#cheap keyboard for gaming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missarchive · 6 months ago

Text

american jesus ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; What starts as a seemingly innocent exchange quickly escalates into a game of trust, control, and desire. Spencer offers you more than just financial stability; he gives you attention, adoration, and a connection so intimate it leaves you breathless. From whispered words over the phone to moments of vulnerability, he knows exactly how to unravel you, guiding you to discover sides of yourself you never knew existed.

But with every dollar he deposits into your account and every command that leaves his lips, the boundaries between professionalism and pleasure blur. As you dive deeper into this intoxicating arrangement, you can’t help but wonder: are you just another outlet for his control, or has this brilliant man fallen for you just as deeply as you’ve begun to fall for him?

cw; +18 minors dni, masturbation (f), hints at masturbation (m), nudes, spencer calls reader "little girl" once, phone sex, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk

an; this is the first part in my new series! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

The idea had been absurd from the beginning—a drunken suggestion tossed out during a late-night study break, your friend’s cheeks flushed from the cheap wine you’d both been sipping.

“You should totally do it,” she’d said, her voice a mix of mischief and daring as she scrolled through her phone. “It’s not like you have to… do anything. Just talk. Flirt a little. Get someone to pay for your coffee—or your rent. What’s the harm?”

You’d laughed it off then, brushing aside her suggestion with a half-hearted joke about the kind of people who used those sites. But now, with your landlord’s polite but insistent emails piling up, along with the crushing weight of tuition bills and credit card debt, her words didn’t seem so laughable.

Desperation, you’d learned, had a way of reshaping your boundaries.

So, against every instinct that told you to slam the laptop shut and find another way, you clicked the link she’d jokingly sent that night.

The homepage was a garish blend of pink and gold, its polished glamour doing little to mask the transactional nature of it all. The tagline—"Where connections are made"—was a cruel euphemism for what this really was: a marketplace. A place where companionship, or at least the illusion of it, had a price tag.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before you finally typed in a username: laceandliterature.

The flood of messages came almost instantly.

@ hungandrich; Hey, beautiful 😘

@ olderseekingyounger; I can show you the world 🌍💎

@ MrNaughty4U; $5k a week to be my princess. No strings attached 💵

It was overwhelming, a cascade of propositions ranging from saccharine to predatory. Some were masked in politeness, others made no effort to conceal their intentions. Your stomach churned as you skimmed through them, the realisation sinking in that you were just another product on a shelf.

And then, just as you were about to close the browser and pretend this had never happened, a new message pinged.

It was short, direct—refreshingly so:

[new chat from: @ thefourthdoctor]

@ thefourthdoctor; Intriguing profile. Shall we talk?

No emojis, no extravagant promises. Just a simple, confident statement.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you clicked on the profile. The picture was blurry, as if taken in haste, but it revealed enough: dark, wavy hair that framed sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses. His bio was sparse but intriguing, mentioning books, travel, and a keen interest in "meaningful conversations."

Something about it—about him—felt different. Not just the lack of overtly transactional language, but the quiet assurance in his words.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This was a bad idea. You knew it was a bad idea. But against your better judgment, you typed out a response.

@ laceandliterature; I suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.

The reply came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

@ thefourthdoctor; Anything but the obvious.

The words were simple, but the subtext was unmistakable: he wasn’t here for what everyone else seemed to want. Or maybe he was just better at hiding it. No sleazy innuendos. No dick pics. No hollow promises of private jets or weekend getaways. Not even the tired clichés of "Hey, gorgeous" or “What’s your body count?”—just a question.

It was startling in its simplicity, almost disarming. And for that exact reason, it made you pause. The absence of the usual vulgarity felt almost like a trick, a trap designed to lure you into a false sense of security. You had learned the hard way to be cautious online. Yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you glanced at his username again.

A click brought up his profile, your curiosity outweighing your skepticism. The photo was blurry, clearly taken without much thought to lighting or angles. It wasn’t like the polished, professional headshots some of the other profiles sported. Still, you could make out the basics: slightly messy, long curly dark hair, intelligent eyes framed by glasses, and an awkward sort of handsomeness that felt... real.

The bio was brief—almost frustratingly so.

"Bibliophile. Traveler. Interested in meaningful conversations and unconventional connections."

It lacked the arrogance and ostentation of the others you’d scrolled past, the ones who listed their wealth or their penchant for “petite brunettes.” Instead, it was vague, yet oddly specific in its sincerity.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity tugging at you. Was this calculated, or was it simply honest? And why did it feel more dangerous than the others?

Still, you typed.

Your heartbeat quickened as you debated your next move. The smart thing would be to leave it at that, maybe even block him. After all, you weren’t here for emotional entanglements. This was supposed to be transactional—a simple trade: your time and charm for their money and attention. A means to an end.

Yet, against your better judgment, you stayed.

@ laceandliterature; The obvious is easier to avoid than you think, but meaningful conversations? That’s a tall order here.

There was a long pause, long enough that you started to wonder if you’d misjudged him. But then, the reply came:

@ thefourthdoctor; It depends on who you’re talking to.

You stared at the screen, the simplicity of his words sending a ripple of unease through you. There was no bravado, no performance. He was direct, confident, and—most dangerously—intriguing.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you debated what to say next. This was different from the other messages. He wasn’t dangling wealth in front of you like a shiny object or trying to buy your interest with empty promises.

And yet, the very absence of those things made you wonder what he wanted. Because he wanted something—everyone on this site did. That was the nature of it.

@ laceandliterature; Okay. What do you want to talk about?

His reply was immediate, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask:

@ thefourthdoctor; Tell me what brought you here.

The question hit like a dart, sharp and precise. Your stomach tightened as you read it again, the blunt honesty of it stripping away the thin veil you’d been hiding behind. No one had asked that before—not like this.

