole world all over his face. 

You even push him down further, letting your lips part along the bridge of his nose. It’s strong and big, literally the perfect fucking face to ride every feature. Sliding up and down, Joel giggles as your twitching clit humps his forehead, at the same time your slit rolls down to the tip of his nose, poking into your hole briefly.

“Such a pretty face for a pretty boy,” you tease, stroking his cheeks. “You enjoy your meal today?”

“Yes Mommy.” His voice is wrecked, throat probably still clogged up with your release.

“You wanna cum now?”

“Y-Yes Mommy. Please? I’ve been g-good.”

“Get on top of me.” You take his hand so he stands and follows you to the bed. Carefully lying down, he crawls over top you, keeping the same close distance the entire time. His hands positioned on either of your sides as you roll your top up, exposing your naked chest. A pathetic whine escapes his lips, his eyes trailing down to your body.

“Touch yourself.”

Joel brings a shaky hand to his cock and begins jerking himself off. His speed increases, quickly working up his denied state. He’s so close, biting so hard in to his tongue that he almost draws blood. His whole body is on fire, all focus on the thick member that is getting beat between his legs. It bobs painfully, fat shlickshlickshlick sounds filling the room along with his groans.

He rasps desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. Face scrunched up in deep, frustrated concentration, shiny with sweat. He keeps licking his lips to savor your juices, hoping it will get him there. But nothing is working. He’s been on edge the entire time and now when he can finally cum, when you finally tell him how good he’s been, how much hard work he’s done, he cant fucking do it. What if you scold him? What if there’s something wrong with him? What if you think he doesn’t love you?

Finally, he whimpers, letting go of his unsatisfied weeping cock and falling forward onto your breasts. “I cant— it hurts—I cant do it,” he breathes out in defeat. He feels horrible; heart shattering because there’s this block inside him, and he can’t give you his cum, his love, to show you how much he appreciates letting him eat you out. What the fuck is wrong with him???

You feel his shoulders sagging as you rub his head. “Shhhhhh, it’s okay.” You kiss his forehead, cradling his cheeks so he looks up to you. “Sit up f’me,” you say in a soft, calm voice.

Joel sits back on his ass as you straddle his lap. You’re careful to avoid touching his dick, just holding his face as he stares deeply back and forth between your eyes. You kiss his lids with soft pecks, his lashes brushing against your chin. “You’re okay,” you repeat reassuringly. Placing your hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath in and then pushes it out. His heartbeat is erratic but slowly starts to dissipate as you hold him close. All the tense muscles in his arms and back unwind under the careful trace of your palms soothing over his skin. Joel sits back and remains motionless, letting you shower him with soft, loving touches until all but his dick is relaxed.

The moment your knuckles just barely graze the veins against his fat cock, your nails brushing along the tip, thick ropes shoot out from the slit. He gasps just as you seal your lips around his, and Joel keeps cumming, untouched, as white ribbons paint his and your thighs. His brain clears of all worry and thoughts, except the one that tells him how you always know what he needs, and you’ll always give it to him. And he shouldn’t be worried about anything when he’s in your adoring arms, wrapped up in your embrace like his whole world keeping him grounded. His member throbs violently with each pulse of his seed, until finally dribbling down to little blobs. 

“That’s my good boy.” There’s no hint of anger. Just love. Just everything he needs and nothing more.  Nothing less.

 You suck along his lower lip before releasing. Joel breathes out a long sigh, closing his eyes and falling back against the bed in blissful peace. 

You carefully lie down next to him, resting his head on your breasts . Kissing the top of his head, you brush along his arm once more, feeling him drift to sleep.

You don’t expect the dreamy words that slip from his lips, and possibly unaware that he was thinking aloud:

“I love you.”

He’s softly snoring against you before you can even process it.

- - - -

more Sub!Himbo!Joel: Safe, Closer , Statement, Mine is Mine

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

[heeliopheelia]

"don't do this to me, love" (jake x reader)

genre: angst, fluff word count: 0.9k requested by nonnie ♡

a/n: guys i've ran out of my purple dividers 😩 and i know I KNOW i was supposed to update the smau last night STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT

masterlist

When your alarm vibrates quietly underneath your pillow, Jake still pretends to be sleeping as you sit up on the bed with a sigh. And he just knows that you also had an almost sleepless night as the fight the two of you have had the evening before still lingers heavily in the crisp morning air.

He hears you leave the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you, doing your best not to wake up your sleeping boyfriend which only makes the guilt sitting on Jake's heart feel even heavier as he looks back on the harsh words he said to you yesterday. He clenches his eyes tightly, rubbing his face with his hands as he cringes at his own behavior.

Without wasting any more time with letting you go on while being stuck on his irrationality, he gets up as well and makes his way to the kitchen where he knows you'll be.

And he was right, you're standing with a cup of tea, leaned over the counter as your eyes are blankly planted into the wall in front of you. You don't even flinch or startle when you feel Jake's arms wrapping around your middle, putting your tea down as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your skin, pressing small kisses here and there. "I didn't mean to dismiss you like that yesterday, love."

You hate how the feeling of his warm body pressed to yours instantly makes you feel so at ease, so you move away from his embrace to make a statement. With gaze planted to the floor beneath your feet, you avoid his hurt gaze like fire. No matter how much you wanted to cave in, you just couldn't forget about his cold words spat at you some hours before, splitting your heart into pieces in the process.

"I was just tired and I know it's not an ex-"

"I just need some time, Jake," you cut him off, grabbing the ear of your mug again and nervously clenching your fingers around it. "I know you didn't mean it and I'm not mad. I'm just... hurt."

Pressing his lips together, Jake nods his head with a sigh and after pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he leaves the kitchen, not wanting to suffocate you any further. Your words only made him feel worse though, so the moment that he steps in the bathroom, he slouches on the shower wall heavily, letting the hot water hit his back and try to pry his mind away from your exhausted eyes.

And he gives you all the time you needed, trying his best not to bother you even when evening started approaching.

You walk into the bedroom and Jake watches you from the bed in silence up until your fingers clench onto your pillow and you lift it up from the bed into your arms. Before you even get the chance to grab one of the neatly folded blankets laying on the corner of your shared bed, Jake's hand wraps around your wrist gently and stops your movements.

"What are you doing?" He asks, eyes slightly widened as he looks down at you.

You clear your throat and pull your hand out of his weak hold on you. "I'm sleeping on the couch."

A flash of hurt runs through your boyfriend's face as he lifts himself up from the mattress, looking almost like a kicked puppy.

"C'mon, don't do this to me, love," the whine mingles at the back of his throat as he takes the pillow out of your arms and places it back on the bed, right next to his. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I've been an asshole but stop avoiding me, please. Let's talk about it?"

With a resigned sigh nod of your head, you sit on the edge of the bed, turning around just to face him. A frown appears on his forehead as he notices your eye bags, feeling responsible for making you so restless.

Jake reaches his hand out to take yours again, sighing in relief when you let him intertwine your fingers together. "I know I didn't have the right to snap at you like that and I'm really sorry for that. I know you were only worried for me and I acted like an idiot but I was just tired and I took it out on you. You know I never want to hurt you, baby."

You let him pull you by your hand closer to him, only to wrap his arm over your waist and drag you right on top of him. You lay on his chest in silence for a moment, enjoying the so missed feeling of his fingers running through your hair, gently untangling any knot that he's come across of.

"Just let me take care of you sometimes, alright? That's all I ask for," you mutter quietly, hand slipping underneath his shirt and caressing his skin gently as you rest your cheek on his chest. "You keep overworking yourself all the time, so it's normal that I worry about you. I only want the best for you, you know that, right?"

Jake hums, enclosing his arms around you tightly. "I know," he whispers back, leaning down for his lips to lay on your forehead. "And I'm really thankful for that. For you. I'm the luckiest to have you with me. Don't ever let my bullshit words tell you otherwise, okay?"

You nod your head, reaching your free hand up to caress his jawline tenderly. Jake catches your hand in his, pulling it a little higher to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"Let's go to sleep now. I hate to think that I kept you awake for the whole night yesterday. I'll take care of you tomorrow, hm? Will you let me do that for you, baby?"

