#I’ll give him all the time in the world

[cutiefulism]

puppyboy!caleb who just wants to fuck a litter into u :((

cw — breeding (dadoy), use of gege, typical caleb activities except hes a germand shepard, pet names (baby, honey, wife but theyre not married). fluffy prequel here.

he thinks you should have known. all the signs were right there, practically jingling in your face.

“did you— mm . . really think i’d invite you over for somethin’ as harmless as a common cold?”

he knows you won’t respond verbally. can’t respond, he thinks, not when his hips are slamming against your juicy ass, cock filling you up to the brim after his fingers and mouth worked so hard to stretch you out.

and even that hadn’t been enough. he still had to go reaaaal slow, ease it into that filthy, drooling hole, and by then he was just so impatient that he couldn’t wait any longer! :p

caleb will be gentle next time, he promises.

saliva and tears dribble down your chin, rolling down your chest and onto his sheets, and he wishes he could lean forward to lap it all up with his tongue. instead, he nuzzles into the side of your tainted neck, pressing little loving pecks against reddened skin as if to make up for the brutal way he’s splitting you open.

“y-yer just so gullible, baby. always takin’ your gege’s word for fact.”

you attempt to shake your head, a few, rare pieces of coherent thought stringing together enough to actually speak. “ungh, ngh! n-no, ‘m not . . not dumb.”

look at you. stubborn as always, ready to defend yourself and your beliefs at a moment’s notice. it’s cute.

“of course you aren’t,” caleb coos with a breathy chuckle, and he takes your soft, warm skin into his mouth, sucking another bruise to join the others. “never said you were. you’re a smart girl. my smart girl, and that’s exactly why i have to breed you.”

he feels the way your velvety walls clamp down on his aching cock at his words, and he grins. he knows all of your little weak protests earlier were fake.

all those “but, caleb, i don’t think it’s a good idea, we’re not even married” and “i’m just not ready yet” and “we’re both so busy, how will we have time for the baby?”

that was all bullshit.

you want this. you know you do, and caleb definitely knows you do.

you’re just in denial. but don’t worry — he’ll fuck that out of you.

“it’s o-only right to— shit–” plap “spread my wife’s beauty and smarts–” plap “to the rest of the world, right?”

caleb slams forward, hips stilling for a moment as he whimpers against your bitten-up neck, and a desperate mewl leaves your own lips as the impact lunges you forward.

his weeping tip is smooching your cervix, ready to pump a load into your temporarily empty womb.

“say . . say you want it.”

you blink, brows drawing together as you try to focus through the drunken haze. “w-wha?”

“say you want my cum, say you wanna be a mommy f’me,” he groans, and despite the low roughness of his voice, you can hear that almost pathetic pleading underneath.

and how could you deny caleb like this?

your head bobs, throat dry. “i wan’ it. please, caleb. fill . . fill me up.”

that’s all he needs.

caleb’s thick tail gives a happy thump against the sheets as his hips start up again, this pace much more demanding than the previous. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d be trying to fuck you into the mattress.

“thaaaat’s it,” he sighs, and all you can do is squeal as the bed creaks and rocks beneath you. “lemme stuff this pretty pussy full, honey.”

“i’ll . . f-fuck, ngh— give you as many pups as ya want. a whole . . a whole fucking football team—!” his words break off into a whine when you clamp down on him again, and he already knows what’s going to happen before you even try to say it.

this time, you really can’t speak. all you can do is moan and attempt silly, broken cries of his name, pleasure coiling to a fever pitch in your gut.

he knows you better than you know yourself, after all.

“mmf, a-ah, ‘m cumming— c-caleb!”

his name sounds so beautiful on your lips, like a siren’s call to his heavy, tightening balls and twitching dick.

within seconds of you gushing all over his cock, squirt spraying all over that dark, almost curly patch of pubic hair, his hips are stuttering, pretty violet eyes rolling back as he mumbles your name again and again like a damn prayer.

caleb dumps thick ropes of gooey seed into your warm, waiting womb and, oh, it is so much. much more than you expected, and it feels . . good.

a small bulge appears on your tummy where caleb has stuffed you to your limit, and you’re sure it’s going to leak out, make an even bigger mess all over your sheets.

the knot at the base of his girth swells, trapping his cum inside, and even if caleb had the traitorous thought of pulling out of you, he couldn’t.

even his basic biology knows that a single drop can’t and won’t go to waste.

he whines, hot, damp breath ghosting across your skin as he shoves his face into your neck again, that feral need mostly disappearing. you can feel his chest heaving in time with your own against your back, fluffy ears twitching.

“i’ll make up to you for rounds four and five, how about that?”

“l-let’s take a small break, okay? ‘m sorry for bein’ so rough on you, baby,” he mumbles, and your heart gives a helpless flutter at the genuine guilt in his tone.

you’ve never quite gotten used to his flips in personality.

doing gradients is actually hell on earth wtf

[trashytracktales]

girl hi hi hi hi i am in love with your writing 😩😩

as someone who’s terrified by getting her driver license can i request boyfriend Lando giving you driving lessons and you know, good old soft dom lando giving you INSTRUCTIONS and praising you !! You know what i mean? 🥹🥹

and ofc throwing in a lil nice smut won’t be bad idk

Maybe this way i’ll feel inspired to finally get my license

(gorgeous gorgeous girls are obsessed with cars but scared to drive 🤩)

ily T!!

Fast learner | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── First of all, you got this, babe!! Getting your license can be scary, I remember being absolutely terrified. It definitely takes time and determination, but you can do it, I promise 🤞🏻 Also, so sorry it took me AGES, but I am struggling to finish my works lately *sad sounds idk*. I hope I did this one justice though. Fingers crossed and let me know when you get that license, queen. Enjoy 🤍✨

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── Lando surprises his girlfriend with a gift she can’t say no to. Despite her fear, his guidance helps her gain confidence behind the wheel. But back home, the lessons continue in a much more intimate way, as Lando makes sure she knows just how good she is at following his instructions, both on and off the track.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, driving anxiety, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, sexual metaphors & euphemisms, light choking, soft dom!Lando.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 5.6k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Feb. 28, 2025

WHEN SHE OPENS her eyes, the first thing she notices is that his familiar heat is pressing on her from every direction. With Lando’s arm resting like a sluggish weight around her waist and his fingertips brushing the exposed flesh beneath the hem of his hoodie, which she had stolen before bed, she feels secure in the warmth they’ve created.

His nose is buried in the crook of her neck, and the second thing she notices is the quiet, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against her back, his steady breathing blending with the morning silence, and the delicate, smooth kisses he’s planting on her skin.

The girl shifts slightly, only for him to tighten his grip, pulling her closer; she smiles, understanding he is already awake.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Lando, his voice languid.

Her body is melting back into his embrace, Lando’s slightly aggressive curiosity making her giggle. “Nowhere.”

“Good,” he presses a tender kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing his lips back up the curve of her neck. “Because it’s your birthday, and I get to hold you for as long as I want.”

She smiles again, her heart swelling at the way he always makes her feel like she is most important thing in the world.

“That’s exactly what you said when it was your birthday,” she reminds him. “And last Friday, when it was… just Friday.”

“Still applies, as you can see,” he speaks softly against her skin. “Happy birthday, my love.”

A mellow hum leaves her as she turns in his arms, finally opening her eyes to meet his. They’re still laced with sleep, heavy-lidded and warm, the early, weak sunlight filtering through the curtains and cascading all over his face. His hair is a mess, his cheek faintly creased from the pillow, but she thinks he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in the mornings. Mostly because no one but her knows that his eyes are incredibly clear when he opens them for the first time. Or that his hands, still asleep, do not grasp her with the same strength they do at night, but have a tenderness she knows she will never find anywhere else, except their own bed.

“Thank you, pretty boy,” she whispers, running a gentle finger over his jaw, then following the pillow marks up his cheek. Lightly, she cups his face, her thumb pressing on his dimple, making Lando grin.

He leans in to nuzzle his nose against hers before capturing her lips in a sleepy, lazy kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that lingers, tender and sweet, the kind that makes her toes curl under the blanket. His hand skims up her side, slipping beneath the hoodie, fingers brushing against warm skin as he pulls her impossibly closer.

When they part, he sighs contentedly, resting his forehead against hers. “Sorry for waking you up.”

She hums, “You can wake me up like this everyday.”

“Yeah?” Lando giggles. “I actually had half a mind to let you sleep in, but I got too excited.”

She laughs softly. “Excited for what?”

Instead of answering, Lando reaches over to the nightstand to grab a small, beautifully wrapped box. He holds it out to her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Her brows knit together as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. For a second, she thinks he’s about to propose, but he looks way too relaxed for that, which makes her question everything she knows about her boyfriend.

“What did you do, Lando?” she asks. “I told you no gifts this year.”

He smirks, nudging the box toward her. “It is not a gift. Think of it as an... investment. Come on, just open it.”

She hesitates, much more suspicious now, casting Lando a tamed look before carefully removing the ribbon. The paper falls away, revealing a sleek black velvet box. Her heart picks up its pace as she flicks it open and finds out that inside, resting against the dark fabric, is a car key.

She blinks, confused.

The logo gleams up at her, adding to her state.

“Lan…” she stares at the key, then back at him, as if waiting for him to laugh and tell her it’s all a joke. “This is a car key.”

Lando nods, biting his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. “Your dream car’s key,” he corrects her.

Her stomach flips violently. “No way. No. Lando, no. Absolutely not,” she keeps saying, shaking her head. “That’s too much,” she adds, shoving the box toward him as if it burns to touch. “You did not buy me a car for my stupid birthday.”

Incapable to hold his laugh any further, Lando lets out a little giggle. His voice is light, but there’s nothing but sincerity in his expression when he speaks again, “It’s not stupid. I wanted to. I’ve been planning this for a while now.”

She gapes at him, her brain struggling to process. “You bought me a Porsche.”

He shrugs, reaching for her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. “I bought you your Porsche. The exact one you’ve been obsessing since forever,” he leans in, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Don’t make me beg you to accept it. You deserve it and I can afford it, so just—”

“It’s not about deserving, Lando,” her heart swells, but panic creeps in. “I appreciate you for doing this, but I don’t even have a driver’s license. And I’m definitely not ready to get it any time soon. So please, can you take it back?”

His facial expression turns mischievous, raising a finger in the air, “Oh, no. You are ready. Which brings us to the second part of your present,” he says, tapping her nose playfully before throwing the covers off and getting up. “Get a comfy pair of shoes on. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

She looks at him warily. “Where exactly?”

Lando smirks, stretching before tugging a hoodie over his head. “Driving lessons,” he says, pointing at himself, “With me.”

Her stomach drops. “Lando, no.”

“Lando, yes,” he winks, crossing the room to where she sits on the bed, still in shock. “Baby, I know you’re terrified, but I wanna show you it’s not as scary as you think. It’ll be fun, I promise. And if not, we can stop at any time.”

Her lips part, but no words come out, only a strangled noise that makes Lando chuckle. He crouches in front of her, taking her hands in his, looking up at her. Sometimes, she thinks that the way he does it is so annoying, because she can’t say no when he gives her those puppy eyes. She realizes, looking back at him, that chances are Lando is even more excited than she is, which makes her feel a little guilty.

“Look, it’s okay to be nervous,” he says gently, pressing a kiss to her palm, “But I’ll be right there with you.”

Her chest tightens — not from anxiety this time, but from the sheer love she feels for this man, and for the way he always knows how to push her while making her feel safe.

She ends up nodding and, with that, Lando pulls her into a lingering kiss, as if sealing the promise between them.

WHEN LANDO SAID driving lessons, she thought he meant a quiet, empty parking lot somewhere in the city. Or maybe a back road with little to no traffic. What she did not expect was an entire race track at their disposal.

It’s February, and the cold still bites through the air, the kind of chill that seeps into her bones despite the heat blasting inside the car. The sky is now a heavy shade of gray, fluffy clouds stretching endlessly above the open space of the Silverstone Circuit. The grandstands stand empty, ghostly in their silence, the wind whistling through the steel framework.

Her hands tighten into fists as she stares at the massive expanse of the track. She’s been here before, sure, but she’s never seen this place so devoid of people and so lifeless. What strikes her, though, is that it doesn’t even matter, because the circuit has the same beauty — perhaps even more alluring when it’s not animated by the roar of people and the deafening sound of engines. It’s almost haunting. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s the same place where world-class drivers push their limits at blinding speeds, where Lando himself has raced countless times. And just for tooday, it belongs entirely to them.

Her heart pounds harder in her chest as she’s turning to look at him, “You got me Silverstone for my first driving lesson?”

Lando smirks, shutting the engine off. “Had to pull some strings, no biggie.” He looks back at her, his eyes gleaming with excitement under the thick, long lashes. “I didn’t want anything to distract you or to feel any external pressure. Just us, and your car.”

Her car.

She still hasn’t fully processed it. She spent the entire two-hour drive here just staring at it, running her fingers over the pristine leather seat when Lando wasn’t looking, and tracing the sleek dashboard, memorizing every detail. It smells brand new, the engine purring under his control like a well-tamed beast. But now, as he opens his door and steps out, the reality of what comes next hits her, and panic creeps up her spine once again.

She grips the seatbelt tightly, her fingers going numb, as she watches Lando walk around the car. He looks so at ease, so effortlessly confident as he gestures for her to switch places. Meanwhile, she feels like she could throw up in T minus five seconds.

“Come on, baby,” he calls, grinning as he taps the roof of the car. “Time to make you a driver.”

Yes, that sounds good. And yes, she wants this. She really does. But the moment she steps out into the cold air and faces the car from the driver’s side, the same doubt settles deep in her chest. It’s not that she’s scared of driving — well, she is. But that’s not the only reason why she postoned getting her license for so long. The simple thought makes her stomach flip, because she knows that the second she puts foot in a car, so many things can go wrong, especially if you’re afraid.

Lando notices her hesitance immediately, and his playful grin softens as he steps closer. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head. “What’s bothering you, hm? Talk to me.”