Most of the messages you’d received had operated on unspoken rules: you pretend this is normal, and they pretend they’re just being generous. But this man wasn’t pretending. He was asking you to be real in a space built on pretense.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you felt compelled to answer.

Your fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard. What could you even say? The truth? That you were drowning under the weight of your bills, your student loans, your own stubborn pride? That desperation had led you here, to a website where relationships had price tags and intimacy was commodified?

But what stopped you wasn’t the shame of your situation—it was him. The way he asked, as if the answer mattered. As if you mattered.

The tension in your chest twisted tighter as you typed.

@ laceandliterature; The same thing that brings everyone here, I suppose. Necessity.

You hit send before you could overthink it, before you could soften the edges of the truth. The reply came quickly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Necessity takes many forms. Which is yours?

You stared at the screen, his words pulling something loose inside you. This wasn’t idle curiosity. He was pushing you, peeling back the layers you hadn’t even realized you were wearing. And damn it, you wanted to push back.

@ laceandliterature; Does it matter?

You wrote, the edge in your tone slipping into the words.

The pause before his reply was longer this time, long enough to make you wonder if you’d misstepped. But then it came, and it was nothing you expected.

@ thefourthdoctor; It matters if you want it to.

The simplicity of his words sent a jolt through you, more potent than any overture of wealth or charm could have been. There was no condescension, no judgment. Just quiet, unnerving confidence.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. These conversations were supposed to be easy—shallow exchanges where you could slip into a version of yourself that didn’t feel the weight of real life pressing down on her. But with him, there was no slipping into anything.

He wasn’t letting you.

@ laceandliterature; What about you?

You typed, throwing the question back at him, daring him to offer you the same vulnerability he was asking of you.

@ laceandliterature; Why are you here?

His reply was immediate, almost as if he’d been expecting the question.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity.

You frowned at the screen, the single word both frustrating and enticing. It was vague but deliberate, leaving just enough room for interpretation to keep you hooked.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity about what?

The next message sent a shiver through you:

@ thefourthdoctor; You.

Your breath caught. One word, and yet it felt like he’d reached through the screen, pulling you closer, tethering you to him in a way that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

You hesitated, the heat rising in your cheeks as you considered how to respond. This wasn’t the typical transactional banter you’d anticipated when you signed up. He wasn’t offering money or promises of luxury. He wasn’t trying to seduce you with extravagance. Instead, he was drawing you in with something far more dangerous: attention.

And the worst part? You wanted it.

@ laceandliterature; Careful. That kind of curiosity can be expensive.

This time, the pause felt deliberate, a beat of silence meant to let your words settle. When his reply came, it was sharp, confident, and devastatingly effective.

@ thefourthdoctor; I don’t mind paying for what I value. Isn’t that what this is about, anyway?

Your breath hitched, the implications of his words hitting you like a shockwave. This wasn’t flirtation—it was a proposition. But not the kind you’d grown to expect on this site. He wasn’t offering to buy your time or affection outright; he was telling you that he saw something in you worth pursuing.

And that made him infinitely more dangerous.

Your heart raced as you stared at the screen, torn between the instinct to pull back and the magnetic pull of his presence. This wasn’t just about money anymore. This was about control, power, the careful dance of who would give and who would take.

You sat frozen, his last message glowing on the screen like an unspoken dare.

"I don’t mind paying for what I value."

The words reverberated through you, sharp and calculated, leaving no room for misinterpretation. This wasn’t a line meant to charm or impress. It was a statement of intent—a declaration of control.

And it was working.

Your chest tightened as you typed, your fingers moving before your brain caught up.

@ laceandliterature; Value is subjective.

The moment you hit send, you regretted it. It felt flippant, like you were trying to undermine the weight of his words. But maybe that was exactly what you needed to do—to wrest back some semblance of control in this conversation that was starting to feel far too intimate.

The reply came after a pause that felt excruciatingly long:

@ thefourthdoctor; It is. But I’m a man who knows how to discern.

Your throat tightened, the confidence in his words striking a chord deep within you. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was setting the rules. And despite yourself, you found it maddeningly enticing.

@ laceandliterature; Discernment is rare here.

You replied, leaning into the dynamic, testing the boundaries of this strange connection.

His next message came faster this time, as if he’d been waiting for you to lean in:

@ thefourthdoctor; So is honesty. Tell me, how rare are you?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you stared at the question. It wasn’t what you expected—not here, not from someone you’d never met. And yet, it was the kind of question you couldn’t dismiss with a coy quip or vague answer.

@ laceandliterature; Enough to know my worth.

You typed, surprising even yourself with the boldness of your response.

His reply came swiftly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then you’ll understand why I won’t insult you with empty offers. Tell me what you want.

Your pulse quickened. There it was—the shift you’d been waiting for, the moment the conversation turned from hypothetical to concrete. But this was different from the others. He wasn’t throwing numbers at you, wasn’t dangling luxury in front of you like bait. He was putting the power in your hands, asking you to decide the terms.

It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

@ laceandliterature; That depends… What are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

@ thefourthdoctor; Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you want in return?

The question leaving you more vulnerable than you cared to admit.

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

@ thefourthdoctor; Exactly what you’re willing to give me.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a clever way of saying nothing. Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

@ thefourthdoctor; Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

@ laceandliterature; And what game is that?

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

@ laceandliterature; The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t recall agreeing to any rules.

The sharpness of your words masking the unease curling in your chest.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

@ thefourthdoctor; You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself

You shot back, your fingers trembling as you hit send. The response came almost immediately.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

@ laceandliterature; I think you already know the answer.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

@ laceandliterature; And where exactly is that?

The question both a challenge and a plea. His response sent a chill down your spine.

@ thefourthdoctor; Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

@ laceandliterature; Trust is earned, Doctor. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared.

@ thefourthdoctor; Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

@ laceandliterature; Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play.

@ thefourthdoctor; We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

@ laceandliterature; What makes you so sure of that?