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag

[sunboki]

— KEEP IT BUSINESS. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss? au (hehe), domestic/soft minho, fluff

WARNINGS. cursing, making-out, inexperienced kissing, annoying coworkers

WORD COUNT. 6.9k words

AUG'S NOTES. so glad to have finally completed this!! it’s been rotting in my drafts for weeks and i just had to write a happy ending for these two grandparents 🫶🏼

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.

or alternatively :

If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.

Four years.

It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.

The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.

.

.

.

Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.

Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.

Then the loneliness set in.

It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.

So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.

And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.

Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.

Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.

At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.

You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.

“Looking forward to it?”

Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.

“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.

The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.

You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.

Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.

“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.

Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.

“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.

Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.

Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.

8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.

Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.

Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.

Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.

Back at it, again.

Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.

Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.

Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.

Except, it seems he had the same idea.

Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.

Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.

“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”

“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”

Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.

Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.

Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.

In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.

“Drinks at my place?”

Your grown loudly in agreement.

Minho : Okay, I’m leaving, follow me in thirty minutes

Glancing up, you watch your counterpart lift his brows your way and call out his departure, sifting through the doorway, cross body bag thumping against jeans.

Hyeongmi was downstairs, which, as awful as it sounded, was great not having to endure her nosiness.

This was how you stayed unbothered. He’d leave, and thirty minutes later you would too in order to (for now) avoid Mrs. Song (and Hyeongmi’s) pestering.

It couldn’t have taken the clock longer to reach 4:30PM. So by the time the beloved minute hand struck 4:29 you practically lurched from your seat, almost tasting sweet freedom before a face showed up right before you slipped through the exit.

Hyeongmi’s face.

What she’s talking about you can’t seem to understand, mind trained on escaping and escaping alone.

“C’mon now, you two are the only two in this building without a date. It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!” Hyeongmi emphasizes, dizzying your head the longer she shakes your shoulders.

“You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right? I’m telling you, it’s a sign—“

“Sorry Hyeongmi, I really have to go-“

Fastening your bag tigher across your body, you make a mad-dash as far away as possible, pretending to ignore the “use protection!” she shouted before the crisp evening breeze nipped your nose.

Use protection my butt, you grovel, ushering the scarf further above your chin as if to secure as much warmth possible.

She doesn’t know anything, not about how you took him under your wing as your apprentice the first year he joined, not about how much Minho loves cats, or how the keychain on that crossbody bag of his is a keychain you bought for him.

Simply placing it, she’s a person lead by the assumptions of others and adopting them as her own.

It irritates you.

Veering to your right, you thank his decision to house nearby, arriving at the foot of his porch after a mere ten-minute walk.

Delivering a few knocks on the townhome’s doorway, you note the paint chipping, colorful exterior worn from the sun’s rays.

Everything from the few cracks in the sidewalk to the relatively invisible stain of coffee on his doorknob lay memorized by frequency—his property second nature to you.

“Never have I hated being single this much,” You whine, slumping onto his couch after hurling your bag atop a hook in the foyer.

And despite the lack of response, you can tell Minho heard you. The faint, breathy chuckle enough evidence of his presence.

Perched on a chair he’d likely dragged from the kitchen, a feline companion occupies his lap, both comfortably relaxing on the patio, wine glass in hand.

Accordingly arranged on the countertop is another glass (you presume as yours), that you pour the vinegar-tinged substance into.

“I mean.” Slightly struggling to haul a neighboring chair to his side and simultaneously avoid splashing wine everywhere, you eventually find an equilibrium.

“It’s not like I asked to be single, I’m just too busy to consider a relationship, y’know?”

Minho absentmindedly hums, urging you to take a much-needed sip of the orchid-colored liquid.

Finally, you sigh out the last of your evening’s thoughts.

“..Hyeongmi caught me on the way out.”

Nor does this occasion need a reply either, the man’s suppressed giggle suitable enough.

“Mm.. I’ve got an idea.”

Carefully allowing the elongated glass to clink atop a translucent table, you cross and uncross your legs, welcoming the rustle of life around you into your eardrums, easing the cluttered space of your brain.

“Shoot.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze flitting to the emerging moon overhead.

“If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.“

Making a surprised sound to yourself, you break into unadulterated laughter, about to call him hilarious before taking into account this is Minho you’re referring to, and the likelihood he’s joking on any matter is unlikely.

Sure it sounds cliché, but it’s Minho, why not?

…And perhaps that decision was made with a few glasses of wine in play.

“I’m in.” You grin, returning his outstretched hand by bumping your glasses before downing the remaining gulp, cheeks aglow, alcohol ridding your breath a distasteful stench.

Tipsy. Minho is charming normally, but especially when he’s tipsy.

He’s got this way of speaking that could get any unsuspecting girl reaching to unzip his pants in a second, sultry, half-lidded eyes drinking the person in front of him, talking like he has sugar lining his lips.

When Minho is tipsy, he’s tempting. You didn’t need four years to teach you that.

That, and the spare pajama set folded in his top drawer reserved solely for you on nights like this—too gone to go home.

Although, as you rise to your feet and head to the bathroom, pulling said silk pajama shirt over your head, Hyeongmi’s words reverberate again.

You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right?

Hm. Minho was always a recluse though. And with your history, obviously he’d have some liking for you.

It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!

Turning to stare at yourself in the mirror, you sulk, head hanging low.

What if you did something tonight? Something risky, something testing the limits this friendship borderlines. You’re both drunk, likely willing.

Then again, does Minho want this too? Did he ever intend to “let loose”?

Anxiety plagues you, hurriedly scurrying your pants over your legs and exiting to find Minho still seated in the same spot, appearing all the more tempting without having to do a thing.

You blame the alcohol.

Stamping forward as if you prepared a speech, you stop just behind his chair, mustering any ounce of liquid courage manageable.

“Minho.”

He grunts.

“You’re really pretty.”

Let loose. This is letting loose when it comes to Minho.

What, you thought you were gonna fuck? Yeah, that’s a funny one.

Winding himself around to see you, his lips wind into a sweet smile, urging you closer with a mere look before he reaches forward and taps your nose, dark eyes roaming your face.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty too.”

And perhaps, caught in a trance from his glittering stare, something did happen those four years you’ve been together after all.

You blame the alcohol.

The impulsive part about this “date at twenty-five” pact you had forgotten to consider was the fact both of you were twenty-four, meaning in less than a year whatever plan Lee Minho had stirred up after plenty glasses of wine would oil it’s gears into motion.

Thankfully Valentines comes and goes, and Summer creeps dangerously close, the longer hours of daylight and lingering sunshine enough to make every work-day feel extra laborious.

First day of summer, Minho texts you, asking if you want to join him on a walk.

Mind you, it’s 10AM in the morning, an hour you couldn’t fathom waking up at on the first day of summer.

You groan and flop back down, shutting off your phone and slamming the pillow over your head in a pitiful attempt at falling back asleep.

Only for your doorbell to ring twenty minutes later.

Over.

And over.

And over.

The urge to screech compels your barely-awake form, legs wobbling out of bed to feebly reach the doorway in a sleep-ridden haze.

Of course, lo and behold, Minho lies responsible, clad in running shoes, a pair of shorts, and a black nike zip-up.

He’s evidently pleased—whether from how disheveled you appear—or that he actually got you out of bed in the first place by the lingering smile tugging at his lips.

You hate to say it, but he’s annoyingly attractive, there’s no denying.

“Caught you at a bad time, hm?” He tips his head down to make eye-contact, peering through wild hair and lidded eyes at your half-alive self.

All you can manage out is a minuscule grunt, about to close the door before Minho jars his hand in, inviting himself inside much to your dismay.

Like instinct, he heads straight to your closet, surveying the chaos his insistent door-bell ringing caused before fetching a sweatshirt to pull over your head and a pair of socks from your drawer.

Though, as you wake up a tad bit more, you hurriedly keep him from putting your socks on for you as he bends down, shying away with an irritated whine.

“If this is what dating you is like I’m calling off the pact,” You mumble, stomping toward the door with Minho pushing you forwards without chance of escape.

He giggles, seeming to contain utmost glee witnessing your temper tantrum.

“Oh trust me sweetheart, the fun never ends.”

He’s hopeless too, apparently.

Lucky for you, your friend’s visits occurred sporadically, meaning the 10AM wake up calls weren’t a daily routine of headaches.

In contrast, summer passed by in a flash, and you were shoved head-first into a packed schedule for a second time as the autumn leaves shriveled into crisp browns and oranges.