The girl exhales shakily. “I’m not sure about this, Lando. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Of course you can,” says Lando in a determined voice.

She looks at the car, then at the track ahead of them. “It’s...” her voice trails off, trying to come up with the best excuse and go back home to nestle between their warm sheets.

“It’s just tarmac, baby,” Lando’s tone is calm and reassuring. “It’s no different than any other road. Just bigger. Safer, actually.”

Her arms wrap around herself instinctively, bracing against the cold, but mostly against her own emotions. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you mess up,” he shrugs, “That’s what learning is, isn’t it?”

She knows he’s right, but the fear still lingers, coiling tight in her stomach. “And if I crash?”

“You won’t crash,” he answers with the same determination yet slightly amused, taking her by surprise, because Lando uses that voice only when he is sure of what he’s saying.

She scoffs, “Sure, how do you know that?”

Lando smiles, reaching for her hands, rubbing warmth into her fingers before bringing them up to his lips. “Because I am here.”

Ha.

She nods slowly, suddenly realizing that there’s no going back — not when Lando is so committed to show her a side of herself that even she’s not aware of. And the fact that he believes in her does something to her brain; it gives her a bit more confidence and courage. She’s seen Lando drive countless of times before. She watched him, his movements instinctive, so measured and smooth that it’s become second nature to him. Maybe she can try to replicate that to a certain degree.

For her own sake, she owes him that.

“Alright,” she manages to say, her voice much tamer than expected.

“That’s my girl,” he presses one last kiss to her knuckles before stepping back, gesturing to the driver’s seat. “Get in there.”

With a deep breath, she finally slides into the driver’s seat, and her entire body tense as she grips the steering wheel; it feels hard under her touch, yet delicate at the same time. Lando follows, settling into his place effortlessly, like this is just another normal day at the track for him.

“Okay,” Lando starts, his voice patient. “First, get comfortable. Adjust your seat, mirrors, whatever you need. Make sure you see everything and, most importantly, make sure you feel everything. All the points where your body makes contact with the car, yeah?” he watches her nodding, swallowing the lump in her throat, then adds, “There is no rush, so take your time. We’ve got plenty.”

Her movements are stiff and mechanical as she reaches for the seat adjustment; she can feel her pulse in her fingertips while she does it. Then, she places her hands on the steering wheel, feeling it firm under her grip, and she suddenly becomes hyper-aware of how tight her fingers become around it.

“Babe,” says Lando, noticing she’s still fighting on the inside. “Relax your hands. You don’t need to strangle it.”

She forces herself to loosen her grip, but her fingers still tremble slightly.

“That’s better,” Lando reaches over, placing a hand on her knee to ground her.

She inhales sharply, then exhales, trying to shake the nerves. Lando waits until she goes through everythig he’s just instructed her, without rushing or teasing at her hesitation. He’s just there, a constant presence that makes her feel more comfortable.

And then, “Think of it like when you’re on top,” he continues casually.

Her head whips toward him, eyes wide. “What?”

Lando’s expression changes, looking like he’s just mentally high-fived himself for the comparison. “When you’re on top, you’re in control,” he reminds her. “You set the pace. You decide how fast or slow you wanna go,” his fingers tighten on her thigh as he leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “The car will respond to everything you do. Try it. I’m here to guide you.”

“Lando.”

He keeps going, completely undeterred, “Baby, I know you know how to move. It’s all about finding that rhythm,” he says, his fingers tapping against her thigh for emphasis. “It’s literally the same thing. Smooth, steady, no sudden jerks. And when you’re ready to pick up speed…” Lando grins, his eyes darkening just slightly. “Well. You know what happens then.”

A laugh bursts from her chest, all the tension snapping like a rubber band. She slaps his arm away, her face heating at his ridiculous but so on-brand analogy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he teases, laying back in his chair, “You’re finally breathing properly now.”

She blinks, realizing he’s right. The tightness in her chest has eased, her grip on the wheel no longer desperate. Her shoulders have dropped, her muscles loosening bit by bit. Lando sees the realization settling over her, content that he managed to put other images inside her head in order to make it easier to handle.

He chuckles, then gestures toward the track in front of them, “Alright, birthday girl. Ready to take me for a ride?”

She groans, covering her face with one hand. “You just can’t stop, can you?”

“Nope,” he says after a moment. “Foot on the brake.”

Instinctively, her foot finds the pedal, pressing down tentatively.

“Now, start the car.”

She swallows hard and reaches for the ignition button. The engine roars to life beneath her fingertips, smooth and powerful, vibrating through her entire body.

At the sound, Lando grins proudly. “There she is.” His hands go to rest on the armrest, his thumb brushing the fabric lightly. He watches carefully as she moves to adjust the mirrors with a focused look in her eyes. “Good,” he continues, his voice a soft command that she knows so well. “Now, keep the wheel steady, just like we talked about. Look ahead. Your eyes should be on the next corner, not the one you just passed.”

She nods, keeping her focus on the track.

“So, this car is rear-engined, which means most of the weight is at the back. That makes it a little trickier to handle if you throw it into a corner too fast. But,” Lando pauses, looking at her intently to assure her there’s nothings to be afraid of, “I’m here to make sure you drive it right.”

She scoffs nervously, “Is there a wrong way to drive it?”

“Plenty, actually. Relax your hold I said,” he instructs her again, “Baby, if it’s too tight, you won’t feel what the car is telling you.”

“Telling me?” she echoes, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

Lando nods, “Yeah. The car talks to you, just not with words. It tells you when it wants to rotate, when it has grip, when you need to be gentle or when you can push,” he says, gesturing toward the long straight. “Speaking of. Go on, give it some gas.”

Her heart jumps into her throat, but she listens, pressing down on the accelerator tentatively. The car responds instantly, surging forward with smooth, controlled aggression. She gasps, the force pressing her back against the seat, and Lando chuckles beside her.

“That’s it,” he praises. “A lot of power, hm?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, still nervous but slowly melting into the feeling of it all.

“Next, the corners,” Lando adds, eyes locked on the road as they approach one. “You want to brake before you turn, not while you’re turning. That’s how you keep it stable.”

She follows his words, pressing down on the brakes a little too early, but the car slows smoothly.

“Good,” he says, nodding approvingly. “Turn in,” he pauses, lips quirking into a smirk. “Like the way you move your hips when you ride me. Controlled, but with intention.”

Her foot nearly slips off the pedal. “Lando, stop that!” she squeaks, turning her head for a second, just to glare at him.

She feels the tires gripping the asphalt in a way that sends a thrill through her, despite the nerves still buzzing beneath the surface.

“I’m trying to speak your language,” he laughs, “Ease off the throttle and prepare to brake again,” Lando’s voice is smooth, “Yes, keep your foot light on the brake. Feel it?”

She does. While following his instructions, gently, she eases her foot off the gas, then applies just the right pressure to the brake, her heart racing with each turn. Lando watches her closely, but she can tell he’s holding back, not overloading her with instructions but guiding her just enough so she feels the car’s movements.

“Perfection,” he praises as she hits the apex of the corner, the car hugging the track with a controlled grace. “Accelerate again, gently. Let the car do the work for you. Don’t overthink it.”

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers adjusting their grip on the wheel, before she picks up speed, feeling the engine roaring beneath her. Despite the fear gnawing at her, there’s a strange thrill beginning to bubble inside, a sense of freedom she’s never felt before. She can feel the car responding to her, listening to her movements, exactly like Lando told her it will. Which makes her eager to go faster, to push.

But as she rounds another corner, a new wave of uncertainty floods her chest, and she glances over at her boyfriend again. “Lando, I don’t know…”

“You do,” Lando’s voice is almost a growl, “Bury your foot on the pedal. See what this car is capable of.”

Her pulse quickens, but there’s more excitement behind it now. With Lando’s words echoing in her mind, she takes a deep breath, presses her foot into the pedal, and feels the car surge beneath her. For a moment, he senses her hesitation, but then the car roars to life, and she feels the pull and the adrenaline racing through her veins. The acceleration is immediate and, before she knows it, the world outside blurs, the track stretching out before her like an endless ribbon.

To her surprise, she loves the feeling.

Next time he speaks, Lando’s words sound like a whisper over the roar of the engine, “That’s it, baby,” his eyes sparkle with approval, and she can hear the pride in his voice all over again. “You did it!”

THERE IS A faint smell of leftover takeout that lingers in the air, blending with the sweet vanilla of the birthday muffins he insisted on getting as dessert. There will be a cake and they’ll get to properly celebrate with her friends at the end of the week but, until then, her birthday was a success, topped with adrenaline and excitement, which she never thought she would ever enjoy.

Now, she stands by the full-length closet mirror, running a brush through her hair, the weight of the day settling into her body. It was terrifying yet thrilling in ways she hadn’t expected. What surprises her even more is her sudden desire to get back in the driver’s seat. She’s slowly realizing how addictive the feeling she experienced on the track is, and even though she knows that driving around the city won’t compare to what Lando offered her today, she feels — perhaps for the first time in her life — ready to take that step.

Lando moves behind her right after she puts the brush down, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his chest against her back.

“So, when can I drive again?” he hears her asking in a teasing voice, though there’s a genuine spark of nervousness behind it.

He smirks against the curve of her neck, lips barely brushing her skin. “You can give me another ride now, since you insist,” Lando suggests, his voice dripping with smugness.

She rolls her eyes and, twisting in his hold, she faces him, her hands sliding up his chest, fingertips tracing the contours of his collarbones. “Sounds good, but aren’t you afraid that too much control will get to my head?”

“Not at all.”

Lando steps forward, kissing her with enough force to show her that he means every word. His hands are now everywhere — on her hips, up and down her back, in her hair, then gripping her thighs as he lifts her effortlessly. She lets a surprised gasp into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist as he presses her back against the mirror. It’s hard against her skin, a stark contrast to the softness rolling off him in waves.

Her fingers end up tangling in his soft curls, tugging just enough to make Lando groan, a sound she’s never learned how to properly react to, since it drives her wild every single time she hears it. He tastes like the vanilla from the muffin that they shared earlier, so sweet and sinful.

When he comes back to his senses, Lando brushes his nose against hers, his voice hushed but firm, “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” he asks in a whispered voice. “You’re gonna do great.”

A shiver runs down her spine, not just from his words but from the unwavering belief behind them. Lando has always been her greatest cheerleader, the one who never let her doubt herself, even when she wanted to.

Her exhale is soft as a baby’s breath, fueled by the praise that sets her skin ablaze. “Lando,” she whispers, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.

He chuckles, the sound of it full of want. “Right here, baby. What do you need?”

She can’t use her words at the moment. Instead, she just presses herself closer to him, silently telling him what she needs. And Lando gets the message loud and clear. With a firm grip, he walks them toward the bed, her body flush against his.

Clothes come off in a frenzy: her shirt lifted over her head, his sweatpants kicked away, her underwear dragged down her thighs in a rush. His lips are on her skin the entire time, trailing fire along her collarbones, down the valley between her breasts and over the curve of her stomach.

When she’s bare beneath him, he pulls back, drinking her in.

“Want on top?” asks Lando, a little smirk hanging in the corner of his mouth.

The girl shakes her head, “You first,” she teases, already breathless.

He doesn’t answer, but runs a hand down his face before gripping her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. She gasps as he positions himself behind her, big hands spreading across her waist. Lando’s fingers flex, gripping her like she belongs to him in ways neither of them can describe, but both agree on.

Gently, he presses a kiss to her shoulder blade, then another, before dragging his teeth along her heated skin. “Let me show you how high confidence can get you, baby.”

And then, he pushes inside.

A muffled moan spills from her lips, her back arching hard into him as he bottoms out, filling her completely. He presses his lips in a thin line at the feeling, at the way she welcomes him so perfectly, clenching around him like she was made for this. It’s hard to keep quiet, yet he wants to give himself the priviledge of being able to feel her like this a little longer.

“God, you feel so good,” he mumbles, his hands sliding up to her shoulders, fingers curling around them.

“Move then,” she orders, managing to get a chuckle out of him.

Lando’s thrusts are calculated at first, dragging along every sensitive spot inside her, pulling sounds out of her that go straight to his cock. But then he shifts, picking up speed, pounding into her with a precision that leaves her gasping further more.

Before she knows it, she’s drowning in all of it. The feeling of him, the way he takes control, and how patient he is with her.

“Lando,” she whines, voice muffled against the sheets.

“I know, baby,” he breathes, bending over her, pressing a hand to the pillow beside her head. “Just take it.”

He switches between teasing strokes and deep, hard thrusts, keeping her on edge, making her feel every inch of is length. The air around them is charged, filled with the scent of skin and something intoxicatingly sweet. Heat clings to them, heavy and thick, as if the room itself is suddenly caught in the same fever they are.

When he feels her tightening around him way too soon, Lando doesn’t hesitate to flip her onto her back again, eyes locked onto hers as he slides home once more. She whimpers at the quick change, at the way he goes so deep in this new position, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer. Lando whimpers, dropping his forehead to hers, breath ragged against her lips.

“Look at you,” he can barely speak, “So. Good.”

She shivers at the praise, nails raking down his back, grounding herself in the heat of his skin. He watches her, pupils blown wide, drinking in every expression that flits across her face, from the parted lips and the way her brows knit together as pleasure overwhelms her, to the sheer need burning in her gaze. It’s almost too much for him, but the desire to see her crumbling for him like that is stronger.

The roll of his hips, every stretch, and every inch of him pressing into her it’s enough to send shudders through her body. He feels her everywhere: surrounding him, clinging to him like she’s planning to never let him go. And fuck, he never wants her to.

His hands roam her body, admiring every soft dip of her skin. One traces the swell of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple before his lips follow, dragging warm, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, her neck, and anywhere he can reach. She tilts her head back, offering more of herself to him, and he groans against her skin, nipping at her pulse just to feel the way she gasps.

“Harder,” she breathes in such wrecked manner that sends a bolt of heat straight through him.

