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passengerprincessblog · 4 months ago

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“Trophy Room” Lando Norris x Reader

Warning: smut, NSFW, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex.

Summary: Lando Norris throws a party in hopes of getting closer to Y/N, a girl he’s been crushing on, introduced by mutual friends. Amid drinks, dancing, and flirtation, their chemistry culminates into a moment away from the crowd, hinting at something deeper between them.

WC: 2,000?

Lando’s POV

The two weeks off couldn’t have come at a better time. After months of relentless training, race prep, and following a strict diet, I was ready to relax a bit. It’d been ages since I let loose, and tonight was all about unwinding. But honestly, the real reason I was throwing this party had less to do with relaxation and more to do with her. Y/N.

I don’t know what it was about her—something about the way she laughed or how she didn’t seem fazed by the chaos around her. She’d come into my life through Max and Pietra, his girlfriend, and since then, I’d found myself scrolling through her Instagram, even browsing her Spotify playlists just to feel like I knew her a little better. I was surprised to find out she didn’t have a boyfriend. Not that I was checking specifically… but, okay, maybe I was.

The music was already pumping as people filled my penthouse. My mate Martin was on the DJ deck, setting the perfect vibe, and the drinks were flowing freely. The weight of the day’s workout still lingered in my muscles, but the buzz from a couple of shots was loosening me up. I was taking a shot with Max when I saw her walk in, and—well, let’s just say I almost choked on my drink.

I couldn’t stop myself from calling out to her. “Y/N! Shot?” I grinned, holding up the vodka bottle.

Y/N’s POV

Walking into Lando’s penthouse, I immediately felt a bit overwhelmed. The place was packed, and the music was loud enough to make the floor vibrate. I scanned the room for Pietra; she was the one who convinced me to come in the first place, promising me a fun night and a chance to unwind.

Before I could find her, though, I heard my name being called. I looked over and saw Lando, smirking, with a bottle of vodka in hand, waving me over. He had this look in his eye that told me he was already a little tipsy. The group around him started chanting my name, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay… fine!” I made my way over, and Lando immediately started pouring me a shot, spilling a bit as he did. He was definitely drunk, and he was being flirty in a way that caught me off guard.

“Don’t look so scared, it’s just vodka,” he teased with a grin. “Come on, cutie… I’ll pour you an extra large one.”

I laughed, trying to hide the fact that his confidence was making me blush. “I think I can handle it, thanks.” I downed the shot, my face scrunching up as the vodka burned its way down.

He burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, was it that bad?” He watched me, his gaze lingering a little too long, and I felt his eyes sweep over me. It was like he was taking in every detail, from my dress to the way I was reacting to him.

“You never followed me back, by the way,” he said, pouting in a way that was both ridiculous and kind of cute.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Didn’t know you were checking, Mr. Norris.”

“Oh, I’ve been checking,” he replied, leaning closer. “Just waiting on you to notice.” His words were playful, but his eyes had a glint that made my stomach flutter.

He poured me another shot before I had a chance to protest, grinning as he held it out. “One more. Think you can keep up?”

I raised an eyebrow, taking the glass. “Are you challenging me?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

I took the shot, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through me. The music seemed louder, the lights dimmer, and everything around me just felt more alive. I was definitely feeling the buzz now.

As more people arrived, the party got even more crowded, and every time Lando moved away, I’d find him gravitating back toward me, like he wasn’t content unless he was close. Eventually, he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the makeshift dance floor.

“Come on!” he yelled over the music, his grin infectious.

I laughed, letting him lead me, and he immediately started dancing, his movements exaggerated as he tried to make me laugh. His energy was electric, and soon I couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm. At one point, a few people bumped into me, and he quickly grabbed my hips, pulling me closer. I could feel his breath on my ear as he leaned in.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, smirking as he looked down at me.

My face heated up at his words, but he was already pulling back, that same cocky smile on his face. “What?” I challenged, trying to keep my cool.

He shrugged, giving me a look that was equal parts daring and mischievous. “Just stating facts.”

Before I could respond, he tilted his head, giving me a mischievous grin. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I wanna show you my trophies.” He held my gaze, and even in his drunken state, I could feel the sincerity in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist in excitement and nerves, but before I could second-guess, he grabbed my hand, leading me down a hallway. His fingers laced through mine, and I could feel the warmth of his hand, grounding me in the moment.

He opened a door to a room that had a display case filled with trophies, awards, and helmets. The room felt quieter, the music from the party faint in the background, and for a moment, it was like we’d stepped into a different world. He watched as I took it all in, a proud but slightly shy expression on his face.

“You’re really good at what you do,” I said softly, looking back at him.

He shrugged, his usual confidence wavering slightly. “It’s just racing… I dunno, sometimes it feels like people only see this side of me, y’know?”

I nodded, understanding more than I expected. “Well, it’s impressive. But I think I’m seeing another side of you tonight too.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “You mean the drunk idiot?”

“No,” I laughed. “The Lando who cares, who’s goofy and… real.”

His gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Y/N.”

My heart pounded as he looked at me, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something warmer, something… real. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his hand lingering for a moment.

Without thinking, I found myself leaning in, and he met me halfway, his lips soft and warm against mine. It was a gentle kiss, both of us testing the waters, but as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, the kiss deepened, filled with the energy and intensity that had been simmering between us all night.

He pulled me closer, his drunken confidence fueling his actions. With a sudden force, he pushed me back against one of the trophy cases, his lips hungrily claiming mine. I was taken aback, not expecting this level of intensity from Lando. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, sending a shiver down my spine as he sucked on it fervently.

His hands roamed down my body, finally settling on my ass. He gripped it tightly, pulling me flush against him. I could feel his hardness pressing against my core, evidence of his desire for me. My mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt change in our dynamic. I hadn't realized Lando wanted me this badly, but I found myself responding to his touch, my body melting into his.

As he continued to kiss me passionately, I felt a sense of excitement and nervousness coursing through me. This wasn't what I had anticipated for tonight, but the thrill of the unexpected was intoxicating. His hands slid under my dress, caressing my thighs, inching closer to my most intimate area. I let out a soft moan, the sound muffled by his lips against mine.

Lando abruptly pulled away from our heated embrace, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the trophy room, his steps hurried and determined. We stumbled down the hallway, our laughter echoing off the walls as we made our way towards his bedroom.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he pushed me onto the bed, his body following suit. He hovered over me, his eyes dark with desire and his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. "You're so fucking beautiful," he slurred, his words slightly jumbled. "I want to devour you, my little puppy."

I couldn't help but giggle at his drunken attempt at dirty talk. "You're drunk," I teased, playfully swatting at his chest.

He chuckled, his hand grasping mine and pinning it above my head. "Maybe I am, but I know what I want, and I want you. All of you." His other hand trailed down my body, slipping beneath my dress and caressing my skin.

I squirmed beneath his touch, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through my veins. "Then take me," I whispered, my voice laced with desire. "Show me what you've got, Lando."

With a growl, he captured my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth with a fervor that left me breathless. His hand continued its exploration, sliding up my thigh and teasing the edge of my panties. I gasped into the kiss, my hips instinctively bucking against his touch.

Lost in the heat of the moment, I surrendered myself to Lando's drunken passion, eager to see where the night would take us.

Lando's lips trailed hot kisses down my neck as his hands continued to explore my body. He nipped and sucked at my sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks that I knew would be visible in the morning. His drunken dirty talk continued, each word sending a shiver down my spine.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he mumbled against my skin, his hands fumbling with the hem of my dress. "I want to taste every inch of you, my little puppy."

I could feel his eagerness, but I noticed him struggling with my dress. A mischievous idea formed in my mind, and I gently pushed him back onto the bed. He looked up at me with a confused yet amused expression.

"Let me help you with that," I purred, my fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. His smirk grew wider as he watched me take control.

"Little puppy's not so shy now, huh?" he teased drunkenly, his voice low and husky.

I hooked my fingers into his waistband and slowly pulled his jeans down, revealing his hardness straining against his boxers. "Not when I've got you right where I want you," I replied with a wink.

I leaned down, my hair falling around us like a curtain as I pressed soft kisses along his inner thigh. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I worked my way closer to his aching member.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're driving me crazy," he groaned, his hips bucking slightly.

I looked up at him through my lashes, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "That's the idea," I whispered before taking him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around his shaft as I began to work him with my tongue.

I continued to suck on Lando's hardness, my tongue swirling around his shaft as I took him deeper into my mouth. His moans filled the room, his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as I pleasured him. I was surprised by my own boldness, but there was something about Lando that made me feel comfortable and confident.

As I bobbed my head up and down, I felt a surge of pride when I tasted his precum. It was a sign of his pleasure, and I reveled in the knowledge that I was the cause of it. However, before I could continue, he gently pulled me off and flipped me onto my back, his body hovering over mine.

He moved to check his drawer for a condom, but after a few moments of rummaging, he cursed under his breath. "Can I... please fuck you? With nothing..." he asked drunkenly, his voice laden with desire.

My face heated up at his request, and I felt a mix of uncertainty and need coursing through me. I knew the risks, but in that moment, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. His lips trailed kisses along my neck, his hands caressing my skin as he waited for my response.

"Lando," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure? We shouldn't..."

But even as the words left my lips, I knew I was already lost in the heat of the moment. His touch ignited a fire within me, and I found myself craving more. I hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in to my desires.

"Okay," I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.

A triumphant grin spread across his face as he positioned himself at my entrance. "You won't regret this, pretty girl," he promised, his voice thick with lust.

And with that, he thrust into me, filling me completely. I gasped at the sensation, my nails digging into his back as he began to move inside me. The feeling was intense, overwhelming, and I knew there was no turning back now.

Lando continued to thrust into me, his movements fueled by a mix of lust and alcohol. His hands roamed my body, caressing every curve and dip as he lost himself in the pleasure of our intimate connection. I moaned softly, my hands gripping the sheets beneath us as I surrendered to the sensations coursing through me.

Suddenly, his hand slipped between our bodies, his fingers finding my sensitive clit. He rubbed it gently, his touch sending waves of pleasure through my core. I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand as he skillfully brought me closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he slurred, his drunken dirty talk mingling with the sounds of our lovemaking. "I love how you feel around my cock, baby. You're taking it so well."

His words only heightened my arousal, and I found myself clinging to him, urging him on. I could feel my orgasm building, the pressure inside me growing with each passing second. With a final stroke of his fingers and a particularly deep thrust, I came undone, my body shaking with the intensity of my release.

Lando followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled his seed deep inside me. He collapsed on top of me, his breath hot against my neck as he tried to catch his breath. For a moment, we lay there, our bodies intertwined and our hearts racing.

Slowly, he rolled off of me and pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me in a tender embrace. He kissed my cheek softly, his touch gentle despite his inebriated state. "Was that okay, baby?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically sweet. "Do you need anything? Water, a towel, my bathroom is all yours."

I smiled, touched by his consideration. "I'm good," I assured him, snuggling closer.

As we caught our breath, Lando helped me pull my dress back down, his hands gentle and slightly unsteady due to his inebriated state. He reached up to fix my hair, his fingers combing through the tangled locks with a tenderness that belied his earlier drunken fervor. A smirk played on his lips as he admired his handiwork, clearly pleased with himself for finally getting the girl he had been crushing on.

"Maybe you'll follow me back now, huh?" he joked, referring to the fact that I hadn't followed him on Instagram. "I mean, after that performance, you owe me at least a like or two."

I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. "We'll see," I teased, not wanting to make any promises just yet.

Lando took my hand and led me back to the party, his arm draped casually around my shoulders.

——————————————

Thank you for reading!

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#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris smut

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raekensluver · 7 months ago

Text

second to none

can be read as a stand alone but in case you want more- read part two here!

description: breaking up with your boyfriend spencer reid was difficult but not as difficult as realizing you were always going to be his second choice.

pairing: boyfriend!spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: angst, breakup, fighting, happens after jj’s confession to spencer in 12x15, toxic!spencer??, spencer not being a good boyfriend.

song rec: bored by billie eilish- "giving you all you want and more, giving you every piece of me."

w.c: 1.5k

an: i had to. the plot popped into my head and i couldn't not write it.

"spencer, i can't believe you." you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch for the umpteenth time. the elegant restaurant buzzed with the muted chatter of couples enjoying their meals, the clinking of silverware against fine china, and the faint scent of gourmet dishes wafting from the kitchen. you had been waiting at the table for an hour, fidgeting with the delicate napkin in your lap, the anticipation of a special dinner slowly morphing into a sour knot in your stomach.

eventually, a staff member, impeccably dressed in a black suit, approached you with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "miss," he began, "i'm terribly sorry, but we have a rather large queue of guests waiting for a table tonight. would you mind taking a seat in the lobby for a few minutes? you can notify us as soon as your party arrives."

you looked up at him, feeling the weight of the situation finally crash down on you. the rain outside had picked up, beating against the restaurant's windows like a symphony of impatience. your heart sank as you realized that spencer wasn't coming. not tonight, not ever, maybe. with a deep breath, you forced a smile and nodded. "of course," you said, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. "i'll just go."

as you stepped outside, the cold rain slapped you in the face like a cruel reminder of your reality. the chilly water seeped through the fabric of your expensive dress, sticking it to your skin, and your purse grew heavier with every drop that soaked into the leather. the sound of your high heels tapping against the wet pavement echoed through the quiet street, the only music to your one-woman parade of disappointment. you hadn't anticipated the storm when you'd chosen your outfit earlier, the forecast promising a clear evening. but then again, you hadn't anticipated being stood up either.

then, through the sheet of rain, you saw him. spencer reid, your boyfriend, the man who was supposed to be waiting for you with a bouquet of roses and an apology on his lips. he was hunched over, his suit drenched and clinging to his lanky frame, hurrying down the sidewalk with a look of utter distraction. your heart jumped into your throat, a mix of anger and relief swirling in your chest like a tempest.

you sprinted towards him, your heels clicking faster against the wet ground. "spencer!" you called out, your voice strained and desperate. he stopped, looking up with a startled expression that melted into something close to guilt when he saw you. the rain continued to pummel down on both of you, but you didn't care. "where have you been?" you demanded, your voice tight with emotion.

he took a step closer, water dripping from his hair onto his face. "i had to talk to jj," he said, his eyes flickering with something you couldn't quite read. "about what she said yesterday."

"for two hours?" you ask, incredulous. your voice grew louder, edged with a mix of anger and betrayal. "while i've been waiting here, getting soaked, you've been with her? discussing your feelings? and without a text or call to tell me that you couldn't make it?"

spencer's gaze dropped to the ground, the rain plastering his lashes to his cheeks. "it's not like that," he mumbled, his words barely audible over the rain's crescendo. "you know we just got out of a tough situation."

you nodded, your teeth gritted. "yes, i know," you replied, your voice tight as a bowstring. "but that doesn't give you an excuse to ditch me like this. we had plans, spencer. important plans."

his eyes snapped back up to meet yours, a spark of anger igniting in them. "important plans? i almost died yesterday, and jj…she had to deal with so much. i had to make sure she was okay."

you took a deep breath, trying to push down the wave of anger crashing over you. "i understand that, spencer," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "but jj has a husband, a family. it's not your job to fix her."

spencer looked up, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for a hint of understanding. "you don't get it," he said, his voice rising slightly. "you weren't there. you don't know what it was like."

you felt the heat of anger rising in your cheeks, your body trembling from the cold and the emotional turmoil. "no, spencer, i don't get it," you retorted, your voice strained. "what i do know is that i've been waiting for you, for hours, in the rain, because i thought tonight was important to us. because i thought i was important to you."

spencer took a step back, his eyes widening slightly. "that's not fair," he protested, his voice tight. "i had to do what was right for jj."

you felt the last threads of patience snap within you. "right for jj?" you echoed, your voice rising to match his. "what about what's right for us?"

spencer looked taken aback, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out of the conversation. "i'm sorry," he began, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

"don't," you said firmly. "just don't. i've had enough of apologies and excuses. i thought after what happened, we could finally move forward, but it seems like i'll always be second to her, to your job, to whatever crisis pops up next."

spencer's mouth opened and closed, a silent protest forming on his lips. the rain continued its relentless symphony around you, a stark contrast to the silent tension that had taken root between you two. "that's not true," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

but you were already shaking your head, the cold rain mixing with the tears that were now streaming down your face. "it is, spencer," you said, your voice cracking. "it's always been true. i can't do this anymore."

his eyes searched yours, desperation and confusion fighting for dominance in his gaze. "what are you saying?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

you took a deep breath, the rain feeling like a million tiny needles piercing your skin. "i'm saying that i can't be in a relationship where i'm always the backup plan, where i'm never the priority." your voice was steady, despite the storm of emotions raging within you. "i deserve better than this, spencer. i deserve someone who's all in."

his eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "i am all in," he insisted, taking a step closer. "you're everything to me."

but the words felt hollow, like they were being spoken by a stranger. "then why isn't it showing?" you countered, your voice strong despite the tears that continued to fall. "why do i always feel like i'm fighting for your attention?"

spencer's expression fell, the rain now a mirror for the sadness in his eyes. "i never meant for it to be like this," he murmured, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. but you stepped back, shivering from the cold, your resolve unyielding.

"actions speak louder than words, spencer," you said, your voice barely above the patter of rain. "and your actions have been speaking volumes."

his hand dropped to his side, the silence stretching out like a yawning chasm. the streetlights cast a sad, yellow glow on the puddles forming at your feet, reflecting the sadness in your heart. "i'm sorry," he repeated, his voice thick with something that might have been regret.

you stared at him, the rain plastering your hair to your face, your dress clinging to your body like a second, unwelcome skin. "sorry isn't enough," you said, your voice cold. "not this time."

without another word, you turned away from spencer, your heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the wet pavement as you made your way to the curb. raising your hand, you hailed a taxi, the yellow beacon of the approaching car's light cutting through the gloom like a lifeline. the engine rumbled closer, the wipers swiping back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the windshield of the relentless downpour.

as the taxi pulled over, you stepped in, slamming the door shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the night. the warmth of the car's interior was a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into your bones from the rain and the even colder conversation with spencer. the driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with concern. "where to, miss?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

you took a deep, shaky breath and recited your address, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. the car pulled away from the curb, leaving spencer standing in the rain, looking after you with a mix of shock and despair etched on his face. you couldn't bring yourself to look back, instead focusing on the streaks of water racing down the window, blurring the streetlights into a kaleidoscope of colors.

edited 8.20.24

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fanfiction

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steveseddie · 2 months ago

Text

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths.

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down.

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan.

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak.

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.”

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?”

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.”

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?”

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside.

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home.

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug.

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over.

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?”

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.”

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.”

“Uh huh.”

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much.

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside.

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on.

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle.

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it.

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.”

��Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans.

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position.

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.”

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #stranger things #stranger things fic #soft boys being soft!#steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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svt-luna · 3 months ago

Note

hi lovely, i hope you are having/had a good day! i woke up this morning to svt winning another daesang (as they should) and the speech had me sobbing 😭

so i was wondering if you’re comfortable, could you possibly write something from lunas pov during the speech and her saying her own heartwarming speech? also maybe writing about their celebration dinner(?) afterwards where they facetimed jun and hannie? (and maybe squeeze in a little jeongna moment if you can 👀) this is my first time making a request so i’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense, i’m a little nervous.

if you don’t want to write it or don’t feel comfortable writing it, that is totally fine. i love your writing btw 🫶🏾

𝜗℘ BIRDS OF A FEATHER

❛ 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪'𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪'𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 '𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘦, '𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘦. '𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, '𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘦. ❜

timeline: 2024

synopsis: Amid the rush of the MAMA Awards and the whirlwind of victories, Luna and Jeonghan share quiet moments of love and reflection, as their hearts connect through wins, speeches, and emotions that speak louder than words.

warnings: short but sweet, cursing, fluff, slight angst?, crying, long speeches, established relationship, slight flirting, tooth-rotting fluff

hi, my love!! please don’t be nervous and feel free to request more because this is a great request, i just had to write it real quick. and do not worry, you aren’t the only one who sobbed. i ugly sobbed watching the show, they deserve everything in the world. my heart is full for the guys 🥹🤍

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Luna can still remember their first-ever award show.

The sound of applause echoed around the massive venue, filling every corner of the arena with an energy that Luna could still feel, even years later.

She remembered that night as vividly as if it had just happened, though it was now a memory softened by time and sweetened by the hard-earned successes that followed.

Their first awards show as SEVENTEEN wasn’t glamorous, nor was it triumphant in the conventional sense.

They hadn’t won any awards that night; they were merely performers in a lineup of seasoned artists who had long since carved their names into the fabric of the industry.

Yet, for Luna, that night held a special kind of magic— one that was tinged with equal parts intimidation and exhilaration.

The air backstage had been charged with nervous energy. SEVENTEEN had been a fresh, wide-eyed group at the time, their faces still bright with the unfiltered enthusiasm of newcomers.

Luna remembered her own nerves most distinctly. She had fidgeted with the hem of her stage outfit, her heart pounding as the reality of performing at such a grand event settled over her.

It wasn’t just the thought of performing in front of their fans— Carats, as they would later come to call them— but also the knowledge that the audience was filled with some of the most respected artists in the industry.

Icons.

Legends.

People whose music Luna had grown up listening to, whose names were spoken with reverence in both casual conversation and industry circles.

It was overwhelming.

The stage had felt enormous beneath her feet, its scale almost swallowing them whole. Bright lights illuminated every corner of the arena, rendering the faces of the audience a blur beyond the glare.

Yet, when the music started, something shifted.

The nerves, the apprehension, the sheer weight of the moment— all of it melted away in the rhythm of their choreography and the familiar beats of their song.

They weren’t only a group of rookies anymore; they were SEVENTEEN, standing shoulder to shoulder and filling that stage with their energy and passion.

The applause that followed wasn’t deafening, nor was it as sustained as some of the others they would hear that night. But it was enough to leave a mark, enough to affirm that they had been seen, even if only as one of many acts in a star-studded lineup.

Luna remembered sitting among the audience after their performance, her breath still uneven from exertion but her eyes wide with wonder. They watched as other artists— seasoned veterans with decades of experience, and rising stars who were rapidly ascending the industry ladder— took the stage.

Every performance seemed like a masterclass in artistry, leaving Luna in awe. There was so much to learn from the way they commanded the stage, from the way they carried themselves with a confidence born of years in the spotlight.