Autumn was always welcomed. It meant the chilling cold was approaching, yes, but it also signified apple cider being added to the downstairs café menu and—on those especially chilly mornings—bundling your neck in the scarf Minho bought you last christmas.

As for him, he frequents pointed shoes and straight-legged pants, his fudge-colored hair perfectly complimented by pumpkin scented fragrances and dusky red backdrops.

Brisk mornings call for thinking. And as you walk, you come to the indefinite conclusion apple cider fits Minho. Sweet, but not saccharine. Warm to the touch, reminiscent with a charming aftertaste. A silhouette that comes and goes as it pleases, leaving soon enough for you to crave it back again.

Regarding summer, he was sort of like a beach day. A vacation in the midst of roaring deadlines, the comfortable lull of waves buzzing your mind into a hazy, salty escapade.

Although as December plucks each oak of its splendor, a call on Sunday morning truly marks the season of winter.

“..Y/n?” Minho murmurs, his voice groggy, hoarse. You make a sound of acknowledgment in response.

“I think I’m sick, can you drop off some meds at the door?”

Pressing your phone close to your ear, you debate on your desire to scold him, remind him each time he gets a winter cold he should dress warmer.

Of course, your lips stay shut (just like they always have for the past few years), and you reply with a “Be there soon, hang tight” before ending the call and gathering your belongings.

At the supermarket you check out seaweed soup, multivitamins, and allergy relief—things of which you hope will alleviate some of his symptoms.

Eternally grateful for the spare key you’d been given a while back, you enter the home, calling his name until an exasperated sign of life was heard (more like coughed) from the bedroom.

Inside lay Minho, a distressing array of tissues scattered in all directions, clustered beyond belief. His nose is soured pink from incessant stuffiness, lips cracked and dry. Dark circles sag beneath tired eyes, worn disposition evidence of his condition.

Quick on your feet, you scour the bathroom for a thermometer, the device’s loud beep signifying a blaring fever as you hover by his bedside.

Watching the bowl of instant soup spin aimless circles in the microwave, Minho’s call knocks you out of your daydream, worriedly padding to where he lays.

“Come here.”

You oblige, arriving to his right, about to ask the matter until his fingers link with your own, bringing the back of your hand to his jaw, resting there.

If you had been warm before, an entirely new definition to sweating has been reached at this point.

“You’re warm,” He whispers, rubbing his face against your hand like a needy cat wanting attention.

How unfair a human can be this round.

Practically bounding from the inside, you use the excuse of the microwave beeping to race off, hurriedly disappearing into the kitchen while remaining ignorant to the way Minho’s gaze follows you.

Returning with a soup platter meticulously carried between your tight grip, you sigh with relief upon sitting the steaming concoction down. Oh so slowly, a frown grows at your face upon noticing the expectant stare boring into your head.

“Yes?”

He juts out his bottom lip like a kicked puppy from your nonplussed tone, nudging the covers over himself till only those calculating eyes peek out.

“I’m not feeding you.”

Minho all but whimpers, and you suppress the urge to smother him with a pillow right then and there, hating how easily he sends goosebumps prickling the back of your neck, heat scalding your ears.

“No.”

“Y/n.”

You quite literally feel like the cruelest person in existence because why is he looking at you with that face, saying your name like that.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you begrudgingly collect a spoonful, bringing the utensil to his already pursed lips.

Spoonful by spoonful do you feed him as if he’s a dependent toddler, his satisfied hums earning a stern glare in return.

Only when he finishes eating do you get up, reprimanding him on taking his meds without much bite to your words.

“And don’t take too many of these, alright? If it gets really bad, call me again. Otherwise, try getting sleep.”

“Yes ma’am.”

And of course he has to be endearing.

Such a pain.

You’ll stop by tomorrow.

If Minho was the apple cider in autumn and beach days in the summer, he’s the prettiest of snowflakes in the midst of winter.

Memorable, fleeting. Melting in your touch.

The annual Christmas party the company hosts steadily approaches, your coworkers ringing your phone insistently with noticeable anticipation.

Though just like autumns chill, December soars past idly, reigning in a new year and a new digit added to twenty when asked your age.

Your winter premise only heightened the anxiety compiling in your gut, a feeling you hadn’t recognized until the following day—the first day back to work in January—dawned.

January 1st’s introduction means you’re both officially twenty-five, and you’re not sure if it’s the fact Minho hasn’t texted you yet or the valentines pact in itself setting you on edge.

What would it be like to date Minho? Would he kiss you, the same way male leads in K-dramas did? Hold you as you sleep, wish you goodbye with a kiss to your cheek?

The mere thought sends rivets of electricity blazing your fingertips, feeling like an utter fool for imagining such scenarios.

Now you’ve haunted yourself for worse, leaving only dread in tow.

Arriving at the office the first day back, you attempt at making yourself look as collected as possible, definitely not bothered.

Worse, the root of your troubles walks in unbothered as you’ve been trying to do for the past few hours, the room working in deplorable silence before a note wedges itself behind your keyboard, Minho slipping past in its wake.

It takes all your will-power to ignore the crumpled piece of paper as best as possible, your index itching to unravel whatever lay inside.

Noon is when you finally give in, lungs failing to produce air upon reading the contents, practically choking on nothing.

Come over to my place after work.

What is this, his way of declaring your pact officially in action? What if he calls it off, saying it was only a joke glasses of wine granted?

As Hyeongmi said before, everyone has the hots for him, so why don’t you? Why does the thought of him calling it off put you on edge?

Or maybe you do. Maybe you do have feelings for—

Woah. Stop there.

Luckily, your internal chess match went unnoticed, leaving only the buzzing of your ears and the ticking of the clock loud.

A certain fondness sat between either of you from the start, since becoming acquainted you’ve instantly clicked—sly remarks and playful teasing merely one more thing keeping you alive (minus coffee).

So when something crossing the border between friends and lovers arose, a sort of nervousness bubbled in your gut.

Minho was a shoulder to cry on for you, but was it like that?

You could rely and depend on each other whenever, but could those feelings ever turn into love?

Of course they could, and they likely would’ve if it weren’t for either of you being so work-oriented—making you even more worried.

Although, you can’t simply flee. You’re an adult.

..And Minho will find you in a heartbeat if you decide to run.

Never had you been hesitant to leave office until now, and trodding one foot in front of the other causes your legs to turn into jelly.

Minho probably isn’t this nervous. He’s probably in a great mood, treating the occasion like it’s just another casual day.

Never before was it difficult, whether difficult is referred to as placing a key in a doorway or walking inside, everything seems so.. eminent.

Like when you walk through this door, an entirely new side of Minho will show face. A romantic side of Minho.

Yet, there’s no rose petals lining the hallway, nor scented candles scattered here and there.

What is there to expect with dating in your twenties anyway?

Plus, Minho’s well, Minho. If he wanted to, he likely would’ve flat-out asked already.

Something you’re surprised about, however, is the triangular string decor swooping from the ceiling, the party hats by the sink, a single birthday candle placed in the center of a cupcake. Simple, perfect.

Although, the perfect factor came with the man responsible, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bracing himself on the countertop with a particular glow in his irises—whether it be from the lit candle you aren’t sure—that sets your stomach into a garden of butterflies.

A surprise party. He threw you a surprise birthday party.

And it’s then as enter the kitchen, brain barely recognizing each advance forward, you realize it.

You really, really want to date him.

And you really, really don’t want to screw this up.

Staring at each other, you rise up on your toes to place a careful, feather-light peck on the smooth, flushed skin of his cheek.

Slowly, he turns his head, a conniving smirk revealing the outline of his teeth whilst investigating your breathlessness.

“Someone’s daring,” He mumured, cocking a brow amusedly.

You poke his side, groaning that he shouldn’t look too far into it before he nudges you, your frown returned with a subtle nod—directed at the forgotten cupcake.

“Well you already gave me a kiss, so wish for something else.”

“Choke,” You respond, but there’s still no bite to it. Some things never change.

Minho gently holds your hair back for you, allowing you to lean over and blow out the candle. No bite.

Your wish?

Let Minho and I go well. I like us.

Every bit of it was the truth.

Hopefully this wish of yours can come true.

Maybe.