@ thefourthdoctor; Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

@ laceandliterature; Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary.

The sharpness of your reply more for your benefit than his.

@ thefourthdoctor; That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

@ laceandliterature; And you think you’re the one to teach me?

@ thefourthdoctor; I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pretence with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself, Doctor.

You wrote, the name a deliberate choice, a way to remind yourself that he was still just a man on the other side of a screen.

But his next message stripped away any illusion of simplicity.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is earned. You’ll see.

The promise in his words sent your mind reeling, the tension in your chest building with every passing second. He wasn’t offering wealth or gifts or superficial praise. He was offering himself—his attention, his intellect, his dominance—and it was unlike anything you’d ever encountered.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a collision of wills, a power struggle where the stakes felt dangerously personal.

@ laceandliterature; And if I decide to stop playing?

His reply came slower this time, each word calculated, precise.

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But we both know you won’t.

Your breath caught, the quiet confidence in his message leaving you stunned. He wasn’t trying to trap you—he was daring you to walk away. And that made him even more dangerous.

@ laceandliterature; You seem very sure of my choices

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of your curiosity. And that’s enough.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding, your mind spinning. He was right—you were curious. About him, about this, about where it could lead. And that curiosity was already pulling you deeper, binding you to him in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

And as you sat there, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, one thought echoed in your mind:

You weren’t just playing his game anymore.

You were losing.

His words were a masterstroke, the kind of deliberate confidence that didn’t demand submission but invited it, coaxed it out of you with unsettling precision. He wasn’t forcing you into anything. He didn’t have to.

You were leaning in all on your own.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity is dangerous.

The words meant as both a warning and a defense. You weren’t sure if you were telling him or reminding yourself.

His reply came almost instantly, as if he’d anticipated your hesitation.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, in the wrong hands. But I think you know by now—I don’t intend to hurt you.

Your chest tightened, the unexpected gentleness in his response catching you off guard. It wasn’t a dismissal of your fears; it was an acknowledgment, a reassurance that felt disarmingly genuine.

@ laceandliterature; What do you intend to do, then?

The pause before his reply was deliberate, stretching just long enough to heighten the tension without breaking it.

@ thefourthdoctor; Challenge you. Teach you. Protect you, if you let me.

Your breath hitched, his words striking a chord deep within you. The power in his offer wasn’t in its force but in its certainty, its quiet promise of control without cruelty, dominance without destruction.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a tall order.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.

The simplicity of his answer left you momentarily stunned. He wasn’t boasting, wasn’t trying to impress you. He was stating a fact, one that resonated with an authority you couldn’t ignore.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you get out of this?

@ thefourthdoctor; The pleasure of watching you grow. The satisfaction of knowing you’re safe. And maybe, if you’re willing, a connection worth more than either of us expected.

Your chest tightened, his words threading through the cracks in your defences with startling ease. He wasn’t just offering a transaction; he was offering something far deeper, something that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

@ laceandliterature; You make it sound so simple.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, if you trust me. But I won’t rush you. This is your choice.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you. He wasn’t demanding anything from you, wasn’t using manipulation or coercion. He was giving you the space to decide, to choose whether to step into the unknown or retreat to the safety of your walls.

@ laceandliterature; What if I don’t know how to trust someone like you?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll show you how, baby. Step by step. But only if you’re willing.

The kindness in his words was a stark contrast to the intensity of his presence, a reminder that his control wasn’t about overpowering you—it was about guiding you, supporting you, meeting you where you were and pulling you gently forward.

@ laceandliterature; And if I’m not?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But I don’t think you want me to.

The truth in his words hit you like a jolt, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. He was right—you didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want to retreat into the safety of solitude, not when he was offering something so intoxicatingly rare.

@ laceandliterature; You’re very sure of yourself

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of you. And I’m willing to wait until you are too.

The words lingered on the screen, a challenge and a reassurance all at once. He wasn’t just pulling you into his world—he was offering to walk beside you, to guide you through the uncharted territory of trust and surrender.

And as you stared at his message, your pulse thrumming in your ears, one thing became abundantly clear. You wanted to see where this could lead.

Your fingers trembled as you typed your reply.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t know where this is going.

His response came swiftly, his dominance tempered by kindness:

@ thefourthdoctor; Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time.

When the evening settled and the quiet of your room enveloped you, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone. His last message still lingered there:

"Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time."

Trust. The word had seemed so monumental when he’d said it, and now it felt even heavier in the quiet intimacy of your room.

Your eyes wandered to the package on your desk, the one that had arrived just days ago. The lingerie you’d bought with the money he’d sent—not something you’d ever imagined doing, much less showing anyone. But his insistence had stayed with you.

"This is for you," he’d written. "Because you deserve to feel special."

You’d laughed at the time, unsure how to process the sincerity in his words. But now, with the soft lace spread out in front of you, you felt the weight of his kindness.

On impulse, you slipped it on, the delicate fabric hugging your body in a way that felt both indulgent and empowering. It wasn’t something you’d ever have bought for yourself, but now, wearing it, you understood the quiet confidence it offered.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushing as you adjusted the straps. The blush-colored lace was intricate and feminine, the perfect balance of modesty and allure. You hesitated, biting your lip as your phone buzzed in your hand.

Finally, you snapped a photo—nothing overly revealing, just the curve of your body hinted at in the soft light, the lace framing your figure. It felt daring, intimate, and, most of all, you felt like his.

With a shaky breath, you typed a caption for the image.

@ laceandliterature; Thank you. I thought you should see where your funds are going.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as the message left your screen.

@ thefourthdoctor; You’re so beautiful, my little angel.

Your breath caught at the simplicity of his words. There was no embellishment, no flourish—just a quiet, sincere acknowledgment that made your chest tighten.

Another message followed, slower this time, as if he’d chosen each word carefully.

@ thefourthdoctor; Thank you for trusting me with this. How does it make you feel?