When the awards segment began, the awe only deepened.

Category after category, artists stepped up to the stage to receive their trophies, their names etched in gold on placards that would later be photographed, shared, and celebrated.

Luna had clapped until her palms stung, genuinely thrilled for the winners even though a small, quiet voice in her heart whispered that one day, she wanted to be where they were.

The grand prizes were the highlight of the night.

They weren’t just awards; they were accolades that symbolized unparalleled achievement, the kind of recognition that marked an artist as the best of the best.

Luna remembered how the winners’ names were called, the way the room seemed to hold its collective breath before erupting in applause. She watched as these titans of the industry ascended the stage, some with practiced poise, others with teary humility.

Their speeches, though varied in tone and content, all carried the weight of their journey— the sacrifices, the triumphs, the sheer determination it took to reach that pinnacle.

It was both inspiring and humbling.

As the night progressed, Luna felt the spark of something igniting within her. She could sense it in the others too.

Seungcheol’s clenched fists as he silently vowed to lead them to greater heights, Woozi’s laser-focused gaze that already seemed to be dissecting how they could improve, and the way Hoshi had leaned over to murmur something to Joshua, his expression a mix of determination and quiet pride.

They all felt it— that drive to grow, to push themselves harder, to ensure that one day, they would no longer be the rookies sitting in awe of others.

They wanted to be the artists who stood on that stage, holding those trophies, delivering those speeches. To be artists whose music has grown to have an impact on their fans.

Luna carried that moment with her for years.

It became a cornerstone of her resolve, a memory she often revisited on the nights when exhaustion threatened to pull her under. She would remind herself of the awe she had felt, the respect she had for those artists, and the fire it had lit within her.

It wasn’t about proving anyone wrong or chasing fame for its own sake. It was about reaching the level of artistry that deserved to stand among the greats.

And that night, surrounded by her members, Luna had felt the first stirrings of a shared dream. They hadn’t spoken it aloud then— it didn’t need to be said. It was in the way they clapped for the winners, in the way they exchanged glances full of unspoken promises.

One day, they would be the ones to take the stage not just as performers, but as artists recognized for their craft. They would work until their names weren’t just part of the lineup but were written in gold on those placards.

And so they had.

The memory of that night in 2023 glimmered in Luna’s mind, warm and vivid, like a beacon guiding her back to one of the most profound moments of her life.

Almost nine years into their career, SEVENTEEN had already achieved so much.

They had performed on some of the most prestigious stages, sold out arenas worldwide, broken records they hadn’t dared to dream about and won countless awards that decorated their journey.

Each trophy, no matter the category or scale, was a testament to their relentless hard work and the unshakable bond they shared— not just with one another but with the fans who had stood by them every step of the way.

Yet nothing— absolutely nothing— compared to the moment they won their first Grand Prize.

The 2023 MAMA Awards were already a night to remember.

It was one of those moments where Luna found herself marveling at how far they had come. She had stepped onto that stage alongside her thirteen members, the lights glinting off their meticulously designed outfits, the roar of Carats shaking the very foundation of the venue.

The familiarity of it all— the stage, the adrenaline, the chants of their name— felt comforting, like a second skin they had worn for nearly a decade.

But when the announcement came, when their album ‘FML’ was called for Album of the Year, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

Luna had felt the breath leave her lungs, her vision blurring as the words echoed through the arena. It was as though time had slowed, each second stretching into eternity as the realization sank in.

They had done it.

After years of climbing, years of pushing themselves past limits they didn’t even know existed, they had reached a summit they had only ever dreamed about.

The fourteen of them had risen to their feet as one, an unspoken unity carrying them toward the stage.

The journey to the microphone felt surreal, like walking through a dream they were afraid to wake from.

Luna remembered catching glimpses of the members’ faces through her tears— Woozi’s eyes already glistening, Seungkwan biting his trembling lip, Mingyu’s hand clenched tightly over his chest as though physically restraining the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

The applause around them was deafening, but Luna could only hear the pounding of her heart, the rush of blood in her ears. By the time they reached the stage, she was trembling.

Standing there, under the brilliant lights, holding the golden trophy that bore their name, Luna felt a strange, overwhelming mix of emotions.

Pride, of course, swelled in her chest, nearly bursting through her ribcage. But beneath it was something deeper— something raw and healing.

It was as though the girl she had been nearly a decade ago, the one who had sat in awe watching other artists take home awards like this, was standing beside her now.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Luna felt that teenage girl’s insecurities and doubts dissolve into the air, replaced by the quiet, undeniable truth that they had earned this.

All fourteen of them crowded around the microphone, a chaotic, beautiful tangle of limbs and emotions.

The trophy, heavier than she had imagined, was passed from hand to hand, each member clutching it as though it might disappear if they let go.

Luna remembered how it felt in her grasp— solid, warm, alive with the energy of their shared victory.

The speeches began, one by one.

Some members could barely get their words out through their tears, their voices cracking as they expressed gratitude that could never fully be captured in words. Others spoke with surprising composure, their emotions shining through in the weight of their pauses and the tremor in their voices.

Every single one of them spoke from the heart, their words a love letter to Carats, to the people who had supported them from the very beginning.

Luna herself had cried— not the graceful, restrained tears one might expect at such a moment, but the kind of sobs that left her shaking.

She cried for the rookie she had been, for the years of hard work and sacrifice, for the moments of doubt when this dream had felt impossibly out of reach. She cried for the fans who had believed in them even when they hadn’t fully believed in themselves, for the members who had become her family, and for the journey that had led them to this stage.

It was as though the moment had cracked something open inside all of them, releasing years of pent-up longing, frustration, and hope. For that brief time, standing together with tears streaming down their faces, they weren’t the polished, professional idols the world saw them as.

They were kids again— wide-eyed, hopeful, and impossibly grateful.

It felt like healing.

The roar of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the dazzling lights— it all blurred together into a kaleidoscope of sensations, but Luna would never forget the way she felt at that moment. It was as though they had stepped back in time, becoming the teenagers who had once dreamed of this very moment.

Winning their first Grand Prize wasn’t just an achievement; it was a culmination of every step they had taken to get there, every challenge they had faced, and every dream they had dared to dream.

And as they stood there, holding their trophy with trembling hands and tearful smiles, it felt like they were rookies all over again.

The present moment felt surreal as well, but Luna couldn’t stop the memories from flooding her mind as she walked alongside her members toward the stage.

The 2024 MAMA Awards were taking place in Japan, and yet the experience felt oddly familiar. She had been here before, in some capacity— another city, another year, but always surrounded by the same faces.

It was the same sequence of events: the glittering red carpet, the dizzying flashes of cameras, the hum of anticipation in the air. They had arrived in sleek, custom-tailored outfits, every detail meticulously planned to exude elegance and confidence. As always, the fans greeted them with deafening cheers, their voices rising above the chaos, a reminder of the love and support that had carried them through the years.

The award show itself had unfolded like so many others before it. They had taken their seats among a sea of familiar faces— some peers, some icons they still admired from afar despite sharing the same industry. They had watched the performances with genuine awe, clapping enthusiastically for their fellow artists, basking in the shared celebration of music and artistry.

These moments were always a highlight for Luna, a chance to witness the diversity and passion of their craft.

Throughout the evening, SEVENTEEN had already won two awards— Fan’s Choice, Super Stage, and Album of the Year which they had won the year prior as well. Each win had been met with cheers and applause, their names called out with the same warmth and pride as every time before.

Luna had stood with the members as they accepted the awards, their speeches heartfelt and grateful, their joy spilling over as they thanked their fans and the people who had helped them get here. The weight of each trophy was a reminder of their hard work, a tangible acknowledgment of the bond they had built with their fans.

But it wasn’t just about those awards.

After their performance— an electrifying stage that showcased a medley of their newer songs— the night took a turn no one had dared to predict.

They had barely returned to their seats, adrenaline still coursing through their veins, when the announcement came. The words seemed to echo in the cavernous arena, sinking into the stunned silence that followed.

SEVENTEEN had won the Grand Prize for Artist of the Year.

The gravity of those words hit Luna like a tidal wave, her heart hammering in her chest as they were ushered to their feet.

Winning Album of the Year two years in a row felt monumental, like breaking through a glass ceiling they had been reaching toward for years.

But this year— this was something else entirely.

Artist of the Year.

The pinnacle of recognition.

A title that declared them not just successful but iconic, a force to be reckoned with.

Luna’s legs felt shaky as she followed the others, the twelve of them making their way toward the stage. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step heavy with the weight of everything that moment symbolized.

It wasn’t just another trophy; it was a testament to nearly a decade of unwavering determination, sleepless nights, and sacrifices none of them spoke about openly.

Yet, as monumental as the achievement was, Luna couldn’t stop the pang of sadness that accompanied it.

They were twelve tonight.

Jeonghan was doing his alternative military service, his absence a constant ache in their dynamic, and Jun was in China, pursuing his acting career with the same passion he had always brought to the group.

The two of them were irreplaceable, and though SEVENTEEN had adapted, though they had pressed on with their tour and their schedules, it never stopped feeling incomplete.

Luna’s throat tightened as the thought crossed her mind.

Performing with twelve of them felt empty in a way she couldn’t describe. It was like a song missing its harmonies, a painting with two crucial strokes left undone. Standing here now, walking toward a microphone that should have had fourteen voices ready to speak, that emptiness felt magnified.

The joy of the moment was undeniable, but so was the absence of Jeonghan’s playful smirk and Jun’s calming presence.

They had made it to the stage by now, the bright lights shining down on them, the cheers of the audience deafening in their ears.

Luna blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She knew she wasn’t alone in feeling this way. She could see it in the way the members carried themselves, their smiles tinged with bittersweet undertones, their gazes flickering to the empty spaces beside them.

Even as the trophy was placed in their hands, even as the reality of the win began to sink in, Luna couldn’t shake the weight of it all.

This was a first for them— Artist of the Year.

It was the kind of award that solidified a legacy, that spoke to the impact they had made not just in one year but across their entire career. And yet, it felt wrong to be accepting it without all of them present.

The tears Luna had been holding back pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Not yet.

Instead, she focused on the moment, on the twelve of them standing shoulder to shoulder, a united front despite the gaps between them. They had worked too hard for this, sacrificed too much, to let the moment pass them by.

Still, as they approached the microphone and prepared to speak, Luna couldn’t help but wish that Jeonghan and Jun were there. The weight of the trophy in her hands felt both comforting and heavy, a symbol of everything they had achieved and everything they still wanted to be.

The stage was awash in golden light, illuminating the twelve figures standing before an audience whose cheers swelled like a tide.

Luna stood slightly behind the others, her fingers playing with her rings that were glittering as she tried to focus on the moment. She caught Seungcheol stepping forward, his calm and steady presence a source of comfort even now. He raised the microphone, his voice strong despite the visible emotion etched into his features.

“Say the name…” he began, the words resonating through the arena.

“SEVENTEEN!” the members chorused, their hands moving in perfect synchronization to their signature gesture before bowing deeply in unison. “Hello, we are SEVENTEEN.”

The arena erupted in cheers, the kind that echoed endlessly, an overwhelming wave of love and celebration that swept over them all. Luna straightened, her chest swelling with pride as her gaze flickered across the fans who were crying, laughing, and cheering with unrestrained joy.

Hoshi stepped forward next, his energy as bright and infectious as ever. “THANK YOU TO CARATS WHO MADE US ARTIST OF THE YEAR!!” he shouted into the microphone, his voice carrying an uncontainable enthusiasm that filled every corner of the venue.

Luna couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, her heart warming at the sight of Hoshi’s genuine excitement. He continued, his tone softening but still infused with his usual passion. “We really didn’t know we’d be able to receive two big awards at MAMA like this,” he said, pausing as if to collect his thoughts. “But I think our first big award we received after eight years last year gave us the meaning that if we don’t give up, anything is possible. So with the two big awards this time, it gave us the meaning that we will continue forward like SEVENTEEN! We’ll really work hard. Thank you!!”

As he stepped back, the audience roared in approval, their cheers blending with the claps and nods of the other members. Luna turned slightly to glance at the members beside her. Some were wiping away the beginnings of tears, their expressions a mix of disbelief and gratitude.

Dino took the mic next, his youthful presence commanding attention even amidst the grandeur of the moment. Luna watched him closely, noticing the determination shining in his eyes. “Actually, when we received our Daesang last year, I was the only one who couldn’t share my thoughts,” Dino began, his voice steady yet laced with a hint of vulnerability. “But I got to do a bit today.” He paused, a small, almost sheepish smile crossing his face before he continued.

“Ever since our debut, my dream was to be an artist that would remain in history,” he said, his words quiet but powerful, as though he were confiding in every person in the room. “And receiving the Artist of the Year award felt like something new too. In the future, we won’t lose the feelings that made us worthy to receive this award and the feelings we had from the start as we go forward. We will go forward together with Carats. Thank you, and I love you!”

The cheers that erupted then were deafening, the sound wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Dino stepped back into the line of members, his expression softened but proud as the audience responded with unbridled enthusiasm.

It was Dokyeom’s turn next. Luna’s gaze shifted toward him as he stepped up, a bright smile tugging at his lips despite the sheen of emotion glistening in his eyes. His voice was warm and affectionate, as though speaking directly to their fans.

“Carats!! I love you!” he began, his tone as vibrant as his personality. “We got to receive two Daesangs at MAMA like this, and I’m so thankful for that. The reason we’re able to receive such a big award like this is thanks to our Carats. If it weren’t for the love from our Carats, we wouldn’t be able to receive an award this big, so I think today there’s no way for us to be anything but happy.” He paused for a moment, his voice thickening slightly as his words slowed. “You made such a happy day for us today…”

As Dokyeom’s voice trailed off, he turned his head, his eyes meeting Seungcheol, who stood slightly apart from the others. The leader’s back was to the audience, his head tilted downward as his shoulders shook faintly.

The atmosphere shifted, a hush falling over the members as they realized what was happening.

Luna’s breath caught in her throat as Seungcheol turned partially, his head still lowered. Before anyone could react, he leaned toward her, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

Luna froze for a moment, her heart clenching as she felt the subtle tremor of his body against hers. Her hand moved instinctively, intertwining their fingers in a comforting grip as she whispered, “Please don’t cry, Cheollie.” Her own tears threatened to fall, her voice trembling as she tried to keep them at bay.

Luna hated seeing people cry, especially her members. She had always had a soft heart, one that couldn’t bear the sight of the people she loved in pain, and Seungcheol was no exception.

“Are you crying?” Dokyeom’s voice broke through the moment, playful yet tinged with concern as he addressed the mic once more. “Our leader hyung is crying… don’t cry! Don’t cry!” he chanted, his enthusiasm infectious as the fans immediately joined in, their voices echoing throughout the arena.

“Yes, Coups hyung, say a word,” Dokyeom said, his tone encouraging as he gestured toward their leade

Seungcheol inhaled deeply as he moved toward the microphone, his fingers tightly intertwined with Luna’s. Her hands enveloped his trembling one, holding it securely as though anchoring him in the moment. Not once did she loosen her grip, and he drew strength from her silent support. His free hand reached up briefly to wipe his tear-streaked face, but the tears continued to fall unabated.

He couldn’t stop them, and he didn’t try to anymore.

Standing before the mic, Seungcheol’s voice broke as he began to speak, his raw emotions lacing every word. “The thing I want to say the most,” he said, his tone heavy with longing, “is I miss Jeonghan and Jun so much…” His voice faltered momentarily, the weight of his feelings almost overwhelming him, but he pushed through. “It would’ve been better if all fourteen of us received it together, but I’ll keep these feelings well and relay it to them. Thank you.”

The arena erupted into a mixture of cheers and sobs, Carats’ voices merging into one wave of love and encouragement. Seungcheol nodded once, as though solidifying his promise, and returned to his place in line, still clutching Luna’s hand as if letting go would cause him to crumble.

Luna stood quietly, her expression strained as the mention of Jeonghan and Jun hit her like a wave.

Bittersweet emotions surged through her, tugging at her already fragile composure. She lowered her head, her hair falling like a curtain to shield her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately not to let her tears fall because she knew herself too well.

Once Luna started crying, she wouldn’t be able to stop, and tonight she didn’t want that.

But the ache in her chest only grew. The man who could always comfort her, who knew exactly how to make her laugh even on her darkest days, wasn’t here.

Jeonghan wasn’t here.

Seungcheol glanced at her, noticing the way her shoulders trembled as she fought to maintain control. Without hesitation, he draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. Luna turned into him instinctively, burying her face in his chest. Her arms wrapped around his torso, holding on tightly as if seeking solace in his steady heartbeat.

The crowd roared again, their love a balm for the open wounds in their hearts, but the bittersweet air lingered around the group like a fog.

Seungkwan, ever the light in their darkest moments, stepped forward to the microphone. His voice carried a bright energy as he called out, “Woozi hyung! Say a word too.”

He turned to where Woozi stood slightly apart, clutching the trophy tightly in his hands. “Woozi hyung was so nervous just now he was talking to himself. In our team, he’s like a mother who feels full just by watching us eat,” Seungkwan continued, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “He’s really a hyung who always gives generously without holding back, so I want to hear hyung’s thoughts.”

The members turned toward Woozi, whose small frame seemed even smaller as he stood there, crying silently. His shoulders shook as Seungkwan approached and handed him the trophy, offering a reassuring pat on his arm.

Woozi wiped at his tears, but they fell faster than he could brush them away. He exhaled a shaky breath before stepping up to the microphone, his voice breaking as he began to speak.

“Ah, really! Please! Why?!” Woozi cried out, his words breaking into a soft whine. He turned to the other members briefly, his expression equal parts frustration and helplessness as the tears kept coming. “Why is it always like this when receiving awards?”

The members chuckled through their tears, their affection for him evident in their soft smiles and knowing nods.

“I don’t know why our emotions are bursting…” Woozi continued, his voice trembling. “What’s so sorrowful, really…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the trophy in his hands before he tightened his grip on it.

His voice steadied slightly as he continued, though the raw emotion remained palpable. “SEVENTEEN got a big award for two years in a row at MAMA, and we got two this year. This was something that really could’ve never been for us. Imagining is free, but that was something we couldn’t even imagine.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, the other members nodding solemnly as they listened. Tears glistened in their eyes, some freely streaming down their faces as they watched Woozi pour his heart out.

“I’m sorry,” Woozi said, his voice breaking again. “I’m not really someone who speaks this much.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh before adding, “Yesterday was actually my birthday, but because it’s burdensome, I don’t like receiving birthday wishes.”

The crowd erupted into affectionate cheers and cries of but Woozi shook his head with a watery laugh, continuing without pause.

“But receiving an award this good as a birthday gift… there’s no way I can’t like it.” His lips trembled as he smiled faintly, his tears falling faster now. “While making music for the past ten years, I can’t take pride in how I have never once been negligent or careless in studying it. I will continue repaying you until the end of my life.”

Woozi paused, glancing down briefly as though gathering the strength to finish. “It’s a very obvious thing, but I think an idol’s best way of repaying people is with good albums. I will never change, and the fourteen of us will continue steadfastly. Thank you, I love you.”

The crowd erupted into cheers and cries once more, their voices blending into a powerful symphony of love and support. Woozi clutched the trophy tighter, his tears flowing freely now.

Seungkwan, standing beside him, reached out and patted his back gently, offering silent comfort. The rest of the members watched with tear-filled eyes, their expressions a mix of pride and understanding as they absorbed Woozi’s heartfelt words.

Seungcheol’s arm stayed secure around Luna as he gently stroked her hair, his touch tender, grounding her. His other hand lightly patted her arm, still wrapped firmly around his, offering her the silent reassurance she needed. Luna’s head remained pressed against his chest as she absorbed the warmth of his presence.

Before Luna could lose herself completely in her thoughts, they both heard Seungkwan’s voice over the mic.

“Noona… do you want to say anything?”

The question drew their attention, and Luna felt Seungcheol gently gesture her forward with his free hand, urging her to speak. She hesitated, the emotions swirling within her still too raw, but the encouraging look on Seungcheol’s face gave her the push she needed.

“Aigo… she’s also crying,” Seungkwan joked, his lighthearted comment drawing soft laughter from the audience and the members. The playful tease made Luna chuckle through her tears, and she reluctantly detached herself from Seungcheol’s comforting hold, stepping forward with a small smile on her face.

As she reached the mic, Woozi handed her the trophy, his face red and tear-streaked but glowing with pride. Luna accepted it with both hands, her expression softening as she glanced at the members behind her. Her voice, however, carried a playful lilt as she turned to the audience and joked, “I’m not crying. Do I look like I’m crying?”

The crowd erupted into laughter at the irony, given her glistening red eyes and flushed cheeks. Her attempt at humor broke the emotional tension for a brief moment, drawing laughter from the members as well. She smiled wider, shaking her head before adding, “I’m not gonna cry today because I want to be cool.”

The lighthearted remark earned more laughter, and Luna couldn’t help but laugh along with them. Her shoulders relaxed as the weight of the moment started to settle into something manageable.

But as she continued, her tone turned earnest, “I just want to make you guys laugh. Carats, I can see some of you crying. Please don’t cry. Today is a happy day. A very happy day.”

She paused, stepping back slightly from the mic, her gaze sweeping over the faces of her members. Her smile softened into something radiant and beautiful, a reflection of the love she held for the people standing beside her. Her eyes met each of theirs, and the warmth in their expressions mirrored her own.

“I’m proud of us,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands.

The crowd erupted into loud cheers, the sound wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

Luna laughed lightly, her eyes welling up again despite her earlier resolve. “I’m proud of us. I’m proud of myself. I’m proud of Cheollie, Joshie, Soonie, Woo, Jihoonie, Hao, Gyu-gyu, Kyeomie, Kwanie, Nonie, Channie, and of course Hannie and Junnie.”

Her voice cracked as she mentioned Jeonghan and Jun, and a single tear slid down her cheek. She tried to brush it away quickly, chuckling through the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I’m not crying, I promise,” she joked again, though her voice wavered as she choked back a sob. Her attempt to lighten the mood made the fans and members laugh, but their own eyes glistened as they watched her fight through her emotions.

She took a deep breath and continued, “As we stand here right now, accepting this award, only one thing comes to mind. It’s that right now we aren’t the SEVENTEEN who are in their late twenties and are in their ninth year. It’s as if right now we are the timid teens who could only dream about receiving an award like this.”