His body tenses for a split second before a sudden hunger flickers in his eyes. No hesitation. No teasing. Just a low, guttural curse as he grips her hips and thrusts into her with purpose, each snap of his hips punishing in the best way possible.

“That good for you?” he rasps, voice tight with control, but his pace says he’s barely holding on. She nods, but it’s not enough for him. Lando grips her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let me hear you.”

“Yes,” she moans, voice breaking as he drives into her harder. “Yes, you feel so good, baby. Don’t stop...”

Lando finds the strength to smile at her, watching her slowly coming undone beneath him, her body arching, legs tightening around his waist. “Won’t,” he assures her, “You take it so well, it drives me crazy,” he groans, his hand sliding between them, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling, teasing.

Her legs start trembling around his waist, and he knows she’s close. He can feel it in the way her body is betraying her, spasming around him, the way her breaths grow uneven, and how her hands tighten in his hair as if anchoring herself to him.

“Mhm,” he hums, his forehead pressed to hers. “Ready to come with me, love?”

She doesn’t have time to answer as she moans his name, a cry lost in their furtive kiss, just as her body tightens around him, pulling him over the edge right with her. His repetitive moans are maddening as he spills inside her, hips jerking, hands gripping her with a force that’s going to leave marks.

After that, he refuses to move. They just breathe, chests colliding against each other, bodies pressed so tightly together that it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Then, Lando tilts his head, pressing another lazy kiss to her lips before whispering against them. “Best student I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, smacking his shoulder, but she doesn’t deny it.

A shiver rolls down Lando’s spine as he pulls out, his body thrumming with aftershocks, oversensitive but still craving her. His eyes flutter shut for a second at the feeling — she’s still so tight, greedily clenching around nothing, the evidence of their release slick between them, a mess they should deal with but won’t. Not yet.

His cock, still heavy and slick, rests between them, twitching slightly as he leans down to kiss her again. It’s slow, languid, an extension of the pleasure still simmering in the air between them. His lips move against hers with a practiced ease, his body pressing into her as if he’s trying to mold them into one.

Then, his hand finds her neck. He squeezes lightly, just enough to make her breath hitch; his smirk against her lips is pure sin.

“Get on top,” he orders, voice thick with something commanding. His hands find her hips again, thumbs stroking the heated skin there. “I want you to reproduce every single thing I explained to you at the circuit today. Show me what you learned,” he provokes her, eyes dark with challenge.

She bites the inside of her cheek, chest burning at the way he looks at her — his lips parted, eyes filled with lust —, fueling her desire to show off.

Slowly, she sinks down onto him, gasping at the way he stretches her as if he wasn’t inside her not even two minutes ago. She lifts herself before easing back down, soon finding a rhythm that makes him curse under his breath.

“Keep your grip firm,” Lando instructs, trailing his fingers up her spine. “Don’t be afraid to push a little harder.”

She presses her hands to his chest and moves faster, earning a deep, satisfied moan from him.

“Fuck,” Lando swears under his breath, eyes flickering between her face and the way she moves on top of him. “Such a fast learner.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[carnalcrows]

A DEAL - THANOS

pairing: plug!thanos x male!reader

synopsis: Your dealer offers you another way to pay for your drugs.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, drug usage, breeding, free use?

word count: 1.1k

You weren’t about to walk all the way back home just because you forgot your damn phone. That was like an hour’s trip—both ways—and for what? Just to come all the way back to buy the same damn thing?

Nah.

Not when you were already at Thanos’ place, comfortably sprawled out on his couch like it was your second home. Not when he was right there, sitting across from you in his usual chair, one leg crossed over the other, smoking like he had all the time in the world.

And definitely not when you could already smell the good shit from across the room.

“C’mon, man,” you groaned, head tipped back against the couch, fingers drumming lazily against your knee. “You know I always pay you. Just let me take it, and I’ll send the money later.”

Thanos didn’t respond right away. He just took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke like he was contemplating his life choices, like maybe he regretted ever doing business with you in the first place.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“That’s cute,” he said, voice slow and deep, smooth as ever. “But I don’t do charity.”

You scoffed. “Wow. So heartless.”

He smirked. “Nah. Just practical.” He flicked some ash into the tray beside him, tilting his head slightly. “Though, lucky for you… I do accept alternative forms of payment.”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”

Thanos just stared at you.

And then—oh.

Your lips curled into a slow grin. “Oh, you’re nasty.”

Thanos chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

You leaned back, running your tongue over your teeth, tapping your fingers against your thigh. You should just leave. Should just call it a night and make the trip home. But… that was a lot of effort. And you really wanted that stash.

And, well.

Thanos wasn’t ugly.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “Man, whatever. You better give me the top-shelf shit, though.”

Thanos grinned—dark, lazy, cocky as hell. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly. “I take care of my customers.”

Then, with no warning, he was on you.

His hand grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up just enough before he crashed his lips against yours.

It was messy. Fast. Hungry. There was no hesitation, no build-up—just Thanos, all heat and pressure and control. His fingers gripped your face like he had no intention of letting go, and his other hand pinned your thigh down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

You barely had time to react before his tongue teased at the seam of your lips, demanding. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t waiting. He was just taking.

A groan built in your throat, half a protest, half something else, but Thanos swallowed it whole.

"Relax," he muttered against your mouth, his tone edged with amusement. "You acting all shy on me now?"

You scoffed, gripping the front of his hoodie, half to pull him closer, half to push him away—but Thanos barely budged.

“Shut up.”

He smirked against your lips. “Make me.”

You tried. You really did. But Thanos had already won.

His hand slid up from your jaw, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. He was leading it, controlling it, and all you could do was keep up. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, sharp enough to make you gasp, and he took full advantage, drinking in the sound like he owned it.

You barely registered the shift until you felt your back hit the couch, Thanos settling over you, pressing you down like he had all night to burn.

Your breath hitched. "You're enjoying this too much."

Thanos chuckled, low and knowing. "Maybe." He dragged his thumb over your swollen lip, voice dropping to a murmur. "But you're not exactly complaining."

And, well.

You weren’t.

That was probably how you ended up in this position. Face pushed into the couch while your ass was gripped by Thanos’ hands as he wrecked your hole. His hands, god, they were so large, gripping you by the waist, as his colourful nails dug into your skin, leaving crescent shaped marks.

"You feel so good around me... fuck", he groaned as you clenched around him, your hands gripping at the fabric of the couch for support.

The way he fucked you was almost animalistic, if anything, you could say that it was better that the drugs.

Feeling himself close to release, he fucked into you with reckless abandoned, reaching spots you didn't even know exist.

You felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, arching your back into him as you came.

He came soon after, pushing all the way into you before painting your insides a pearly white.

He laid you on the couch and flipped you around to face him. Your fucked-out expression made him hard again, you felt him in your stomach.

"You thought we were done? Nah, the booze you want costs way more that this baby."

Oh.

Fuck.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[exquisink]

brief lactation kink , yandere geto because that’s all my brain is stuck on rn

what you have been taught about life and especially about men has been continually proven true to you about geto suguru. your best teaching comes from your family, who have shown you everything you must know about living the life you want to live.

the biggest, most important lesson?

men are fucking weak.

and not to mention, men are easy to fool.

that’s what your old man taught you first. the ones who behave the nastiest are the weakest, yet geto suguru parades around, running this fucking circus he calls a movement with his cult and thinking he’s this all powerful, wicked being. and maybe it’s true to his loyal devotees who kiss his feet or ass or whatever else they need to just to make him feel worshipped like some untouchable deity.

but not to you. you know better. you have always known better. he may have initially spat in your face and demeaned you for your lack of cursed energy, but you know what he desires beyond anything and that is a desire to, not to be worshipped, but to be loved, seen, heard—to be coddled and to be doted on and to be diapered or even fucking breastfed (and he has nursed off of you a handful of times, just like right now, greedily feasting on one of your breasts like his life depended on it) before he goes and acts as if he has the power to conquer the world with the strength to eradicate monkeys as he vows he will.

hah! what a fucking joke.

you might get off to the fact that you are his rock, his strength—someone he otherwise deems as nothing more significant than the earth he tramples on, someone he doesn’t acknowledge.

geto purrs your name as he noses into your neck after feeding off one of your breasts, refusing to give you the space to breathe, constricting you, entangled in the bed in the dead of night. his arms cage around your waist, and your eyes flutter as you meet his electrifying gaze.

what a pity, to have such beauty unmatched wasted on a man whose ego is as easily bruised as any other ‘common’ man.

you reach up to cup his cheek. a streak of moonlight creeping through the window illuminates the striking features of his face, his violet eyes shimmering with the affection he’s convinced himself he possesses for you.

fucking idiot, you want to scoff, but refrain.

“is that enough for tonight?” you ask, ignoring the urge to cringe as you peck his lips, ignoring that urge tenfold when he groans in approval. “i’m becoming weary, myself.”

“i could take more,” he mumbles, as his head dips, tongue grazing the nipple he's just fed on. “but i’ll let you sleep.”

nurture him.

and he worships the ground you walk on more than his devotees worship the ground he walks on.

"my sweet suguru," you coo with feigned affection, and he hums, snuggling you even closer than you already were, burying his head between your breasts and sighing with delight. "my perfect suguru."

so far from perfect but it gives him what he wants.

[lov3yv4mps]

Can you make aftercare with bangchan and fem reader please! Of course only if you want <3

Yes, of course! Thank you guys so much for all the requests!

⋆⑅˚₊ aftercare ₊˚⑅⋆

Warnings: MDNI, suggestive content, some kissing, some cursing, let me know if i missed any!

The world felt like it was still spinning, but in the best way possible. The remnants of shared moments hung in the air like the fading scent of perfume, warm and intoxicating. You lay nestled against Chan’s chest, your body pressed so close to his that it felt like you were both part of one another. His heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, thudded in your ear, grounding you.

Chan shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soothing circles on your back as if checking in with you, making sure you were still in one piece. His touch was tender but firm, the kind of touch that made you feel safe and cherished. “Feeling okay?” His voice was soft, laced with that quiet concern you were so used to hearing, yet it never failed to make your heart flutter.

You nodded, your cheek still resting on his chest. The lingering sensation of your time together hadn’t quite worn off yet, but you were comfortable. He always made sure you were comfortable. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice still thick from the intimacy of it all. “Just... tired.”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that vibrated through his chest and directly into you. “I figured as much. You really gave me a run for my money,” he teased, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, burying your face into his chest. “Shut up.”

Chan’s grip tightened gently, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Nah, not a chance.” He paused, the teasing tone giving way to something softer. “I’m proud of you, though.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were soft, searching yours like he always did when he wanted to make sure you were okay. “For what?” you asked, voice a little less steady than you intended.

He smiled that warm, sincere smile that made your chest tighten. “For trusting me. For letting me take care of you,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You’re always so strong, but tonight, I saw you let go. And it made me proud.”

His words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. There was something in his tone—something raw and real—that made your heart swell. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of praise. Not like this.

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks warm. “You’re such a sap,” you muttered, looking down to hide the way your heart was beating a little faster than usual. Chan chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but only for you.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s presence, the kind of silence that didn’t need words to be understood. But you knew he wouldn’t let you rest for long without taking care of you properly.

“I’ll be right back,” Chan murmured, carefully untangling himself from the sheets. “Stay put, okay?” You groaned softly, curling into the blankets. “Fine, but hurry up. I’m comfy.” He laughed quietly, a soft, affectionate sound. “I’ll be fast.”

When he returned, it wasn’t long before you felt him gently lifting your head to place a glass of water into your hands. “Drink,” he instructed softly, his voice tinged with that same caring authority that always made you feel a little weak in the knees.

You took a sip, grateful for the cool relief. He watched you with that intensity in his eyes, as if making sure you drank enough, his gaze never leaving your face. You finished the glass and handed it back, letting out a soft sigh. “Good girl,” Chan murmured, his tone warm but with an underlying trace of something that made your skin flush.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Stop calling me that,” you teased, though the effect of his words had your heart beating just a little faster. But Chan’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’ll call you whatever I want, baby.” His lips curled into a smirk. “And you love it.”

You didn’t even try to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your tone was fond, affectionate. Chan leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead before murmuring softly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” You groaned in protest, curling back into the sheets. “I don’t want to move.”

“I know, but you’ll feel better after,” he coaxed gently, already pulling the blankets back and making his way to the bathroom. He scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, his strength comforting and solid as he walked with you toward the bathroom.

“You’re such a show-off,” you muttered, though you couldn’t suppress the smile that pulled at your lips. “And you love it,” he teased, pressing a playful kiss to your temple.

Chan’s gentle care didn’t stop once you were in the bathroom. He helped you out of the tangled sheets, his hands moving with an ease that came from years of knowing exactly how to make you feel cared for. There was no rush. No shame. Just the comfort of him taking care of you in the soft glow of the bathroom light.

You stood before him, naked and vulnerable in a way you had never felt with anyone else, yet with him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Chan’s eyes softened as they traced over you, his touch tender as he gently took a warm washcloth and pressed it against your forehead. The coolness of it calmed your senses, but his steady hands were the true relief.

“You’re amazing,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. Chan’s lips curled into a soft smile as he brushed the washcloth down your neck, gentle and slow. His touch made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “I just want you to feel good, baby. You deserve it.”

The water on your skin made your body feel alive again, but there was something so calming about his care—his focus solely on you, his gaze warm, loving, but with just enough edge that made you shiver. “Feel better?” he asked, his voice smooth, with that soft teasing tone that always lingered.

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered, leaning into his touch as his hands gently rinsed off the remnants of the night’s heat from your skin.

After a few more moments, he helped you back into bed, carefully tucking you under the blankets as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His own skin, warm and close to you, kept you grounded as he climbed into bed beside you.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. You smiled, resting your head against his chest again, letting his heartbeat lull you back to comfort. “You say that every time,” you teased, your voice soft but warm. “I mean it every time,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

The night stretched on, quiet and comforting. Chan’s kisses, his tender words, his touch—they were all you needed. With him, everything else faded away. There was no rush, no expectations, just a space where you could both exist together, safe and loved. And as your eyes fluttered shut, you knew—you had everything you could ever need in this moment.

v4mps note: this was so fun to write! Please spam me with requests I absolutely love them!