His question sent a ripple of warmth through you. He wasn’t just admiring you; he cared about how you felt, ensuring that this moment wasn’t just for him.

@ laceandliterature; It feels… different. In a good way.

The dots danced on the screen before his next message appeared.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. You deserve to feel confident and cared for.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his words cutting through the lingering nerves. He had a way of making you feel seen, like every action, every choice you made mattered to him.

@ laceandliterature; I wasn’t sure about sending it, I’ve never done anything like that before.

You admitted, your honesty surprising even you.

@ thefourthdoctor; You don’t need to worry. You’re safe with me. Always.

The reassurance in his words settled something deep inside you. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it, every word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your hand, his name lighting up the screen. You hadn't expected him to call so soon, but the smile that spread across your face at the sight of his name felt entirely natural.

Your throat pinched, the air suddenly feeling all too warm. Neither of you had ever initiated a call before, what would he sound like? Deciding to push your nerves to the side, you answer the call.

"I was thinking you might not pick up for a moment there," his voice was low and smooth, a hint of amusement dancing through his words. "I hope you know this isn’t just about the photo. It’s about you. What you need, what you want. If you’re ever unsure, tell me. I’ll always listen."

"I guess I just couldn’t help myself," you teased, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory of how vulnerable you'd felt.

"Yeah? Am I living up to the expectation?" he murmured, and you could hear the laughter in his voice. It wasn’t a mocking sort of amusement, just a quiet acknowledgment that you both knew where this conversation was heading. And that, he hoped, neither one of you would shy away from it.

You laughed, a softness you'd never known you were capable of settling into your chest. There had been something so unexpectedly freeing about the experience—about wearing it made you flush with warmth.

“You could say that…”

“What were you hoping for, when you sent me that photo?”

The thought sent an immediate ache through your body, the suggestion of his touch, of the things he might do to you, sending a wave of desire through you. Your mind raced with images of “him” above you, of his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he thrust into you. The thought was enough to make you flush, the ache of need between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

"Nothing.” You couldn’t even pretend to feign nonchalance when his words had been so unflinchingly honest, when the promise of what lay ahead was so tantalisingly clear.

"I’ll make it easier for you, then. What are you thinking about right now?" he said bluntly, his words sending a rush of heat through your entire body. There was nothing ambiguous or hesitant about his command; he wanted this, and he expected you to do it. "Tell me what you want, angel. I can give you that."

You twist the fabric hem of the lingerie around your fingers nervously, chewing at the dry skin on the edge of your lips. “I- I don’t know how to do this.”

He chuckles softly, voice still full of kindness. “Then you don’t have to do anything, let me do all the work, baby.”

You’re quiet for a moment, pondering your options. Before nodding to yourself, deciding you’d have to let go of your nerves for the time being if you wanted this to continue.

“Okay.” You whisper, almost inaudibly. He wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he’d not been paying such close attention.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness. "I... I've always had this fantasy of being guided by a man... someone who knows what he wants and can show me new pleasures. I’ve never had that chance before… I was hoping maybe that could be you."

"Oh, angel, you have no idea how much I want to fulfil those desires," He purred. "I can be your guide, your teacher, and your lover all in one."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you felt your core tighten with anticipation. "I... I think I'd like that very much."

"I want you to relax and get comfortable for me, can you do that, baby?. Dim the lights, light a candle, whatever you need to do."

Obeying his instructions, you lit a scented candle, filling the room with a soft, flickering glow and a hint of vanilla. You kicked off your shoes and slid under the covers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, sweet girl," He whispered. "Now, I want you to imagine my hands on your body, caressing your skin, exploring every inch of you. Feel my touch, soft and gentle, as I trace your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts."

As you listened, you closed your eyes, visualising his strong, masculine hands on your body. You imagined his fingers brushing against your sensitive nipples, causing them to harden in response. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as you reach up to cup your breasts, mimicking his touch.

"That's right, angel," he encouraged. "Touch yourself for me. Feel how soft you are, how sweet.”

Your fingers obeyed, teasing your nipples, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peaks. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into your palms, and let out a soft cry of pleasure.

"Do you like that, little girl?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. "I wish you could see what you do to me."

"Yes, Doctor," you breathed, your voice heavy with arousal. “It feels so good."

"Now, slide your hand down your stomach, past your navel, and into the heat between your thighs," he instructed, his voice a seductive command. "Feel how wet you are for me, how your body responds to my words."

Your hand trembled as you obeyed, slipping beneath the covers and finding your way to your core. Your fingers brushed against your wet folds, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Oh, god, baby. You're so wet, aren’t you? I can hear it," He growled. "Rub your fingers along your pussy, coat them with your sweetness.”

You did as he said, moaning as your fingers slipped into your tight cunt. You were so wet, so ready, and the sensation of filling yourself sent waves of pleasure through your body. Taking the phone down your body, you hold it in front of your dripping pussy. Your microphone picking up on the sounds as your fingers slip through your folds.

"What a noisy fucking pussy, that's it, that's my girl," he encouraged. "Fuck yourself with your fingers, slowly at first, imagine it's my cock inside you, claiming your tight little cunt."

Your fingers moved in and out, your pace increasing as your pleasure spiralled. You imagined Spencer's thick, hard length filling you, his powerful body driving into yours.

"Yeah, fuck yourself for me," he urged. "Let go, angel girl. Come for me, and let me hear your sweet cries."

Your fingers worked frantically, your body on the brink of ecstasy. His words, his deep, commanding voice, pushed you over the edge. With a cry of release, you climaxed, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered, whispering soft praise over the phone, his voice filled with satisfaction. "That sounded like a lot, hm? You still with me, beautiful?."

"I know that wasn’t easy for you, but it was beautiful to hear." His voice was soft, filled with sincerity.

You lay there, breathless and sated, your body still humming with pleasure. "Y-yeah, m still here. Thank you."