Tears began to fall freely now, each word bringing a fresh wave of emotion that she couldn’t hold back. She turned to the members, her face streaked with tears, and asked in a small voice, “What do I do?”

Her question was met with immediate action. Mingyu and Seungcheol moved to either side of her, their hands patting her back gently as they offered quiet comfort. The rest of the members quickly surrounded her from behind, forming a protective circle as if shielding her from the overwhelming emotions of the moment.

“I still remember when we were at our first award show where we didn’t win anything, we were just happy to be invited, and now we are here, almost ten years later, receiving two Daesangs in one night… I’m proud of us, really.”

Luna’s voice broke again as she spoke, and she paused to collect herself, her gaze drifting over the crowd before settling on the members around her.

“I am also proud of our Carats who have been keeping us steady through the hard times this year. This year hasn’t been easy. A lot of bad and a lot of good. My only wish is that next year will be a little bit kinder to everyone. We promise to work harder for you guys and for Hannie and Jun, who I know are watching right now… I love and miss you two so much. Thank you.”

She bowed deeply, her form trembling as she fought to regain control of her emotions. As she moved away from the mic, she quickly wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, but before she could fully compose herself, Dokyeom stepped forward.

“Come here,” he said softly, his warm smile a balm to her raw emotions as he gently wiped her tears with his hands. Wonwoo followed, patting her head affectionately while Seungcheol and Mingyu remained on either side of her, their presence steady and grounding.

Wonwoo adjusted the mic slightly, leaning in as his calm voice rang out, “Thank you!” His words were simple but carried the weight of his sincerity, and the crowd erupted into applause.

Seungkwan then added, “Thank you so much, really. In the future, we’ll work hard!” He offered a small smile, his genuine demeanor only emphasizing the heartfelt nature of his words.

Then, Seungcheol, ever the leader, took the mic with steady hands, his voice firm yet warm. “It’s been SEVENTEEN. Say the name…”

The members immediately joined in, their voices strong as they performed their signature hand gesture and shouted in unison, “SEVENTEEN!” They bowed deeply toward the crowd before finishing together, “Thank you!”

“Thank you so much to our staff,” Seungkwan spoke again, a gesture echoed by the rest of the group.

“Carats, I love you,” Mingyu added, his voice filled with emotion as he followed. His face broke into a radiant smile as he glanced toward the fans, his love for them evident in every word.

The members closed in tighter, forming a huddle as Luna slipped her arms around Seungcheol and Mingyu’s waists. Their collective warmth was a tangible reminder of their bond, a silent promise that they would continue to lean on one another no matter what came next.

As the members remained in their tight huddle, the crowd cheered louder, their love and pride for SEVENTEEN filling the venue. The crowd’s cheers reached a deafening roar, a wave of love and pride that wrapped around them like a warm embrace. They stood together, united as one, soaking in the moment before ending the night.

The cheers and music of the 2024 MAMA Awards faded into the background as the show came to a close. SEVENTEEN stood united onstage for one last bow before they retreated, their hearts brimming with pride and emotions still raw from the night’s triumphs.

As they stepped backstage, a whirlwind of activity greeted them. Their staff and team members erupted in cheers and applause, filling the air with congratulatory shouts and infectious energy. The members were immediately engulfed in hugs, pats on the back, and words of praise.

Their production team followed close behind, cameras rolling to capture every moment for future content, whether for YouTube or official documentary-style footage. Photographers clicked away, immortalizing the members holding their trophies, their eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion settling in.

In the dressing room, the energy remained electric.

The members posed for group photos, laughing and playfully adjusting each other’s outfits. Luna, with a grin that stretched ear to ear, stood at the center of one photo, cradling a trophy. She switched between group shots and solo moments with the trophies, her genuine joy lighting up each frame.

Hoshi and Seungkwan joked about how she was still the prettiest despite sobbing her makeup off, prompting her to laugh before finally setting the trophy down.

Once the formalities wound down, Luna’s attention immediately darted to her phone. She picked it up and stepped to the side, her fingers swiftly tapping the screen to initiate a video call.

It barely rang once before the familiar face of Jeonghan appeared on the screen, his smile lazy yet warm, as if he had been waiting for her call all night.

The sight of him caused Luna’s heart to skip a beat. The chaotic energy surrounding her melted away, and she immediately felt lighter, her exhaustion replaced by a soothing sense of calm.

“How’s my Artist of the Year?” Jeonghan asked, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt as he smirked knowingly.

Luna chuckled, shaking her head as she plopped into a makeup chair. “I feel amazing, my Artist of the Year,” she quipped back, the warmth in her tone matching his.

Jeonghan’s smirk softened into a smile, and his quiet chuckle carried through the phone. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

Luna propped her phone against the mirror, angling it carefully so she could talk to him while undoing her hair. She began removing the pins, placing them methodically on the counter. “The best pair,” she agreed, shooting him a small smile as her fingers worked through her hair.

Jeonghan’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. His gaze softened as he noticed her smudged eye makeup from crying earlier. “You cried so hard,” he pointed out gently, his voice dropping to a soft coo as he watched her before he teased. “You’re so emotional lately, angel.”

Luna rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “I tried my hardest not to cry! But you know how it is… The moment I started it just hit me and I couldn’t stop.”

Jeonghan nodded in understanding, his tone patient. “I know, baby. But you’re so cute when you cry. I wish I could’ve been there to wipe your tears.”

Luna paused briefly to give him a mock glare, pulling out the last pin from her hair. “That’s not helping,” she muttered, though the fondness in her voice betrayed her words.

Jeonghan chuckled again, his voice warm. “Sorry, sorry. You did so well, though. I was watching the whole time. You were incredible up there. I’m so proud of you.”

His words made Luna’s cheeks warm, and she busied herself by slipping the rings off her fingers, setting them beside the pins. The only ones left were their team pinky ring and her engagement ring, which she twisted absently as she glanced at him.

“Thank you, Han,” she murmured, her voice soft. “I did my best.”

Jeonghan nodded, his eyes following her every movement as she began removing her makeup. “That speech, though. It was perfect. You always know how to say the right things.”

She paused, smiling slightly as she wiped away the remnants of her eyeliner. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Jeonghan replied, his voice unwavering. “You’re amazing, my moon. Every single day, you amaze me.”

“And you say I have a way with words.” Luna shook her head lightly, her laugh soft as she focused on cleaning her face.

Behind her, Hoshi suddenly popped into view, waving enthusiastically at Jeonghan.

“Hyung! Did you see me tonight?” Hoshi asked loudly, grinning.

Jeonghan smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You mean your hip thrust during ‘Ash’? Of course, I did.”

Hoshi preened under the compliment before Luna shooed him off with a laugh. “Okay, okay, go change already!”

“Fine, fine! Hi and bye, hyung!” Hoshi waved dramatically before disappearing again.

The interruptions didn’t stop there. Dokyeom appeared next, leaning over Luna’s shoulder to wave at Jeonghan. “Hyung, we need to hang out! Just the two of us.”

Jeonghan raised a brow. “You miss me that much?”

“Of course,” Dokyeom grinned before Luna nudged him away.

“Go change, Kyeomie!” she scolded playfully with a pout, laughing as Dokyeom wandered off.

As the room quieted down again, Luna sighed, leaning closer to the mirror to check her reflection. Jeonghan’s voice pulled her attention back. “You’re glowing,” he said softly, his tone sincere.

She glanced at him through the screen, her smile returning. “You always know what to say,” she murmured.

Jeonghan’s smile widened slightly, his voice gentle. “And I’ll keep saying it, as long as it makes you smile.”

The rest of the room began to hum with activity again as the members busied themselves changing and tidying up, but Luna and Jeonghan remained in their own little bubble, their connection unwavering despite the distance between them.

The conversation between the two flowed naturally, carrying a comforting sense of ease and intimacy that only came with years of being together. Even as Luna shifted in her seat, preparing to step away to change into more casual clothes, she hesitated. “I should go change,” she murmured reluctantly, glancing at Jeonghan through the phone screen.

Jeonghan’s eyes softened, his smile reassuring. “Take the phone with you,” he said casually, leaning back in his chair. “Just close the camera if you want. I’ll wait.”

Luna laughed softly, shaking her head. “You don’t have to stay on the call while I’m changing, Hannie.”

“I want to,” he replied easily, his voice steady and comforting. “I don’t want to hang up yet.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she felt a familiar warmth settle over her. “Alright,” she relented with a small smile. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan promised, his tone light but sincere.

Luna propped the phone on the nearby counter, angling it so Jeonghan wouldn’t see anything as she began to change. She could still hear his voice through the speaker as he filled the quiet with soft humming and the occasional playful comment.

“Is it weird that I find your breathing as you struggle to unzip your dress attractive?” he teased lightly.

Luna chuckled as she slipped out of her dress, reaching for her more comfortable clothes, not at all shocked that Jeonghan knew what she was doing just by the sound of her breathing. “Not weird,” she said. “Just proves you’ve been paying attention all these years.”

“You’re unforgettable,” he said smoothly, the grin evident in his voice.

Luna rolled her eyes fondly as she pulled on her hoodie. “You’re impossible,” she shot back, her tone lighthearted.

Jeonghan laughed, and the sound was a balm to her exhaustion. “Yet you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” Luna quipped, zipping up her jacket before finally picking up the phone again.

She settled back into the makeup chair, her expression softer now. “Okay, your turn to entertain me while I wait for the others to finish changing.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, pretending to think. “What do you want to hear, baby? Should I tell you how perfect you looked on stage? Or maybe how your speech almost made me tear up, but I held it together because I’m supposed to be the composed one out of the two of us?”

Luna laughed, leaning her chin on her hand. “All of the above sounds good. Go on.”

The members began filtering back into the room, grabbing their things and preparing to leave, but Luna remained in her little world with Jeonghan.

Even as they made their way to the car, he stayed on the line.

“Don’t hang up,” she said quietly, slipping into the vehicle and settling into the corner seat.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Jeonghan reassured her, his voice soft as ever.

The call remained active as the car pulled away, and Luna sighed, leaning her head against the window. The night’s events were finally catching up to her, and a wave of exhaustion hit. Her eyes fluttered shut, the phone still balanced in her lap.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything, watching her quietly through the screen. His expression softened at the sight of her, the light on her face, her hair still slightly tousled from the rush of the evening. The sound of her breathing, even and calm, was enough to bring a small, contented smile to his lips.

The car hit a gentle turn, and Luna’s eyes blinked open. She glanced at the phone screen and caught Jeonghan watching her. Her gaze, tired but full of affection, locked with his. “I miss you,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan’s smile grew, and his tone turned even gentler as if speaking to a child. “I know, baby,” he cooed, his voice low and soothing. “I miss you, too. But it’s okay. We’ll see each other tomorrow, hmm?”

Luna let out a small hum of acknowledgment, her eyelids drooping again. “I want you here,” she admitted, the vulnerability in her tone tugging at Jeonghan’s heart.

“I know, my pretty moon,” he said, his voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket. “But tomorrow, you’ll be back in Korea, and I’ll be waiting for you. You know I’ll always be here.”

Her lips curled into a faint smile at his words, and she let out a quiet sigh. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Jeonghan said firmly, his voice unwavering. “And since I have the weekend off, we’ll do whatever you want. Just you and me, okay?”

Luna nodded slowly, her eyes closing once more. “Okay,” she whispered.

Jeonghan stayed on the line, his voice a steady presence as he hummed softly, occasionally murmuring words of reassurance.

Even miles apart, his love for her was palpable, filling the quiet space between them. Luna didn’t have to say anything; his presence, even through a phone screen, was enough.

Soon, Luna found herself with the rest of the members in the restaurant for their dinner.

The restaurant was bustling with the faint hum of conversation and clinking utensils when SEVENTEEN and Luna entered. Their reserved room at the back provided a quieter space for the group to unwind after the overwhelming evening.

Luna, still clutching her phone tightly, smiled at Jeonghan’s face on the screen as they settled into their seats. She propped the phone against the water glass in front of her so he could see her clearly.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at her stubbornness. “Nana-ya,” he said softly, amusement lacing his tone, “you’re going to eat, right? Not stare at me the entire time?”

Luna leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm as she gave him a sleepy smile. “I can do both,” she teased. “You’re not hanging up, Hannie. Don’t even try.”

“You’re really going to keep me here while you eat?” he asked, pretending to be exasperated, though the corners of his lips twitched upward.

“I don’t want to hang up,” Luna said, her voice soft but firm. “I want you here, and this is the next best thing.”

Her honesty, tinged with drowsiness, made Jeonghan chuckle. “Alright, alright. But I don’t want you to feel distracted. Focus on your food, okay?”

“I will.” She nodded, glancing briefly at the menu the waiter placed before her.

Across the table, the members were glancing at her phone with knowing smiles but chose not to interfere.

They were used to Luna’s clinginess, especially when she was tired, and if it meant she got to keep Jeonghan close, even virtually, they weren’t about to stop her.

As the waiter took their orders, Luna kept Jeonghan in the loop. “Hannie, I’m getting the spicy stew. Should I get something for you?” she joked, her lips quirking up.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, amused. “Sure, send it over with a side of your award-winning speech,” he quipped, his voice warm and teasing.

Luna giggled, shaking her head. “I’d do it if I could.”

While waiting for the food, the members engaged in casual chatter. Hoshi was animatedly recounting a moment from the award show, and Seungkwan chimed in with his signature wit.

Luna added her comments here and there, but her focus remained on the phone, occasionally glancing down at the screen to find Jeonghan watching her with fond amusement.

“You’re making me hungry just watching you eat,” Jeonghan teased when the food arrived, and Luna dug into her stew with gusto.

“Then grab yourself something,” she shot back without missing a beat, her tone playful.

“I would, but I’m busy being held hostage on this call,” he said, the smirk on his face betraying his amusement.

Luna rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not going anywhere, so you might as well sit there and watch me enjoy my meal.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that? I love you so much.”

“I love you the most.” Luna replied.

The members chimed in with their own conversations, the room filled with laughter and light-hearted teasing. Luna participated occasionally, but her focus remained divided between her food and Jeonghan, whose steady presence on the screen made the night feel less lonely.

When the meal was finished, and everyone was relaxing with their drinks or dessert, Seungkwan clapped his hands together. “Guys, before we leave, let’s take a group photo. We’ve got to commemorate tonight.”

Luna perked up at the suggestion, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. She glanced at Jeonghan on the screen. “You’re already here, so you’re joining us for this.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, am I? How exactly are we pulling that off?”

“You sound like a fossil,” Luna said mischievously, picking up her phone.

The members decided to loop in Jun, hoping he wasn’t too busy. After a few rings, Jun’s face appeared on Joshua’s phone, his expression lighting up at the sight of his friends. “Hey, everyone! Congratulations to us! What’s going on?”

A chorus of greetings erupted, their voices overlapping as they filled him in on their dinner plans. Jun’s smile widened. “Wish I could be there with you guys. How’s everything?”

“Good,” Mingyu said, grinning. “We’re just about to take a group photo. You’re joining us.”

Jun laughed. “Of course. Let me get ready.”

The staff moved to position the camera, and everyone quickly returned to their seats. Luna held her phone up, angling it so Jeonghan’s face was visible. Across from her, Joshua did the same with Jun.

The room buzzed with warmth as the group settled in, some leaning closer to the phones to make sure everyone could be seen.

For a brief moment, everything felt whole.

All fourteen of them were present, even if it wasn’t physical.

Luna glanced at Jeonghan on her screen, her heart swelling with gratitude. Despite the distance, they always found a way to come together.

As the camera clicked, capturing the moment, Luna couldn’t help but think about the day’s victories— their awards, the laughter, and the love that tied them all together.

Fourteen hearts, fourteen stories, intertwined in a way that nothing could break.

Even when apart, they were never truly separated.

This was their strength, their bond, their forever.

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hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

Text

SOJU | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. hobi)

genre: heavy angst, heavy smut

word count: 10.4k

summary: jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

playlist: soju / pinterest board: wine

warnings: sex flashbacks, alcohol consumption, jungkook is drunk emotional and a mess, jealousy, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), almost heavy dd/lg themes, plushie used during intercourse, inner child healing, use of a sex toy, oral sex (f. receiving), ass play and nipple play, provocation, dirty talk, hair pulling, dry humping, rough sex, overstimulation, pain felt during intercourse, jungkook instructs reader like the teacher he is, pet names and one particular title used, squirting, praise kink, jungkook is mean and cruel and just so horny

note: i will never forget this fic. never. this is the third part of 'wine' and therefore the very end to this adventitious series. even though, this part has a little bit information and quirks in it from the other two fics, it's fine to read as a standalone, but i do recommend reading all three parts as they interlink and you can beautifully see the process and the change of their relationship. i want to thank the lovely soul who asked me to make this a series because writing this made me incredibly happy—and all the themes i used mean the world to me. i also want to thank all of you for reading and for all the love. i hope you like this as much as i do. please, heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that not everyone can be comfortable with. with that being said, enjoy your reading and let me know what you think, let me know your favorite parts. ᡣ𐭩

side note: drunk 3D jungkook being all mean, dominant and daddy is, quite literally, the epitome of my sexuality.

Jungkook will always be a man of his word.

It’s the foundation that keeps his back straight as he leads you through the crowd. The core of the whole promise is the very strength of his fingers as they clasp around your much smaller hand because he notices, under the washed out lights of red and violet, that you’re the center of attention.

He feels as though he’s dragging the hand of a child like a protective father. Except, he has the impulsive need to cover you with his body.

It’s a blasting alarm within the ear splitting chaos of his mind. Louder than the modern music he cares little for; louder than the song of the hard, quickening beats of his heart that he’s unable to ignore. He promised he’d make it up to you about the party because he’d made you drunk with lust. Now that he’s taken you here, he’d much rather be back home with you. Wouldn’t even have the need to seduce you—he just doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want you to be the apple of everyone’s eye.

Sweat glistens on the planes of his forehead.

Jungkook returns every inquisitive look of people he doesn’t know with a stern furrow of his brows. Figures he needs a drink; figures he needs his hyung, at least one familiar face among strangers.

A strong one, to calm the storm within, and a big hug from the host himself.

He hates people.

Leading you to the makeshift bar of spirits in the kitchen, he has a protective hand over the small of your back as you climb on the bar stool. Watches as your ass lifts over the leather and almost jumps out of his own skin when the outsole of your high-heeled shoe slips on the footrest and you fall back onto the chair with a thud. A precious set of treble giggles billow out of your mouth, followed by a reassuring flick of your hand that you’re okay, and Jungkook’s own hand trembles when he lifts it off your back. While you open your purse to reapply your lip gloss, he hides behind his tight, feigned smile the need to run and calm his breathing.

His irises wander over the contents of that purse of yours. Finds a long brown pencil there, your phone, a pack of cigarettes with a purple lighter and a ring of keys adorned with the tiniest Hello Kitty he’s ever seen. No wallet, no cash tucked beneath. A smirk tugs the corner of his mouth, hand acting out of its own will—coming over to your long hair, smoothing it down as you focus on lining your lips with another set of glitter and pinkness. Perhaps the gesture is owed to the proudness he feels due to the fact you’re expecting to be provided for throughout the night, wherever it takes you both after this party. Blurred within is the smugness that he’s the reason you’re dolling yourself up again because he couldn’t help but make a mess of your mouth in the car. It makes his cock grow tight in his pants.

He wears the smugness all over his features. From the gleaming cosmos in his eyes, to the smudged kiss stains of all the roses in the world scattering over his nose and cheeks, down to the deepening smirk. He thinks he’d buy you anything your eyes would linger a heartbeat longer on, with snacks included in case you’d get hungry, as he silently praises you for your good behavior, for that smart brain of yours by the brush of his hand down your hair. A sick part of him wants to even get in debt for you for the pure fun of it—the fun being the primal core of your wishes and needs being gratified, for your satisfaction to shine through the veins on your skin like little sun rays, all while having the time of your life on the night out he promised you.

He’s not afraid to admit he’d do anything for you as long as it stays safely stashed within his system. Can’t risk voicing it out. Can’t risk you knowing. Can’t risk shit.

Studying the shape of your lips as you hold up a small heart-shaped mirror, he twirls the ends of your hair as he waits for you to be done to ask you what you want to drink. Is reminded of the way those pillows wrapped around the straw of the banana milk you brought for him the last time he saw you. Of the way they sucked his fingers when he used them for lubrication to rub your clit while he was fully buried inside your tight, dew-sprinkled cunt. He suddenly feels hot under his collar.

He’s a slave to flashbacks. Always has been.

The celestial concoction of your needy moans and his, kept safe within the confines of his car, loop in his brain. The look of agonized lust when he bit your bottom lip in a heated kiss that he soon alleviated with the swipe of his tongue, with the suction of his lips that begged him to take more of you. Jungkook hears it as if there wasn’t any music at all, as if its thrumming wasn’t enveloping the corridors of his panic-stricken heart. He hears your words, embellished by those giggles of yours, in his ears all over again: “Stop, you’re making me horny. We should go inside.” His own, too: “You dance better for me when your panties are wet. I know you do.” Sees again, as if the moment is happening again and you’re standing in front of him, the way you reacted to his hands warming up your sides in the cold after you stumbled out of his car. Sighing softly, glossy eyes whirling upwards to the drowsy sky full of quivering stars, tipsy on the desire he’s obsessed with awakening in you while being tipsy just the same. The smile rising on your lips when he asked: “Show me how you’re gonna dance for me.” The way you moved your hips in such a silly way that squeezed his heart until it was difficult to breathe.

He’s fucked. Knows he is. Has known it for a while now.

You’re the origin of the chaos within his mind. The body of it itself. He has a teeny-tiny version of you in his mind that lives there, and lives there well because he feeds her, brushes her hair and gives her kisses, despite the storm.

He could never tell you—how much he thinks about you daily.

To a certain extent, he almost did the last time you came around, in a frenzy of sensuality and pent-up desire that consumed him. Prayed you didn’t see it for the way it really was.

It’s not just lust, and it’s more than just a friendship.

He figured as much—doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do with it.

Not a single one. Especially not when you pucker your lips at him and screw the applicator back into the tube.

He doesn’t want to lose you. Doesn’t ever want to lose the sight of that pucker of yours. And he fears that if he tells you of his weakness for you, he might never see it again.