[soulsforsales]

I don’t think people understand the extent and effect of Jason Todd’s trauma. I mean, every time Jason goes “I died.” Everyone’s like “we know, Jason!”

But no. No, you don’t know. He died — in every sense of the word. His heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped giving out air. His body was taut, numb, paralyzed.

And the crowbar, the beating didn’t kill Jason Todd— the bomb did which means he laid down on that cold stone floor of the warehouse in a pool of his own blood and counted down the minutes to his death, quite literally and even in his last moments, beyond all logic, he was hoping that Dad will come, Dad will save him, Dad will be here. But Dad was too late.

And he was helpless and tired and bleeding when the shrill scream of the explosion cut through followed by that chilling silence. He must have felt the debris press into his already broken bones and skin and that’s when it must have hit him that it’s actually over. He’s dead and Dad couldn’t save him. So, he must have closed his eyes and waited for the peace that follows with being dead.

Because he was just a kid. Sixteen. Kids die and go to heaven, right? Well, even that was snatched away from Jason.

Because he was forced back to life— whether it was climbing out of your own fucking grave or the Lazarus pit— he was forced back into a life that was his no more because who he was, the kid, the Robin— he died and what came back was someone no one could identify.

He must’ve felt his heart beat frantically to push all that blood through his aching muscles, his lungs finally swallowing in air after being black and blue for god knows how long. He came back only to find out that the one person he loved most in the world didn’t think him worthy of being avenged. No matter how much Bruce suffered after Jason’s death— in my opinion— Jason’s anger is justified. Because he was JUST A KID. He was killed simply to spite Batman, he was killed as collateral damage. A KID- BEATEN BLOODY AND BRUISED FOR SIMPLY WANTING TO HELP HIS MOTHER FOR SIMPLY WANTING TO PROVE HE WAS GOOD.

Can you even imagine how many times he must’ve just wanted to stop? Can you imagine how much he wanted to just go home and have Alfred bake him cookies again? How much he wanted to hug Bruce and try forgiving, how much he wanted to call Dick “brother” again and just be his “little wing?”

It pains me to see how he’s treated— both fanon and canon.

Jason Todd isn't just the “angry Robin” or “the violent anti-hero with a grudge” he’s so much more.

He is a hero. And he died a hero. He died trying to save someone. He died hoping he saved someone.

I have said it before and I’ll say it again: he did NOT deserve that. But look how he took all the bad things that happened to him and only gave the world something better in return?

Yeah, that’s who Jason Todd is.

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (2) - Mattheo Riddle

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet when Mattheo, Theo, and Enzo stumbled through the entrance, adrenaline still pumping through their veins. The three of them were bruised and disheveled, fresh from a fight with a group of Gryffindors that had gotten way out of hand. Enzo was grinning like a maniac despite the blood trickling from his busted lip, while Theo clutched his ribs with a wince, muttering something about how "that bastard threw a punch like a damn troll."

Mattheo, for his part, was still seething. His knuckles were raw and bloodied, his breathing heavy, and the rage still lingered in his chest. But then he saw you.

You were curled up on one of the emerald-green couches by the fire, staring down at a piece of parchment with a miserable expression. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, eyes glossy, and the moment Mattheo really looked at you—really saw you—everything else became unimportant.

The fight? Forgotten. His throbbing fists? Irrelevant. His need to prove himself to those Gryffindor bastards? Completely erased.

Because you were upset. And that was the only thing that mattered.

Theo and Enzo were still laughing about the fight when Mattheo abruptly broke away from them and made a beeline toward you. They barely had time to register the shift in his demeanor before he was in front of you, crouching down, his hands resting on either side of your thighs as he peered up at you with concern.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His voice was softer than it had been all day, laced with worry, as if whatever was upsetting you was infinitely more important than anything else in the world.

You blinked up at him, startled by how fast he’d switched from Mattheo the fighter to Mattheo the overprotective boyfriend. Your gaze flickered to his bruised knuckles, and you frowned. “What happened to you?”

Mattheo barely glanced at his hands, waving off your concern like it was nothing. “Not important.” He reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking against your skin. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

From the couch nearby, Theo and Enzo exchanged looks of pure disbelief.

“Are you seeing this?” Enzo muttered under his breath, wiping the blood from his lip.

“Yeah,” Theo whispered back. “We were just literally brawling five minutes ago.”

“I watched him throw a guy into a wall.”

“Now he’s literally caressing her face like she’s a fucking angel.”

Meanwhile, you sighed, glancing down at the parchment in your lap. “I... I got my Charms exam back today,” you admitted, your voice small. “And I—well, I failed.”

Mattheo blinked. That’s it? He had been fully prepared to commit actual murder, but this? This was fixable.

Still, the moment he saw the self-doubt flicker in your eyes, the way you pulled your sleeves over your hands and curled into yourself, his heart clenched. He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to look at him.

“Who do I need to kill?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Mattheo’s gaze darkened, but not with anger toward you—no, his fury was now directed at whoever was responsible for making you feel like this. “Was it someone in class? Did someone distract you and make you fail?” He cracked his knuckles, despite how much his hands already ached. “I swear to Merlin, I’ll handle it. Just say the word, princess.”

From behind, Theo snorted. “Mate, I think she’s upset at herself, not another person.”

Mattheo ignored him completely. “Or was it the professor? You want me to threaten them?” His voice was dead serious, eyes blazing. “I’ll make sure they never fail you again. Give me five minutes—I’ll be back before sunrise.”

Your lips parted in shock. “Mattheo—”

“Azkaban’s just a building, baby.”

“Mattheo, oh my God.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-groan, rubbing your temples as Mattheo’s intensity remained unwavering. But despite the ridiculousness of it, warmth bloomed in your chest. Because here he was—fresh out of a fight, bruised and bleeding—but he was more concerned about your failed exam than the fact that he had literally just assaulted a group of Gryffindors.

Seeing the slight smile tug at your lips, Mattheo exhaled in relief. He pulled you forward, wrapping you in his arms as he sat beside you on the couch. You melted into him, breathing in the scent of smoke, musk, and a hint of blood, letting his presence soothe you.

“You’re too hard on yourself, princess,” he murmured against your hair, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “One bad grade doesn’t mean anything.”

You sighed. “But—”

“No ‘buts.’ You’re brilliant. You could fail every exam, and I’d still think you’re the smartest person in this castle.” His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. “And the most beautiful.”

Theo groaned from the other couch. “You were literally beating the shit out of someone ten minutes ago, and now you’re whispering sweet nothings. I cannot handle this.”

Enzo nodded in agreement. “It’s actually sickening.”

Mattheo lifted his head just enough to glare at them. “Both of you, shut the fuck up.”

Theo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, we’re just impressed. You flip the switch so fast, it’s like its own form of magic.”

Enzo smirked. “We should’ve brought the Gryffindors here to witness this. They’d never believe it.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but ignored them, choosing instead to tighten his hold around you. “Ignore those idiots,” he murmured. “I’m serious, princess. You’re incredible. And if you want, I can hex Flitwick’s tea so he starts grading on a curve.”

You giggled, finally feeling the weight of your bad grade start to lift. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mattheo smirked. “Only for you, baby.”

You sighed, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace. Despite the bruises on his knuckles, the split on his lip, and the remnants of rage still simmering beneath his skin, Mattheo Riddle was yours. And no matter what, he would always be willing to go to war for you.

Even if that war was against your Charms professor.

[gdinthehouseee]

Misread: CHOI SEUNG-HYUN x READER

summary: you and your boyfriend, seung-hyun, argue right before he leaves for a world tour. after radio silence, you come across photos of him with a woman you've never seen before.

word count: 7296

tags: angst to fluff; miscommunication, passive-aggression, social media, established relationship

ao3 link

The argument had started over something stupid—so stupid that now, standing in the middle of your apartment with the silence stretching painfully between you, you could barely even remember how it began. Maybe it was about how distracted he had been lately, glued to his phone answering messages from managers, producers, and stylists instead of being present with you. Or maybe it was about the way he brushed off your concerns when you asked if he’d even have time to call while on tour. It wasn’t like you didn’t understand—this was his job, his dream, and you’d always supported him. But tonight, when you had finally asked, “Do you even want to talk to me while you’re gone?” and Seung-hyun had sighed, rubbing his temples like the conversation itself exhausted him, something inside you snapped.

You weren’t asking for much. Just reassurance. Just something to hold onto while he was halfway across the world. But instead of giving you that, he got defensive. Said you were overthinking, that of course he’d call if he could, “Why do you always do this before I leave?” and suddenly, the conversation spiraled into something bigger, something neither of you knew how to pull back from.

Now, after all the sharp words and tense silences, you were standing there with your arms crossed over your chest, watching him adjust the strap of his duffel bag, looking every bit like he couldn’t wait to be anywhere but here.

Seung-hyun stood near the doorway, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, ready to leave for the airport. His usually soft eyes were distant, guarded, his jaw clenched tight like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

“I don’t want to leave like this,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

“Then don’t,” you shot back, arms crossed over your chest. It wasn’t fair. You knew he had to go—knew he had a world tour ahead of him, knew fans were waiting in cities across the globe. But the idea of him walking out the door like this, leaving the fight unresolved, made your stomach twist painfully.

He let out a slow exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose before meeting your gaze. “I don’t have a choice.”

You hated that answer. Hated how it reminded you that no matter how much you wanted him to stay, his career always came first. You weren’t unreasonable—you never had been. You knew how much this tour meant to him, but in this moment, the resentment gnawed at you.

“Right. You never do,” you mumbled, looking away.

That seemed to strike a nerve. His expression shifted, frustration flashing across his face. “That’s not fair,” he said, shaking his head.

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe none of this was fair. But the hurt sitting heavy in your mind made it impossible to think clearly. The silence between you stretched unbearably long.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the time on his phone. He hesitated for a second—like he wanted to say something else—but then just sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll call you,” he said, voice quieter now, less sharp.

You didn’t answer.

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment, final in a way that made your stomach sink. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a second, as if waiting—hoping—that he might turn back, hesitate, say something. Literally anything. But the seconds stretched on, and the only thing you heard was the distant hum of a car pulling away. The fight still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, but now there was nothing left to say. Just the fading warmth of where he had been standing, the emptiness he left behind, and the sharp sting in your chest as the reality of it all settled deep into your bones.

Seung-hyun exhaled slowly, pressing his head against the cool window as the van pulled away from your apartment. The city lights blurred past him, but all he could see was the look on your face before he walked out the door—hurt, frustrated, unwilling to meet his eyes. The image sat heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to look straight ahead. The other guys were talking around him, but their voices barely registered to him, until—

“Everything good?” Youngbae’s voice cut through the haze, quieter than the rest, meant only for him.

Seung-hyun almost said yes. Almost shrugged it off, pretended like he wasn’t sitting here replaying every second of that fight, every sharp word he shouldn’t have said. But instead, he just let out a slow sigh, tilting his head back against the seat.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Ji-yong glanced at him from across the van, raising an eyebrow. “You two fought again?”

Seung-hyun didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

Daesung let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Hyung, you always do this before we leave.”

Seung-hyun’s brows furrowed at that. “Do what?”

“Push her away,” Youngbae said simply. “Like if you fight before you go, maybe missing her won’t hurt as much.”

Seung-hyun’s chest tightened. Deep down, he knew they were right. Even when he opened his mouth, ready to argue, the words never came. 

Similarly, the phone call never came either. You had stayed up all night waiting—hoping—your phone would light up with the familiar contact: a heart next to his name and a cute candid photo you had taken of him, revenge for all the seemingly unflattering ones he had already snapped of you. Thinking the air might have cleared a little, hoping you would go back to the usual “I miss you” and “I’m counting down the days until you get back,” but there was nothing. Silence. Deafening radio silence. 

Hours turned into days. Or, has it been a week already?

Too long has passed since you had heard from your boyfriend. Desperately, you tried to not let it affect you, doing everything you possibly could to distract you. Your best friend wanted you to come over? You were already ringing her doorbell. Your mother was calling you? Accepted the call within the first ring. You had already lost count of how many times you’ve cleaned your apartment, drowning in the smell of air freshener. 

At first, you made excuses for him. He was busy. The time zones were a mess. Rehearsals, soundchecks, meet-and-greets, performances—his schedule was packed, and you didn’t want to be the needy partner blowing up his phone. But as the days passed with radio silence, it got harder to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your stomach.

You told yourself not to spiral. You told yourself not to check social media. But late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the ache in your chest felt unbearable, you gave in. You opened Instagram, not even searching for his name—just scrolling mindlessly, hoping for a distraction.

Instead, you found her. She wasn’t someone you recognized. A model, maybe? An influencer? The name in her handle didn’t ring any bells, but her latest post made your stomach drop. It was a series of pictures. The first one was innocent enough—a shot of her at the latest concert stop, front row, flashing a peace sign with the stage glowing behind her. The next was a blurry clip of the crowd chanting for the group.

And then the last one. It was a backstage photo. Of him.

Seung-hyun stood beside her, still in his stage outfit, hair slightly damp from the performance. He wasn’t looking at the camera, caught mid-laugh, and she was leaning in close—too close. Close enough that she could whisper something in his ear. Close enough that the moment felt private in a way that made your stomach twist. Beneath the photo was the caption that made your blood run cold:

"New future husband hard launch?😉😂 #luckygirl"

Your heart stopped. Your fingers trembled as you scrolled to the comments, your vision blurring as you read through them.

"Omg HAHAHA wait are you guys a thing???""Future husband??? 👀👀 spill the tea, bestie!""Lowkey jealous but you’d be such a hot couple."“Isn’t he dating someone else?”