"You did so good, such a well behaved girl. Check your phone for me, baby. Look what you did to me."

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to process exactly what you were looking at. And then it registered—the smooth skin of his stomach, the slight curve of his hip. A moment later, you saw it; his cock, flushed pink tip, half-hard and resting against his stomach. A small pool of cum rested near his belly button.. You flushed all over at the thought, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the photo. There was something so undeniably intimate about the image; something that spoke to the fact that he'd been pleasuring himself while thinking of you.

With a final, breathless goodbye, you end the call. Your heart is still racing, your body tingling with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. His voice still echoes in your ears, warm and commanding, and the weight of his presence seems to fill the room even though he's no longer on the line. You lean back against the soft cushions on your bed, eyes fluttering closed, letting the soft glow of the lamp wash over you.

You let out a slow exhale, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the buzz still pulsing beneath your skin. There’s something thrilling, intoxicating about the way he’s able to draw you out, make you vulnerable and yet so sure of yourself all at once. But the moment feels almost too surreal, too indulgent, and you try to calm your racing thoughts when a ping breaks through the haze of your afterglow.

You glance down at your phone, blinking at the notification that has just popped up.

$500 has been deposited into your account.

-for my pretty girl

Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers instinctively swipe open the message. You freeze, your eyes scanning the details with a quickness that betrays your curiosity.

"Doctor Reid," it reads, alongside the substantial amount.

For a moment, time seems to stop, your gaze fixed on the screen as your pulse quickens once more. The money sits there, cool and impersonal, yet its presence is anything but. It’s a gesture—one that feels undeniably generous, but also loaded with unspoken meaning. This isn’t just a transaction. This is him, and everything that came with the promise of his control, his attention, his care.

You’ve known that he was willing to give, but this—this feels different. The amount is so much more than what you’d expected. What did he mean by it? What does he expect now?

You glance at the digits one more time, the weight of his name anchoring the moment. It feels strange to see it. So he was a doctor.

A tight knot forms in your chest, mixing nerves with something else—something like desire, maybe even gratitude. You bite your lip, unsure how to feel. It was just a phone call, just a moment of shared vulnerability between you. Yet the fact that he’s followed through with this kind of gesture makes everything feel so much more real, so much more complicated.

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down and run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing as you try to reconcile the thrill of the moment with the heavy responsibility that now feels like it’s creeping in.

At least now you had his name, Doctor Reid.

next part

#missarchive #spencer reid x reader #bau x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

1K notes · View notes

y2kstarr · 1 month ago

Text

— ᥫ᭡ won't bite . . . chris sturniolo

where . . . "just one more round" chris keeps telling you, but you just can't wait any longer, so you decide to get his attention in a way he absolutely cannot ignore

contains . . . smut, blowjob, semi-public sex activities? (idk how you'd label getting sucked off on stream-), slight brat!reader, mean!chris, usage of "whore" and "slut", degradation and praise.

credits to @delilahsturniolo for the marathon concept

HOT PINK WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #2

"dude– dude! c'mon!" Chris shouts out enthusiastically whilst leaning forward in his chair, playing yet another round of Fortnite on his twitch stream, groaning and leaning back in his chair as he's killed once more, a chuckle leaving him as he tries not to hit his keyboard. "cheap shot– cheap fuckin' shot! you saw that, right chat? fuckin' stupid."

You, on the other hand, had been lying on Chris's bed, scrolling on your phone for god-knows how long, waiting for him to call it quits for the night. You'd rolled over onto your stomach, letting your phone fall to the bed as you propped yourself up on your crossed forearms.

"Are you done yet?" You asked Chris in a near whiny tone, this now being your fifth time asking — or was it your sixth? you've lost count at this point.

"Yeah, yeah just, one more round?" Chris replied with the same damn answer as before, not even turning his head to glance back at you as he got ready for a new round before you could further whine about him not keeping his previous however many promises.

You rolled your eyes and groaned quietly, huffing and pouting like a kid who wasn't getting their treat. But as you looked at his desk and noticed the spacious area underneath, an idea struck you like it was made of pure gold. You picked yourself up and slipped off of his bed, walking up to him in his chair and pressing a kiss to his cheek that he halfly returned.

"Gonna go downstairs, don't be up too much longer," You cooed, a simple deceit to get no questions out of him as he nodded and gave a little "mhm" and a glanced over "love you." Oh he had no idea what was fucking coming to him.

You walked over to the bedroom door, opening it and closing it to mimic you leaving, his head turned to the side enough to not be able to see you, and his shouting covered up you getting down to crawl underneath his desk, comfortably — or at least, as comfortable as you could get under a desk — situating yourself between his open legs. Perfect.

"Woah woah– Are you fucking kidding me?!" Chris shouted at his game whilst you rolled your eyes, before bringing your hands up to his legs, sliding your palms up his inner thighs that had him tensing up and practically jumping instantly as he looked down.

"Jesus—! fuck— scared the shit outta me..." Chris cursed before whispering under his breath, huffing as you just quietly giggled and let your hands trail up further, tugging at the waistband of his sweats and slowly pulling them down.

"Fucking crazy..." He muttered at you, huffing out a half chuckle though before he returned back to his game, making you pout as he still wasn't giving you his full attention. You palmed his cock through his boxers, feeling him twitch and slowly harden, your eyes glancing up and watching the way he bit at his bottom lip to withhold any reactions.

Slowly, you hooked your finger in the waistband of his boxers before tugging it down enough to free his cock, watching it spring up, heavy and thick, that familiar, prominent vein that ran up the underside of his cock making you lick your lips in hungry desire. You leaned forward and slowly dragged your tongue up the underside of his dick, your hand gripping the base to hold him in place.

"Fuck—" Chris muttered through gritted teeth, trying not to show on camera just how much you were affecting him, especially not wanting any of his fans to put two and two together that he was getting his dick sucked under his desk on stream. That'd be so much worse than the jacking off clip..