So, he opts to keep things safe, keep things casual. That is until he eventually bursts.

That’s another promise, too.

He pulls on one of your strands. Your head knocks back, eyes wide at the audacity of it all. He laughs at your reaction.

“Can you stop?”

Jungkook does it again just to see the shock written over your face, full on belly laughing.

“What the fuck?” You slap his shoulder, the impact so small he barely feels it. “You want me to pull your hair, too?”

He grabs his stomach. “No, what I want to know is what you wanna drink.”

You purse your lips in feigned anger, fingers outstretched by the back of his head to play-pull his hair or perhaps slap him into oblivion. If you could manage it.

He doesn’t think you could.

He goes around you to sit beside you on the bar stool, studying the bottles of liquor his hyung bought. Is ignorant to the way you’re studying him, to the way the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly at the discovery of the current situation in his intimate parts.

Pulls out one to acknowledge himself with it. Asks you if you wanna drink it.

You don’t say anything.

When Jungkook lifts his eyes to scold you for not paying attention, all the words get hitched in his throat. You’re grinning from ear to ear. All those damned words are forgotten immediately.

“Are you hard?” you whisper, flushed at the face, glossy eyes glimmering, ever so excited about your discovery.

He feels himself twitch. Hides it by cupping himself discreetly.

Averts his eyes. “I’m always hard around you,” he mutters, twisting the bottle open. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

He doesn’t look at you when he pours you a shot, but he focuses on the way your breathing gains speed. Fights the smile threatening his lips caused by how easy it is to provoke you.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You’re hasty as you ask, looking around you, inspecting which room you could use to drag him into and relieve him of his problem, but he assures you it’s no problem at all with a curt shake of his head.

Strangely, he found a way to like the tension in his pants. Thinks it digs deep into the depth of the moment—simply makes it more exciting.

“We just got here,” Jungkook says flatly, screwing the lid back on. “Don’t be rude.”

He filled your shot to the brim not necessarily with the intention to make you drunk as fast as he can, but to watch your eyes widen the way they do so sweetly. And you don’t disappoint him at all when you do just that, the smile on your lips blossoming still. An aura of shyness envelops you in softness due to his disapproving words and Jungkook realizes he grazed your submission by reprimanding you. While it magnifies his smugness, he feels a little bit bad for you. Knows how much it turns you on when his fatherliness looms out, but blames you for it nonetheless. You rouse it in him.

You may have never told him about your father wounds, but his instincts sensed it in you—sought it out like its own child and cradled it in his arms, promising to never let go.

Promise. There it is again.

He wants to spend the rest of his life promising you things. Doesn’t matter what. He just wants the security, the cord of trust, that you’ll be here; that you’ll be here for a long time. It truly doesn’t matter if he promises you things internally or outwardly.

Jungkook cups your chin. Wants to say something. Wants to reassure you that you can take the shot, encourage you a tiny bit. But what you say to him dries up his throat completely.

“You don’t want a blowie?”

Your words were a mere silky noise, but he heard you. Curled his fingers tight into fists in order not to bend you over the bar stool and take you right then and there in front of everyone.

Decides he will provoke you right back.

“You don’t want a lickie?” he murmurs, drawing close to you so you’re the only one who hears him. “You don’t want Daddy’s tongue on your little clit?”

You gasp and grip his knee, your legs intuitively spreading.

Jungkook skims his surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. When the coast is clear—people mindlessly mingling, having conversations—he hovers his lips against your ear, hand coming in between your legs, not to touch you but to cover you. Whispers, “or you don’t want Daddy’s tongue fucking you fast? Licking over your little ass? Hm, you don’t know how good that feels yet, do you?”

You’re holding in a sob—Jungkook sees it in the way your eyes and lips round, brows furrowing. He made you wet. Serves you right.

He pulls away to pour you a chaser. Asks which one you want.

You take a deep breath, flicking your hair back. “Coca cola,” you chirp, despite the deathly grip you have on his knee, perhaps to hold your sanity together, other fingers wrapping around the shot. Small, so fitting for an equally small glass.

Jungkook laughs. Loves it. Loves…

The realization, of what he almost granted access to within his system, strangles his heart. He hears nothing for a moment, not the music, not the tremor of his weak heart. Nothing.

A can of Coke waits for you behind the bar on the kitchen counter and before any thought flicks through his brain, Jungkook stands to his feet to fetch it for you—to get his blood pumping again so he can gain control of his senses. It scares him, the nothingness. Even his eyes fail to focus as he looks for the metallic red can he swore he saw hardly a minute ago. He feels a slap on his back and a familiar face, at last, comes into view.

Hobi.

The first thought that resurfaces is filled with thankfulness enveloping around that name, dispersed with tiny kisses of ‘you saved me, hyung’. Jungkook dives head-first into the offering hug of his savior, his senses returning to him like magnets attaching to metal. He takes in a deep breath as if he was under water and just came up for air.

“So glad to see you,” Hobi says, rubbing his back.

Jungkook squeezes his shoulder. Says something that doesn’t reflect what he truly wants to say, keeps up the small talk while burying under layers upon layers of mud the confession that he almost told himself he loved you.

Which reminds him that he didn’t introduce you.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Jungkook says, grabbing the can of Coke his eyesight is now clear enough to spot and an empty, tall glass for you. Guides his friend to where you’re sitting but what he sees almost makes him jump out of his own skin for the second time in the span of an hour—almost sobs tearfully at the unfortunate discovery.

A mop of dirty blonde curls shaking at the impact of his laughter as he whispers sweet nothing into the shell of your ear. He towers from behind you, compressing you in the muscly width of his half-barren chest. An electricity of anguish spasms down the course of Jungkook’s body, for in a flash he’s reminded of the way you towered above him just the same the last time. His sweat cools as you listen to him, a pang after pang of jealousy stinging him in his abdomen. He’s frozen on the spot—Hobi says something, but Jungkook can’t hear him—that is until you make a face of discomfort.

Jungkook sees red.

His heart slams hard against his chest, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel its intention to break his ribcage.

The words unfurl out of his tight mouth before he can think them through. “Can I fucking help you?” he hisses through his teeth, setting the glass and the can down harshly. The noise makes you jump, which instantly drives him to regret his actions—and it puts an end to his rage.

He didn’t mean to scare you. Doesn’t want you to regard him this way.

The sudden softness welcomes his senses back with a gentle beckoning.

Lifting his eyes, the guy ignores the question. Whispers something again that forces you to pierce your stare into the fire that burns within Jungkook’s irises. Not the fire he let you see throughout the trajectory of your casual relationship, the blue, the dreamily sultry one.

The one that licks over his eyes is black. Pitch black. No sign of stars, no dots of reflection of light. Pure pitch black.

But you hold his gaze, unafraid of the darkness.

For a reason unknown to him, it ignites you with strength to shove raggedy Barbie Ken away. Your touch lingers on his chest for a mere second and is not as scorching as the bite of your words: “Yes, I’m here with him and I’m not interested in you. Go away.”

Jungkook doesn’t look at the guy. Doesn’t give two shits about the painful twists of his features as he staggers away. Forgets about Hobi; forgets about the questioning looks of strangers digging into his back. All he sees is you. All he hears is the sigh of relief once he’s gone. And Jungkook is hasty as he reaches for you, relieved himself—relieved that he didn’t have to fight the fucker and alter the trust you have in him—needing you close, needing to gain back his control. He’s almost smiling uncomfortably at the ridiculous twist of events, but then the tug of his mouth stills.

You slip out of his grasp and move past him.

There’s silence within Jungkook’s ribcage. Not one beat or flutter, not one kick.

Nothing.

***

Knocking back shots after shots, Jungkook remains silent. Doesn’t answer any of his hyung’s questions. Doesn’t look at any of the girls who sashay to Hobi’s thigh to chitchat. His gaze merely remains fixed on the empty glass of the chaser he never had the chance to pour you.

Your shot of the dark liquor is also left untouched.

It’s the twinge of pity he feels that gives the order to his feet to rise. Hobi grabs his arm, long fingers digging into the hard leather of his jacket. Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate his stare, despite its heavy energy. Keeps his head low instead.

“Give her more time,” Hobi says, lugging him down to a seated position but Jungkook untangles out of his grip.

Grabs a bottle of soju as he mutters, “half an hour is more than enough.”

He makes a way through the corridor towards the door you slinked into, the translucent bottle swinging by his jean-clothed thigh. Doesn’t knock on the wood, instead walks straight in as if he owned the place.

You’re sitting by the foot of the bed. The yellowness of the subdued bedside lamp drapes your sagged shoulders in gold, filtering through your hair that obscures your face. You had taken off your shoes and they lie crooked and alone by your stocking-clad feet. Jungkook wonders if that’s how you feel.

His weakness caused by the unfortunate events and the sadness engulfing you stops him from moving a step closer to you as he beholds your puny form, but Jungkook fights it—fights for you. He needs to be in control. Of his own body and emotions, no matter how strenuous he finds it. He needs to be strong—and he needs to be strong for you to make things right.

He clicks the door shut behind him. As he walks towards you, he opens the bottle of soju with the firmness of his phone and takes a long sip. Settles in between your legs on the ground, crossing his legs at the ankles. Probs you on the calf to make his presence known to you, cooing your name.

You sniff your nose, gathering your hair to the side, curling the shorter pieces behind your ear. Your face glistens from the rivers of tears he wasn’t there to wipe away, cheeks flushed from all the onrush of emotions that wasn’t of the coy or sensuous kind he likes so much. The hard stone of his heart cracks at your broken countenance and the back and forth swipe of his fingers on the nylon of your stocking grows more tender the more he takes in your sadness. He wishes to inhale it, rid you of it once and for all. Thinks it doesn’t belong to you. Wants to fight the guy, make you laugh—make a fool out of himself—and make love to you. Wants all of those things at the same time, but he realizes he can’t tear himself apart.

He decides being here is enough. He can fix whatever has been broken here in Hobi’s room.

“This is so fucked up, Jungkook.”

You’re the first one to break the silence and it takes a slight weight off of his shoulders. Jungkook hums, prompts you to speak further on what hurts your heart. Wraps his entire hand around the muscle of your calf, thumb tracing figures of eight on your skin.

The warmth helps you look him in the eye, but you don’t say anything else.

Jungkook figures it’s his turn.

“I wouldn’t let him touch you,” he says softly, hand drifting down to cradle the heel of your lifted foot. You’re mine, he doesn’t add.

Your mouth rounds once again in a wave of emotion that clutches you. You don’t let the tears fall, looking up to the ceiling so the little pearls don’t trickle out of your tear ducts. Jungkook notices puffy marks of darkness under your bottom lashes, where he swore he saw thin pathways of glitter, small shooting stars traveling around the globe of your eyes. They’re nowhere to be found now, you’ve rubbed them away.

“I know, it’s not about that.” You sniff, hands hooking under the hem of your skirt just to have something to hold onto, to busy your fingers a little—as if he wasn’t right there. “I think I kinda get you know.”

Jungkook makes a sound that asks you to enlighten him, taking a swig of the sweet liquor to aid him in forgetting what he didn’t say. But the more he drinks, the more he remembers—the more his feelings splutter to life. It’s like he didn’t drink a drop at all.

“I never understood why you need to be in control all the time,” you start, fixing your gaze on his. “But I finally did when that guy had his arms around me and wouldn’t let go. I wished I had even a small bit of control in that moment when I was alone. I hated feeling like I had to endure it when all I wanted to do was run away.” You break apart at your last words and Jungkook’s world crumbles in his hands.

There’s chaos in his mind. A chaos of selfish nature that wants to prove you wrong because no, he doesn’t have any control when it comes to you, when you’re dressed, perfect and broken altogether. He doesn’t have shit—he’s nothing. A complete mess. And perhaps it’s his bruised heart that acts out despite this self-pitying mayhem grappling him, shutting it out into eternal darkness, for Jungkook doesn’t even know how he does it when he pulls you down onto his lap by a careful drag of your legs and encases you within the heated snugness of his arms.

He doesn’t even understand his own words when he says, “You can take all of mine. It’s yours.”

Jungkook doesn’t care about anything at all because when you start to sob into his shoulders, he breaks along with you—bursts at the seams completely.

“I know you were scared, but that won’t happen again. Not when I give you all of my control.” His words are smooth amidst the stream of his liquid emotions and Jungkook is glad for it—glad to be a pillar you can lean on. He imagines transferring all of his being, not just his control, to you like a blanket draping around your shoulders, so the situation never happens again.

His tears soak your hair strands and they carry his sorrowful kiss to the crook of your neck. He doesn’t want to utter a sound, wants to remain strong, but his heavy exhales betray him, wafting against you as he tightens his grip around your violently shuddering body in effort to soothe it. Considers this moment to be yours alone, doesn’t want to be selfish. Wants to be there for you.

“You helped me when I saw you,” you say against his skin, the sound muffled but he hears you—tightens his lips in a firm line in order not to wail. “When I saw that you were there, I was strong enough to push him away. You were my backup, Jungkook.”

He agrees with a soft sound, rocking you back and forth as he cradles you. Leans his head against the side of yours, shielding you from the world and its wickedness.

Your cries quieten. “But I want to be strong even when you’re not there.”

Jungkook strokes your hair, understands you even when it pains him—his attachment to you pulled so taut he fears it’ll break. “You’re strong now. I gave you my control, didn’t I?”

To his surprise, you nod.

After you pull away to breathe and Jungkook sweeps your tears away with his thumb, he’s smothered with the reminder that he made a promise to himself—a promise that is on the brink of being fulfilled.

The walls close in on him, but he doesn’t care. He promised to keep things casual until he bursts. He refuses to go another day pretending you’re just a friend he feels nothing for. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the heavily charged emotions that make the decision for him, but he simply doesn’t care about the outcome anymore. The truth has to come out into the light.

Jungkook calls you by your name. Brushes your hair back so he can look properly in the faded lush of your eyes; cradles your face in his hands like that. You call him by his name as well, whispering it into the shadows of the room. Such a soft, silky sound that puts pink plasters over the cracks in his heart. He says your name in the same intonation just to get a taste of liberty.

“I’m yours,” he confesses, a lump forming in his throat, and he’s too late to blink the tears away. “I’ve been yours since the day I met you; since the moment you laid your hands on me. Yours for the taking. My heart, my control—it’s all yours.”

The bridge constricting his throat collapses when you give him a look of endearment, your features softening, rounding in emotion. Jungkook watches as a tear rolls down your cheek; feels an identical one going down the same path on his own skin, fiery and hot.

“I’m sorry.” He breaks into sobs—and break, break, break is all he does. “I’m sorry if you wanted to stay casual, but I can’t… and-and I can’t let you go. I can’t let anyone else have you.”

You bunch the material of his wife-beater in your fists under his jacket, mewling tender weeping sounds. Jungkook bites his lip to prevent himself from spilling in your hands, needing you to say something, anything, so he can straighten his back and call it a night. You bury your head in his chest and Jungkook lulls you to calmness while needing it himself. He suddenly feels alone. Alone and crooked like your shoes, as if he said the wrong thing, as if he didn’t deserve any reassurement, any love for what he just did—

You mumble something into his skin.

His heart jumps.

“I didn’t catch that, baby.”

You lift your head, clutching the sides of his neck. “I like you, too, Jungkook.”

Your words tell him a lot of things.

He didn’t make a mistake tonight. He didn’t do anything bad, didn’t lose you for the rest of his life. He will see that pucker of yours for the months to come, your glitter and all your shooting stars will be there to guide him home.

And the other thing is—he fell for you first. Because while you like him, he absolutely and irrevocably loves all of who you are.

He smiles at you, though. The bridge takes the heft on his shoulders along with it and disperses into nothingness. He wants to thank you. He wants to thank you for the kindness you expressed towards him, for your hands that hold him. And he does by kissing you, by inhaling you, taking away all your sadness and the bad events that caused it.

“You mean a lot to me,” you say against his lips, pretty wet eyelashes fluttering. Jungkook feels their dewiness; wants to feel yours, too. There’s a pout to his mouth as he listens to you. “You changed my life. You make it better.” He nods at your words, senses them opening a window in his heart to let the fresh air in. “I don’t ever wanna lose you, Gguk. You’re too important.”

He almost says it. Those three words. But he keeps them stored within the now brisk chamber of his heart, full of spring. Flowers grow, in place of the plasters.

Jungkook caresses your cheek. “I want to make you forget.”

You beam at him—and there he feels it, the pulse of his heart, its song and its steady, balmy notes.

“Make me forget about tonight, please.”

He kisses you, adds in a million tiny pecks in between, sliding his tongue inside your mouth in brief greeting. His fingers blindly find the bottle of Soju and when he withdraws with a pop, he presents it to you.

“Look at what I got you,” Jungkook says, chuckling.

You wrap your hand around his on the bottle and he tips it to your mouth, helping you drink it. You widen your eyes at him when he wants you to drink more than you do, and he lowers his hand with a grin. Loves those eyes of yours. Loves your mouth as he wipes it clean with his thumb.

It’s lighthearted, the state of his emotions. He had tasted liberty by fondly mimicking your intonation, but now it courses through his veins, now it’s his. He feels so very glad to be alive at this moment and he wants to celebrate in the only way he knows he can.

“I got you another thing as well, but it’s back home,” Jungkook says. “I can’t drive but we can take an Uber.”

“Let’s go.”

Jungkook straps your heels, fixes your skirt and swipes his thumbs under your eyes to rid you of black mascara stains. Offering you his hand, you take his pinky and ring finger and he leads you out of the room with you following behind. He skims the living room to find Hobi but, again, he’s nowhere in sight until you tap his shoulder and point to the right side of the corridor. Hobi is rising to his feet from sitting on the stairs. The thought of his hyung staying around for him instead of enjoying the party squeezes his heart in gratitude. He hugs him and when it’s your turn to say your goodbye, Hobi pulls you in for a hug as well, rubbing your back as he asks you if you’re okay.

The soju remains in your hand. Sitting on the curb outside, both of you finish it while waiting to be picked up with Jungkook’s hand on your thigh and rough kisses shared in between. The wind doesn’t dare to disturb the intimacy, but watches on with a fond care, the stars hanging low, peeking through to witness at least one good thing of the night.

***

“If this breaks me out, I’m gonna kill you.”

Jungkook is carefully tender as he drags the makeup wipe along the perimeters of your cheeks, scowling at the sun-filled tint coloring the whiteness of the wet cloth. He had spent half an hour choosing the right brand in the drugstore earlier in the morning because he decided you were going to sleep over without telling you, reading each small letter on the packaging, despite the fact he understood shit.

You’re still clothed and so is he, resting in the middle of the comfort of his bed as he hovers above you, knees perched at the foot of the bed. The aching ball of your own foot grazes the bulge in his intimate parts and Jungkook himself is at wonder how he’s able to focus when it stimulates all of his senses, adding heat to his body.

“It’s Korean, it won’t break you out,” he mutters, swiping along the underside of your eye with extra care.

“I once had a toner that—”

Jungkook covers your mouth with his palm. “It’s Korean,” he whispers, furrowing his brows at you.

You giggle and he drops his glower, beaming down at you.

“You know I can do it myself. I’m not that drunk.”

He focuses on your forehead now, cleaning off your foundation and all those sparkles.

“I know you can, but let me.”

You babble on and Jungkook decides he’s had enough of it. He clicks his tongue. “I’m gonna shut you up.”

He dumps the makeup wipe on your face and rummages through his bedside drawer. While you use it to cleanse off your neck, Jungkook spoils your surprise and opens your present. Is discreet as he smuggles it between your legs, pressing it against your clothed clit.

The soft vibrations spread throughout his whole hand. He increases the intensity.

You freeze, flicking your eyes to his, makeup wipe long forgotten. You roll your hips against the toy.

“Oh my god.”

Serves you fucking right.

“Keep talking,” Jungkook mutters. “Hm, keep fucking talking and dare to come.”

It’s maniacal, his laugh, but gentle and amorous in nature because he fucking loves you, loves to tease you, loves to make you feel good—show your body new things that it willingly accepts. You wiggle your hips, chasing the pleasure, mouth fallen open, emitting tiny satiny legato whimpers, which cause his cock to twitch in his pants—so much that he begins to move the purple toy all around your femininity while palming himself. He notices your lack of babbling.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in feigned sympathy. “You suddenly have nothing to say?”

You smile at him, and it stops everything. The roleplay of his mean dominance, the vibrations buzzing his hand. He turns the toy off and is straightforward as he says, “undress.”

Does so himself.

He takes off his leather jacket and unbuttons his pants; watches you as you drag the skirt down those hips he wants nothing more than to kiss and hold in his hands. When it pools around your knees, he chucks the material behind him. You hook your thumbs beneath the waistband of your stockings and Jungkook thinks about how he’d like to tear them apart and make you lose your mind through the hole he’d create as he strokes the outer side of your thigh. He wanted to be gentle with you tonight, but he just can’t help it.

You rouse it him and he just listens.

His hands are quick as they rip a hole above the center of your rosily pink panties. He smirks at your shocked gasp, so short and dry, drawing close to your pussy, kissing her, nuzzling his face in her. The tension in his intimate parts is almost unbearable when you run your hands through his hair and incite him to do more. He licks over the tiny wet spot on the frail material that he’s the artist of, adding to it, and watches the roll of your eyes because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. It’s a dance what your hips do, the most unkind torture and he longs to squeeze them.

He’s a good boy when it comes to listening to his body’s desires.

Making a way through the beige hole, ripping it further in the process, he grabs the supple skin, thumbs fondling over your hip bones. So small, so delicious. Jungkook licks his lips, pushes your underwear to the side to reveal your dewy little seashell—fixes it so it stays put. Looks up at you. “Top off. I wanna see those pretty tits.”

You’re a good girl, too, when it comes to obeying his wishes.

A praiseful coo ripples out of his mouth once you reveal your black padded bra. Jungkook decides he wants it to be in line of his sight, so he lowers the straps down your arms and merely tugs the undergarment below your breasts. The spillage and the ripple of their fullness almost makes him die right then and there. Jungkook bites his bottom lip until he draws blood.

Two hindrances. The silky straps on your arms, the stockings he will soon lower down your thighs. Jungkook curses under his breath; thinks he should’ve gotten the ropes he was eyeing after his drugstore run. Pink and rough, just the kind you would’ve liked.