Seated on the living room floor do you finally relax, your shoulders slumping down after hours of monstrous tension. Seems you’d forgotten he was your best friend before anything else.

“So.. how does this work?”

‘Work’ as in, the dating deadline’s here, what’s next?

He purses his lips—a habit of his—blinking rapidly.

“Like friends? Except we get the kissing and sex pass in between, right?”

You smack his shoulder. He smiles, childishly extending his pinky out to you.

Linking yours, you press the pad of your thumb against his. An unspoken gesture.

“Together?”

Through thick and thin. Your way, as it always was, always had been.

He has stars in his tawny-globes for eyes.

“Together.”

Minho’s hands are warm in the midst of frigid temperatures.

Spring isn’t too far off, but the bitter winds remain ceaseless and unrelenting, whipping your hair every which way, scattering a plethora of goosebumps along your skin.

Never had you held hands like this with someone before, nonetheless Minho, and yet, a connection lies inside the initial awkwardness. The silent assurance, whether it’s his thumb smoothing your palm or occasional squeezes, telling you he understands, that you’re not alone, or how he patiently waited by the door the entire time you were getting ready, claiming he didn’t want to dirty your place with his shoes.

It’s sort of revitalizing. Curious and inquisitive in his lingering touches, additional notes—reminders on your coffee cup, questions asking whether you want to stay over afterward, if he can give you a kiss on the cheek.

One in particular you recall:

I miss you. Scribbled in bleeding ink.

Your introduction as lovers had been a field day of trials and questions for the two of you, though when it came down to the public’s knowledge, you began debating on the “curiosity killed the cat” theory.

This morning, catching a glimpse of the company’s logo in the distance, you assign yourself as the cat. Too interested, now suffering the consequences.

Granted, you wouldn’t take back moving to relationship status, but it was a lot easier to brush off comments if you were Minho.

Hyeongmi being the main one responsible for said comments.

Morning passed by seamlessly, prioritizing work above all else, too busy typing away to for any interruptions.

..Until a midday conference.

Seated right next to each other, his fingers slowly thread with yours beneath the table, sending the man a perplexed (and slightly nervous) expression in response.

More so, the comforting casualness caused you to barely recognize Mrs. Song reaching below to fetch her fallen pen, a gasp of surprise stilling the conversation at her realization.

“Are you- Are you two holding—?”

Panicked, you smack his hand away, stomach plummeting.

Not expecting him to stubbornly grab your hand again, a miniature frown draws across his perfectly rose lips.

Pouting.

Lee Minho is pouting because you’re not letting him hold your hand.

Unbelievable.

If the situation could escalate further, the she-devil herself (Hyeongmi) throws her head down to spare a glimpse, allowing you to fully accept your demise. A demise that, one way or another, needed to happen.

This was simply an early death.

“You’re kidding! No way you guys are a thing?” The eccentric girl mouths the last words, eyebrows drawn to her hairline.

And just like that, your relationship with Minho ventured out of your pocket and into a brand new wilderness.

“So…what’s it like living everybody’s dream?”

Headed to the bathroom, Hyeongmi stops you, leaned over the mirror, carefully inspecting her plum-colored lipstick.

“What?” You pique, confusedly glancing between her and the empty stall you’re trying to nonchalantly slip into.

“I mean, the entire company’s talking about it. Tell me, are you guys actually official? Or is this all just for the attention? No offense, but-“

“I...”

Want to punch you in the face.

You keep it to yourself.

“I’m gonna go.”

Synonymously, both your bladder and your appetite completely disappeared.

Although, she doesn’t leave you alone.

You’re frantically searching for excuse after excuse, speed-walking and taking the stairs any chance available.

Unfortunately for you, she’s everywhere. At some point you’re certain a tracking device is hidden somewhere on your clothes.

Almost there. From silently pleading help with your eyes to legitimately hiding in your workplace, today couldn’t have been more of a joke.

Or so you thought.

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Hyeongmi?”

“With Minho,” She nervously fiddles with her earrings. “You don’t have to tell me but.. how’s the bedroom?”

Apparently, it can go lower.

Before you can respond to her shamelessness, a grip fastens on your shoulders, cologne distinct enough you can tell exactly who it is.

Your beach day.

“Hyeongmi, you do realize that’s rude, yeah? Let’s not cross boundaries we shouldn’t cross, got it?”

All the while Minho smiles, this cloying, “I dare you” sort of attitude no one can argue with.

Averting her attention, she speedily raises up, humorlessly laughing off the tension while excusing herself from the room.

“You okay?” He whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, pressing a chaste kiss there.

Yeah, there’s no getting used to this.

“Yep,” You say, though there isn’t much sincerity it.

He knows.

“Wait for me here, let’s walk home together.”

Ah. You want to kiss him.

“Minho.”

He turns on his heel.

Kiss me.

You’re holding his collar now, the option on the tip of your tongue, his lips a hairbreadth from yours.

Close, closer.

No. Not yet.

Either way, what do you know about kissing? What if you screw up?

Not yet.

“..Okay.”

Your gaze flits down to his lips if only for a second. A small, cheeky grin adorning his face as he follows your movements.

It’s hard to focus when he leaves, because all you can think about is the possibilities. What if you had kissed him? Would he have kissed you back?

By the way looked at you, the logical response would be: yes. Most people don’t stare at someone like that without the intent to kiss them, right?

Though somehow, you can’t help but feel unprepared, a complete novice in this battlefield of love.

Where Minho took you afterward was a mystery, merely happy to be away from the confines of your desk—letting his eager hand guide you wherever he pleased.

Shielded beneath the shade of two trees, your destination, Yeouido Park, is a spectacle during the transition period of winter to spring. You’d oftentimes spend hours here, basking in the relief a break grants. A spectacle where you two first truly met.

“Alright, be honest with me.”

He spins you around till you’re face to face, carefully analyzing your facial expression.

“Are you really okay? After Hyeongmi said that, I couldn’t stop thinking..”

Oh. That careful crease in his eyebrows, sympathetic.

He’s breaking your heart.

You realize now why everyone falls in love with him.

“Of me?”

The words come out involuntarily, a step forward in the newness, paving light through the darkened abyss.

“Yeah..” He says, a little winded while doing so.

Minho cares, he always had, yet, it’s your first time hearing it aloud.

“Y/n.”

Blinking yourself back into reality, your face grows warm, not intending to deliberately space out right in front of him.

He leans forward, causing you to shrink back into your skin as a kiss is planted right atop your nose, the man wearing a satisfied grin.

“Hey- You can’t- It’s not Valentines yet—“

“And why would I wait until Valentine’s day?”

Another deeper red burns your cheeks, and you scorn the way he gets under your skin—a way that makes every insult dissolve like powder on your tongue.

He notices, but decides not to prod further, lightly bumping your hip with his own as a signal to follow.

“Tomorrow is the day, y’know,” You mumble, kicking rocks with the tip of your shoe.

“Are we gonna turn into those couples?” He asks, pretentiously puckering his lips, eyes squinted shut.

You burst out laughing.

“I would break up with you first, sorry Minho.” Said puckered lips transform into a playful scowl.

“What? No treat for valentines?”

Blinking babydoll eyes up at you, you wrinkle your nose, coming to recognize what “treat” he was implying.

Earlier you would’ve kissed instantly, but an inkling of stubbornness kept you from giving into him this time.

Sneaking behind you, he ducks down, voice low enough for only your ears to hear.

“Didn’t seem you were too against it earlier.”

And with that, he races off, entirely too happy with himself and not likely to live down your reaction. Because you can’t disagree.

Since when were Lee Minho’s lips so kissable?

Knock.

Knock.

Your attention strays from the mirror at the sound, wondering if it was simply a figment of your imagination only for the sound to ensue.

Knock. Knock.

Who would be at your door at this hour in the middle of the week?

There’s a name on your tongue, but you don’t contemplate any longer, tiptoeing to the doorway to peer through the peephole.

And the sight before you makes every ounce of suspicion worthwhile.

Minho, holding a bouquet of roses and things unknown behind his back, is reciting.

He’s staring at his shoes, bouncing back and forth on his heels nervously.

Lee Minho is nervous.

Wanting just to stand there and watch him rehearse, you finally give in after a third knock scares you out of your wits—hesitantly opening the door and trying to placate the most surprised expression possible.