You smirked as you swirled your tongue around his tip, your lips wrapping around as you suckled on the head of his cock, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth. You could hear the way his fingers tapped keys and his mouse harder from trying to collect himself, before you felt his hand come down to push your face away.

"Stop that.." He muttered under his breath, eyes glancing down at you as your lips released his cock, giggling quietly up at him before mouthing "what?" with far too much attitude, especially showing through the way you pouted playfully, making his teeth clench as his hand came back up, his head shaking.

"'S just my fuckin' cat, chat," Chris explained, huffing out a chuckle to sound convincing, praying to god the fans wouldn't dig too deep into that to find his lie. But his chuckle fell short from a grunt leaving his lips involuntarily, feeling as you took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could, his tip pressed against the back of your throat in a way that had him nearly losing it.

"Shhii— Ok, chat. I, uh, think I'm gonna call it a night. Gettin' sleepy 'n shit," He kept himself as composed as he could as he felt you swallow around him, before bobbing your head, making his fists clenched and his eyes nearly flutter shut before he waved at the camera with a quick bye. "Night!"

The moment he turned his camera off and ended the stream, you pulled your lips off of his cock once more, laughing at how pissed yet flustered he looked right now, his body now leaning back in his chair as he looked down at you.

"What the fuck? Tryna get me fuckin' caught with you sucking my dick on stream like some whore?" He hissed through his teeth, narrowing his eyes at how you just smiled up at him like you didn't just have his whole cock down your throat. He knew how bratty you could get, how much attitude you wielded with him sometimes, but right now, you were really pulling an attention whore move and he let his already teased lust fuel his actions.

"That's fuckin' it—" He muttered, his hand reaching to the back of your head and pushing your mouth further down his cock in one swift move, watching the way your eyes widened at the action before moaning around his cock due to him getting handsy with you.

"Fuckin' interrupting my game.. can't wait one more goddamn round.." He muttered out under his breath, a groan spilling from his lips as you bobbed your head up and down, his head lolling back as his fingers flexed against the back of your head, before his moved them under to your nape. Gathering up your hair into his palm, he wrapped his hand around it, gripping it tight as he started to rock his hips forward.

Chris let teeth clenched moans spill from his lips, his hips picking up speed as he watched you obediently take it, the vibrations from your moans around his cock sending shivers up his spine. He couldn't help himself as he held your head down as far as it could take, groaning loudly at the way your nose pressed into his happy trail, before he rutted his hips into your mouth.

"This what you wanted? Huh? This why you wanted my attention so bad? So you could choke on my cock?" He grunted, his eyes fluttering at the sight of you, mascara already running down your cheeks as you took his cock like you were meant for it, your little gags and moans making him twitch in your mouth.

His hand finally tugged at your hair to pull you from his cock, a curse falling from his lips as you panted and let out a slurred giggle, rubbing your cheek against the side of his cock. Spit resided on your lips from sucking on his dick before you pressed your lips against his shaft, follow by your tongue, smearing it with cock drunk eyes glancing up at him.

"Fuckin' hell, baby— so fuckin' slutty for me, yeah? You like this dick that much?" He chuckled as you nodded your head, feeling as he hooked a finger under your chin to lift it up a little, his eyes looking over your face once more before humming softly, the pad of his thumb tapping on your bottom lip.

You obedient parted your lips for him, feeling as he slowly pushed his cock back into your willing mouth, groaning at the warm, wet sensation once more. He let his head loll back against the backing of his gaming chair again, his hand resting on top of your head as he let you suck him off, your mouth working him in ways no other girl in his life could ever.

The way your tongue slurped at the underside of his cock and swirled around his tip, the way you couldn't take him fully on your own, having to wrap your hand around the base to help, the way you looked like the hottest fucking thing to ever grace his eyes, hotter than any pornstar he'd ever seen. It made him nearly bust right on the spot.

"Fuck— y're gonna make me cum, baby—" Chris groaned out, feeling that tightening knot in his abdomen burning hot, making his chest rise and fall faster as he glanced down at you, his cock twitching in your mouth at the sight. "Jesus— sh-shit ma—" He breathed out, his hand sliding down to tap his thumb against your cheek, signaling to stop.

You reluctantly slipped his cock out of you mouth, a string of saliva connecting it to your lips before it broke as he wrapped his hand around his dick, stroking himself fast, his lips parting as he let out breathless, shaky curses, almost whining at how good it felt as he climbed and climbed to ecstasy.

"Open up baby, fuck— that's it, shiiitt—" He gasped out before moaning loudly, his eyes fluttering and his body trembling in pleasure as he finally hit his peak, watching as warm, pearly ropes of cum spurted from his cock, landing on your stuck out tongue and your cheeks, groaning at the way you giggled and your breath felt hot against his aching tip.

His hand continued to stroke his now spent cock, riding out his high before finally stilling his trembling hand and letting his body lay back in his chair, admiring the sight of you cleaning up his mess. He watched as you climbed up into his lap, a hiss leaving his clenched teeth at feeling you pressed against his weak cock, before chuckling breathlessly.

"There... did that make up for making you wait so long?" He huffed out, his hand sliding up your thigh and squeezing the plush skin there.

"Mhmmm," You giggled, leaning in to kiss his lips, biting at his bottom lip to earn one more groan from him before he playfully glared at you, shaking his head.

"You little fuckin' minx."

☆ : this is deadass my favorite song on this album, only rivaled by talk dirty and addiction 😝 this was fr one of the top three I was most excited to write 😭 still hope you guys enjoy <33

taglist 🏷️

#y2kstarr★#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo drabble #chris sturiolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x you #sturniolo blurb #sturniolo drabble #sturniolo fanfic

656 notes · View notes

bloggerprasad · 2 years ago

Text

Get the best of both worlds with budget-friendly mechanical keyboards in India. Head on to your typing experience now! They are feature rich cheap gaming keyboards for PC.