Perhaps it isn’t needed for the lovemaking he longs for with you. Playtime and lovemaking are two different things, he concludes.

He’s so horny he might lose his mind first. And he does—with nose pressed against your sternum, babbling nonsense while he buries his head in your tits. Inhaling your vanilla and tuberose scent, he kisses the valley leading up to the peak of your stiffened nub, trails it with his tongue, goes the extra mile to suck it into his mouth, hearing its call. He’s just listening—listening to your body language that asks for him. His eyes are blurry when he gazes at you. You’ve fled to the pink planet again, but he wants you here with him. While he flicks your nipple with his nimble tongue, he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks. Would die for your adorableness. Would go to war for it, a thousand times over.

Jungkook sucks the nub to make your travel back to Earth faster and he accomplishes what he wants. With a roll of your body and a moan, you’re back, looking down at him, cradling him, brushing his hair back. He makes sure you see the way he toys with your nipple—keeps his mouth open as he circles it, flicks it before he sucks it back inside.

“Stay here with me,” Jungkook mumbles, switching to the other nipple. “Please.”

You nod, grinding your hips against his stomach. Another call. Your hands slide lower to his neck and Jungkook understands you want more.

“Take control of me, baby,” he says. “Flip me over.”

Your breath is shaky. A light flickers in your eyes, glints like his saliva adorning your nipple in the yellow dimness of the room. You grab a hold of his neck with your one hand like he does to you every time while the other comes around his shoulder and you push him to his back in one swift motion.

Jungkook feels proud. You learn well from him. So studious, so smart, so cute.

You straddle his hips and Jungkook begins to trace your thighs, fingertips gliding back and forth on the nylon, until he grips your hips—and grips them hard. He forces you down on the bulge of his cock, hissing at the pleasure rising up his abdomen. He feels your dewiness against the material of his boxers soaking it through. He guides your hips in a steady but firm rhythm and once you familiarize yourself with it and hump him on your own, he brushes his fingers across your wet nipples. The sensation sends you toppling back, spine arched as you ride him like you rode his Hello Kitty plushie, but Jungkook keeps his fingers on those two little nubs. Your tits bounce and slap against each other and he just follows their movement, squeezing, grazing, leading you to the burst of your climax. When he lets go, you lower your body enough for him to nuzzle his face in them, moving you to the tip of his cock that peeks out of his boxers. The contact of your little soaked clit with his oozing arousal makes Jungkook moan into your skin, and he feels his balls tighten.

He lets you know by squeezing your arm, as if his furrowed brows, flushed face and the planes of his forehead shining in a layer of sweat weren’t indicating the matter enough.

You enjoy every second of the torment you bestow upon him, back upright now, fingertip playing with his navel.

Even more so as you flip around and ride him reverse cowgirl style, the nylon of your stockings stretched taut over your ass. Jungkook feels faint.

You’re wearing a thong that is but a thin fabric and would cover absolutely nothing if it were in its right place. He can see your little puckered hole that he’s very hungry for, starved actually, with each backward movement you make. He yanks his boxers down, granting you access to paint his manhood with the loveliness of your shiny dewiness. Grunts at the sloppiness of your flesh gliding back and forth as you toy with his ballsack. On the top of his cock, your juices mix with his—creating a pretty, pretty palette.

The way your pussy lips barely wrap around his girth, your little breaths and sobs—Jungkook can’t take it. White flashes in his eyesight, the build up of his orgasm nearing the end.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, flicking your hair behind your shoulders as you arch your back, your hair like a waterfall cascading down your spine.

Jungkook pulls on it, halting your torture. “You’re gonna make me come,” he purrs. “What a waste that would be—for me to come all over my pants like a teenager when your cunnie is right here.”

He rips your stocking further to reveal more of your ass. Pushes you towards his face until you’re sitting on it and—

He devours you.

You cry out. The sound propels him to tighten his grip around the small of your back, to quicken the shakes of his head while his tongue stimulates your engorged clit, occasionally flicking against the muscle to hear more of your little noises. Your palm feels up his wet shaft and Jungkook rewards you for being such a good girl that thinks of her Daddy by taking your bundle between his lips and sucking it. Your body quivers, plays tag with his tongue and Jungkook growls, your taste the sweetest thing he’s had all week and he can’t get enough. Needs more, needs…

“Fuck yourself on my tongue.”

He guides you. Spanks you when you find him. And the sobs you let out, interlaced with the naughtiest of whimpers, make him ache. Your walls press against him—stars fill his vision—and he can’t breathe. Needs you to come, needs a release himself, needs to taste your tiny hole that has never been touched before.

His hand extends for the purple toy, keeping it on the low setting. He presses it against your clit and the way you tighten around him lets him know you’re soaring; mere seconds away from ascending fully to the pearly gates.

Jungkook lets you reach your climax on your own, even though his hands itch to grab you and invigorate your thrusts. He wants you to have full control; wants you to get a heady taste of that liberty.

Wants you to get used to it.

You slow down your movement and Jungkook hears your cry first before your body begins to convulse. He holds you through your orgasm whilst he rubs the vibrator all over your clit and is ever so fucking mesmerized when he catches your pussy drooling and clenching.

He aches—aches badly to be inside of you.

Ridding you entirely of the mere cobwebs that your stockings have become, Jungkook holds your panties in place. His tongue darts out to swipe at your trickling hole, drags it past your skin across the other hole he’s yearning for. He feels you clench; he hears the litany of your incoherent words as you take in the new pleasure. He doesn’t touch your clit—he knows how sensitive it is after such an intense orgasm, so he just drags his tongue up and down both of your holes, swirling around the tight entrance.

When he penetrates you there, you scream.

You scream a bunch of yes’ in a row and Jungkook imagines your eyes are rolling back like they always are—imagines a grin on that fucked-out face of yours, eyelashes fluttering and wet with liquid emotions. It drives him to drill his tongue there in faster staccatos, moaning against you; the entirety of his bloodstream flowing to his intimate parts. He’s so hard he might burst, length heavy and solid against his stomach, but it brings him a great deal of pleasure to have you open like this, to taste you in a place no one has ever touched before, to give you a new experience that you’ll remember for a long time and possibly beg him for again.

He sighs against you, drinking you to relax his jaw. Is drunk on the moment, probably enjoys it more than you do.

You begin riding his face and he just offers you his tongue. Lets you do whatever you want.

“Feels so fucking good, Jungkook, oh my god.”

You’re fast now and Jungkook feels proud of you. You’re taking charge, chasing your pleasure. His heart skips a beat when you want him in your ass again, and he willingly obliges, fucking you there until the tremor of your body signals him of the thunder of your approaching orgasm.

You come on his tongue violently. Shuddering, screaming, leaving his neck, mouth, chin and cheeks wet. Dewiness for tears—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Turning around, you don’t let him breathe before you grab his face and kiss him, licking into his mouth, moaning at the taste of your own rich flavor. Jungkook reciprocates all of your kisses and swipes of your tongue, doesn’t try to dominate you but instead revels in the nasty kiss, bucking his hips against your heat. So slippery, so fleshy. He grunts into your mouth.

When Jungkook sees your blissed-out face, he grins at you. Is blissed-out himself. “How’s that?” he asks. “You have all of my control. All of it.”

Your voice is hoarse when you say, “so fucking amazing, thank you,” and grin down at him just the same.

Joy beats through his chest, illuminating him from within as if he had his own tapestry of the whole night sky right there above his heart.

You sink lower down his thighs and pepper kisses along the length of his sticky cock. The gesture moves him and he lets you stay there for a moment while he briefly ponders over how a paralyzing form of pain led him to such a pure, expanding joy that he feels right now.

Tears well up in his eyes.

“Come here,” Jungkook pleads and you lift your head like a puppy.

He decides that he doesn’t want any restrictions on your body anymore. Each move of his hand is calculated as he unclips your bra and tugs your stockings, along with your underwear, down your legs. Even his own clothes come off in a blink of an eye because all he wants is skin to skin contact, to be connected with you on the deepest, most raw level that there is.

There’s a bit of nervousness coating his voice when he asks you to ride him due to his vulnerability. And when he feels the beginning of you, your heat encompassing him like the warm wind he last had grazing his body in his summer childhood days, the tears that loom in his eyes rush out.

It feels like he’s back in those days, but only this time all things are made right. But he can’t lie his head down in that tall grass of his childhood and escape—not when you struggle to take him from the angle you’re not used to.

He doesn’t think he ever let you ride him. Not even once. He apprehends you don’t know how to go about it.

“I know it hurts from this angle, but you can take it,” he says, willing his voice to be smooth as if he wasn’t crying at all—is thankful for the dimness that obscures his vulnerability from you. “You’ve taken me before, you can do it. Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You clench around him, stay frozen on the spot, and Jungkook can’t see. Filmy vision, emotions hurling at him like an incoming surge of waves. But all of that takes a step back when you mewl a pained noise and let yourself fall on his chest, his cock only a quarter of the way in.

“I’m scared. It’s too sensitive, it hurts.”

You shift your hips so he slips out of you. Jungkook kisses your forehead, wraps an arm around you while the other travels further down, below the roundness of your cheeks. Makes sure you look at him as he says, “don’t be scared, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no rush. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

He looks at you for a long while—recognizes only some of your features in the dark—and so do you whilst he lulls you into a state of serenity by humming a song his mother sang to him during those summer days, by petting your head ever so fondly. He never realized how broken his inner child truly was until you kiss his tears away—see them, alas—and the boy inside him leaps into the sun-breathed air of the past. Grows into a young man with a dream in his heart and pensive thoughts beneath the thick set of black hair. Transforms into an adult man with love for a dream instead, for all that has become of his ambitions is the desire to be loved, to be wanted.

Dream or desire, none of it matters now because all of it, in a strange way that heals him, intermingles with each exhale of your breath against his cheek—and with the inch you think you’re ready to take—all of it is fulfilled.

A dream come true. A desire gratified.

You’re his and he is yours. And he tells you.

You kiss him everywhere. Nose, cheeks, neck. Grab his bunny plushie and tuck him into the crook of his elbow. Jungkook holds onto him as you take another inch, other hand holding his shaft as you sink down little by little, stopping whenever it gets too much.

“You’ve always taken it so well,” he murmurs onto your pained expression, unable to take his eyes off of you. “I was made for you. It’s yours, baby. It’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it.”

You clench at his words and the noise that you squeak makes him grunt onto your lips.

“That’s right, baby. I’m so proud of you for trying to take me so well like this when your little pussy is so sensitive from my tongue. You deserve to be rewarded, don’t you?”

The smile blossoming on your mouth is dangerous with its coyness but confidence at the same time. He falls in love with you all over again, feels the tall grass of his childhood bending over his head, sifting through his hair.

“I’m doing it for you,” you say. “I want to make you feel good.”

A hum of appreciation. A kiss full of tongue. “Throw your hips back a little. Just like when we dance.”

He’s not fully sheathed inside of you, but he feels your gummy walls smothering the half of his length and it’s enough. He doesn’t want to hurt you by filling you to the brim—he’s heedful even as he guides your hips with his hands, rolling them back as if you were grinding against him. Both of you danced like that many times before and because you know the move, you’re comfortable once you latch onto his hands and lift them, intertwining your fingers with his, pinning them down onto the mattress. Your hips gain speed, bouncing on him as your chest lifts a little, hovers above him and the bunny in the middle of his stomach, and Jungkook doesn’t let himself feel pleasure until your eyes lid and turn to the ceiling.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re a fucking”—Jungkook whines at the impact of a distinct hard slam of your hips down on his—“pro. My little fucking pro. Doing so good for me.”

He’s losing it and it’s so quick. The change of energy in the room, the arousal rising like fine dust in the air. All because his words nourished you with confidence that blazes the atmosphere around the bed. It’s just you, him and bunny in this microcosm and Jungkook longs to hold onto the plushie. Feels so much like you when he’s the one in control; feels as though you’ve become one in this emotionally charged act. He can’t differentiate between himself and you anymore.

He’s simply become you because he loves you. Or has been you the whole time due to that very fact. Perhaps loving someone truly means becoming them because what you learn from them, what you mimic from them is perpetually yours.

An awareness of how tired you must be drifts across his mind. He knows that with each excellent performance comes the burning of the muscles so without thinking twice, he maneuvers you to his favorite position—remaining on his lap with your back against his chest and bunny stacked on top of you. He takes the lead but lets you decide the pace. You’re the boss. “Fast or slow?”

“Fast.”

Jungkook hums, raising a brow. “Fast? Cunnie isn’t sensitive anymore?”

You shake your head ‘no’, propping an arm behind his neck. “I want it fast.”

It’s simultaneous—the deed of two hands, yours and his, grabbing a hold of the fluffy belly of the plushie, fingers traveling and interlocking without a thought, without a direction, and yet meeting. Like two shooting stars. Like the ones you wear under your bottom lashes.

One person. One mind, one heart.

Jungkook taps your belly button with the tip of his cock. You laugh softly. He remembers how wide your eyes were in fear when you sat upright on his lower stomach and could clearly see how far he reached inside of you.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He sinks his length into your warmth. The grass, the caress of the summer wind. You’re the personification of his childhood and Jungkook kisses you hard, tells you of it by the press of his lips on yours. Is ruthless as he ruts into you. His free hand clutches the vibrator and finds your clit under the small dangling legs of bunny. The low intensity is but a thrum, though by the gasps you emit, by the moans that rise in echoes within the atmosphere, he deduces it’s good.

Smugness returns, hand in hand with his control. He presses the toy harder against you, rubbing it side to side—and this time he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Vigorous with strength, empowered by the free rein of his emotions that were accepted and loved, he pistons his hard cock into that tightness of yours, regardless whether you can handle it or not. Feels right at home, feels—

“Who’s your Daddy?” he questions without slowing down the rhythm of his brutal pace. “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You hum, licking your lips, and your confidence fucks with him, strips him bare of any sanity he had left. You give him the eyes, flick your tongue against his lips before you tilt your head to kiss him with a brief passion. “You are.”

Butterflies.

Jungkook drops the vibrator on the bed. Has to touch you, has to grip you—and he does. His hand finds your throat and he squeezes, kissing you with the same passion, prolonging it because what you did wasn’t fair. He needs the passion; he needs to swallow it down and feel it course down his body. And when you give him just that, along with your luscious moans, he rewards you.

Gives you all of his cock.

He rams himself into you, balls deep. Repeats it over and over, each thrust harder than the one before. Watches your irises disappear from your eyes, mouth agape, voice gone. Jungkook senses you’re leaving planet Earth again and he stops you.

“Is this Daddy of yours your boyfriend now?”

Like a bell, his heart is clanging and the freedom in that sentence losing its principle of ever being a risk causes his eyes to fill with tears again. He’s a mess. His emotions are a mess. But he’s so happy.

And the smile you give him due to that question—it charges him with the longing power to own it, own you, so he grabs you everywhere. Your chin, your cheeks, your mouth, and you never stop smiling, not even when you say, “he is my boyfriend now, you got a problem with that?”

The chuckle that rumbles out of his chest is a surprise to him because dizziness takes a hold of his entire being. He’s gone—he’s about to die. This is it.

He kisses you and the act of your lips wrapping around his makes this so much more real. He squeezes you and bunny in his arms, hips grinding his circles now. “Does it hurt when I’m this deep?” he murmurs.

“No, feels good.”

“Let me know if it starts hurting, alright?”

You nod, pecking him, gripping his hair.

Jungkook lets go of your hand and slowly lifts you up and down on the hardness of his cock from behind. You’re so light in his hands, like a little angel assigned to his side, just his to play with. You tip your head back, the smile of yours having bloomed into a full grin. Jungkook watches you in awe.

“Look at you riding me. You don’t need any help.”

You giggle. Jungkook feels his cheeks fire up. Thinks the sound is angelic, it must be. Thinks the squelch of your pussy taking him, leaving him dewy, is angelic, too.

It makes him stop playing with you and fuck you properly instead.

He sits up. Angles your head so your lips touch his, but he doesn’t kiss you. He wants you there so you swallow all of the words that will come off his tongue, so you remember them even when the delirium wears off.

He pounds into you.

You’re no longer smiling.

Takes the vibrator again. Provokes you, just because he can’t help it, by turning up the intensity and letting it only float above your clit, never letting it touch you. He’s not fast as he fucks you. On the contrary, his thrusts are hard.

Merciless.

He feels evil when he removes the toy completely, makes sure you watch, and presses it down into the softness between bunny’s legs. He turns your head back to face him and he mimics your moans, scrunches his features in pleasure, giving life to the plushie—acting for her.

But his meanness makes you come and you fall apart in his hands. He feels bad, terribly bad for you, and the feeling begins to consume his insides—so much that he gives you the pleasure he denied you mid climax. He presses the toy against your clit and—

You’re gone.

Your stream of pleasure forces him out of you and it makes him moan loudly. It makes him moan when he rubs the vibrator all over your absolutely drenched cunt and you just keep coming. And it makes him moan when you beg him to keep fucking you.

Who is he to say no to you?

“You just want it bad, don’t you?”

You nod against his head. Gone, gone, gone. He follows you into that rabbit hole, pounding you rough and fast this time, keeping you caged against him, fingers back in an intricate interlock. You smother him with your femininity and Jungkook is perpetually at wonder how you manage to do that, how you manage to never have enough. It makes him lose his fucking mind, lose everything—lose his identity. He just blurs into you. The stars in his chest pour like liquid into your ribcage. He feels them quivering when he touches your breasts all over. Wonders if you’ll come again for him.

“Pussy molded just for me, hm, isn’t it?” he breathes. Hot, sweaty, on the brink of insanity. White flashes. Balls tight. Dizziness stealing his senses. “Good little pussy, always wanting more.”

The air grows dense.

“Mine,” he growls, voice strained��so close, so fucking close. “My pussy. Mine to fuck. Mine to eat. Mine to love—”

His gut tenses. Flames burn it hot. Time stops. Knuckles turn ivory in the feverish grip of your fingers upon bunny’s tummy; your walls, too, splattered in magnificent white. Jungkook fucks his cum into you, once, twice, for the last time—pumping you full. Giving you all that he has.

He falls limp against his pillows. The toy buzzes on upon the comforter, long abandoned.

His exhaustion doesn’t let him open his eyes. Not when his eyes sting with tears once more, not even when your warmth leaves his manhood. He knows you didn’t come this time around, however he doesn’t have the strength to fix it. His vigor oozed out of him and nestled within you—like his control, like his love, like his cum.

He will make it up to you tomorrow morning.

Now he needs sleep. He needs the tears to halt their hurting by leaking out of the inner corners of his eyes. Would prefer if you weren’t the witness to it because with his vigor departing, his vulnerability heightened. He’s ashamed of the sea of his feelings, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. He just loves you.

He’s so happy that he’s yours and he fucked you so good and—

“You tired, baby?”

You sound just like him.

Jungkook suppresses his sob, swallows it right down.

“I’m spent.” Too emotional. “Too spent to wash up.”

He feels a kiss on his nose, the comforter lifting, small warm hands on his body as he’s being tucked into his bed. Jungkook lies on his side. Feels too lonely. As if you had insight into his soul, you settle into the spaces of his form that you know are there for you to hide in.

With a barrier in between.

You push bunny’s back against his chest. Click the lamp off.

In the darkness, Jungkook allows his lungs to expand in their silent weeping. Finds bunny, finds your arm. Moves you closer until the plushie serves like a heart in the middle of your bodies. Fingers petting your hair, he allows another thing—

“I love you.”

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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goldfades · 5 months ago

Text

STOLEN MOMENTS IN PARKING LOTS──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request!

─ summary | rafe tries to provoke jealousy by showing public affection for sofia, but as tensions rise, he confronts you and reveals his feelings.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x ex!fem!reader

─ warnings | NSFW!! (with plot) under the cut!! p in v, praise, pretty soft, nothing too cray but it's in the backseat of his car soooo. some angst in the beginning, rafe tries to fight someone (when does he not?), mention of drinking, ummm maybe cheating cause i lowk forgot about sofia cause bro does break up with her... but wtv! it's for the plot!

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! i actually love rafe more than i do life itself and... i wanna feed yall so PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND ME ANYTHING. anyways... sorry i just had to get that out there!!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The air feels thick around you as you weave through the crowded beach, trying to keep your gaze anywhere but on Rafe. His laugh, louder than it needs to be, cuts through the noise of the party, and you can’t help but notice Sofia wrapped around him.

She leans into his touch, her smile bright as his hands roam casually over her waist, like he used to do with you. You catch a glimpse of them, Rafe pulling her closer, his lips moving to hers in a display meant for everyone, but especially for you. You look away, forcing yourself to focus on the bonfire, the drinks, anything. But it’s impossible to ignore the magnetic pull. It’s like he’s everywhere at once, the weight of his stare pressing into you even though his attention should be elsewhere.

And maybe it is—his lips are on her—but his eyes, whenever you risk a glance, are always searching for you.

You tighten your grip around your drink, jaw clenched against the swirl of emotions building in your chest. Each stolen glance at Rafe pulls at something deep inside you, but you refuse to let it show. The heat of the bonfire warms your skin, the crackling flames a welcome distraction as you will yourself to block out the image of him with her.

The party hums around you, but all you can hear is his laughter—so familiar, yet distant, like he’s a world away, even though he’s right there.

But before the thoughts can spiral further, someone steps into your line of sight, blocking the view you’ve been pretending not to care about. You blink up, surprised to see a guy you vaguely recognize from around town, his easy smile and tousled brown hair a stark contrast to the tension thrumming inside you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth, the kind that carries well over the music. “You looked like you could use some company.”

You offer him a half-smile, more out of politeness than genuine interest, but something in you shifts—an instinct, maybe, to distract yourself, to prove to yourself that you’re fine. If Rafe can move, so can you. So, you shrug, meeting his gaze for longer than you have with anyone all night.

“Maybe I do,” you reply, your voice light despite the ache still gnawing at the back of your mind.

He steps closer, leaning casually on the railing next to you. “Name’s Tyler. You’ve been to these parties before, right?”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink, your eyes drifting briefly toward where Rafe stands before snapping back to Tyler. He follows your gaze but doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah, once or twice,” you say, playing along.

Tyler’s grin widens, sensing an opening. “Let me guess, you’re not a fan of the scene? You don’t seem like the type to be into the chaos.”