You stared at the screen, your breath coming in uneven, shallow gasps. Your mind scrambled for explanations—Maybe she was just joking. Maybe it was a stupid, meaningless caption. Maybe this was all in your head. Surely, right? But the sick feeling in your stomach told you otherwise.

He hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t reached out to you at all. And now, this was how you were seeing him? Through someone else’s camera lens, with some random woman calling him her man while the world laughed along? You had spent days missing him. Worrying about him. Hoping that the silence between you would break. And now, you weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear from him at all.

You weren’t going to cry over him.

Not when the world thought he was out there, living his best life. Not when he hadn’t even bothered to check in with you. Not when some woman was calling him her husband while you sat alone, feeling like a fool for waiting on a call that never came. Fine. If he wasn’t going to acknowledge you, you weren’t going to sit around and sulk. You were going to remind him exactly what he was missing.

You stood in front of the mirror, angling your phone just right. The dress you had on was perfect—smooth, effortless, the kind that made people do a double take. Hair tousled just enough to look artfully undone, lips glossed and parted as if the picture had been taken in the middle of some glamorous, stolen moment. Not too obvious. Not too desperate. Just enough to make hearts race.

And then, the final touch—the caption. Something light, something teasing.

"Since everyone’s playing pretend, let’s all pretend I’m the main event tonight. 😉✨"

You hit post. Your notifications exploded almost instantly.

"EXCUSE ME???" "This is a personal attack." "Who do I need to fight?" "Oh, she’s in her villain era."

Good.

You smirked, tossing your phone aside. It wasn’t about revenge. Not really. You just wanted to feel wanted. To feel like someone out there was paying attention to you—since clearly, the one person who was supposed to care hadn’t even spared you a second of his time.

And then—your phone buzzed. You snatched it up so fast your hand nearly cramped. A notification. Your heart pounded. Was it him? Did he finally get the hint? Your stomach dropped.

“Choi Seung-hyun liked your post.”

Seung-hyun leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out as he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. The post-show adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving behind that familiar mix of exhaustion and restlessness. The other guys were scattered around their hotel suite—Youngbae flipping through TV channels, Ji-yong lazily sipping on a drink, Daesung scrolling on his own phone.

Then he saw it. Your photo. His brows lifted slightly as he clicked on it.

Damn.

You looked… really good. The kind of good that made his chest tighten just a little. The dress, the way your hair framed your face, the effortless confidence in your pose. His thumb hovered for half a second before he double-tapped. Like.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. You always looked good, but this? This was something else. He should probably text you—say something, tell you how stunning you looked. In fact, he was about to, but then he saw the caption. His head tilted slightly. Huh. That was… dramatic. But you always had a way with words, right? Maybe you were just playing around, soaking up some attention like you did once in a while. Nothing wrong with that.

"Well, that’s not good," Youngbae muttered from across the room.

Seung-hyun glanced up. "Huh?"

Youngbae was now leaning over, looking at his screen. "That post. From your girl."

Seung-hyun frowned, locking his phone. "What about it?"

Ji-yong, who had been half-dozing in an armchair, cracked one eye open. "She posted something?"

Youngbae sighed and rubbed his temple. "It’s not the post, it’s the context." He turned back to Seung-hyun. "You haven’t talked to her, have you?"

"I mean… not directly. But I liked the post."

Ji-yong let out an audible scoff. "And you think that counts?"

Seung-hyun gave him a look. "Acknowledging it is something."

Daesung, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up, shaking his head. "Hyung, no offense, but that’s kind of dumb."

Seung-hyun scowled. "What?"

"You two had a fight the night before we left," Youngbae reminded him. "A big one. And instead of calling or texting, you just disappear for days and then ‘like’ her thirst trap?"

“Thirst trap?"

Ji-yong snorted. "That dress? The pose? That’s a ‘look at me, I’m hot and unbothered’ post if I’ve ever seen one. And that caption? She’s pissed."

Seung-hyun looked back at his phone, suddenly rereading the words with fresh eyes. Something heavy settled in his stomach. Fuck.

"Okay, maybe she’s mad," he admitted. "But if she wanted to talk, she could’ve just messaged me too."

Youngbae gave him the most unimpressed look imaginable. "Are you actually serious right now?"

Daesung sighed and slowly dragged his hand down his face. “Surely, she’s trying to get you to message first, no?”

Ji-yong, looking far too amused, muttered under his breath, "This is painful to watch."

Seung-hyun exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to ignore you. Things had just… gotten busy. And yeah, maybe he had avoided reaching out because he didn’t know how to break the silence without making things worse. But now? Now, it was definitely worse.

Ji-yong had been lazily scrolling through his phone when something caught his eye. A headline that made him do a double take.

"BIGBANG’s T.O.P Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman—Is Love in the Air?"

His brows furrowed as he clicked on it. A series of pictures loaded, and his stomach dropped. Seung-hyun. With a woman. Ji-yong skimmed through the article, already feeling the headache coming on. The worst part wasn’t even the photos—it was the caption the woman had posted herself:

Oh.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. This was bad. Really bad.

Before he even thought about messaging and checking in on you, he instinctively checked your social media. And there it was. A brand-new post, just minutes ago. It wasn’t a selfie, it wasn’t even your face. A picture of your back to the camera, holding a glass of wine, very clearly not at home. The lighting was dim, warm, intimate. A restaurant? A spa? Somewhere expensive.

"Since everyone else is out exploring, maybe I should start too."

Ji-yong let out a low whistle. Yikes. But the real kicker? The comments.

He tapped on them, and his eyes immediately widened.

"I volunteer to be your tour guide. 👀🔥""Where are we traveling to, queen? Because I’ll book the flight RIGHT now.""Oh, she’s in her ‘mysterious and untouchable’ era, and I love it.""Damn, are we single now? 👀 Asking for myself.""Tell me why I’m staring at this like it’s a work of art. 😩😍"

"Ohhh, hyung," Daesung muttered, peeking over Ji-yong’s shoulder. "This is bad."

Youngbae snorted. "Check the likes."

Ji-yong scrolled up. Thousands. Blowing up in real time. And right there at the top? Seung-hyun. His very oblivious ass liked the photo.

"Bro." Ji-yong turned to look at him, absolutely baffled. "Have you got a death wish?"

"Huh?" Seung-hyun frowned, looking up from his phone.

"Did you even see what she just posted?" Ji-yong turned the screen toward him.

Seung-hyun’s brows pulled together as he took Ji-yong’s phone. For a moment, he just stared at the image, blinking like it hadn’t fully registered. Then he scrolled down. His grip on the phone tightened. Youngbae and Daesung peeked over his shoulder, reading along as the thirst comments kept rolling in.

"I’d like to explore with you. 😉" "Damn, whoever took this photo is one lucky person." "I’m free next weekend if you need a travel buddy. 😍" "Bet she’s sipping that wine while someone else is pouring it. 👀🔥"

Daesung winced. "This is kinda painful to watch."

Seung-hyun’s jaw clenched. His fingers gripped the phone a little too tightly, and Ji-yong could practically see the jealousy creeping into his expression.

"Who the hell are these people?" Seung-hyun muttered, scrolling through the comments with a frown.

"Her followers," Ji-yong said, raising an eyebrow. "Her very thirsty followers."

Seung-hyun’s eyes darkened slightly. "This guy just called her a work of art," he muttered, scowling. "And this one is talking about pouring her wine—what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ji-yong snorted. "Probably exactly what you think it means."

Seung-hyun glared at the screen like he was ready to fight someone.

"You’re mad?" Youngbae asked, amused. "You’re mad because other people are commenting on her post?"

Seung-hyun didn’t answer. But the muscle in his jaw twitched.

Ji-yong shook his head. "You’re an idiot."

Daesung sighed. "You should probably call her. Now."

Your phone buzzed against the polished kitchen counter, rattling next to the half-empty bottle of wine. You glanced down, expecting another notification—maybe a message from your friend group.

But it wasn’t them. It was Seung-hyun. Your stomach twisted. For days, there had been nothing. No texts. No calls. Just silence stretching between you like a chasm, widening with every passing second. You had told yourself you wouldn’t wait anymore. That you wouldn’t let him make you feel like this. And yet, your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating.

Your best friend glanced over from the fridge, took one look at your expression, and quirked a brow. “That him?”

You didn’t answer.

The phone kept ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, before the call could go to voicemail, you picked up.

At first, neither of you spoke. All you could hear on his end was faint background noise—the low murmur of voices, the hum of a car engine. He was probably still on the road, still miles and miles away. And yet, at this moment, it felt like he was standing right in front of you.

"You’re alive," you finally said, voice clipped.

He let out a slow breath. “I’m alive.”

"You wouldn’t think so, though," you muttered. "Since you’ve been acting like I don’t exist."

He was quiet for a second. Then, softer, "I know."

You let out a hollow laugh. "That’s it? You know? You disappear for days, and all you have to say is ‘I know’?"

“I messed up.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to stay mad. You really, really did. But the exhaustion was catching up to you—the late nights staring at your phone, the ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away, the pit in your stomach when you saw those photos.

"Yeah," you said, voice quieter now. "You did."

Another beat of silence. Then—

"I saw your post," he murmured.

Your lips curled slightly, though there was no humor in it. "Oh? Liked what you saw?"

He exhaled sharply. "You know that’s not what I meant."

"Do I?"

"Where are you?"

You frowned. "What does it matter?"

"Because," his voice was tense now, "I need to know if I just made things worse."

You swallowed. "I’m at my best friend’s."

A pause. "Good," he said, relief lacing his voice. "I was worried you—" He stopped himself.

"Worried I what?" you pushed.

"Worried you were with someone else," he admitted.

You blinked. "Are you serious?"

"I know I don’t have the right to ask," he said quickly, "but I just—I saw your caption, I saw the comments, and I—I just..." He trailed off.

"You’re jealous?"

"I’m going crazy," he admitted, voice rough. "I’ve been trying to give you space, but then I saw those pictures going around, and I just—I didn’t want to make things worse."

Your throat tightened. "So instead, you disappeared?" you whispered.

"...Yeah."

You shook your head, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. "You don’t get it, Seung-hyun. I needed you. I needed to hear from you, to know where we stood, and you just—just left me hanging."

"I didn’t know what to say," he murmured. "I was scared I’d lose you."

"You almost did," you said honestly.

The line went silent for a long moment. Then, voice hoarse, he asked, "Did you believe it?"

Your brows furrowed. "Believe what?"

"The rumors," he clarified. "That I was with her."

You swallowed hard, looking down. "...I didn’t want to. But what else was I supposed to think?"

Seung-hyun let out a slow breath. "She’s just one of the backup dancers. She was joking in the caption—I should have told her to take it down. I should have—God, I should have called you immediately. I wasn’t thinking."

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

"Baby," his voice softened. "You have to know... there’s no one else. There’s only you. It’s always been you."

Your breath hitched.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. "Then why didn’t you just tell me that?"

"Because I was an idiot. Because I didn’t want to fight with you over the phone. Because I thought if I just... waited, it would all blow over."

"It didn’t," you murmured.

"I know," he said. "And I hate myself for it."

You pressed your fingers against your temples, trying to get rid of the headache forming.

"I miss you," he whispered.

Your eyes burned. "You don’t get to say that."

"But it’s true," he said, voice thick. "I miss you. I miss us. And I don’t want to go another day without fixing this."

"Then fix it. Because I don’t know how much longer I can do this."

"I will," he promised. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

"I’m tired, Seung-hyun."

"I know," he murmured. "Let me make it right. Please."

Your best friend, who had been quietly listening from the other side of the counter, finally spoke up. "He’s groveling. I’d milk this for at least another two weeks."

You let out a wet laugh, shaking your head. Seung-hyun, hearing the sound, let out a soft breath. "You laughed."

"Shut up," you murmured, sniffling.

He chuckled, but then, voice gentle, he said, "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

"...Okay."

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

You hesitated. But then, quietly, "Yeah."

"Good," he murmured. "Get some sleep, baby."

As soon as the call ended, you let out a slow, unsteady breath, the weight of everything settling over you. The emotions still swirled—anger, relief, exhaustion—all tangled together in a way that left your chest feeling tight. It wasn’t fixed, not completely, but the worst of the storm had passed.

Your best friend’s voice was soft when they spoke. “You should get some rest.”

You nodded, but even as you stood to make your way to the guest room, your mind wouldn’t quiet.

The past few days had been a mess of contradictions. You had been furious at him, but you had missed him. You had convinced yourself you wouldn’t care if he reached out, but the silence had still hurt. And tonight—after days of aching uncertainty—you finally had his voice in your ear again. The tension in his tone, the hesitation in his words… He had felt it too. That realization should have made you feel better, but instead, it just left you more exhausted.

You slipped under the covers, staring up at the ceiling. You wanted to believe things were okay now, that one conversation was enough to undo everything. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple. There were still things unsaid, wounds that weren’t fully healed. And yet, for the first time in days, the heaviness in your chest didn’t feel unbearable. Maybe it wasn’t all better yet. But at least you weren’t alone in the uncertainty anymore.

Seung-hyun stared at his phone long after the call had ended, his grip tightening around the device as if holding onto it would somehow bring you closer.  He had been an idiot. He knew that now. Letting the fight spiral out of control before leaving, staying silent when he should have called, being so oblivious that it took his bandmates to point out what was really going on—it was all one big, frustrating mess, and he had let it happen.

And then there were the pictures. Seung-hyun exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned back against the hotel couch. He hadn’t even thought twice about them at the time, hadn’t realized what they must have looked like to you. That woman—someone he had only exchanged a handful of words with—had joked about him being her husband online, and suddenly the internet had exploded with speculation. His stomach twisted at the thought of you seeing that, scrolling through your phone and being blindsided by those pictures after days of radio silence. You had already been hurting. Already doubting him. And then he had handed you another reason to pull away.

A part of him had thought you’d lash out at him directly—call, text, anything—but you hadn’t. Instead, you had turned away from him completely, disappearing into your own world, posting pictures that felt like a quiet rebellion against the way he had made you feel. And the comments… He hadn’t even meant to look at them, but once he had, the simmering jealousy had been impossible to ignore.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a slow breath, trying to push down the frustration rising in his chest. He was the one who had messed up. He didn’t get to be angry.