#best mechanical keyboard india #best cheap mechanical keyboard #best gaming keyboard #budget mechanical keyboard #best budget mechanical keyboard #RGB gaming keyboard #gaming keyboard #keyboard

0 notes

salemrph · 2 months ago

Text

The taste of apple and pomegranate

Ch. 1: This is your fault

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 (coming soon) // AO3

Summary: You just wanted to survive university, not fall for either of them—let alone both. Two handsome idiots who somehow made your apartment their second home. You, Sylus, and Caleb were supposed to be just friends. So why does everything feel like their is more going on?

Character: Sylus x f!reader x Caleb // Tara, Rafayel // AU - College, Student

Genre: romantic, fluff, intimacy, humor, friends to lovers, poliamore, slow burn

Word count: 3k | Reading Time: 12 min | AO3

A/N: This one’s more of a short, episode-style story. I just wanted to have some fun throwing these two into everyday situations and seeing what kind of chaos unfolds. Hope you enjoy the mess!

Tag list: @thechaoticarchivist @peacedreamer14 @blessdunrest @strwberriiblnde @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusqt @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan @peacedreamer14 @escapeis @plzdonutpercieveme

Chp. 1: This is your fault

The clock blinked past midnight, and your fourth beer of the evening was dangerously close to becoming a fifth. Your apartment was dimly lit, warm from too many bodies and old radiator heat, littered with half-eaten snacks and scattered notes. A half-empty pack of cigarettes lay discarded on the coffee table, nestled beside a ridiculous lighter: a fluffy kitten pattern grinning up at you with the defiant, stupid quote “I have other 9 lives.” The scent of stale beer and cheap ramen hung heavy in the air, almost comforting, now mixed with the distinct, masculine perfumes and deodorants of your best friends.

Caleb was hunched over his laptop at the far end of the couch, still typing furiously. “Stop drinking so much, Pips,” he muttered, not even bothering to glance up.

You rolled your eyes, stretching your legs across the coffee table, with a sigh that was 50% relaxation, 50% resignation. “It’s my beer, my apartment. Let me live.”

In the background, your chill playlist hummed, the kind you usually put on when you're drinking. You were right at that sweet spot, alcohol just starting to expand in your veins, making everything feel kinda hazy and good. You knew your brain was about to start overthinking something, probably something dumb.

The melancholic melody filled the silence: "I always want you when I'm (coming down)," the song played softly, what a sensual song, you think. Something silently ignited something deep within you.

You took a long sip from your bottle, the cheap lager almost tasting good enough to forget the rising frustration about your non-existent dating life. Your gaze drifted across the dimly lit room, landing on Caleb's focused profile. Your eyes snagged on his hand, currently flying across the keyboard. The same hand that had, more than once, casually hoisted you over his shoulder after particularly wild parties, or carefully bandaged a scraped knee from a clumsy fall. Around his neck the apple necklace you present him hung against his skin. Your eyes followed the line of it, down to where his t-shirt to his white bandages wrapped around his forearm, a fresh souvenir from his last basketball game. Your gaze traced the edge of it, then drifted, admiring the solid curve of his bicep. You avoid biting your lips.

From the other side of the room, sitting at the dining table, Sylus offered a lazy, noncommittal hum, his eyes similarly fixed on his own monitor—stock charts, forex rates, and whatever other wizardry he used to casually rake in ungodly amounts of money. The man was practically a walking, breathing hedge fund, and you still didn't get why he was bothering with university. He could probably buy the entire campus and turn it into his personal empire without blinking.

He sipped his espresso and with a soft click, he closed a tab where he'd apparently just bought a stock at a very good price. His glasses, an expensive, minimalist frame, perched casually on the bridge of his aristocratic nose, drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw. Your gaze followed the elegant curve of his long fingers as they clicked another tab closed, his nails perfectly manicured. He was dressed, as always, in something impossibly chic yet understated – a dark silk shirt, the sleeves rolled precisely to his forearms. He had this overall presence that just radiated 'out of reach'. Yet, you'd had the bizarre, almost illicit privilege of glimpsing a lot more than just his designer clothes. Like those warm summer nights when he'd showered at your place, the sight of his lean, powerful body illuminated by the glow of your bathroom light burned into your memory. The first time you saw it wrapped in the towel, you swear your nose was bleeding.

He continued searching for other gadgets and artifacts at auction sites. “You should at least drink something imported.”

You shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Not all of us are billionaires by twenty-four, Sylus.”

He just smirked, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, not bothering to deny it. Bastard.

The days and months had started passing more and more quickly since those two insufferable idiots had crashed into your life. Sylus and Caleb were a little older than you, but not by much, two or three years at most. They were both part of the university basketball team and knew each other from a few overlapping courses in their respective majors.

You still didn’t quite understand why Sylus was studying engineering when he was so absurdly good at business and finance. Over time, you realized he was a tech nerd and was always creating things. A true genie. Caleb was another natural talent. He’d told you more than once about the summers he spent dismantling and rebuilding cars just for fun. His real dream was to become a pilot, but apparently, he didn’t do well on the psychological assessment.

Out of respect for the simmering frustration you'd glimpsed beneath his usual easy going demeanor, you'd never pressed on what that test involved or why he'd failed.

Sylus, with his ever-present “don’t bother me” energy, was, along with Caleb, one of the main attractions on campus. Wherever he went, people noticed. He drew attention without even trying, but never seemed interested in anything or anyone in particular. Most of his time was spent glued to his laptop, tracking stocks, studying currency shifts. He should’ve been a goddamn broker. About two years ago, he’d made a fortune literally overnight, landing him on the cover of a few important financial magazines. Yeah, just casually.

You, on the other hand, were still somewhat unsure whether the career path you’d chosen was really what you wanted. But instead of figuring it out beforehand, you’d decided to figure it out while doing it—which, honestly, felt like the most brilliant idea you’d had at the time.