You laugh softly, surprising yourself. “Not usually,” you admit, swirling your drink. “But it’s better than staying home.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, his eyes roaming over your face, lingering a second longer than necessary. “But I’ve gotta say, I’m glad you came out tonight.”

There’s a warmth in his words, a casual flirtation that makes it easy to forget the lingering tension in your chest. You tilt your head, giving him a look you haven’t given anyone in a while—playful, even if only for the moment. “And why’s that?”

His smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans in, lowering his voice. “Because I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you.”

You feel a small spark of satisfaction flare inside, the kind that comes from knowing you’re being noticed, admired, even if it’s fleeting. You toy with the edge of your cup, glancing up at him beneath your lashes. “Well, aren’t you charming.”

Tyler laughs, a low, easy sound that feels like a balm against the tension in your mind. “Just telling the truth,” he says, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he gestures toward the fire. “Want to grab a seat by the bonfire? I’d hate for you to be stuck standing here all night.”

You hesitate for a second, glancing toward the beach where Rafe and Sofia are still tangled in each other. But the sight no longer stings as much—it’s dulled, replaced by a sudden urge to push back, to be seen with someone else, just as he’s parading her around. It’s petty, you know that. But right now, you don’t care.

“Sure,” you say, offering Tyler a real smile this time, one that lights up your eyes. “Why not?”

As the two of you make your way to the fire, you can feel Rafe’s eyes on you, burning hotter than the flames, but you don’t look back. Not yet. You settle onto one of the logs beside Tyler, letting his easy conversation and light touches distract you, pretending for a moment that you don’t feel the weight of Rafe’s gaze following your every move.

A few hours (and drinks) later, you find yourself leaning against Tyler’s car, his hands on your waist, lips trailing down your neck as the distant sounds of the party fade into the background. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out here, away from the noise, away from him. The warmth of the alcohol buzzes through you, making it easy to forget about the tension that had been gnawing at you all night.

Tyler’s mouth finds yours, and you lean into it, closing the gap between you. His kiss is heated but unhurried, his touch light on your skin, and for the first time tonight, you let yourself slip into the moment. The back of your mind, the part that’s always aware of Rafe, quiets—just for now. Tyler’s hands move down to your hips, pulling you closer, and you tilt your head, deepening the kiss as his fingers trace soft patterns over your waist.

For a few blissful seconds, you don’t think about Rafe at all. It’s just you, Tyler, and the cool night air pressing in around you. Tyler’s touch is comforting, a distraction, a way to escape the complicated mess of emotions Rafe always drags you into. And for the first time tonight, you don’t feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of what used to be.

Tyler breaks the kiss, his lips still brushing against yours as he grins. “You sure know how to make a guy’s night, sweetheart,” he teases, his voice low and breathy, pulling you in even further.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Do I, really?” You reply, matching his grin, feeling the haze of everything slip further away.

Tyler’s hands tighten around your waist, his mouth once again capturing yours as you press against the cool metal of the car. His kisses are eager now, more insistent, and you match his energy, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. The taste of alcohol lingers between you, the sound of your breathing mingling with the distant crash of waves and faint music from the party you left behind.

You close your eyes, momentarily letting go of everything—of Rafe, of the tangled mess he left behind in your head. Tyler’s lips move against yours, and for just a second, you feel light. Free.

But then, everything shifts.

The tension in the air thickens in an instant, and you sense it before you even open your eyes. A sudden presence, looming and charged, like a storm about to break. When you finally pull back from Tyler and glance up, your heart stumbles in your chest.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his expression dark—dangerously dark. His eyes lock onto yours first, blazing with an anger so intense it makes your stomach flip. Then his gaze flicks to Tyler, and you can practically feel the rage rolling off him in waves.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe’s voice is low, almost a growl, but it’s enough to send a chill down your spine.

Tyler, oblivious to the storm he’s just walked into, straightens up, his arm still loosely around your waist. “Relax, man,” he says, trying to sound casual, though there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice. “We were just—”

Rafe doesn’t let him finish. He takes a step closer, fists clenched at his sides, his whole body vibrating with barely-contained fury. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he spits, his eyes still fixed on you. But then his gaze cuts back to Tyler, and something dangerous flashes there. “But if you don’t get your hands off her right now, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Tyler scoffs, dropping his arm but not backing down. “What’s your deal, Cameron? She’s not your girl anymore.”

Those words are like a lit match thrown into a gasoline fire.

In an instant, Rafe’s on him, shoving Tyler hard against the side of the car. “What did you just say?” Rafe’s voice is low and menacing, his face inches from Tyler’s. His fists are white-knuckled, trembling with the need to unleash the anger bottled up inside him. “You think you can just put your hands on her like that?”

Tyler stumbles, but he manages to push back, his hands coming up defensively. “Chill, man! It’s not that serious!”

But it is. For Rafe, it’s everything.

You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the wild, desperate look in his eyes as they flicker between you and Tyler. He’s spiraling, and you know this side of him all too well—the part that lashes out, that destroys when he feels like he’s losing control.

“Rafe, stop,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended, cutting through the haze of tension. You step forward, placing yourself between him and Tyler, your hand pressing against Rafe’s chest. His muscles are taut beneath your touch, coiled and ready to explode. “This isn’t worth it.”

For a moment, Rafe doesn’t move. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his eyes locked on yours, searching, desperate for something he can’t find. He looks down at your hand on his chest, and for a second, you think he might back down.

But then he shakes his head, his voice tight with frustration. “What’s your fucking problem?” he snaps, his words aimed at you now. “Do you not miss me? Is this how you move on?”

You flinch, taken aback by the raw vulnerability buried beneath his anger. His words hit harder than any shove, cutting through the defenses you’ve been trying to build all night. You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat.

Rafe’s hands grip your arms suddenly, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place. His eyes bore into yours, intense and searching, the anger faltering for a split second as something else flickers there—something almost like hurt. “Tell me,” he demands, his voice quieter now, but no less desperate. “Tell me you don’t miss me.”

Rafe's grip tightens for a fraction of a second, his eyes still locked on yours, searching for something, anything, that will ease the storm raging inside him. His question lingers between you, thick and heavy, but you can’t answer him, not here, not like this. Tyler, still lingering nearby, lets out an irritated scoff, but there’s a tremor in it. He knows better than to challenge Rafe further—everyone does.

You feel Rafe’s breath against your skin, shallow and ragged, as if he's waiting for the moment you confirm his worst fears. But instead of answering him, you take a deep breath, your hand brushing over his chest. “Come on,” you murmur, voice softer now, low enough that only he can hear. “Let’s go.”

For a brief moment, Rafe hesitates, his gaze flickering toward Tyler, like he’s still deciding whether to throw another punch. But your hand slides down, gently tugging at his arm, and his attention snaps back to you. Slowly, his grip loosens.

Tyler, sensing the shift, straightens up but keeps his distance, his bravado from earlier slipping away as he watches you lead Rafe toward the beach. “Whatever, man,” Tyler mutters, though his voice wavers, betraying the fear he's been masking. “You two deserve each other.”

You don’t even look back at him, and Rafe doesn’t either. His focus is entirely on you now, the tension between his clenched jaw and the way he follows your lead without protest. Tyler slinks off, disappearing into the crowd as if he’s suddenly remembered who he’s dealing with.

As you walk further from the party, the sounds of the bonfire and distant music grow fainter, leaving only the soft rush of the waves and the cool breeze whipping against your skin. Rafe’s fingers brush against your hand, and though the anger in him hasn’t fully burned out, his pace slows as the two of you near the shore.

The silence between you is heavy, electric. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down, the tension thick enough to suffocate. His frustration, his desperation—it’s all still there, simmering beneath the surface. But now, without an audience, without the pretense of Tyler or Sofia, it feels rawer, more exposed.

Rafe stops just shy of the water, his grip on you tightening again, though not out of anger this time. It’s almost as if he’s holding onto you for stability, for some anchor to stop him from drowning in whatever dark place his mind has gone. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice quiet, rough around the edges, but no longer carrying the rage that had consumed him moments before. “Why are you acting like you don’t care?”

You feel the words clawing at the back of your throat, the urge to lash out or deflect, but the vulnerability in his eyes makes it impossible. Instead, you stand there, caught between the pull of the past and the mess of emotions swirling around you now.

It’s all too complicated, and yet somehow, painfully simple. You’ve never stopped caring. But Rafe… Rafe has always made things more difficult than they needed to be.

Rafe’s question lingers in the salty night air, hanging between you like a taut string waiting to snap. His eyes search your face for something—an answer, an apology, anything to make sense of the confusion brewing in his mind. But you’re not ready to give him what he wants. Not yet, at least.

The sound of the ocean crashing against the shore fills the silence between you, your pulse racing in time with the waves. You look away, focusing on the dark horizon, your toes sinking into the cool sand as you try to gather your thoughts. Why are you doing this? The question echoes in your mind, but it’s not as simple as Rafe seems to think.

Maybe it’s because you’re tired—tired of feeling like he’s pulling the strings, tired of the toxic push and pull of your relationship. Maybe you’re doing it because it hurts too much to care about someone who only seems to care when you’re slipping away. Or maybe it’s because, deep down, you know that no matter how hard he tries to provoke you, to force a reaction, the person who’s really hurting is him.

You glance at him, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself really look. His eyes are still wild with anger, but there’s something else there too—something that cracks through the hard shell he’s built around himself. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his breathing ragged from the tension that’s been gripping him since the moment he saw you with Tyler. His hands, though no longer tight on your arms, still linger, as if afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go entirely.

“I’m not acting like I don’t care,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended. There’s a vulnerability in the admission that makes your stomach twist, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “I just… I can’t do this with you, Rafe. Not like this.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, his brows furrowing, but then he hesitates, the frustration flickering in his eyes giving way to something closer to desperation. “Then how?” His voice is quieter now, too, though it’s laced with an edge of exasperation. “Tell me how, because I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the ache in your chest keeps you from it. He doesn’t know what to do? The guy who’s spent the entire night trying to make you jealous, parading Sofia around like some twisted declaration of victory, now stands in front of you, unsure, vulnerable.

But this is Rafe Cameron. The boy who hides his insecurities behind anger and control. The boy who pushes you away just to pull you back in, like some sick game where neither of you ever really wins.

“You think this is all my fault?” you ask, taking a step back, breaking the physical connection between you. His hands fall away, and though his body stays rooted in place, his expression twists as if the loss of contact has left him exposed. “You think you can just act like that all night, throw Sofia in my face, and I’m supposed to be okay with it?”

Rafe winces at your words, and for a moment, he looks away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I wasn’t trying to—” He stops, gritting his teeth, clearly wrestling with what to say. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Right,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest, the bitterness in your tone impossible to hide. “Because trying to hurt me is the only way you know how to get my attention?”

He stares at you, his lips parting like he wants to protest, but nothing comes out. Instead, he clenches his jaw and looks down, the anger draining from his posture, leaving behind only exhaustion. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says finally, so quietly you almost don’t hear him over the waves. “I just… I didn’t know how to make you miss me. I don’t know how to do this without screwing it up.”

The confession hits you harder than you expect, a crack in the armor he’s always so careful to maintain. It’s the first time all night he’s shown you anything real, anything beyond the bluster and anger he uses to shield himself. And it leaves you speechless.

Rafe lets out a frustrated breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares down at the sand, avoiding your gaze. “I know I’m not… good at this. At us.” His voice wavers slightly, like admitting it is a betrayal of the tough, unshakable image he’s spent his whole life building. “But I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. Especially not him.”

There it is. The raw, vulnerable truth buried beneath layers of anger and bravado. The truth you’ve always known but never heard him admit out loud.

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of his words settle into the hollow ache in your chest. “Rafe… I can’t keep doing this. The fighting, the jealousy—it’s too much.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how exposed you feel saying it out loud. But it needs to be said.

His eyes snap back to yours, wide and frantic, as if he’s afraid you’re slipping through his fingers. “I’ll stop,” he blurts out, stepping closer, the desperation back in his voice. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t—don’t walk away.”

You bite your lip, torn between the part of you that wants to believe him and the part of you that knows it’s not that simple. He’s said things like this before, made promises in moments of weakness, only to fall back into old patterns when the anger returns. But this time, there’s something different in his eyes—a genuine fear that this might really be it.

“I don’t know if you can stop, Rafe,” you say quietly, the honesty of your words hanging heavy between you. “You’re always so angry… and I can’t be the one trying to fix it every time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he absorbs what you’ve said. But then, to your surprise, he nods, his expression shifting from desperation to something more resigned. “You’re right,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I am angry. But not at you.”

You blink, taken aback by the admission. It’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged that the rage he carries isn’t about you—not really. It’s always been deeper than that, rooted in things he’s never fully let you in on.

“So what then?” you ask, your tone softer now, more searching. “What are you so angry about?”

Rafe looks away again, his jaw clenched as if he’s trying to hold something back. But then he sighs, running both hands through his hair in a gesture that screams frustration. “Everything,” he mutters, his voice rough. “My family, my life… I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix it.”

You watch him, your heart aching at the sight of him so lost, so broken. For a moment, all the frustration you’ve felt toward him melts away, replaced by the familiar ache of wanting to help him, to fix what’s been broken between you.

But you know that’s not your job. It never was.

Rafe’s confession hangs in the air, weighty and raw, his vulnerability exposed in a way that catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and frustration that has built up between you feels insignificant. The walls he keeps so tightly guarded have crumbled, and in their place, there's a boy you recognize—a boy desperate for something solid in a world that’s been spiraling out of control.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you reach out, brushing your fingers against his arm. His breath hitches at the contact, and slowly, his gaze finds yours again. His eyes are dark, a mix of anger, longing, and something deeper, something that’s always been there but never fully spoken between you two.

“I’m not walking away,” you murmur, barely able to find your voice as the tension between you thickens. “I’m still here, Rafe. But you need to figure out what you want… and stop trying to hurt me to get there.”

His expression softens at your words, the desperation giving way to a flicker of hope. For a moment, he just stares at you, his lips parted like he’s trying to say something, but no words come. Instead, he steps closer, his hands brushing your waist, hesitant, as if testing the boundaries between you.

“Tell me what to do,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how to fix this.”

The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and despite everything—despite the anger, the games, the toxic cycle—you find yourself leaning into him. The truth is, you don’t have all the answers. You never have. But standing this close to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body, you know one thing for certain—you miss him. As much as you’ve tried to push him away, you can’t deny the pull that’s always been there, the magnetic connection between you.

“You start by being honest with me,” you say quietly, your fingers finding their way to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric as if anchoring yourself. “No more games, Rafe.”

He nods, swallowing hard as his hands slide up your waist, pulling you closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing second. “I’ll be honest,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, sending a rush of heat through your body. “I’m done with the games, baby.”

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s desperate and hungry, all the frustration and longing pouring into the contact. It’s not gentle; it’s raw and unfiltered, like he’s been holding back for too long, and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you kiss him back just as fiercely. The world around you blurs into nothingness—the sound of the waves, the distant party—it all fades away until the only thing that exists is him. His hands roam your body, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and you melt into him, the heat between you building with every passing second.

He pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours as his lips move with a kind of desperation that makes your heart race. It's overwhelming, the way he kisses you, the way he holds you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. You feel the intensity of everything he's been holding back—the anger, the pain, the desire—and it ignites something deep within you.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, but he doesn’t let you pull away for long. His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your throat, and you can’t stop the soft moan that escapes your lips. His name tumbles from your mouth in a breathless whisper, and you feel him tense against you, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough and hoarse as his hands slide under your shirt, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Your heart stutters at his words, the sincerity in his voice taking you off guard. It’s not just the physical connection that’s pulling you back in—it’s the raw emotion behind it, the way he’s finally letting you see the side of him he’s been hiding for so long.

And then, somehow, you find yourself back in parking lot, against his car. His lips never leave yours, his kiss hungry and desperate.

“Rafe…” You barely manage to get his name out as he lifts you slightly, pushing you against the side of his car, his body pressing you firmly against the cool metal. His lips find yours again, and this time the kiss is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the taste of you.

Your mind spins, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all—the way he touches you, the way he kisses you like he’s afraid this might be the last time. There's a desperation in the way he clings to you, like he's trying to make up for every moment he's hurt you, every second he's pushed you away.

Rafe’s hands grip your hips as he pulls you tighter against him, his touch searing through the thin fabric of your shirt. The way his body presses into yours is almost suffocating, but in a way that you crave, like you’ve been starved for this kind of contact for too long. His lips move against yours with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, a contrast that leaves you dizzy, struggling to catch your breath.

Every kiss feels like a question, as if he’s asking for more, for you to let him in completely again. And you want to. Despite all the games, all the hurt, there’s something undeniable about being with him—something that makes your heart race in ways you haven’t felt since the beginning.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten as his hands slide up your back, his fingertips grazing the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. It’s almost like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you, as if this is his last chance to make things right.

His lips leave yours for just a moment, trailing down your jaw and finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. You shiver as his hot breath fans against your skin, your body reacting instinctively to his every move. His name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper, and you feel him pause, his breath hitching at the sound.

You feel his hand reach for the door behind you, opening it before he practically threw you into the backseat. Rafe climbs on top of you, and his lips are on yours again. You moan at the contact, your head falling back into the cool leather of his backseat. God, how you missed those cushions.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough with emotion, barely holding himself together. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, and you feel his desperation in every touch, in every kiss that follows. It’s not just physical—there’s a vulnerability there, a need that goes far deeper than the surface.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize what he’s truly saying. This isn’t just about the heat of the moment or the chemistry that’s always drawn you two together. It’s about him finally letting you see past the walls he’s built—past the anger, the bravado, and the façade he shows everyone else.

You tilt your head back, giving him more access as his lips move lower, trailing down your collarbone, and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The world around you seems to blur, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the soft hum of the party fading into the background until all that’s left is the two of you, tangled together in the dim glow of the night.

He leans back slightly and all you could hear in the darkness of the night was the clink of his belt, and a shiver went down your spine as you think about what's coming. You almost immediately slip out of your shorts as you slid back, giving yourself enough room to spread out before Rafe is in between your legs.

You can make out his face in the darkness, the faint moonlight casting shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the tension in his jaw. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that have always had a way of making you feel seen—and sometimes too exposed—are locked on you, and it makes your heart (and pussy) beat faster.

“Rafe,” you breathe, your voice barely audible as his lips return to yours in a searing kiss. It’s slow this time, deliberate, as if he’s savoring every second, every taste of you. His hands slide up your sides, taking the edge of your shirt with them, and your breath hitches as you feel the cool night air against your skin.

Then, you feel his warm tip against your thigh. Never leaving your lips, Rafe slowly leans his cock right into your sopping pussy. You let out a soft moan, the feeling of being filled up by his cock again making your head spin with pure bliss.

“Oh, shit,” he draws out as his head falls back, the feeling of your warm cunt overwhelming. “God I missed you, pretty baby.”

And it feels like time has stopped, like the only thing that matters is the heat between you, the way your bodies fit together perfectly, like this is where you’re meant to be. His hands roam over your back, your sides, exploring with a kind of urgency that makes your pulse quicken as he pushes in deeper into your pussy.

It hurts, at first until he bottoms you out. He's still for a moment as he leans his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy. After he felt you tighten around him, he instantly pulled your hips before he began thrusting in and out of you slowly, as if he was warming up.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out as your hands find his shoulders. Your breath comes out in short, ragged gasps as you cling to him, your body responding to his in ways that are both familiar and intoxicatingly new.

He's fucking into you at this point, his own grunts echoing in the empty car. You could feel the windows begin to fog up as his thrusts become more sharp, more meaningful. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of it all, but you can’t stop yourself—you don’t want to. You’ve missed this, missed him, even if you won’t admit it out loud.

At the sound of your cries of pleasure, Rafe chuckles breathless. “Oh, yeah? You like that?”

All you could do was nod as he begins increasing the speed of his thrusts, he was rocking into you with brute force but he was still gentle, somehow. His hands reach up to find your throat, holding it as he fucks into you harder. Rafe lifts your hips a little more so that he could reach that sweet spot, and you knew it was over.

“Rafe, fuck!” You cry as your head falls back into the cushion, your mouth slightly open and your eyes rolling back in your head. You're shaking, at this point—you're not holding back whatsoever.

Anyone who was walking by his car could probably see and hear what's happening, and probably think he was murdering you. And they were right, he was absolutely obliterating your insides. But you didn't care, and neither did Rafe.

His breathing is heavy, matching the erratic rhythm of his hips, and he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. His scent—a mix of saltwater, cologne, and something distinctly him—invades your senses, grounding you in the moment, making everything else disappear.

“Oh, my god I'm gonna—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, the tight knot in your stomach snaps and it feels like everything is still for a moment. You can't even hear yourself anymore, it feels like you were on a cloud as you cum around his cock.

A few more deep thrusts and he was spilling inside you, his own body shaking above you. His lips find yours in a sloppy and desperate kiss, his hips keeping you placed right beneath him. He doesn't pull out—no, he wouldn't even dare. He doesn't want to. Not yet, of course. You both just lay in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

“I missed you,” he finally whispers, his voice rough and edged with something almost like pain. His fingers tighten around your waist, as though he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and your heart stutters at the vulnerability laced in them.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His breath is warm against your skin, his presence overwhelming but somehow comforting, like a weight you didn’t know you needed. You want to say something, to respond, but the words get caught in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to consume you.

Instead, you reach up, your fingers grazing his jawline, feeling the stubble under your fingertips. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes—an acknowledgment of what you both know but can’t yet fully voice. His eyes close at the contact, and for a split second, the tension melts away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

Then his lips are on yours again, but this time it’s different. It’s slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, every taste of you. His hands trail up your sides, pulling you impossibly closer, and your body responds in kind, the need for him growing stronger with every kiss.

You lose yourself in the feeling of him—how perfect he feels when he's inside of you, the heat of his skin, the way his fingers trace patterns along your back. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you in the darkness, tangled together in a way that feels both new and familiar at the same time.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything else fades away. The jealousy, the anger, the hurt—it all dissolves into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, caught in a moment that you know you won’t soon forget.