The sound of a door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and a moment later, Ji-yong appeared in the doorway, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto him. "You look like shit."

Seung-hyun huffed out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. "Thanks."

Ji-yong walked further into the room, crossing his arms as he studied him. "Did you call her?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

Seung-hyun let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t know, man. It helped, I guess. We talked. It wasn’t like before, but… it was something."

Ji-yong nodded slowly, but his expression didn’t soften. "You need to fix this."

"I know."

"No, I mean really fix it," Ji-yong pressed, his voice lower now, more serious. "You left things bad, disappeared on her for days, and then let the whole world think you’re running around with someone else. That’s a lot of shit to throw at someone, Seung-hyun. And you know her—she’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother her, but it does."

Seung-hyun clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his phone again. He did know. That was what made it so much worse.

Ji-yong sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re lucky they even picked up the phone."

"I know," Seung-hyun muttered. He hated being reminded of it, but Ji-yong wasn’t wrong.

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Outside, the city lights flickered through the sheer hotel curtains, casting faint patterns across the floor. It felt distant, meaningless compared to the weight in his chest. After a moment, Ji-yong sat down in the chair across from him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "So… what are you gonna do?"

Seung-hyun stared at the floor, his mind already racing through possibilities. Words weren’t enough—not this time. He needed to do something. Something that would prove to you that you were the only thing that mattered to him.

He exhaled, determination settling in his bones. "Tomorrow, I’m making this right."

The soft morning light seeped through your curtains, painting golden streaks across your bed. You shifted under the covers, stretching your limbs before blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The past few days have left you feeling drained—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

With a deep sigh, you unlocked your phone, expecting the usual string of notifications. Instead, one message sat at the top of your screen.

“No more distance. I need to see you. Please come to me.”

You blinked, still groggy, but before you could even process the weight of his words, another notification popped up.

Flight confirmation - Your itinerary is ready

Your heart skipped. Clicking on it, you scanned the details—a first-class ticket, departing in the afternoon.

He had booked everything.

Your fingers tightened around your phone as emotions swirled inside you—anger, relief, disbelief, but most of all, longing. For days, you had been drowning in silence, missing him while convincing yourself that maybe he wasn’t missing you as much in return. But this? This was something different.

You could almost hear his voice in that short message. No teasing, no playfulness. Just quiet, raw honesty. He needed you. Swallowing hard, you hesitated before typing.

“You really did this?”

Three dots appeared almost instantly. "Of course. Just say yes, aein. Please."

Aein. The pet name he hadn’t called you since before the fight. The walls you had built around your heart cracked, just a little.

You stared at the ticket details again, your thumb hovering over the screen. The past few days had been a blur of overthinking and assumptions, of hurt and longing. But now, he was reaching out, breaking the silence, proving that he wasn’t willing to let things stay broken.

And neither were you.

The flight felt longer than it actually was. No matter how comfortable the first-class seat was, your nerves wouldn’t let you relax. You had spent the entire time staring out the window, replaying the last few days in your head, wondering what would happen the moment you saw him again. Would he apologize first? Would you? Would you even be able to speak at all?

Your fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag as you stepped through the arrival gate. You expected to go straight to the hotel or venue where the group was staying. The moment you stepped past baggage claim, a suited man holding a discreet sign with your name approached you.

"Miss, please follow me."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You had assumed there would be a driver waiting, but this felt more formal, more arranged. Nodding, you let him lead you through the airport, weaving through crowds effortlessly until you reached a private exit. The chilly air hit you as soon as the doors slid open, and waiting at the curb was a sleek black car, its tinted windows shielding whoever was inside.

Your pulse quickened.

The security guard opened the back door, stepping aside as he gestured for you to get in. You hesitated for only a second before slipping inside, the warmth of the car wrapping around you instantly.

And there he was.

Seung-hyun sat in the back, one arm resting lazily against the door, the other curled into a fist against his mouth as if deep in thought. The dim lighting inside cast soft shadows across his face, but his eyes—sharp and unreadable—locked onto yours the moment you settled into the seat beside him.

The door shut, sealing you both inside.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension from days of silence and misunderstanding settled heavily between you, thick enough to suffocate. Then, without a word, he reached out. His fingers found yours, hesitant at first, before gripping tightly—like he was afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t. Instead, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your body finally relaxing for the first time in days.

"I didn’t want to wait another second to see you," he murmured, voice low, rough with something unspoken. "Are we okay?"

Your throat tightened. He looked exhausted. He looked like he had been carrying the same weight you had, like the past few days had worn him down just as much.

You turned your hand over in his grip, intertwining your fingers with his.

"We will be," you whispered back.

The car pulled away from the curb, but neither of you let go. The ride is quiet at first. Not awkward, not tense—just… quiet. The kind of silence that feels heavy, filled with too many unspoken words, too many days of missed conversations. You don’t look at him at first, your fingers fidgeting in your lap as the city lights blur past the tinted windows. But you feel his gaze, feel the way he keeps sneaking glances at you, like he’s trying to make sure you’re really there.

After a few minutes, Seung-hyun finally breaks the silence. His voice is soft, careful. "You look tired."

You let out a breathy laugh. "Well, I did just take an international flight."

He hums, nodding slowly. Another beat of silence passes before he finally reaches out, hesitating for just a second before gently taking your hand in his. His grip is warm, a little tentative, but firm enough that it sends a small rush of comfort through you.

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmurs, running his thumb over your knuckles. “But I’m glad you did.”

You don’t say anything, just squeeze his hand back. It’s the first step toward fixing things. And then, because he can’t help himself, his lips twitch with the beginning of a smirk. "So… that post."

You blink, pulling your hand away slightly, but he doesn’t let you go. "What about it?" you ask, even though you already know exactly what he’s referring to.

“You had a whole army in your comments,” he muses, tilting his head. “Should I be worried?”

You roll your eyes, turning your face toward the window to hide the way your lips curve up just a little. "Why? You didn’t seem worried when you liked it."

His smirk falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to throw that back at him. But then he chuckles under his breath, leaning in just a bit closer. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd notice."

You do turn to face him then, arching a brow. "You’re unbelievable."

He grins, and for the first time in days, it feels like things between you aren’t so fragile anymore.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, giving your fingers another squeeze. “But you still came all this way to see me.”

And when he looks at you like that—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—you can’t really argue.

The car slows as it approaches the hotel, and Seung-hyun finally drops his teasing, his voice turning quiet again. "We’ll talk properly when we get upstairs, okay?"

You nod, and this time, when he reaches for your hand, you don’t pull away.

The elevator ride up to his hotel suite is quiet again, but this time, it’s different. The weight between you isn’t as heavy—it’s softer, filled with something that feels more like anticipation than tension. Seung-hyun never lets go of your hand, his grip firm but gentle as he leads you through the hotel, past security, past curious glances.

When the door to his suite clicks shut behind you, he doesn’t speak right away. He just stands there, exhaling slowly, his shoulders rising and falling like the weight of the past few days is finally catching up to him. He turns to you, and for the first time in days, you get a full look at him. He looks exhausted. Not just physically, but something deeper than that. There’s a heaviness in his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping much.

"I’m sorry." His voice is hoarse, like he’s been holding it in too long.

You swallow hard, arms crossing over your chest—not out of defiance, but to keep yourself from reaching for him too soon. "For what?"

His brows furrow slightly, and he exhales again, shaking his head. "For all of it." His voice wavers just slightly. "For leaving when we were still fighting. For shutting down instead of talking to you. For letting you think, even for a second, that you weren’t the most important thing to me."

Your breath catches. The words hit deep, settling in places you didn’t realize were still aching.

"Then why didn’t you call?" Your voice is quiet now, softer than you intended. "Why did I have to find out about you from an article?"

Seung-hyun lets out a slow, unsteady breath, raking a hand through his hair. He looks away for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts, and when he looks back, his eyes are glassy.

"Because I ruin things."

The words come out so raw, so unfiltered, that it knocks the air from your lungs.

"Seung-hyun—"

"No, just—just let me say this." He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and when he speaks again, his voice cracks. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be good at this. Every time something goes wrong, I just... shut down. Because if I say the wrong thing, if I handle it the wrong way, then maybe—" He hesitates, inhaling sharply. "Maybe you’ll realize I’m not worth all this trouble."

Your chest tightens.

"That’s not—"

"It is." He lets out a bitter laugh, looking away again. His hands clench at his sides before he forces himself to meet your gaze. "I’ve spent years being careful. Being the one who stays a little distant, a little detached, because that’s safer. But then you came along, and suddenly I didn’t want to be distant anymore." His voice drops lower, like he’s admitting a secret. "And that terrifies me."

His words break something open inside of you.

You step forward before he can pull away, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing against his jaw. His breath stutters as you touch him, like he wasn’t expecting it.

"You’re not going to lose me," you whisper. "I need you to believe that."

His eyes close for a moment, his jaw tightening beneath your touch. When he opens them again, there’s something vulnerable there, something unguarded.

"I missed you," he says, voice barely above a whisper. His hands lift, hesitating for just a second before settling on your waist, pulling you in. "I missed you so much, and I hated myself for making you feel like I didn’t."

Your heart clenches.

"Then don’t do it again," you murmur.

He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. "I won’t. I swear."

A beat of silence passes before he chokes out a soft, unsteady laugh. "God, I hate fighting with you."

You let out a watery laugh, sniffling as you press a hand against his chest. "Then stop picking fights with me."

His lips twitch, but then his expression turns serious again. "I mean it. I don’t want to push you away again. I don’t know how to be perfect, but I—" He inhales deeply. "I just want to be enough for you."

"You are."

His arms tighten around you, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you being this close again. And when he finally, finally kisses you, it’s not desperate or rushed. It’s slow, filled with all the words he hasn’t said, all the emotions he’s been holding back. His lips linger against yours, warm and desperate, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into the kiss. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you sink into him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt to pull him even closer.

You barely notice the sound of a door opening. “Well, damn. Guess we don’t have to ask if they made up.”

You jolt, tearing yourself away from Seung-hyun with wide eyes. He groans, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he exhales sharply. “Of course.”

Ji-yong stands in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Youngbae is right beside him, trying (and failing) to suppress a knowing grin. Daesung just looks amused.

“You guys do realize there are other rooms for that, right?” Ji-yong teases, stepping inside like he owns the place.

Seung-hyun sighs dramatically, straightening up but keeping an arm around you. “Do you ever knock?”

“Do you ever not make a scene?” Ji-yong fires back, plopping down onto the couch like this is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week. “We come looking for you, and this is what we walk into? Could’ve at least warned us.”

Daesung hums thoughtfully. “At least they weren’t on the table.”

Youngbae snorts, while you gasp. “Excuse me?!”

Seung-hyun groans again, rubbing his temples. “Can you all just leave?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Ji-yong grins. “This is way too fun.”

Your face burns as you try to shove your embarrassment away. “Well, if you must know, we were just—”

“Sucking each other’s faces off?”

“—Having a conversation.” You glare at Ji-yong, who just smirks wider.

“Right. A very intense conversation, huh?” Youngbae adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan, burying your face in Seung-hyun’s shoulder as he sighs, rubbing slow circles on your back. “They’re insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite behind it.

Daesung grins. “But really, we were just coming to tell you rehearsal’s starting soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Try not to get too distracted.”

The three of them grin, sharing knowing looks. And with that, they finally leave, their laughter trailing behind them. Seung-hyun sighs as the door finally swings shut, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You can’t help but laugh, still leaning into his chest. “They really have no shame.”

“None at all.” He huffs, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “But at least they’re gone now.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, smiling softly. “You sure you don’t need to go after them?”

He hums in thought, then tightens his hold on you. “Mm… No. They can wait a little longer.”

You giggle as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there, warm and gentle, before he moves to your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

“Seung-hyun,” you whisper, your smile growing as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“What?” He feigns innocence, though the small smirk tugging at his lips gives him away. “I didn’t get to properly say goodbye before we were rudely interrupted.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “That was barely a goodbye kiss.”

His smirk deepens. “You want a real one, then?”

Before you can answer, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, sweet kiss—nothing desperate, nothing rushed, just soft affection wrapped in warmth. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking lightly as if he wants to memorize the feeling of you under his touch.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours with a content sigh. “I really missed you.”

Your heart swells, and you slide your arms around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. “I missed you too.”

He closes his eyes, just holding you for a moment, his grip firm like he never wants to let go.

A sharp knock on the door ruins the peaceful moment.

“Hyung, if you don’t come out now, I swear we’ll start rehearsal without you!” Ji-yong’s voice calls through the door, followed by muffled laughter from the others.

Seung-hyun groans. “I hate them.”

You giggle, pressing one last kiss to his jaw before nudging him toward the door. “Go. Before they really do leave you behind.”

He sighs dramatically but finally steps back. “Fine. But I’m coming straight back to you after.”

“I’ll be here.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @petersasteria

[gf2bellamy]

Hi hello!

Oh my gosh I love your work so much like you are the absolute GOAT of Spencer fluff fics.

If it’s not a bother, can I please request reader starting her first day at the bau and she’s all shy and nervous because she’s the youngest and wants to make a good impression and as she’s greeting everyone she goes to shake Spencer’s hand he does the whole thing about pathogens and says how it’s safer to kiss and her being so flustered just goes ‘oh okay’ and gives a quick peck on his cheek without thinking and scampers away leaving him completely dazed?

impressions — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: statistics about bacteria , reader being nervous a/n: thank you so so much !!! that actually made my day thank you <3333333 i hope you like this :)

Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were convinced everyone in the bullpen could hear it.

You had barely stepped through the doors of the BAU, and already, nerves were twisting in your stomach like a tangled mess of wires.

Your first day, your first real job with the FBI, and, perhaps most daunting of all, the knowledge that you were the youngest agent on the team.

Someone had been kind enough to guide you through the bullpen.