His eyes round as saucers, you literally watch the gears in his head turn in real time, extending the flowers out to you.

“Happy valentines. These are uh, for you.”

And his ears are red.

You’re going to implode from how cute this is.

Attempting to stave down the alarming amount of happiness you’re experiencing, you hold the flowers in one hand, awaiting whatever lie behind his back.

Although, as the outline of a box of chocolates appears, so does… a shampoo bottle.

What.

Bathing in a long silence, you can’t help but wonder you’re genuinely hallucinating. Glancing from his face to the literal shampoo in hand, he mirrors you, confused for a reason you’re trying to figure out as well.

“Is that… a shampoo bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you were running low the last time I came here.”

…

You’ve never received a valentine before, but this automatically took the cake.

Is it possible to fall in love after you’re given a shampoo bottle as a gift on valentines? Apparently so.

Nonetheless, work flashed past, barely able to register a thing between the many congratulations you received and the absence of Hyeongmi (assumed to be due to the brown-haired charmer beside you).

For now, you savor the freedom of the day, finally able to escape the pains of before and wallow in a new kind of excitement. Love.

Love delivered by Minho himself in the form of mini scraps he’s folded into hearts, slipping heart after heart onto your desk at any opportunity to the point you bump his leg beneath the table in warning.

He cheekily smirks in return, stupidly innocent face scheming with malice.

He’s getting an absolute kick out of this, and you hate to admit you enjoy it just as much.

As usual, you wait behind for him to catch up on your daily commute home—an activity you did long before any romantic feelings became involved.

That’s it. Minho’s pinpoint of romance.

Shampoo bottle, walks home, extra coffee, notes.

Minho doesn’t openly express his love, not unless he feels either adventurous or obligated. Instead, he studies. Your habits, the things you enjoy, your actions, preferences. That particular coffee order you liked, how you had ran out of shampoo.

Oh how you love him.

Though, rounding the sidewalk to your place, Minho grabs ahold of your wrist. In response, as soon as you turn your head, you’re mere centimeters from his face, simply standing there, proximity willing either of you not to move.

Initial words dying out, he slightly edges to the side, cocked in a way that has your mind racing.

Nose, cheek, but never lips.

No.

Your hands act before any other part of you, blocking his lips from yours.

“We-“

The look he’s giving you, shock.

You feel a hundred degrees hotter.

“We need to go inside,” You excuse yourself fast, the man tailing behind, grip still loosely attached to your wrist.

Quickly shutting the door behind you, it’s an immediate embarrassment flooding your frame that allows you to speak, words bursting outward in an uncontrollable cacophony.

“Minho I’m so sorry I have no idea what I was doing, I shouldn’t have done that, it was a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything-“

“Hey, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

His tone serves as the much needed breeze fanning your face, cooling you down enough to articulate sentences properly.

“I’m sorry, we’ve just never kissed on the lips and I feel like I’m gonna be horrible and kill the mood. This is stupid, I know, just.. bear with me please?”

His eyebrows furrow, forming together the equation piece by piece.

“You’ve.. You’ve never had your first kis—?”

You hush him furiously, slumping onto the couch dejectedly.

Yet, Minho doesn’t laugh nor pick fun regardless of how hilariously idiotic the occasion is. He’s quiet, concerned almost.

You add that to your long list of things you love about him.

Inhaling gradually, your focus flits to the window, collecting yourself, easing the frantic rush-hour traffic rampaging in your skull.

If you were one of those paper hearts he made, he’s pulling apart each careful fold in this very moment. Unraveling the layers till your bare self is exposed in all its anxiousness.

“I hate it. It feels like a part of that teenage youth everyone talks about is something I’ll never get to experience. I was too busy caring about school, and now I feel like I’ve missed out.”

Soaking in a quietness, you jump when he places a hand over yours, softly tracing the skin of your knuckles, glossy as he watches, carving each perfect aspect of you into memory.

“Well you may not be seventeen, but you’re never too old to learn to kiss.”

One hand cupping your jaw to garner your attention, you’re met with a glass-like visage.

Gentle.

“And I can teach you how.”

It’s always been business, you’ve always been business. Which is why, now confronting what feels to be the highest peak in your love life, you’re left a completely blank canvas. No rules, no instructions.

It’s terrifying.

“Min- Minho, I really haven’t done this before.”

You hastily pique, scooting backward in the cushions.

Curse the shakiness of your voice.

“If you don’t want to do this, tell me. We won’t.”

You quickly shake your head.

No, you want this, you’ve wanted this too badly to back out now.

“Then let’s take it slow, okay?”

It’s horrifically awkward at first, a tiny peck, then a bit longer till your arms creep over his shoulders, his fingers once holding your jaw steady now resting on your neck.

Best word to describe it? Messy.

“Breathe through your nose.”

“Minho— I’m suffocating here—“

You sputter back, quite literally heaving for breath.

Yes, it was otherworldly kissing him, and he was an insanely good kisser, but did this really require your lungs to practically burst?

“Are you teaching me how to give a blowjob or kiss?”

His smile transforms mischievously, a sneering laugh slipping past. You already know he’ll make a sly comment.

Minho winks. “We’ll get to that later.”

“I lost my urge to date you. Bye.”

“Noooo Y/n~” He whines profusely, warm hold on your waist beckoning another kiss filled with hushed giggles and incessant jeers from either party—ensuing a halfway unbuttoned shirt and quite possibly the most greedy ten minutes known to man.

Out of breath, he pulls back from your stomach, the ticklish feather-light kisses planted there earning a stifled giggle from you while he blinks upward, seeming to be focused on something.

“Minho?” You question, ignorant to how unbelievably obsessed with you he is, more than ever in this moment.

From your damp, sweaty skin to the few hairs stuck to your forehead. Your swollen lips, the way you laugh, your stomach dipping with the action. He doubts he’ll ever get tired of this.

Reaching forward as if caught in a trance, he tenderly tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, voice barely audible upon pressing his forehead against yours.

And in the seclusion of your living room, tangled up together on the sofa, it’s just the two of you existing in this world.

“I hope you know I really meant it when I said I thought you were pretty too.”

Ah. He remembers. All that time ago.

Of course he does.

Kissing you for a time you can’t remember, you begin to wonder if that birthday wish of yours had came true after all.

Your feelings for Minho had always existed somewhere inside of you. Your head, your heart. A tiny inkling into something more, a could be. Two individuals wishing, waiting to make a move.

It seems the Valentines Pact sealed the deal.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @gimmeurtmi @jisuperboard @porang-poranglinos @palindrome969 @stayceebs97 @inniescandy-01 @idklin0

[glitterquadricorn]

Look What You Made Me Do - MV1

+summary: The couple was once thought to be the modern-day Romeo and Juliet (minus the unaliving part). Where you saw her, Max was not too far behind and vice versa. And despite his father's insistence to stay from her, he simply couldn't. He was enthralled by her and her persistence on the track. Together, they rose through the ranks and found themselves to be teammates in Formula one. But their story turns sour when Max betrays her in the worst way possible. +pairing: Max Verstappen x F1!driver +warnings: cheating, mentions the p*quets, curse words, hate comments, poorly edited. If i missed something, let me know.

face claim: Florence Pugh

I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.

Her phone constantly vibrated against the glass coffee table of Max and Her's home. People were mentioning her in a tweet made from one of those wag accounts saying that Max was spotted with another woman that wasn't her and that he could be cheating. 'Max wouldn't cheat on me, right?' she thought to herself. Although, she remembered he had been acting rather weird lately. But him acting weird could mean anything.

The sound of the front door opening and closing and keys hitting the ceramic bowl alerted her that Max was home. Her eyes went straight to the bright orange bag in his hand. The same bright orange bag from the picture in the tweet.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Schatz?" Max hugged her, kissing the top of her head. He smelled like her.

"Thinking about what to make for dinner. Anything in particular?"

"I was thinking we could get takeout."

"Sounds good." She watched as Max turned towards their bedroom and tucked neatly into the collar of his shirt, which was a redbull shirt no shock there, was a semi dark hickey. A hickey she knew she didn't put there. Maybe that one tweet was right.

Dinner that night was a silent affair. The question of rather or not he was actually cheating weighed heavily on her mind. One half of her was being completely ignorant and believing Max would never do such a thing. The other half, the rational half, are putting the pieces together and ringing the alarm bells and are practically shouting from the rooftops that he is most definitely cheating. It was getting to be too much for her.