You’ve been through hell with Rafe, and maybe there’s more waiting ahead, but right now, none of that matters. Right now, all you can think about is him—the way he touches you, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing that’s real.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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pomefioredove · 4 months ago

Note

If you're still taking requests, I think something funny would be Idia w a reader/yuu that, in the middle of listening to him ramble (with lovey dovey eyes bc they like listening to him <3) just says. Would. Or like I want you. Like they didn't notice they were saying that out loud and now Idia and them are both dying but Ortho is just like OMG ITS HAPPENING FINALLY EXITING STAGE LEFT! hahdhahshsh I hope you get what I'm saying, completely fine if not!

I got u anon

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ slip of the tongue

type of post: fic characters: idia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu author's note: I know very little about video games so I stole a lot of idia's dialogue from my boyfriend. if he sees this. um. hi baby

"The designs are pretty good. I mean, they fit the same three molds, but they're unique, you know?"

Idia shows you his screen again, rolling his gaming chair to the side so you can get a better look at the game he's been explaining to you for half an hour.

"The fighting is kinda button-mashy, but the graphics are cool enough, so I don't really care,"

You haven't gotten so much as a word in for almost ten minutes now, but that doesn't bother you. You like listening to him talk.

He goes back to the game menu to show you the special features, and then to the menu again. His long, nimble fingers dance across his keyboard, as if he were made for this, and he pulls up another screen with a lot of numbers in colored text.

"The game is free, but it's got an insane file size for it. 180gb. Nothing should be that big,"

Your thoughts become a little louder as you zone out, letting his words, heavy with tech jargon and fast with excitement, become music. You can't always keep up with Idia when he starts going on tangents like this. Usually you have questions, but now, you can't think of any. You're looking more at him than the screen. He's being distractingly cute today.

You sigh, letting your thoughts rest on the tip of your tongue, and without meaning to:

"Would,"

Idia's hands jump off the keyboard, and he goes still. Oh. Shit.

He wasn't supposed to hear that.

He slowly turns to look at you, his eyes widened, his face beet-red. In your defense, you really thought he wasn't listening.

You don't say anything. Either of you. You wait. He waits. His computer eventually powers down, making the room a little darker. Finally, Idia looks away.

"...I forgot what I was saying," he mumbles.

Weird. Okay, he's just going to ignore that? Is that good or bad?

You look away, too. "Something about the file size. I think you were-"

"Did you mean that," he asks, but it's not exactly a question. More like a demand for an answer.

"Um..." you say, looking at the floor. "...Yeah, I did."

Idia narrows his eyes at you. He's quiet, studying you, your expression, your body language. For what, you don't know. Maybe he thinks you're lying. Whatever it is, though, he doesn't say.

"...Okay," he finally says, turning back to his monitor. "Well... um... at least give me some warning next time, or something. I would've dressed nicer."

You blink. Next time. "...Yeah. Okay. Next time, then,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #idia shroud x reader

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theblacklewinsky · 5 months ago

Text

Note: back with our favorite boo, Terry. It's my birthday, but I guess I can gift y'all with something lol! ❤️

Helpful Neighbors. | Aaron Pierre.

Toxic!Neighbor Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader.

Warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( penetrat!on. toy play, water sports), extreme language (cursing, use of b-word and others.) slight daddy kink if you squint.

Summary: You confront your noisy neighbor about his loud late night company, he allows you to retaliate.

you fucking nasty,

first you cum and then you wipe it on my ass cheeks.

There wasn't much that you knew about your neighbor Terry. You knew he was generally friendly, you bringing him a small housewarming gift of a bath and bodywork's candle when he'd first moved in months prior. You knew he was a vet based on the marines sticker on the bumper of his pick up. You knew he was active, you often seen him heading out for camping trips, often seeing him in the apartments shared gym area when you'd take time out of your busy schedule to get a short work out in. You knew he was gorgeous, anybody could attest to that.

And he was loud. Very fucking loud.

And if you didn't know anything else, you knew that for sure.

The noise varied. Most nights he was particularly quiet, you wouldn't even have noticed anybody lived there if you hadn't seen him before. But some nights, he was a little loud. Metal music from an 80's band bled through the apartment walls, straight into your bedroom, you actually didn't mind it—being an exhausted charge nurse, the metal music did something for you, calming you in a strange way. Him seemingly fixing something, sometimes in the latest hours, drilling, hammering.

But it wasn't any of that. There wasn't any metal music. But he was sure drilling or hammering somebody. And she was extensively louder than anything you'd heard from Terry's apartment. You had to quickly grab your remote, muting your comfort show on your television to make sure she wasn't screaming blood murder.

It wasn't bloody murder, but she was screaming alright. You sighed, it was your first off day in two weeks of working straight in the trauma unit of the local hospital. It'd been a viscous stomach bug going around, and with the big panic from the prior pandemic, the hospital wasn't risking another one slipping up—so work was rough, and long.

But maybe you were bitter? It'd been way too long since you'd properly got your rocks off—not anything involving your beloved rose. So maybe you were just a bit bitter that at least somebody was getting theirs. Good for him! Just not on tonight. Not this night. You'd planned to crawl in bed, eat the most unhealthiest snacks in your cabinet and watch your comfort show, and maybe weep the prior two weeks out onto your pillow, you deserved a good cry after all, girl.

You sighed heavily, placing the pillow over your head letting out a groan. You'd definitely have to catch him in the morning and talk about this, cause this was outrageous.

Maybe sleep was out of the equation, but you'd definitely moved on to weeping.

The morning sprung and you jumped into action. Due to working 7AM to 7PM, you left out for work around the same time as a Terry did his morning runs. 6AM.

You woke up at 5:30 on a mission, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare and putting on your biggest t-shirt, sweatpants to match, oh you meant business.

You caught him as soon as he'd left his door, jogging the opposite way of your apartment toward the elevators before you called out to him. He turned confused at first until he noticed you, giving a lazy morning smile as he did. Black compression shirt, with the pair of black basketball shorts to match. He had no business being so damn fine. But you weren't deterred by that, last night was fucking atrocious.

"Goodmornin', beautiful," he smoothly recited like he did every morning. He was just nice like that. He said it every morning without fail, he always found something to compliment you on. New color of scrubs, how you decided to get your hair, even sweeter when he sees you out of your deliciously fitting scrubs.

"Good morning Terry," you smiled weakly, "I don't mean to disturb your routine, but can we talk for a minute?" You uneasily shifted your weight. You weren't good with confrontation, it just wasn't in your nature, but you didn't play about your sleep.

He nodded and you walked inside still holding the door open for him to signal him to follow you. He did, his smile faltering a bit once he came inside, you could tell he was confused a little thrown off.

You closed the door behind y'all, moving into your large kitchen area to pour yourself a mug of coffee. "Want some?" You politely asked him to which he politely rejected holding up his thermal water bottle.

You added your usual fixings to your coffee, taking a cautious sip, cradling your mug in your hand before you continued. "I don't mean to be confrontational when I say this," you walked around him heading into the living area, plopping on your newly purchased gray plush sectional, " but you were very ...loud last night." You chose your words, nicely.

He featured you a puzzling look, his finger gesturing to the comfortable chair adjacent to you, "of course." You quickly obliged before he took a seat, uneasily continuing. "Your lady...company, I meant." Sex talk wasn't your thing. Sex was sacred to talk about for you—and you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable at all.

"Oh shit," he softly cursed, his expression filled with slight concern, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were bein' so loud, I hope we ain't keep you up."

"Oh, it's not a big deal," you quickly intercepted not wanting him to feel any type of way, "it's just my first day off in a couple of weeks so I just wanted to wind down with some quiet time and you guys were very...vocal," you chuckled to diffuse the awkwardness of the conversation, to which he added a light chuckle of his own, "at least somebodies getting their rocks off around here." You said jokingly before taking a sip of coffee. You hoped that didn't sound suggestive.

A short moment of silence followed your statement before you recognized Terry's eyes locked on something behind you for responding, "I see I ain't the only one gettin' mine," you furrowed your brows slowly turning your attention to where he was previously locked on. Your rose, sitting cleaned and comfortably on your end table.

You really had to learn to start putting shit back.

Or maybe not.

Somehow you found yourself on your back, pinned to the couch, Terry folding you up in missionary, knees to your chest, rose to your clit as he gave you long, deep, torturing strokes. You couldn't even remember the quick and somehow satisfying foreplay you'd taken to get here—and you didn't even care anymore. You could feel the fat tip of his dick kissing your cervix, and as if you weren't loud enough, you got louder. How ironic? You could barely hear yourself think, or were you thinking at all?

"Mhm," he hummed, his face composed, nothing but his teeth lightly sunken into his bottom teeth as he drilled you in, finger tips of his thumb and pointer finger giving your right nipple light squeezes and tugs, he kept his eyes on you, even when they rolled back, quickly turning up the vibrator, "look at you, mama. Why you bein' so vocal? Why you bein' so fuckin' loud, baby?" He taunted.

"My god, Terry," you whined, breathless, he kept up, dick hitting that spot that made your toes curl. How was he so good at this shit? You understood her completely. It wasn't atrocious at all. Very understandable. Very justified.

"Yeah, baby?" He quirked his brow up, his own soft groans almost mocking yours. "You want her to hear you? She still next door, wake her ass up mama. She kept you up all night didn't she?" He asked tearing his fingers away from your nipples to slap firmly against your cheek prompting an answer from you.

"Yessss," you slurred out, throat raw from moaning and groaning. You'd say yes to anything he asked you in this moment. You'd adopt six German kids and live on a farm with him if he requested you to do so in this moment, the world was his oyster. He was digging you out so good, so deliciously good. He was getting more than your rocks off and you knew that when the pressure in the pit of your tummy came weighing down on your bladder. "Ooouuu fuck! Fuck I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," he chuckled, evil all evident in his tone, all in his smile as he glanced down to the mess unfolding between y'all, "wet this dick up baby, I feel that shit." He groaned, eyes zoning in on the creamy ring you were leaving around him. "Wet me up, and you better wake her ass up when you do."

"Cumming!" You abruptly announced nearly cutting him off from his lewd rant, the sounds of your own arousal clashing with his dick sent you tumbling over the edge, clear juices spurting out of you with so much force it ejected him out as well. It only prompted a more lazy laugh out of him, shaking the suction of the rose on your clit even faster. Trembling underneath him, your breath hitched in your throat as he sent you into complete overdrive, your voice was hoarse once a moan came tumbling out of you loud and broken. Why did you cum so hard from knowing that she was next door, possibly hearing you get your nut off with him?

"I like that shit, mama," he mumbled to you, turning the rose off slapping his free hand down on your clit, watching your body jerk in response. He said nothing dipping his body down momentarily to give your soft, sensitive nub three sloppy, mind numbing sucks. He was so loud and lewd with it, smacks loud, tongue slurping loudly. You were too turned on, too sensitive, but too fucked out to even object given how sensitive you were. He stood up on his knee once again, other floor planted flat on the ground. "Sticking up so pretty f'me and shit," he hummed, "put that ass in the air, I'm finna give her some more."

You whined, you were too tired to move. If this was sex? What the fuck were you having before? And he seemed to insatiable, how was he asking you for more when you already so tattered from your last orgasm?

"Can't," you weakly managed to get out.

He took the initiative to help you, his hands firmly grasping your hips and flipping you over roughly, bringing your hips up into the air, spreading out so nicely for him. He moaned in response, looking at how both your holes seemed to open for him. He slapped his massive hand against your ass cheek, the loud sound seemingly filling your quiet apartment, a high wince following behind it, his dick twitching at the recoil. "You gon be a good girl for daddy and hold this shit on your clit while I take care of you back here?" He asked you the dominating reference only furthering the throbbing in your pussy, one hand softly kneading the sting out from his slap. You could hear the quiet buzzing from behind you, head nodding eagerly as your hand reached from under you, making grabby motions for the toy.

Once it was in your possession, you placed it where he asked you, body lightly trembling since your clit hadn't had a moment long enough without stimulation. Both his large hands had been planted on your ass cheeks, spreading you apart for him. He groaned in response, spitting down onto your second hole winking for him so sweetly, you moaned in response to his lewd action. "Fuck yeah," he muttered sending another lighter slap to your ass. No further words were spoken as he grabbed his girthy member in his hands, fat tip rubbing softly against your slit before he stretched you open once again around him.

A loud whine erupted from you as soon as you felt him sliding into you, stretching you, the light sting providing the perfect pain to compliment the pleasure of him literally stuffing you. It was mind numbing for him, feeling you stretch and clench around him so perfectly, gummy, wet walls feeling so warm and snug around him. "Pussy so fuckin' good," he muttered not sure to who, you or him.

His strokes had already started off staggering; hard and deep. Pelvis slamming into your ass with loud, rippling sounds through your apartment, the force literally nudging your couch across the floor. You couldn't care about the scratches you knew were now engrained in your hardwood flooring, everything was so good. Too good.

"Fuckkkk!" You slurred out, eyes fluttering closed, face pressed against the plush cushions beneath you. Brainless wasn't the word for you. You were hyper focused on the pleasure you were receiving, the vibrations from the toy, Terry's back breaking strokes, and the sounds of your arousal around him didn't help the diagnosis. Your free hand held onto the top of the couch for a sense of stability. "Why—why you fuckin' me like this?!" You stammered out through a moan, voice hoarse and broken.

"What you mean, mama?" He asked through a groan, sending another rough slap to your ass. "You such a good girl, you deserve this dick. Workin' all hard and shit, always lookin' so fuckin' good." He grunted, working himself inside of you. Thumb tracing your asshole teasingly. "You deserve some good dick, baby."

The praise only heightened your moans, encouraging you to slam your ass back on him until you felt your own orgasm once again lurking around the corner.

"Show the fuck out, then, baby," he said breathlessly, stilling his own movements as he watched as you fucked yourself on his dick, ass slamming back onto his pelvis with dizzying recoil.

"Shiiiit! I'm finna cummmm!" You moaned out, your movements only increasing in pace, using him for your own pleasure now. And he ate that shit up.

"That's right, get that nut mama. Get yo' shit, fuck me," he affirmed through a series of groans accentuating your own, "fuck, I feel all that shit. Nasty ass bitch, get that nut." His dirty words filling your ears as you released around him, halting your movements. Squirting for the second time, the orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks literally. This one cramped your muscles as it temporarily paralyzed you, huge steaks of pleasure coursing through you. Terry didn't give you a moment to recover, his own climax brewing in the background. He resumed his strokes as if he never stopped, powerful, fast and hard. The rose clobbered to the floor with a hard thud, still buzzing away as your body flattened into the couch, Terry using his upper body strength to drop dick in you.

"You runnin?" He asked breathlessly through a series of overstimulating strokes to your pussy. "Why you runnin? Daddy, let you get yours right? Let daddy get his." He hummed to you.

You couldn't tell him you were overstimulated. Could you talk at all? Were you even breathing? What the fuck even was this?

"Dick got you goin' stupid, look at you," he groaned, dick hitting that spot again, and again. You came again, with announcement. You hadn't even known you were that close again. "Fuck, you keep cummin' on my dick."

Your voice came back to you in little squeals, nodding in agreement to his last statement.

"Pussy so good—I'm finna nut baby," his voice rushed and panicked as he kept up his strokes, "fuck I'm finna nut—shit!" He hurriedly pulled out of you, groans and grunts spilling from him earnestly as warm, ropes of cum painted your ass.

That was so unreal.

You focused on steadying yourself as you heard Terrys whispered curses behind you. It wasn't long before you heard his lazy chuckle, soft lips kissing down your spine causing a small chill to sneak through you. "You good?"

"Yes? I dunno," you answered bleakly, voice rasped out. Terry laughed gently, hands rubbing some warmth into your thighs and midsection.

"You enjoyed yourself?" He asked softly, kissing up to your neck, and shoulder tenderly. You nodded eagerly to his question, earning another chuckle for him. He sounded so good. "I'm glad, where towels at pretty girl. Lemme clean you up."

"Bathroom closet," you jammed your finger in the direction of the closet. You were halfway into a slumber when Terry came back with a warm towel, cleaning you up gently.

You knew for a fact it was gonna be a lot of noise coming from the both of your apartments.

still don't have a tag list together but I hope y'all enjoyed another toxic Terry fic 🫡 my favorite Terry after all! Happy Friday! 💗

#aaron pierre #fine black men #fine as fuck #black writers #black!fem!reader #rebel ridge #terry richmond

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mywritersmind · 4 months ago

Text

DROWN IT OUT - LN4

summary : a very drunken night makes for some very drunken mistakes.

listen up : dirty jokes. kissing. lando norris x zakbrownsdaughter!reader. sort of toxic reader.

word count : 1205

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I laugh as my friends and I walk through the club, getting to skip the line (thank you mick my favorite bouncer!). I pull my little black dress down, holding my friend's hand tightly as we maneuver through the crowd.

I grin even wider when I see Oscar and Franco, standing with drinks in their hands while talking. “Blue and Orange! My favs!” They turn me, wondering who’s screaming at them.

“Ay! Y/n!” Franco hugs me, clearly tipsy and even louder than usual, “You're here!”

Oscar laughs at Franco before messing up my hair, “Hey! Have you seen Lily?” I shake my head.

“I’d be with her if I saw her here! Better than you two.” I take Franco’s drink from his hand, tasting it before coughing, “Freak!”

“Uncultured!” He yells back at me as I shake my head and make my way to the bar, ordering my first drink of many.

Once my friends find me again, my night seems to blur a bit. I’m dancing with them, then some guy, then Franco?

“Got an audience, Y/n.” He whispers in my ear, his hands on my arms. I look to where he’s pointing to and silently swear to myself.

Lando Norris takes no measures to pretend he’s not staring at me. I raise a brow and he raises his glass. Franco shivers next to me, “I could cut the tension with a knife!” I shake my head, grabbing Franco’s hand and pulling him out of sight from Lando.

I find my friends who are with Oscar and Lily. I scream and hug the girl as he giggles. I sip my drink while throwing my hands up in the air, twirling around to the music.

The club is stuffy and loud, the smell of smoke all around us. I jump in my heels because the alcohol in my system is numbing my feet pain. I flip my hair back so it’s out of my face, wishing I had a hair tie.

I continue to dance, swinging my hips and singing alone before I back up into someone. His hands are on my hips in an instant to stop me from falling further, “Brown.” he leans down to whisper it in my ear as my back is still facing him.

My eyes widen, I turn around quickly before crossing my arms, Lando’s hands leaving me for his pockets, “Norris.”

“You look really good.” I ignore the slight smile that forces its way onto my lips and focus on his voice instead.

I look him up and down, the all black doing something to me that I can’t explain… I bite my lip and look up at him, “You too. Great race today.”

We’re in Austin and the clench of his jaw tells me everything I need to know, “You’re funny.” he deadpans.

“So I've been told!” I smile widely as he leans down a bit so I can hear him. I look at him flirtatiously, “Dance with me?”

He shakes his head, wiping down his face as he looks at me. Fuck, the way he looks at me. He wants to, I know he does. He shakes his head anyways.

I roll my eyes, “Right, I forgot your my dads golden boy!”

His expression hardens, “He wouldn’t like you starting anything, either.”

“I’m his baby girl!” I smile innocently, “I do no wrong.”

“Yeah until you get too close to me. Why is it, just me? I feel like he gets antsy when you’re even a garage away.”

I laugh, “Because you- ” poking my finger at his chest, almost hitting the ‘4’ dangling from his neck. It’s a perfect reminder why I can’t do the things I want to do with him. “Are Lando Norris. And Oscar is happily glued to Lily! I don’t know if you know this…” I whisper in his ear, “But you’ve sort of got a fuck boy reputation.”

He pushes his hand through his curls, and I watch his arm go up and down. I hate myself for being attracted to him but damn is he good looking.

This makes a smirk grow on his face, tilting his head down, “He’d kill me.”

I smile, “I wouldn’t mind! The things we’d do aren't the sort of thing I'd tell my dad.”

His smile drops, taking a breath, “You make a convincing point. Still, no though.”

I sigh dramatically and back away, “Fine! Remember, Norris. My lips are always here for you!” I wink and walk away, joining my friends and letting Franco place his hand on my hip, knowing he’s watching.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I met Lando the first day he signed with Mclaren. He was younger, we both were. We were never friends, we didn’t see each other much because I was busy with Uni.

This year however, has been different. Very different. It’s like I missed four years and suddenly Lando got hot, flirty, and cocky.

But I still think back to that day when we first met, it was the day that my dad saw Lando and I smile at each other, he immediately vetoed any relationship with the McLaren drivers, or any other for that matter.

Lando knows this. He thinks it makes him more interesting to me, maybe he’s right.

I slam my phone back down on the table, a little drunk and severely pissed off.

“Your dad?” Lily asks me, Oscar’s arms are wrapped around her as he listens in.

I nod, “I just- Ugh! I can’t stand him sometimes.”

Oscar laughs, “I hear that.” I sometimes forget that other people have options on my dad. It’s sort of weird to me.

I sigh and down the rest of my drink, quite drunk and scanning the room before I can talk myself out of it.

“I’ll be back.” I mumble, setting my eyes on Lando and striding towards him. He’s talking to Carlos and Franco, a drink in his hand. “Norris!”

I yell, moving around the people who are annoyingly in my way. He turns to me, standing up straighter with a brow raised. I march right up to him, taking his hands in my face and kissing him.

He freezes for a second before grabbing my waist with one hand and kissing me back. This was what I wanted and it feels damn good. I can taste the alcohol on him, he smells like cologne.

People whistle and cheer around us. It takes my hand moving to Lando’s hair for him to back away from me.

He’s out of breath and licking his lips. He shakes his head, “Y/n.” I can tell he’s drank as much as me, he closes his eyes and breathes before the grip on my waist tightens, except he’s moving me away from him.

I know what he’s going to say by the look in his eye, he leans closer to no one can hear what he says except me, “I don’t want to be a way you piss off your dad.”

I frown, “Come on, Lando!”

“Come to me when you’re sober and not pissed off.” He shakes his head, still holding onto his drink as he walks away.

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando imagine

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celestiamour · 5 months ago

Text

ft. roderick heffley x f! reader — diary of a wimpy kid

╰₊✧ the alcohol made you do it, maybe the feelings too┊0.7k words

kinktober 2024: oct 6. intoxication

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub roderick┊slight dubcon due to intoxication, reader is a popular mean girl, roderick is whipped & whiny, unprotected piv, more plot than porn sorry

➤ author's note: how did roderick not have any maidens in the movies

“oh my god, could you be any fucking louder?!” you hissed. you couldn’t believe you were doing this, hooking up with a loser like roderick heffley. what would your friends think if they ever found out? they would probably exile you and tell everyone in the school, you’d never hear the end of it unless you moved to a different country or something.