It was surreal, stepping into their world.

You took a deep breath, forcing your feet to move forward, and stopped in front of the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office. You quickly smoothed your hands over your neatly pressed blazer, as if that would somehow make you appear more put together than you felt.

Swallowing hard, you raised a shaky fist and knocked.

“Come in.” The voice was firm, authoritative, but not unkind.

You exhaled, steeling yourself, and pushed the door open.

Aaron Hotchner sat behind his desk, looking up from a file in front of him. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you in that way you imagined only a profiler could.

You quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

He greeted you with a small smile, standing up as he extended a hand. “Welcome to the BAU.”

You shook his hand as firmly as you could manage, hoping he couldn’t feel how clammy your palm was. “Thank you, sir. It’s—” You hesitated, your mind scrambling for words that didn’t sound completely ridiculous. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Hotch gave you a small nod, motioning for you to take a seat across from him. “I’ve read your file. Your record is impressive.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picked up. “I, um—thank you, sir.”

“I know this unit can be… intimidating,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “But you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t capable. I trust that you’ll prove yourself.”

This settled some of the nerves still twisting in your stomach.

“I’ll do my best,” you said, meaning every word.

“I expect nothing less.” Hotch nodded with a small smile at you.

“The rest of the team is in the conference room,” Hotch continued as he stood, already moving toward the door. He pulled it open for you, nodding for you to follow.

As you stepped into the bullpen, trying to steady the nerves still buzzing under your skin, Hotch continued, “We have a case in Texas. You’ll be briefed shortly.”

Right. No slow introductions, no easing into things. You had expected as much, but it still made your stomach twist with anticipation.

This was it—your first case, your first real step into the world of the BAU.

Just as you rounded the corner toward the conference room, a blur of movement caught your eye.

Spencer Reid was practically sprinting through the bullpen, his satchel bouncing against his side as he hastily adjusted his tie. He skidded to a stop just in front of Hotch, his curls slightly disheveled, his breath uneven.

“Sorry I’m late,” Spencer said quickly, pushing his hair back from his face. “The metro had a delay, and then I was going over some of the Texas case files and lost track of time—”

Hotch held up a hand, cutting off the ramble. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp look he gave Spencer was enough to make him straighten his posture.

“Reid,” Hotch said, a quiet warning in his tone.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry.”

Hotch sighed but let it go, instead turning to you. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You took a step forward, offering a polite smile as you extended your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer glanced at your outstretched hand for half a second before grimacing slightly. “Oh, uh—I don’t really do handshakes,” he said, hesitating before explaining further. “Handshakes transfer more bacteria than any other common form of physical greeting? Studies show that the average handshake can transfer up to 124 million bacteria in just a few seconds.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

Spencer nodded, entirely serious. “Statistically speaking, it’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

You blinked.

For a moment, your brain completely stalled.

Kissing.

Safer.

Without thinking—without even processing what you were doing—you leaned in and pressed the quickest, most flustered peck to his cheek.

Spencer went completely still. His mouth fell open slightly, his wide eyes blinking in rapid succession as if his brain had just short-circuited.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced yourself to straighten, offering him a small, nervous smile—because what else were you supposed to do?

Before either of you could say anything, Hotch pushed open the door to the conference room. You stepped in immediately.

Spencer, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

His mouth hung open slightly, his brain working overtime to process what had just happened.

Hotch gave him a look. “You walked into that one.”

Spencer barely heard him. His hand drifted up to his cheek, still warm from the press of your lips, and he stood there, completely dazed, as the reality of his morning took an unexpected and utterly bewildering turn.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hi, it's me again! Could I request Jason Todd who has a moment of body dysmorphia while really spiraling inwardly mentally with him being so big, so changed after the Lazarus pit, having all these scars and the autopsy scar. His female girlfriend comes to help him and grounds him, reassures him. He's perfect the way he is and really lovable!

-------------------------🦇----------------------------

“Jason! Can you hurry up? I’d like to get in there before we go to bed.”

“Yeah. I’m working on it.” Jason called back to his girlfriend as he finished up his routine for the night.

Patrol had been light. So no need for first aid or stitches this time. Like he needed another scar. Sometimes when Jason looked into the mirror like now, he barely recognized the man looking back at him. Time was not always kind to mortal men who pretended to be superheroes. The physical strain. The bruising. The marks. He glanced over his body in the mirror. Old scars mixed with new. Some that were faded that he couldn’t remember how he got. Simply too old or memories that were lost to him in the Pit.

Jason flinched and clutched his head when he tried to think about the Pit. Visions of knives cutting into his flesh and stitching him back up. The scar down his front from chest to naval oozing with black putrid goo. Banging on his coffin liked the pounding in his head. Flashes of skin sluffed off a bleached white skeleton staring back in the mirror.

'Dead man walking. Dead man walking. Dead man walking!'

His hands lance out for the mirror before he could stop them. Ripping it off the wall with his bare hands before throwing it into the tub with a shatter.

“That’s ok. I didn’t need to shower anyway….”

Jason looked up, panting in his panic & rage, to find [Y/N] standing in the door. Her expression even but clearly freaked out about what he had done. The uncertainty of what he was going to do next. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Jason hissed through his teeth. No, it wasn’t ok. Why did people say that when things weren’t ok. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He said as he rubbed his face with his hand. How could he explain what was going on? “I just get these flashes sometimes. Headaches. Probably something to do with the Pit.”

“Well, coming back from the dead can probably be very traumatic for the brain.” She agreed. “Not to mention all the other trauma.” [Y/N] aware of his past, before & after coming back from the dead. She knew of his superhero exploits, and even his new role as a vigilante. “Why don’t you take a break for a while? Get your head straight?” She suggested. Carefully coming into the bathroom to avoid any glass or startling him as she came in to place her hand on his shoulder. “It might do you good.”

“I can’t.” He told her. “If I do then what was all this for.” Jason gestured to himself. All the pain. All these scars. His body mangled and twisted, along with his mind. What was the point of it if he couldn’t do some good, in his own way, with it.

“Maybe it’s just about you being here, and not some bigger picture Jason.”

[Y/N] wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “I know saving the world is important to you, but it’s not the only thing in the world. You need to focus on yourself sometimes. Talk to me. Or talk to someone. I think it would do you good.”

Jason listened to what his girlfriend was saying, then lifted his hand to grip her arm around his waist. “So, you don’t think I look gross?”

“What? Of course not! Is that what this is about?”

Jason shrugged. It was what had started all this but now it felt like it had spiraled into something more serious than he intended.

[Y/N] just rolled his eyes and let him go. “I’m not going to just stroke your vanity, Jason. You already know how hot I think you are.” She kissed his shoulder and gave him a withering look in the direction the mirror should be. “Come to bed you idiot. I’ll show you just how ‘not gross’ you are. You’re gonna be real disappointed in a minute though that you didn’t let me shower first before you blew up the tub. You’re cleaning that up tomorrow by the way.”

Jason chuckled. The shift from caring concern to just plain annoyed at how ridiculous he was being somehow grounding to him. “Yes ma’am.” He simply replied as he followed her into their bedroom to make good on her promise.

[cuteandhughesy]

can i request prompt 45 for nico pretty pleaseee

prompt no.45: domestic bliss

mornings were always your favourite time of day. the sun barley just peeking over the horizon, casting the bedroom in the start of its golden hue, mixing with the lingering blue light from the night time. usually awoken when nico gets up from practice, stretching loudly before trudging into the en suite bathroom. you’re always lulled back into a half sleep state from the sound of his shower, and then delightfully re-woken when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“leaving now,” he always mumbles against your sleep warm skin, “i’ll see you in a few hours baby.”

meanings got even more blissful when nico didn’t have practice. he wakes up later than usual, but not too late because his body is constantly on the go, but instead of stretching and getting up, he pulls you into his warm chest.

you’re usually delirious, but you can register the feeling on his skin, hair tickling your cheek as nicotine tucks you against himself. he usually lulls back to sleep for another 10-15 minutes on off days, the feeling of your body wrapped around his is simply too peaceful and comforting to not.

eventually when he does crawl out of bed, he heads straight downstairs. a few chrostmases ago he bought you one of those coffee pots that have set brewing times, so all he has to do it pour a huge serving into your favourite oversized mug—it’s neon yellow with a picture of nick miller from new girl on one side—adding your preferred add ins before bringing it up to you in bed.

at that point you’re properly awake, sitting up in bed wearing your glasses as you scroll through twitter like it’s the morning paper.

he always smiles at you, putting the mug on your beside coaster. “morning,” nico mumbles before giving you a kiss, right on your sleep chapped lips, humming into your mouth like he’s never felt anything better.

you talk in bed for usually an hour or two, but then nico always starts getting restless, meaning it’s times to get up properly. you brush your teeth side by side in the bathroom, sneaking flirtatious looks at one another while you brush like you’re in bring it on.

you can always count on making breakfast with one another while nico has an off day or a late practice. if it’s an off day, he always prefers something heavier like pancakes or crepes. if there’s an afternoon practice, nico picks something lighter that won’t weigh him down—usually eggs or cereal.

you get dressed afterwards. sometimes you go out into town and do a little shopping together, other times you simply just sit on the couch together, catching up with everything the other has missed.

it’s a routine. always similar. but you’d never want it to change. domestic bliss with nico is your favourite thing in the world

—

(not edited)

[forsaire]

I turned talking about video game inaccuracies into something sickeningly sweet. Enjoy 😊 @crunchybeards

---

“Johnny, what are you doing? I’ve been waiting-”

But Ghost abruptly stopped talking as he rounded the corner.

Sitting on the couch with his body intensely leaning forward and his eyes squinted in focused determination that Ghost was familiar with seeing when they were on a mission – or when trying to cook – was Soap. The controller in his hands looked small compared to him and the light from the television flickered across his face.

“What are you doing?” Ghost asked.

“Just playing a shooter that one of the recruits gave me,” Soap replied, his eyes zipping across the screen.

Ghost glanced up to see bodies clad in camo military gear running forward towards a diamond point in the distance, Soap’s character following behind them. A flurry of gunshots rang out and the right side of his screen was splattered with streaking red. The character quickly slid to duck behind cover and look through the scope of their sniper rifle.

“You don’t get enough of this in real life?” Ghost asked, crossing his arms. Soap then cursed under his breath and shifted forward. “Evidently not.”

Ghost turned his attention back to the screen. The outline of the gun in the corner had a name, though from Ghost’s memory, it was the shadow of a completely different gun. The magazine size was odd too and when Soap looked into the scope again, there was something a bit off about the lines. He listened for a moment as the characters spoke out to each other – granted it was an American game – but the acronyms were also not familiar.

“It doesn’t bother you how inaccurate all these games are?” Ghost asked. “I understand the 18 year old civilian not giving a shite, but you at least know better. When are you coming to bed?”

Soap shrugged. “I don’t think about it much. Half of the time they’re talking bullocks but I don’t pay attention to the story. I’m just here to…got ya! Blow off a couple heads. They explode much nicer than in real life. Tons of ammo. A dog companion. Enemies showing up on the map. What more could you want?”

“Reality.”

Soap scoffed. “You need to make a more compelling argument.”

Ghost walked behind the couch. “You know what else the real world has?” He gently took Soap’s head in his hands and tilted it backwards, capturing Soap’s lips as he let out a surprised huff. But only a second later, Soap closed his eyes and leaned into it, his hand reaching up to grab at Ghost’s hair. Ghost pulled back ever so slightly, enamored by Soap’s shining blue eyes and pink lips. “Me.” He ran a hand down Soap’s throat. “Now come to bed.”

A loud grunt pulled both of their attentions back to the screen and a bloody game over wiped across the television. Soap sighed.

“You killed me.”

“If you don’t get in bed with me right now, I’ll kill you for real.”

The smallest, amused smirk pulled at Soap’s lips.

“Yes, sir.”

With two hands that easily linked back up with one another again, Ghost and Soap headed back to their room, Ghost ready to show Soap just how good reality could be.

[livingincolorsagain]

The calls quickly become a routine. The first few days, Buck sticks to just regular old calls, and for the first few days, just hearing Eddie’s voice is enough.

Eddie’s voice has always been gentle, quiet, curling around certain words and letters, loose around others. It’s such a unique voice, Buck has never heard anything like it, nothing has ever sounded quite as soothing, as understanding, and Buck has never known a voice quite as well as he knows Eddie’s.

But, after a few days, just hearing Eddie’s voice is no longer enough.

There are pictures of Eddie every which way Buck turns. On the fridge, on the mantle, in the gallery of his phone in the thousands, imprinted on the back of his eyelids, and every time he rubs his eyes a little too roughly, it comes to life in a kaleidoscope of colors, bright and blinding.

And yet, Buck misses his face, finds himself worried, all of a sudden, that he will forget how Eddie looks. It’s not a rational thought, he knows. Buck will forget his name and his own face, but will remember the curl of Eddie’s smile and the shade of his pretty brown eyes and the flush of his cheeks. But the thought stays with him, taunting and sharp, until he gives in and FaceTimes Eddie after a long shift, still in his street clothes, trying and failing to sink into the unforgiving give of his couch.

Eddie picks up on the second ring, bright eyes with leftover sleep and a brighter smile, says Buck’s name in the way only he ever does.

His new kitchen is small, so when he props his phone on the counter so Buck can watch as he makes breakfast, Buck can see almost everything. He can see when Eddie cracks the eggs a little too hard on the new counter, and when he jams his hips a little too sharply into the corner and winces, and when he accidentally opens the wrong cabinet looking for the frying pan.

He’s still getting used to it, Buck can see, propped up on the counter as he is, listening to the sizzling of the eggs and the toaster and the coffee machine and the persistent humming of the fridge. It sounds a little like home, just a little out of reach, but then Eddie starts singing under his breath the way he does sometimes, and everything is a lot more tangible all of a sudden, warmer, softer, like an old lullaby and a well loved blanket and the world’s most comfortable couch.