"Are you cheating on me?"

Max began choking on the water in his mouth. "What? Are you crazy? Where are you even getting this from?"

"It's just- I kept getting tagged in that one tweet-"

"And you believe it? You know those kinds of accounts make stuff up."

"Never said I did, Max," she said. "But explain the orange shopping bag, or how you got that hickey on your neck, or how you smell like none of the perfumes I have."

"I don't have to deal with this." Max stood up from the table and y/n followed after him.

"So, they're true?"

"Y/n, I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Well, that's just too damn bad. We're talking about this now because If we don't it won't get talked about at all."

Max faced her, his body shaking with anger. "Fine! Yes, I did cheat on you. Is that what you wanted to hear? How you weren't good enough and will never be good enough for me? How you'll never be good enough for anyone? How sometimes I can't fucking stand you to be around you? You. are. insufferable."

Her eyes started to fill with tears. In all the years she's known Max, he's never not once gotten this mad nor has he ever been this hateful. As if he realized what he's said, he began to apologize profusely.

"I'm so, so sorry, Schatz." Max tried to come closer to comfort her, but she stepped away.

"Thanks for letting me know how you really feel about me, Max. I'll uh get out of your hair."

"Y/n, please-"

"No amount of apologizing will ever make me forget what you said. You were the love of my life, the man that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with and have kids with."

"But we can still have that!"

"It's rather funny you're trying to save a relationship you destroyed," she chuckled loudly at Max's audacity. "Tell me, how long have you been cheating? And be honest, I deserve that much."

With his head hung low in shame, he mumbled, "Nearly a year."

"Unbelievable."

Before heading off to their bedroom to pack some clothes, she looked at the man she once loved. "You know, I've dealt with a lot in my life. I've traveled the world seeing it in a whole new light while doing what I loved, been in a crash or two that was painful, seen and experienced things I didn't think I'd be able to experience, but this... this hurts the most."

Once she left the house, she got in her car and tapped on her lawyer's number, texting him.

I don't care how you do it, but just get me out my redbull contract. DON'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS.

yourinstagram(left) and maxverstappen1(right) . 2hrs ago

yourinstagram

liked by taylorswift, lilymhe, pierregasly and 932,312 others.

yourinstagram: Mama Tay once said don't get sad, get even 💅🏻💋#newsponsor #newthingsarecoming

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taylorswift I taught you well young grasshopper. liked by yourinstagram

lilymhe where are you going dressed like that? cause damn. ⤷ yourinstagram sponsorship meeting with a new sponsor.

user1 you want to explain that second picture?

user2 looking respectfully.

user3 new things coming? what's that supposed to mean? ⤷ user4 she did say she got a new sponsor and I assume it's with Chanel. ⤷ user5 I can't help but think the whole new things coming means something else.

pierregasly 👀👀 ⤷ yourinstagram just taking lessons from you.

francisca.cgomes are you single? ⤷ yourinstagram why yes, I am. you asking me out on a date? ⤷ francisca.cgomes of course! ⤷ pierregasly I'm right here you know. ⤷ yourinstagram I'll make sure to have her home before midnight 😉

user6 not y/n flirting with pierre's girlfriend 🤣

For half an hour, she sat on the couch listening to Lando, Logan, Charles and Pierre answer questions about their summer break, their hopes for the second half of the season and what they want for their teams/cars. Not one question came her way, and she was happy about that. She hated doing media with a passion. She could understand they had bills to pay, families to support, but if she could get away with not doing any kind of media without being fined for it, she'd happily do it.

Just when she thought she'd have an easy day, a reporter she was familiar with, one she has had problems with since her debut in 2021, raised her hand.

"Mackenzie Smith, Espn. I have a question for you, y/n," she smiled. "Over the summer break there was a rumor going around saying you were leaving redbull at the end of the season. Is that true? Can you maybe give some insight on that?"

It's an innocent question to ask, but knowing Mackenzie, she'll somehow go off topic and ask questions she has no business asking about.

"Accounts like that always make up some of the most ridiculous things for clicks. Unfortunately, people believe it and until me, or my agent confirms it, then it's just that. A rumor."

Mackenzie huffed, clearly not satisfied with that answer. But if there's something about Mackenzie everyone should know, is she has a habit of asking rather intrusive questions she has no business asking. "Your relationship with fellow driver, Max Verstappen, ended over the summer break as well."

"My relationship, or lack thereof, is not yours or anyone's business. End of discussion."

"But he-"

"Yeah, and I said end of discussion. What part of that did you not understand?" she paused. "Now, does anyone have any other questions? No? Okay."

She sat the microphone down beside her and walked out the room. Was she going to get lectured by her PR manager? Yeah. Was she going to be fined for walking out? Probably. But she didn't care and if there was one thing she knew she didn't have to sit there and be questioned about her personal life.

porscheformula1team

liked by yourinstagram, mickschumacher, and 1,253,549 others.

porscheformula1team: Come meet our drivers! Mick, who is returning to the f1 grid after missing out on the 2023 season and Y/n, who finished 2nd in the drivers' standings. The future for Porsche looks bright!

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yourinstagram Thank you for this amazing opportunity, Porsche. ⤷porscheformula1team: No, thank you for taking the risk and signing with us.

mickschumacher It's good to be back in formula one.

user7 while I am excited for Mick to be back, I just think y/n is a backstabber for leaving a team that pretty built her entire career. ⤷user6 did you honestly think y/n would stick around after Max cheated on her?

user8 this is the best thing to wake up to!

user9 redbull was holding y/n back, so it's a good thing she left.

user10 future wdc winners? liked by mickschumacher, yourinstagram,porscheformula1team

user11 best driver's pairing in f1 liked by porscheformula1team

user12 signing these two was the biggest mistake Porsche ever made. ⤷porscheformula1team we beg to differ. ⤷user13 Porsche defending mick and y/n 🥰🤗

Max Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? When did you even sign with porsche?

Y/N Didn't know I was obligated to tell you I was leaving. I signed back in August after I got that Chanel sponsor.

Max YOU SIGNED BACK IN AUGUST?! WTF

Y/N I move fast just like you.

Max What's that supposed to mean?

Y/N It means you're okay with getting into a relationship with Kelly 2 weeks after we broke up.

Max You're being childish, y/n.

Y/N Did you really think I'd stay after you cheated? In 2024, you better get used to being behind me because that WDC is mine.

Don't let this flop. I worked real hard on it.

ALL PICTURES ARE FROM PINTEREST AND CREDIT TO THE OWNERS.

Tagging:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @tinycyberhacker @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry @allenajade-ite @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @wcnorris @bibissparkles @cherry-piee

[politemenacephd]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓇

Dadbod!Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader (+18)

❤️ Miguel gets home late from work. You offer him some relief, so long as you get to be in control, and he very willingly accepts.

❤️ Content: Established relationship, Implied age gap, Breeding kink, Slight degradation kink, Miguel gets choked, Miguel gets ridden, PinV sex, Creampie, Aftercare.

The creaking door woke you from a restless sleep.

You stirred awake slowly. Your eyes could see a thin slither light from behind the bedroom door, which meant someone had turned the landing light on. You rubbed your eyes and grunted. It was pitch black in your room. You couldn’t even see a slither of daylight beneath the rim of the window curtain, and you’d gone to bed at roughly midnight, so it must still be the early hours of the morning.

You shifted in your heavy blankets as the door to your bedroom finally swung open.

The light from the corridor cast a long, heavy shadow across your face, but you weren’t afraid. You knew that shadow well.

‘My—god, you’re back late’ you mumbled sleepily. You heard a weighty chuckle in response as you slapped your alarm clock to check the time. 3am.

‘3am… Fuck, what are they making you do?’ you repeated.

‘Too much’ the gruff voice replied. You awkwardly rolled onto your left side as the shadowed figure began stripping themselves down to nothing. You dropped your head into your folded arms as you watched. The thin bit of light from the corridor allowed you see glimpses of his form; the rolling muscles on his back, the curve of a bicep as he folded his shirt aside. You saw just an inch of his stocky, rounded belly as he gave up on folding and threw his shirt to the floor, before plopping down heavily on the edge of the bed to tug and kick his trousers aside.