“can help it,” he slurred, planting his face in between the valley of your breasts, “you’re so pretty…” everything about this altercation felt like a dream, so hammered that he couldn’t even think straight and in bed with one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen in his entire life. he wishes that he didn’t drink so much to remember this moment and treasure it, but he also knows that this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if he was any less buzzed.

all you could do was roll your eyes, but at least he was more quiet now that his moans were being muffled by your tits. the music blaring through the walls was loud, yet still not loud enough to drown out how noisy he was. this wasn’t something you typically did, but you were wasted and liked the way he looked at you, so here you were in his bed with his throbbing cock buried deep inside of you.

“i can’t believe i’m doing this,” you sighed, rolling your hips into his and hearing him choke on a moan. “this is all your fault for throwing such a boring ass party.” his little brother and his friend managed to renew some of the fun, but they ended up falling asleep before midnight and the rest of the party was carried on by drunken antics.

“‘m sorry…”

you let out a sound in exasperation at the pang of pity his apology left in your heart, gritting your teeth and closing your eyes for a moment so that you didn’t need to look at how pathetic he was. “it’s fine…” despite how cruelly you treated him at times, he was pretty easy on the eyes and not that bad of a fuck even if he’s clearly more inexperienced than you.

it’s actually kinda cute, you have to admit, how he looks up at you like you’re a goddess and touches you like he’s never seen a woman before. it gave you a rush of confidence that you’d never felt before, but in the end, he was just a hookup and this was the product of drinking too much. you don’t even get the satisfaction of “taming” the bad boy because he’s just some wannabe drummer of a shitty band whose music would make a deaf person beg for them to stop playing, one who chases skirts like a lost puppy and is known for being a flirt so terrible that not even the most desperate girls would be put off by his attempts of being cool.

and yet you’re still here on top of him, his hands digging into your thighs before you grab one of them by the wrist and direct them to rub at your clit, throwing him a bone by praising him for following your directions so obediently and feeling his cock twitch inside of you at your words. you could argue that it was the alcohol all you wanted, and maybe you have to thank it for initiating this contact, but you know deep down that it would have happened sooner or later whether or not you want to admit the infatuation growing over the past few years. you always acted as if you hated him when you truly hated his charm that shines through when he passionately plays his trash songs and his dopey smile every time you so much as looked his way.

you’ll think about all that later when you aren’t chasing your own orgasm and suffering from a banging headache. who knows, perhaps you’ll be able to coax a confession out of him and chalk it up to your friends as a pity date, they’ll believe it and probably encourage you to trick him into falling in love with you before breaking his heart. after all, you two are from completely different worlds, but you’ll make it work somehow.

#📜. her works #rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley smut #diary of a wimpy kid

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drowsynyuu · 1 year ago

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JJK MEN SLAPPING YOUR PUSS PUSS PT. 2 ミ★

NSFW BELOW~ jjk masterlist!!

cw: fem reader, pussy slapping ofc, exhibitionism (shiu fucks you in a meeting), thigh riding, degrading, pet names (baby,), teasing, choso can’t bring himself to be a tease 😔, oral (fem receiving), squirting (on choso’s face 💔)

a/n: part two!! @grimreaqueer / shitting bricks rn the shiu bit was written w my dick i swear

- - - - -

toji // “wait, tojiii..” you whined as you clung to him, whimpering into his shoulder as he had you bouncing on his thigh.

“what? too sensitive, baby?” he teased, forcing you to lean back so he could see your bare pussy better, watching as his thigh made you bounce, bumping your clit on it. he laughed as you nodded. “you look so cute like this..” he muttered as he made you lay back, making you spread your legs for him.

“please toji.. don’t tease me..” you begged. toji raised an eyebrow from your pleas.

“hey, it’s not my fault you wanted to be a tease while we were out. i’m just following through with my threat, remember? i said if you didn’t stop teasing me, i’d make you regret it when we got home.” toji said as he teased your clit, one of your legs over his shoulder. he chuckled as he heard you whine again, begging him to just make you feel good already. before you could whine any more you felt a sharp slap to your clit, making your body jolt.

you gasped when you realized he smacked your pussy, his palm teasing you. “toji you’re so mean..” you pouted.

“i know, baby..” he laughed at you. he was laughing at you. you knew you’d get back at him after he decides to stop teasing you.

- - -

choso // he was absolutely whipped for you. like to the point if you stepped on him he’d probably cum in his pants.

like currently— he was buried between your thighs, peacefully lapping at your cunt like it was ice cream. your moans were like music to his ears and all he cared for in the moment was making sure he was constantly making you feel good.

“stop squirming..” he muttered with a little pout as he spread your thighs, sucking on your clit.

“i can’t help it..” you frowned, whining as his sucking got harsher. he rested your legs over his shoulders, closing his eyes as he eagerly ate you out. “feels too good..” you spoke softly.

before you could even say any more, a harsh slap was placed on your clit. you let out a soft gasp as you accidentally came, squirting on choso’s face.

you caught your breath before glancing down to see his face basically soaked in your cum, licking his lips. “i told you to stay still..” he spoke softly, using his hands to clean up— licking his hands clean after.

- - -

shiu // this was actually so embarrassing and dehumanizing. but in all honesty you were too turned on to care. all you really cared about was the way shiu was pounding your pussy on the table as he focused on his meeting with some clients.

it was two men who wanted to get shiu to have toji kill someone, like the usual. they could barely focus on the meeting since you were maybe a foot from them getting your brain scrambled.

“u-uhm.. we can come back at another time..?” one of them spoke, his voice a little shaky as he tried not to stare at the scene in front of him.

“it’s fine.” shiu spoke, quick to get back on the discussion of the job. he glanced down at you as your moans only got louder, his cock slamming into you with each thrust. “quiet down.” he commanded, a look of dissatisfaction on his face when you didn’t listen.

“s-shiu!” you gasped as he harshly smacked your pussy, pinching your clit after.

“fucking quiet down. i’ll fuck you even dumber after this if you listen, ‘kay?” he said firmly, a satisfied expression on his face once you nodded and covered your mouth, your moans now muffled.

#🩷.drowsynyu.🩷#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk smut #toji smut #choso jjk smut #toji jjk smut #choso x reader #choso smut #shiu kong #shiu x reader #shiu jjk smut #shiu jjk

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hoshifighting · 6 months ago

Note

hi!! Idk if this makes sense but can you write svt reaction to y/n acting like nothing happened between them, maybe after a little drunk sex, and kinda avoiding them because they work together??

seventeen reaction to you pretending nothing had happened between you two

WARNINGS: smut, angst, omit (?)

seungcheol watches you walk past him in the office like nothing ever happened. like his hands weren’t gripping your hips last night, pulling you close, the sound of your name slipping from his lips in between gasps. he’s trying to focus on the damn report that’s due in an hour, but his mind’s stuck on you, the way you moaned into his ear, how your nails dug into his back. “shit,” he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing as he watches you chat with a coworker like you’re not ignoring him. “what the hell’s your deal?” he finally snaps, cornering you by the copier. “we gonna pretend like i didn’t have you begging last night? that mean nothing to you?”

jeonghan steres at you dumbfounded. you’re sitting across from him in the campus library, eyes glued to your textbook like you didn’t spend the night before with your legs wrapped around his waist, crying out his name. he taps his pen against the table, each click louder than the last, trying to get your attention, but you’re not even glancing up. “so we’re doing this now?” he says, voice low, leaning in closer. “pretending like you didn’t cum around my cock last night?” you shift uncomfortably, but still, nothing. jeonghan smirks, leaning back. “fine. but don’t think i’m gonna forget about this.”

joshua thinks got some nerve, walking into the coffee shop where he works and ignore him. you order your drink, all polite smiles, but joshua’s chest tightens when you don’t even give him a second look. “are we just gonna ignore each other?” he mumbles under his breath as he writes your name on the cup. he hands you the drink, fingers brushing against yours, and he can’t help but whisper, “you didn’t seem so shy last night Y/N.” but you just walk away, leaving him to fume behind the counter. “goddamn it.”

jun is in the practice room with you, you’re stretching, completely focused on your routine. jun watches you from the mirror, his mind replaying the way you looked under him, breathless and wanting. but now? you act like he’s just another guy in the room. “didn’t think you’d be so cold,” he murmurs, half-joking, but his heart isn’t in it. you look up, a smirk playing on your lips, “didn’t think you’d be so soft.” he laughs, but it’s hollow, wondering why you’re so good at pretending.

hoshi and you are at the gym, and you are completely in your zone, not even glancing his way. hoshi feels the sweat on his back, but it’s nothing compared to the way his heart races when he sees you. last night, he had you moaning his name, and now you’re acting like nothing happened. “so, that’s it?” he asks, walking up to you, trying to catch your eye. “that’s what?” you respond, lifting weights like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “last night.” you just chuckle, “we’re adults, soonyoung. it was fun, now move on.” but how the fuck is he supposed to do that?

wonwoo always been quiet, yall know, but right nooow he’s fuming inside. you sit across from him in the cafeteria, chatting with your friends like nothinghad happened. wonwoo watches, eyes dark, his mind replaying every second of last night. when you stand to leave, he grabs your wrist, pulling you close. “you’re just gonna pretend like i didn’t fuck you last night?” he whispers, voice cold. you pull away, leaving him there with a bitter taste in his mouth. “this isn’t over.”

woozi is trying to focus on his music, but every note reminds him of your moans from the night before. you’d tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered his name in the dark. and now that you’re sitting in the recording studio, acting like you didn’t cum undone beneath him, woozi can’t take it anymore. he slams his laptop shut, making you jump. “are you fucking serious right now?” he grump, eyes boring into yours. “last night meant nothing to you? just gonna pretend like you didn’t cry my name?” you look away, biting your lip, but he’s not letting this go. “you can ignore me all you want, but i’ll make you scream my name again, just wait.”

seokmin is normally always smiling, but right now, he’s fucking pissed. you walk past him in the hallway, not even bothering to give him a smile. dk catches up to you, grabbing your arm, spinning you around. “so that’s how it is, huh? just gonna act like you didn’t want me so bad?” his usual bright eyes are dark, filled with something you’ve never, i repeat, NEVER seen before. you try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. “nah, you’re not getting off that easy. we’re not done here. not even close.”

mingyu can’t believe his eyes when he sees you in the same lecture hall, sitting a few seats away, completely ignoring him. last night was nothing short of intense—your hands clutching his hair, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, as you rolled your hips to ride his tongue. now, you act like he’s invisible. he leans back in his seat, eyes glued to you, frustration bubbling inside him. “what's wrong with you?!” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. you don’t react, but he catches the way your hand trembles slightly. “i’ll remind you later, then,” he whispers under his breath, smirking.

minghao is with you; at the dance studio, you’re focused on your routine, completely ignoring him. minghap feels a tightness in his chest, remembering the way you looked at him last night, like he was the only thing that mattered. “can I ask you why you're ignoring me?” he asks, voice soft, trying to keep the hurt out. you pause, looking at him with those cool eyes, “why not? nothing’s changed.” but everything’s changed for him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

seungkwan watches you in the cafeteria, you’re sitting with your friends, laughing and chatting like last night was a lie. seungkwan feels a lump in his throat, wondering how you can be so calm, so unaffected. “you’re really just gonna ignore me?” he asks, sliding into the seat next to you, his voice a little too loud. you glance at him, a small smile on your lips, “i’m not ignoring you, kwan.” “feels like you are,” he mutters, but you just shrug, going back to your conversation, leaving him feeling more alone than ever.

vernon works with you at the studio, you’re working on a project, completely in your zone. vernon watches you, his heart heavy with the memory of last night. “we gonna talk about it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. you glance at him, eyebrows raised, “talk about what?” “about last night.” you just smile, “what about it?” “it mattered.” “to you, maybe.” and the way you say it, so casually, makes him feel like he’s losing something he never really had.

chan stares at you shameleslly at the office, you’re all business, talking about relatories and netwroking. chan's fingers twitch, wanting to reach out, to pull you close and remind you of the way you screamed his name. “you’re really good at this, you know,” he says, voice tight, “pretending.” you pause, looking up at him with those unreadable eyes, “it’s not pretending, chan. it’s just life.” but how can it be just life when it feels like everything’s upside down?

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rafesslxt · 11 months ago

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Hi! Would you write a smut fic about getting high with Mattheo?

R U High Mine⎥Mattheo Riddle

summary: you come back from the holiday's with some weed for you and the boys. When you and Mattheo smoke while showing him some songs, it get's a little heated between the two of you.

warnings: Filthy smut yasss, getting high, so drugs/weed, smoking, best friends to lovers, making out, vocal mattheo (ugh), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, aftercare, mattheo calling reader slut and whore

note: I saw this in the car and had an immediate idea how to write this, had much fun. Thank you for the request I hope you like it. 💚

song: I recommend listening to the song "R U Mine" or "Why'd you only call me when you're high" by Arctic Monkeys, trust me babes. Or hear the playlist "Are you high mine" from my Spotify.

The boys and Pansy already waited for me in the common room as I arrived at Hogwarts again. It was like Christmas for them, knowing I would always bring them their favorite treat after the holiday's.

I smiled at them, knowing they were thinking the same as me as they smiled back at me. "Y/n!" Pansy was the first to stand up and hug me. From all the people I called my friends, I was closest to her. " Hey Pansy, how are you?" I asked, letting my bags fall to hug her back.

"I'm great! We're waiting for you girl. Everyone's here already." she giggled as she let go of me so I could great the rest.

I gave everyone a hug, at last Mattheo, who kissed my cheek. " How are you princess?" he asked, scanning my face. " I'm good Matt, thanks." I smile at him and sit beside him on the armrest. " What about you?" " Fine now that you're here." I rolled my eyes playfully at his answer.

"You know we're all happy to see you y/n, but do you have it?" Draco asked, shifting impatient in his seat. I think from all of us, he was the one with the most need for it. He was constantly on the edge, maybe even worse If it wasn't for Pansy who comforted him the best she could. He had all the pressure of his father on his shoulders and It was clear to see what it did to him. So a little smoke from now and then did good for him.

"Of course I have it, how could I forget when all of you reminded me the whole 2 weeks of it in each letter you wrote?" I say sarcastic, with a little smirk on the edge of my lips.

I grabbed my purse and pulled out a big black bag with already little packed baggy's, also black so you couldn't see what's in it, for each of them.

"Oh my god it's more than usually, right?" Enzo said, gawking at the little bags in my hand. I chuckled as I gave each one of them their own little bag so they could divide it up for the next few weeks.

"Yeah it is indeed more than usual. Got a good prize for it." " Wait let me pay what we didn't give you." Draco said, grabbing into his pockets but I shook my head. " No it's good. I'm friends with him since we were kids." He nodded and opened his bag to smell it, saying "You know I never thought I would say that but I wouldn‘t have thought I would ever be this happy to have a friend who is part of the muggle world."

I laughed at his comment, before giving the last bag to Mattheo. "I've got something else for you." I grinned at him, knowing he'll love it.

Obviously things like wifi don't exist here so I buyed him an MP3 player with lots and lots of battery's so he could listen to music. This time I brought an CD player and made a few Playlists for him.

His smile got bigger as he saw me pulling it out of my bag. "What's that?" Blaise asked, watching us. " It's an CD Player so you can hear Music a little louder than with headset."

"You wanna hear it?" I ask, Mattheo nodding. " Yeah princess, let's go." He grabbed my bags and gave me my purse. "See you later guy's." I waved at the rest of them.

It became a ritual for us to listen to music every time I came back from holiday's, so the group already knew what's going on.

We walked towards mine and Pansy's dorm we shared which was no issue to her as Mattheo and Draco shared a dorm so she would always go over to Draco's.

"You roll the weed and I'm gonna put on the music mkay? Grinder is in the top drawer." I say while walking towards my desk and putting the CD player on it, putting the battery in it and the first CD I wanted to show him. In the meantime he sat down on my bed and grinned the weed smaller before rolling it into a J.

"Ready." He smiled at me and tapped the place beside him on the bed. "Okay, so this is a band I want to show you, they're called "Arctic Monkeys" and I think you'll love them." Confident I sat down next to him after starting the Music. He lit the J and handed it over to me. "Here, you go first." "Thanks." I took the first drag and inhaled it deeply into my lungs before grinning and exhaling the smoke. " Oh it's good. Marc didn't disappoint." "Marc huh?" he asked as he took his first drag. " So you two are close or anything?"

I shrugged with my shoulders before laying down on my back. " Kind of, but not as close as I'm with you guys. I know him since I'm a kid, he's also the only one who knows about Hogwarts beside my parents."

He scanned my face as I was talking, slowly dragging his gaze from my eyes to my lips. I saw it but didn't think about it as I slowly but surely felt the weed have an effect.

"Damn, you were right. The music is great. It's a bit..edgy." " Yeah I know but it's great for smoking." I giggle and turn my head back towards the ceiling as the song "Why'd you only call me when you're high" started to play. " That's my second favorite." I tell him, feeling the weed calming me down but also making my senses and nerves more sensitive and reactive.

"What's your favorite?" "It comes after a few songs, just wait, I will tell you."

We layed down a little longer, smoking the J until it was ready and we were high as fuck. "Shit, it feels so good to be like this again." he groans, sending shivers down my spine. I turned my head towards him, seeing him looking at the ceiling.

I always had a crush on Mattheo. I loved when he was all flirty with me, while with nobody other. We both had partners before but I always felt some kind of pull towards him. My eyes scanned him, looking at his sharp jawline at first. I also loved looking at it, made me feel some type of way. Especially when it moved while he smoked.

Suddenly his eyes hit mine and maybe it's the weed but I had a feeling as If there was more in his gaze. Again, he looks at my eyes and then at my lips, licking his own.

Then my favorite song started playing. " That's my favorite." I said, watching him looking to the CD player. I wait a litte before he reacts to it. He breathed out heavily before looking at me. "You know where I would love to hear it?" "No tell me." "When we fuck." he says bluntly.

My eyes widened in shock, not knowing If I imagined things now. Before I could say anything he rolled over on top of me, grabbed my neck and kissed me with passion I've never felt before in my life. I opened my mouth as his tongue licked over my bottom lip. He groaned against my lips and pressed his body even more against mine, letting one hand beside my head to support himself and the other which was at my neck, now wandering over my stomach.

My breathing got faster and heavier due the haze and the arousal I suddenly felt. "Fuck, you don't even know how long I've been wanting to do this." He lowers his head down to my throat in a rush, leaving my lips trembling.

Goosebumps erupted over my skin as I felt his tongue licking my skin and his teeth carefully biting it. " Mattheo.." I moaned and let my hands go trough his hair, pulling on some strands. "What princess? What do you need hm?" he mumbles against my neck.

I arched my back and pressed my hips against his, feeling he's already hard. I gasped at the friction and bit my lip right after. " Need to feel you." "Where, tell me where. I wanna hear you say it." he groans, pressing against my hips.

"Everywhere. Fuck me." I would have never said that so bluntly without the weed, but I'm so grateful that we did smoke.

He growled against my skin, leaving wet kisses all over it before sitting up between my legs and letting both his hands roam over my skin under the hoodie I wore. It didn't take him long before pulling it over my head together with my shirt under it, seeing I was wearing no bra.

His lips parted and a smile formed on them. " You're so beautiful y/n, shit why didn't we do this sooner." His hand wandered up to my chest, massaging them and playing with my nipples teasing them. I mewled at the feeling and arched my back again. " Mattheo please. I need more."

"Don't have to ask me twice, princess." He opened the button of my jeans and pulled them down. He got rid of his clothes too until we were both only in our underwear.

I looked down and saw how big he was, just trough his boxershorts, making me gulp a little. "Don't worry, I'll go slow. Or do you want it rough?" I nodded quickly. " Rough. Fuck me like - " " Like what?" I gulped again before answering in a whisper. " Like a slut." " Oh you mean like my slut? Because after this you'll go nowhere but to me If you need to be fucked. Understood?" Ahh imagine him saying this ugh

I nodded. "Good girl." he said smiling, his voice and words making me even wetter. His fingers slowly stroked over my slip, making him biting his lip and almost moan. "Feel how wet you are you fucking slut? Wet for your best friend?"

I moaned and closed my eyes as he slipped a finger under the fabric and right inside of me. "Fuck, you're so tight. Nobody fucked you good the last few months huh?" I shook my head as I couldn't form any words. " Yeah that's gonna change from now on." He pumped his fingers a few more times inside of me, putting pressure to my clit with his thumb before pulling down his boxer shorts and my slip.

He pressed his tip against my entrance, looking at me. " Ready?" "Yeah.." I breathed out. He slowly pushed inside me, scanning my face, his eyes a little hooded.

My hands grabbed his hair again as he completely bottomed me out. "Oh yes.." I moaned, closing my eyes and parting my lips.

"You feel so good princess." he groaned and started to thrust inside me fast and rough, not thinking twice If someone outside in the common room could hear the bed hitting the wall. I wanted to say something but every word got stuck in my throat at his merciless fucking.

"What huh? Am I fucking you stupid you little whore? Fuck I love this, how fucked out you already look, not even able to speak." he growls into the air.

The only thing I felt was him inside me, thrusting faster and faster every minute that passed. I couldn't concentrate on anything else beside him. "M-mattheo I'm close.." " You wanna cum baby? Beg me like the little slut you wanted to be."

His thrusts became erratic and sloppy and I heard his breathing getting harder. "Fuck, please let me cum Mattheo. Please, I'm begging you." I moan loudly as my walls clench around his cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck.." he groaned, thrusting hard one last time before spilling inside me and circling his fingers on my sensitive clit. "Come around my cock baby." And I did. I did so hard that my vision went black for a moment and his name left my lips over and over again.

"Yeah, love how you almost look possessed. Possessed by my cock." he grins down at me, slowly pulling out of me.

I swallowed and looked at him, mind dizzy." "That was so good Mattheo." I said, trying to catch my breath.

"Oh believe me princess, that won't be the last time. You're mine now."

I hope you had fun reading, I had so much fun writing this. 😍

Let me know what ya'll think about this hehe. 👀

My Masterlist

xoxo Sarah <3

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