Once breakfast is ready, Eddie grabs the phone, so his face is that much more closer, and Buck blinks his heavy eyelids open, takes him in.

Eddie smiles at him, says, “Alright, I’m gonna eat. You go sleep, I’ll talk to you later,” then so much quieter that Buck almost misses it, “Thanks for keeping me company.”

Afterwards, Buck stares at the blank screen of his phone, sleep forgotten, and feels the part of his heart with Eddie’s name scratched on it aches and aches and aches and breaks.

Turns out, loneliness goes both ways.

[buckysouvenir]

agora hills

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day thirteen!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

Bucky never cared much for attention. He had spent years slipping into the shadows, keeping his head down, trying not to be seen. There was a time when being invisible was a matter of survival. A habit that never really went away.

But with Y/N?

With her, he wanted the world to see.

He didn’t care who was watching when he pulled her closer in a crowded room, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Let them look. Let them whisper. He wanted them to know she was his. He wanted them to see that she had chosen him. That she loved him.

And he loved her right back.

His fingers found hers, warm and soft against his own, and he squeezed gently, grounding himself in the reality that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere. He caught the way people’s eyes followed them, the way heads turned as they passed. Normally, it would have put him on edge, sent him into that old fight-or-flight instinct that never quite left him. But not now. Not with her.

"Let ‘em watch, doll," he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned down to her ear. "I don’t give a damn."

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and easy, and she turned to face him, tilting her head. "You sure about that, tough guy?"

"Wouldn’t be doin’ this if I wasn’t," he muttered, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her temple.

She shivered at the contact, and he didn’t miss the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on just a little tighter. He wasn’t subtle. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be.

The music was loud, the bass vibrating through the floors of the dimly lit club. Normally, a place like this wasn’t his scene—too many people, too many flashing lights, too much noise. But Y/N had wanted to go out, and if she wanted to dance, if she wanted to have a good time, then he’d be damned if he didn’t give it to her.

"Come here," he said, tugging her toward the dance floor, ignoring the way a few people turned to look.

Y/N raised an amused brow. "Didn’t take you for a dancer, Barnes."

"Not usually," he admitted, guiding her through the crowd until they were in the middle of the room, bodies moving all around them. "But for you? I’ll make an exception."

His hands found her hips, fingers pressing firmly into her skin, and he pulled her close, letting her body melt into his. She fit against him like she was made for it, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

It was dangerous, how easily she undid him.

"Big, strong hands, huh?" He teased, the words low and rough as he leaned down, his lips barely grazing her ear.

She grinned, looking up at him through her lashes. "You heard that?"

"Doll, I hear everything."

Her laughter vibrated through his chest, and damn if it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.

He spun her then, pulling her back against his chest, his arms locking securely around her waist. Her body moved against his, hips swaying with the music, and he let himself get lost in the feeling of her. In the way she fit against him so perfectly.

They had spent too much time apart in the past, too much time dancing around whatever this was, whatever they were. But now?

Now he had her.

And he wasn’t gonna let the world forget it.

[writeriguess]

Dabi x prohero!reader??

Consumed by Fire

The alleyway smelled like smoke and rain. Water dripped from the fire escape above, splattering onto the cracked pavement as you leaned against the cold brick wall. The city never slept, but this part of town felt dead—just the way he liked it.

“You’re late,” Dabi drawled, stepping out from the shadows. His coat swayed as he moved, that lazy smirk pulling at his lips, the staples in his skin catching in the dim streetlight.

“You’re the one who picked the spot,” you shot back, arms crossing over your chest. “What if I was followed?”

Dabi let out a dry chuckle. “Then that’d make two idiots in one alley, wouldn’t it?” He stepped closer, his presence electric, dangerous. “Relax, sweetheart. No one’s onto us.”

“You don’t know that.”

His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your face up. “I’d know.” His voice was lower now, a promise wrapped in smoke and heat.

You sighed, tension easing just a little. This was always the way it went. You worried, he mocked you for it, and then—

His lips crashed against yours.

Dabi never kissed gently. He wasn’t built for softness, for warmth. He kissed like he burned, searing into you, taking as much as he gave. Your back hit the wall as he pressed you deeper into it, fingers sliding under the collar of your hero uniform, nails scratching against your skin.

When he finally pulled away, he was grinning. “Miss me?”

You rolled your eyes, pretending like you weren’t breathless. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you keep coming back.” He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “So, tell me, hero. What’s the excuse this time? Night patrol? Another ‘classified mission’?”

You hesitated. “There was…a meeting today. About the League.”

Dabi didn’t stiffen, but his expression shifted, amusement flickering into something sharper. “That so?”

You swallowed. “They’re getting closer.”

He hummed, unconcerned. “And?”

“And they’re asking about you.”

Now, he grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim light. “Flattering. What are they saying?”

“That you’re a liability. That you’re reckless, dangerous—”

“Aw, they do know me.”

“Dabi.”

The teasing vanished in an instant, replaced by something darker. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice a rasp in the quiet. “What do you want me to say, doll? That I’ll play nice? That I’ll turn myself in, give a little apology speech for all the shit I’ve done?” His fingers curled around your chin, grip firm but not cruel. “That’s not how this works. You knew that when we started.”

“I know.” Your voice was quiet, but steady. “I just—I don’t want them to find out.”

Dabi studied you for a moment, then smirked. “So, you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

He let go of your chin, stepping back. “Good. Because if they do find out, it’s not me they’ll go after.” His eyes flickered down your body, from your uniform to the slight tremor in your fingers. “You ever think about that?”

You hated how much you had.

You hated that the thought of losing him terrified you more than it should.

Instead of answering, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, fingers brushing over the cool staples in his skin. “Come back with me.”

Dabi scoffed. “Cute.”

“I’m serious.”

He lifted a brow. “You want me to waltz into hero society? Play house with you? Be a good little reformed villain?”

“I want you safe.”

“And I want a world where assholes like Endeavor don’t get to play hero while people like me rot in the dark,” he shot back, voice hard. “We don’t always get what we want.”

You flinched at the mention of Endeavor. Dabi rarely brought him up, but when he did, it was always with that same, hollow anger—burnt out, but still smoldering.

“Stay with me, then,” you whispered. “Just for tonight.”

His eyes darkened, jaw tensing. But then his fingers curled into your jacket, and he muttered, “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You smiled. “I know.”

And then, just like that, he let you pull him away from the alley, away from the smoke and the city and the ever-looming threat of discovery.

Your apartment was small, barely more than a glorified closet, but it was safe. Dabi leaned against the counter, watching as you locked the door behind you.

“You always this paranoid?” he asked.

“Only when I’m harboring a wanted criminal.”

He snorted. “Flattering.”

You pulled off your gloves, tossing them onto the counter. “Hungry?”

Dabi gave you a look. “You know I don’t come here for the food.”

You flushed. “That’s not—”

He was on you in seconds, hands rough as they grabbed your waist, lips hot against your neck. “What?” he murmured against your skin. “Not what you meant?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Dabi—”

He bit down, just hard enough to make you gasp. “You worry too much,” he muttered, dragging his teeth lower. “It’s gonna catch up to you.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, gripping tight. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Dabi hummed, amused. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”

His hands slid under your uniform, heat trailing in their wake, his breath uneven against your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you again, it tasted like fire.

Later, tangled in sheets and heat, you traced your fingers over the scars on his chest, over the places where his skin had been torn apart and stitched back together.

“You ever gonna tell me the truth?” you asked softly.

Dabi didn’t open his eyes. “About what?”

“About who you were before all this.”

A long pause. Then, “You wouldn’t like the answer.”

You frowned. “Try me.”

Another beat of silence. Then, quietly—too quietly—he murmured, “I used to be someone who thought heroes could save people.”

Your breath hitched. “Dabi—”

“Go to sleep, doll,” he muttered, turning onto his side. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, heart aching. But you didn’t push.

Because if there was one thing you’d learned about Dabi, it was that you only ever got pieces of him—fragments, burned and broken.

And yet, even knowing that, you still held onto them.

Because they were his.

And because, for as long as you could, you wanted to be the one who held them.

[insidekatmind]

Different Night~Hwang In-ho

Wearning: +18,sweet smut

Request: yes!

The living room is bathed in warm, soft light, the smell of freshly made popcorn mingling with the sweet aroma of melted butter coming from the kitchen. You’re sitting on the couch, legs crossed, as your daughter climbs on top of you with a beaming smile. She’s still wearing her soft pajamas, her hair messy from the day, and she’s laughing as your fingers tickle her belly.

“Again, Mommy!” she exclaims, between laughs, her small hands squeezing around your wrists to stop you, even though she doesn’t really want you to stop.

From the kitchen counter, Hwang In Ho watches you with a tender smile. He’s dressed comfortably, in a loose-fitting t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly messy as always. He’s preparing snacks for the evening: a bowl of popcorn, some cookies, and a couple of cups of warm milk, his way of making the evening even more special.

“Don’t make her too nervous or she won’t even make it to the start of the movie,” he says with an amused tone, pouring milk into the cups.

Your daughter turns to him, her eyes shining. “Daddy, come play too!”

In Ho shakes her head with a smile. “I’ll be right there, princess, I’ll finish up here and then I’ll come over.”

The little girl snuggles up against you, yawning softly, even though she tries to hide it. “What movie are we watching, mommy?”

You gently stroke her hair, smiling. “One you’ll love.”

A few minutes later, In Ho arrives with a tray and places it on the coffee table in front of you. He sits down next to you, his arm barely touching yours as he helps the little girl settle between you. She snuggles in the middle, wrapped in a soft blanket, her small hands clutching a handful of popcorn.

The movie begins, the lights are low and the atmosphere is perfect. Every now and then, you feel In Ho leaning in slightly, the warmth of his body mingling with yours. You exchange soft glances over the baby’s head, silent smiles that say more than a thousand words. It’s one of those simple, yet perfect, nights where time seems to stand still and the world is reduced to the three of you, huddled together under a blanket.

Halfway through the movie, you notice that your daughter’s little head has settled on your arm, her breathing becoming more and more regular. You exchange glances with In Ho and he smiles softly, turning down the volume on the television.

“She fell asleep,” he whispers, with infinite tenderness.

You nod, touching his cheek with a finger. “It was a matter of time.”

Gently, In Ho takes her in his arms, lifting her with the utmost care so as not to wake her. He carries her to his room, while you follow him with light steps. You settle her into bed, pull up the covers and give her a kiss on the forehead. In Ho stares at her for a few seconds, a sweet smile lighting up his face, then he turns off the night light before leaving the room.

When you return to the living room, he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Come,” he whispers, in that soft voice that makes you feel safe.

He leads you to your bedroom, the door closing softly behind you. The atmosphere is calm, intimate. No words are needed, just the way he looks at you, the way his hands find yours. It is pure love, the kind that is built day after day, between shared popcorn, childish laughter and quiet evenings on the couch. And as his arms hold you sweetly, you understand that this moment, this life with him, is all you need.

He kisses you sweetly as he lies you down on the bed, undressing you.

In Ho’s movements are slow, deliberate, his hands tracing a path of fire over your bare skin. Every touch is soft, reverential, as if he is worshipping your body with his fingers. He caresses your curves, your scars, those little imperfections that, in his eyes, make you more beautiful, more real. His lips follow the path his hands draw, exploring every inch of your skin with delicate kisses.

The room is filled with the sounds of your combined breathing, of your soft moans as his mouth finds the sensitive spots on your body. He savours each moment, his touch always so gentle, but also full of desire and passion. It's not a rush, it's not about reaching a goal. It's about finding pleasure in every moment, in the here and now, in touching and taking your time.

In Ho’s body presses against yours, his skin warm and soft, his weight a comfort against your own. Your hands find their way to his back, your fingers tracing the muscles of his shoulders and his arms, exploring the familiar terrain of his body. His body shudders beneath your touch, his breathing growing more urgent, but he still takes his time, enjoying the journey as much as the destination.

He captures your mouth in a deep, ardent kiss as he enters you, his body moving slowly, adjusting to your rhythm. His eyes are fixed on yours, full of emotion, as if he is trying to memorize every moment, every expression on your face. His hands hold your hips, guiding you gently, his touch firm but not forceful, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. The room is silent except for the sound of your shared breathing, the sound of your bodies moving together in perfect sync. It's not a mere physical act, it's two souls merging as one, expressing a love that goes beyond words.

The intensity increases, the heat between your bodies growing with every kiss, every touch, every movement. In Ho’s hand find yours, intertwining your fingers, as he looks into your eyes, the love and desire burning bright in his gaze. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, whispering words of love between deep, ragged breaths. "You're so beautiful, so precious. I love you, love you so much."

"Me too baby" you say softly.

In Ho’s response is a deep, guttural moan, as he captures your mouth in another kiss, his tongue seeking yours in a passionate dance. His movements become more urgent, more intense, but still with that same sense of tenderness and care that characterizes him. His hand finds their way to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. "You’re everything to me," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. "Everything."

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, the sensations overwhelming you. The heat, the pleasure, the love, all blending into a single, heady mix. In Ho’s lips find their way to your neck, his kisses becoming more demanding, more desperate. He whispers words of love and desire against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His hands caress your body, his fingers tracing patterns of fire across your flesh, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “I can’t get enough of you,” he breathes, his words a mix of frustration and longing.

“In-ho,” you moan softly.

In Ho’s body shudders at the sound of his name on your lips, his hand finding your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Say it again," he whispers, his voice low and urgent. "Say my name again."

"In-ho," you repeat, his name like a prayer on your lips. He captures your mouth in another deep kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with an almost desperate hunger. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, holding you even more tightly against him, as if he is trying to meld your bodies together. "I need you," he gasps, his voice raw with need and want.

The world outside the bedroom is forgotten, time becomes a meaningless concept as you lose yourselves in each other. The only thing that matters is the here and now, the joined bodies, the shared breaths, the words of love whispered in each other’s ears. It’s a night, a moment, that will remain etched in your memory forever, a part of the story that is yours and In-ho's, beautiful and perfect.