‘You’re gonna have to pick those up in the morning’ you said with a soft yawn as he shuffled into bed. He let out another throaty chuckle in return.

‘Ahuh. You—come here—’

You squeaked as he easily dragged your body up and against his side, squeezing you to his chest. His rough, hairy arms were still freezing cold from braving the temperatures outside, and while his thick belly and rounded chest were a little warmer the sudden coldness against your hot skin was a shock.

‘AH—Cold, cold!’ you rasped. You pathetically slapped at his pecs but he refused to give you up. His biceps squeezed you against his thick, plush body as a satisfied laugh vibrated through his chest.

‘Mm—you’re so warm’ he said, practically purring. ‘So warm.’

He clutched you like a doll in spite of your complaints. They were quite pitiful complaints, after all. Deep down you were glad to have him home at last.

‘Mi amor, I missed you’ he whispered into your forehead. You felt your body melt.

‘I missed you too’ you whispered back. You willingly shuffled closer until you were clinging to his side like a koala to a tree, and you both let out the same sigh of relief. His touch always gave you soft little tingles in your belly, and a feeling of absolute contentment.

‘How was your day, beautiful?’ you asked with a yawn.

‘Mi amor, I mean this as kindly as it can be said, but I really don’t need to talk to you right now’ he whispered with an affectionate purr.

‘As kindly—excuse me?’

‘You were sleeping, amor. And you looked very cute doing it. Please don’t stay up because of me, I already feel like an asshole for waking you up.’

Your concern turned soft as you tutted at his gentle prompting. ‘Oh, shh. Dumbass. I’m happy to talk, I can catch up on sleep later. When I said I missed you I meant it, so, unless you were lying when you said you missed me…’

Your light taunting made him chuckle again. It was such a sweet sound in the dark. ‘Mm. You are—naughty. Naughty, naughty, naughty.’

You giggled back as he squeezed your waist, the soft skin filling out the space between his fingers as he yanked you towards him. Your knee went up over his belly as you were pulled halfway across his torso.

‘Very naughty’ you whispered back.

The red glow of his eyes gave away that they’d widened ever so slightly. He’d caught on.

‘You’re horny? Really?’ he chuckled. You bashfully shrugged.

‘How can I not be? Look at you.’ Your right hand gently rubbed from his chest to his belly to his thighs, affectionately caressing as much of that thick, gorgeous bod as you could reach. You let your fingers run through the coarse dark hair on his chest and stomach, and you let your palm sink into the thickness of his belly and thighs. You saw his glowing red eyes roll a little.

‘You’re too nice to me, you know that? It’s weird’ he whispered.

‘Dumbass. You’re too nice to me’ you retorted.

‘Mi amor, we can’t both be insecure’ he chuckled. At this point you were nestling into each other, both sharing the same sleepy giddy fit of giggles, as he lightly teased you by tickling your waist you teased him back by brushing the sensitive spot on his right hip.

‘You have zero right to be insecure’ you insisted. ‘Look at you, beautiful idiot. You’re literally perfect. I still don’t know what you find so interesting about me, but, hey, I guess I’ll take you at your word, huh?’

At that Miguel slowed his onslaught, allowing your bodies to settle in the sheets. You noticed his eyes roaming across your face in the dark. His chest heaved, pushing your body up, allowing him to feel all of your nakedness against his own. His eyes softened.

‘Mm.’ Miguel reached up and grasped your hand, slowly lowering it down beneath the sheets. He let your fingers brush through his chest and navel hair until you abruptly hit his hardened erection, the thick rod straining his boxers to their limit. Your surprised squeak was met with a guttural purr from him.

‘Trust me’ he whispered, ‘I am, more than interested in you.’

A low shudder ran up your spine as you gave his shaft a few experimental strokes. You moaned at the feel, that heavy girth sitting thick and pretty in your hand, and he moaned back as that same hand continued to stimulate him. Your lips met in a sleepy but tender kiss.

‘You wanna?’ you whispered. You could see a flash of his smile as he moaned again, but to your disappointment he remained on his back.

‘Mm—I’m sorry, mi amor, I am… exhausted. I don’t think I can move much right now.’

‘Like, at all?’ you asked. You felt him twitching in your hand.

‘Ah— I mean I want to, believe me I do. But I don’t think I can mount you. I’m sorry, beautiful.’ As he spoke he reached out to cup your face. You leant into his touch, nestling his fingers.

‘That’s fine Mig, don’t apologize. I’ll happily wait for you.’

You heard him let out a disappointed groan of his own. ‘Ay coño—I know I’m gonna regret this’ he sighed. You noted that he was still hard, still twitching beneath the thin fabric.

‘I mean… If you want to mess around, I can do the work’ you asked, coaxing him to see what he thought. His cock almost immediately throbbed in your hand.

‘Mm… are you sure, mi amor? Are you not tired?’

A smile spread across your face. His cock pulsed and twitched just from the sight of your face, your devilish little grin spurring his excitement even on the verge of exhaustion. ‘Sure’ you whispered, ‘but—I get to do what I want with you, if I’m working overtime. Deal?’

His satisfied chuckle filled you with a sense of anticipation. ‘You absolutely have a deal, my god. Go on then beautiful, do your worst.’

You bit your lip as you clambered onto his chest in the dark. He let out a soft ‘oof’ as your weight hit his belly, and despite his apparent sleepiness his hands still instinctively grabbed at your thighs. He loved to squeeze them between his thick fingers, feeling the fat and muscle squished against his palm. He let out a happy little grumble as your bare pussy hit his belly.

‘Mm—that’s it’ he murmured.

You settled yourself with your legs on either side of his body before shifting downward until you felt his erect cock hit you from behind. You reached around to shift his boxers, awkwardly shimmying them aside, and as that fat girth came free you immediately started grinding your ass against the tip.

Miguel’s eyes rolled back into his skull. ‘MM— Así así—’

His hips bucked as he impulsively pleaded for more, but you kept him where he was. You put a hand on his chest and pushed down until he stilled.

‘Good boy’ you whispered. The low groan he released vibrated through his whole body.

‘You’re—so cruel, I love it’ he whined back.

He had no idea how cruel you could be. You shuffled back further until you were sat right on top of his cock. You held him there, forcing him to stew in his own anticipation.

‘Please’ he begged, his fingers tight on your thighs, ‘please, please—mi amor, te lo pido por favor—’

‘Oh you’re really desperate huh?’ You purred that taunt as his hips continued to sleepily buck at you. You could feel the tip of his cock smearing every bit of skin it could find with pre-cum, desperately searching for relief.

‘Be nice, amor, be nice to me’ he pleaded. You bit your lip.

‘I’ll be nice, don’t you worry, just—let me have some fun too—’

Instead of letting him slip inside you positioned his shaft flat and began gently grinding your clit into it instead. You let him feel every inch of your pussy against him, warm and soft and sensitive, and he practically mewled in response.

‘Unh—que rico, ah—’

You started to grind against him, starting slow but quickly getting rougher. The hardness of his cock felt unbearably good on your clit as it began to pulse and swell; the firmness, the soft ridges you could grind up against, the thick veins and velvety tip, it was perfect. You ignored his pleading and rode him like a toy.

‘Fuck, you feel so good’ you whined.

Soon you had utterly soaked his shaft in slick. It was dripping down and clinging to the hair on his navel, creating a hot and slippery mess for you to slide on, and Miguel looked like he’d just about lost his mind. He was muttering gibberish between his low moans, moving between pleading to praising to begging to worshipping between words.

You were both starting to pant. You knew you were going to cum. As you started to ride to completion Miguel started to pump his hips again, sleepily begging to enter you. You felt his shaft slipping against your folds, nudging you to give way, and with a soft grunt you reached forward and grabbed his jaw in your hand.

You pushed him back until he submitted. ‘Ah—I’m in charge’ you panted. ‘Remember?’

Miguel quickly submitted, slowing his hips and moving instead to shower your palm with kisses. You could feel how hot his lips were.

‘Yes, mi amor, you’re in charge. You’re in charge’ he moaned. ‘I am your willing servant, always.’

Now pleased you slowly shifted your hand down to his thick neck, applying just a little pressure as you started to grind once more. You felt his Adam’s apple jolt as he groaned.

‘That’s it, that’s it—good boy’ you repeated breathlessly. Your hips were becoming erratic as you rode out the sweet peak before your climax. ‘Good boy, good fucking boy—’

Right as you hit the point of orgasm you pulled back and let his cock slip inside you. You had to cover your mouth to avoid screaming at the dead of night, as that thick shaft squelched up and split you open in full smooth movement, allowing you to clench him as those sweet spasming ripples of pleasure shuddered through your body.

Miguel, however, did not cover his mouth. He let out a guttural noise like a bellow, one that echoed through the room and undoubtedly into the neighbour’s house too. His fingers dug in so deep he left red marks on your skin. ‘F-Fuck, fuck you are ruthless’ he whined.

You held him there for a while as you settled and caught your breath. You enjoyed the feeling of him soaking, of getting to feel his shaft throbbing and twitching inside you. It was nudging at your cervix, pulsing against your soft cunt. You pet his chest as he struggled not to start pumping his hips.

But you could only hold back for so long.

‘Okay. Okay, I’m gonna fuck you now, you got that?’ you said. Miguel nodded. ‘Please’ he begged. ‘Please, fuck—I’ll do anything.’

‘Good boy’ you whispered, and slowly you started to move your hips. You were careful as you shifted up and down, gently rolling and arching your hips as you let him fill you.

You had to start careful with a cock this big, so you just let it pulse in and out by a few inches or so each time, eagerly rubbing it up against your own g-spot. All too soon the whole thing was soaking. Each time you moved it let out another squishing noise, something that drove Miguel absolutely insane.

‘Ay, coño—so, wet, fuck. I-I’m not gonna last long after what you did before, mi amor’ Miguel breathlessly laughed. You continued to ride without mercy.

‘You last as long as I want you to’ you barked back.

‘Mm—yes, sir’ he groaned, and with a final satisfied sigh he lay back and let you do what you wanted with him.

You continued to bounce up and down on his cock in the dark, filling the 3am silence with your breathy pants and the clapping of your thighs as they hit his skin. It was pure heaven. You could feel every part of him beneath you, from that thick belly to his squishy, muscled chest to his muscular, hairy arms still gripping you tight, and most of all his thick shaft being manually pumped in and out of your pussy.

You could feel his ankles twisting as he fought the urge to finish prematurely. He was biting his lip, willing himself to calm down.

‘Looks like this old man is out of practise’ you teased. He grunted back.

‘I will—call in sick tomorrow, just to—pump this fucking cunt. I don’t care how tired I get.’

You shuddered and tightened at his words, something he smugly noticed. ‘Ah—looks like, you’re the one creaming over this out of practise old man, huh? Mm—you like that, you little slut?’ he teased.

As retribution you started to grind harder, practically throwing your hips back and forth as you fucked him into the sheets. Miguel cried out in shock.

‘F-Fuck— okay, okay, you win, I’m sorry, I love you’ he blurted. You felt your own smug grin fill out your lips, before losing yourself to the pleasure once more. You continued to bounce on his lap until you could barely form a sentence, until your vision was hazy and drool was sliding down your chin. You pushed Miguel to his utmost limit.

‘Please, please let me cum in you’ he begged. His hips were doing little pulses now, moving seemingly in spite of his conscious attempt to stop them. ‘Mi amor, let me cum in you please. Let me fill that belly.’

A full body shudder went up your spine at his soft, filthy words.

‘Fuck—ah, fuck I want it’ you blurted.

‘Yeah, yeah you do’ he whispered back, his cute submissive attitude now gone. ‘You want my cum, amor? You want all of it inside you?’

‘Yes—’

‘Mm, let me breed that pretty little cunt, mi amor’ he panted. ‘Come on, I want you stuffed, I want you dripping, I’ll get you so fucking pregnant—’

You abruptly sped up as you trembled into a second, unexpected orgasm, one that also tipped Miguel to the point of breaking. Despite your firm orders he failed to hold back, and with a heavy, deep groan he unloaded inside you. As your cunt spasmed and clenched you felt him pulsing. You felt each heavy spurt, each thick rope being shot up against your cervix, filling you just like he’d promised.

He pumped his hips until he collapsed into absolute exhaustion, now physically drained in more ways than one. It took you a while to sleepily slide off his shaft and collapse into the sheets beside him.

Miguel rushed to pull you in. ‘Shh, there you go. You okay, mi amor? You need anything? Water, towel?’ he whispered. You sleepily shook your head. ‘No…. No, no, I’m… fine..’

You let out a low moan as you rolled and nestled between his pecs. His arms were tight around your body as he pulled you close and kissed down your forehead to your cheek. ‘Okay’ he whispered. ‘Okay. Ay Dios… You’re an angel, you know that? You are, amazing.’

You let out another sleepy little chuckle. You were barely coherent at this point, but you tried to reply. ‘Mm… so, nice, to me…’

Miguel smiled as he watched you drift off in his arms. ‘You worked hard enough, mi amor. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.’

He pressed one final, affectionate kiss to your forehead before closing his eyes, letting you fall asleep in the warmth of his arms.

[itaipava]

— domestic mornings with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

waking up around the same time. sleepily tugging and poking at each other until one relents and turns over to switch the alarm off. him talking about how you both have so many things to do and should get up soon, but holding you tighter and refusing to let go. doing your own morning routines at your own pace. exchanging playful grins and teasing words when you pass by each other. music playing in the background. random little duets or dance-offs in the living room before going “okay, stop, we don’t have time.” occasionally bickering when he blasts loud his favorite songs, disturbing the peaceful morning. always remembering to give each other ‘have a good day’ kiss and saying ‘i love you’.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

actually waking up early but spending about an hour in bed, being lazy together. very playful and light-hearted mornings. lightly kicking or pushing each other and accusing the other of stealing the covers or taking up all the space. ruffling each other’s hair to mess it up even more. changing cuddling positions every minute. watching tiktok or youtube videos while leaning against his chest. fighting about who showers first so that the other gets extra minutes of time to be lazy on bed; eventually deciding to settle it like adults — by playing rock-paper-scissors.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

waking up to the smell of breakfast that he’s making. making your way into the kitchen and giving him a back hug while he cooks. ending up having a short nap against his back. him intentionally leaning his head backwards to lightly bump your head with the back of his head when he knows you’ve fallen asleep. small talks in the kitchen while listening to jazz. eating breakfast together; him giving you more from his plate when you seem like you’re enjoying the food. more chitchat about your day ahead. the kitchen and the little breakfast nook being your bonding place in the morning; afterwards, doing your own things, the atmosphere soft, peaceful, and filled with blissful quietness.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

him setting the alarm on vibration mode so as not to disturb your sleep. him pressing a soft kiss on your forehead or shoulder before beginnning to move away, and you gently reaching for his hand, still half asleep, before letting him go. sending each other texts even though you’re in the same house/apartment. him coming back into the room with a cup of freshly-brewed coffee for you. reminding each other things throughout the morning: “did you take your vitamins?” “don’t forget it’s going to rain later!” “i put the extra charger in your bag.”

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

him waking up earlier and making sure to adjust the covers over you so that you’re warm. waking up to the sound of him returning home from a jog or gym. him greeting you with a ‘good morning, baby’ and a quick kiss on top of your head. taking a shower together. having really good talks in the shower while rubbing each other’s backs with lather and getting carried away before realizing that you’re going to be late, so now you’re hurriedly rinsing yourselves. him offering you a towel first and instinctively holding your hand so that you don’t slip while getting out of the shower. quick but lingering little nose rubs before leaving the house, already looking forward to coming home to each other.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

taking turns to snooze the blaring alarm at least six times before even considering waking up. him reaching out to cuddle you closer, telling himself it’s just for five more minutes, but dozing off again as soon as he’s comfortable with you in his arms. soft, languid kisses on each other’s bodies. sleepy ‘i love you’s.’ offering suggestions when you’re having trouble picking outfits. helping each other with zippers and buttons while dressing.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

being naturally in sync in the morning. waking up together to the sound of the alarm set for you both. him giving you a one-handed neck massage when you sit side-by-side on the bed, while also trying to shake his own sleepiness away. making the bed together and both plopping on the freshly-made bed for one last brief morning cuddle and kiss before really getting up. brushing teeth together and making funny faces at each other in the mirror. then proceeding to bicker about whose turn it is to do the dishes or laundry for the day.