Caleb let out a heavy sigh, finally tearing his gaze from his screen to meet yours. “You’ve been off lately, Pips. What’s going on?”

You let out a sharp, exasperated breath, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. You weren't entirely sure if this was the right topic to drop on the guys, but honestly? You didn't give a flying fuck. They were your friends. They could just cope with your impending mental breakdown over whatever fresh hell was brewing in your life. So...

“I haven’t been on a date in months. Everyone either ghosts me or cancels last minute. I swear to god, I'm starting to think I'm cursed. Or hexed. Or...” you squint at them both, a wave of drunken suspicion washing over you, “sabotaged.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Sabotaged?”

You pointed a wobbly finger, barely managing to keep it steady. “Don’t act innocent. I bet that you have something to do with that. Probably you have scared them off. You're a pair of overprotective guard dogs."

Caleb let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head. "You’re reading too much into it, Pips."

Sylus didn’t look up. “If they were scared off that easily, they weren’t worth your time.”

"He's not wrong," Caleb agreed, a light mocking smile playing on his lips.

You stared at them. How these two insufferable, brilliant, competitive idiots who couldn't go ten minutes without throwing shit at each other but still managed to be friends, is a mystery for you. You took another long sip from your bottle, eyes bouncing between the two of them. They didn’t even deny it.

The last guy who looked at you flirty at the library suddenly found his entire research paper deleted from the shared drive, and Caleb was “just” helping him out. Which ended, according to rumours, in a threat with the smile of an angel. And how about the coffee shop guy? Cute. Charming. You actually went on a date with him. There was chemistry, flirting and potential. You’d even texted Tara that you had a good feeling. Then you casually mentioned to the boys that you’d met someone. A day later? Ghosted. Like a goddamn phantom. It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't.

“Oh, really?" you countered, your voice rising in disbelief. "What about the guy in my peer study group, huh? He got a death stare from both of you. I practically had to convince him you two weren't going to bite him.” You slammed your bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, the sound punctuating your declaration. “You know what I think?” you declared. “If I can’t go on a date and you little shits are messing with my dating life, theeen… guess what?”

Caleb’s expression shifted from detached amusement to a wary curiosity. Sylus raised a single eyebrow.

“You two are going to fix it.” you stated.

Caleb lets out a dry laugh. “Fix what? Your dating life?”

Sylus finally closed his laptop, his lips curling into a subtle smirk, clearly amused by where this is heading. “And how do you propose we ‘fix’ this, sweetie?” he purred with a hint of playful condescension.

“You’re fucking responsible for my needs,” you declared, waving your hand like you were pronouncing a royal decree. “Congratulations.”

The room falls silent. The alcohol has clearly reached your brain, and you haven’t yet realized what you were trying to say, let alone the seismic shift they'd just triggered in both their minds.

Caleb blinked slowly, like his brain had momentarily disconnected from the rest of him. "...What?"

Sylus's response was flat, almost dangerously so “Define needs...”

"Human touch! Kissing! Sex! The whole damn package!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms out in exasperation, your voice rising in a frustrated crescendo. “I'm practically wasting my colleague's year because you two. You’re like gods,” you continue, voice rising while standing up on the sofa, mimicking your parallelism “sitting on Mount Olympus, throwing lightning bolts at anyone who so much as looks at me sideways!”

You stopped, chest heaving slightly from your own dramatic flair, glaring at them both. Caleb massaged his tempel, Sylus simply took another slow sip of his espresso, his smirk widening as he leaned back against the chair.

“So let me get this straight, pipsqueak,” Caleb began, but then it hitched, his mouth suddenly dry. "You're blaming us for the drought in your love life, and your solution is...?"

“I’m saying,” you cut in, sitting back on the sofa. Taking the almost-empty bottle and pointing accusingly at both of them, “if neither of you is going to let me date literally anyone, then maybe you should be the ones handling the consequences. Physically.”

Another long pause stretched between you. Caleb looked completely baffled. Sylus, ever composed, finished his coffee.

“Well,” he said, voice smooth as sin, “this escalated nicely.” He stood up and walked over to the sofa. With a quick movement he snatched your bottle out of your hand. “You had enough of this,” he said, tone light but firm, leaving no room for argument. You blinked at him, half-offended, half-flustered, and pouted, like a little girl who'd just had her favorite candy snatched away. “Such a bold kitten we have tonight…”

Then he leaned down, close, his body nearly caging you against the cushions. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent a potent mix of espresso and his usual spicy and woody perfume. He examined the bottle, tilting it slightly, then let out a quiet sigh, as if he'd just connected the dots and realized your little outburst was the predictable consequence of cheap liquor.

But of course, he wasn't letting you off the hook. Not when you'd just handed him such a delicious opening. So he leaned in a little closer, playing it up, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur.

“If you wanted to upgrade our friendship to something with… benefits, you could have said it earlier.” His eyes flicked to Caleb, a quick, mischievous glint, daring him to match the energy. Caleb, not one to back down from a challenge, closed the remaining space between you. His body radiates warmth, and a grin spreads across his face.

“Alright honey,” he murmured. His fingers brushed your jaw, light, teasing caress that sent shivers down your spine. “This is next level.”

Your heart was hammering now—between Sylus’s velvet voice and Caleb’s proximity, you were seconds away from full combustion. Your skin prickles. Your face burned, a furious blush creeping up your neck. You’re too aware of how close they are. Of the heat rolling off their bodies. Of the way your knees suddenly feel too weak and the air in your lungs refuses to behave. You swallow hard. The heat of the alcohol combined with the heat of your own mortification was a potent cocktail. What were you even thinking? Sylus was probably already calculating the market value of your desperation.

You did the only thing your overwhelmed brain could manage. You shoved them both.

“Okay! Nope!” you blurted, scrambling to your feet like the couch was suddenly on fire. You sighed, dragging a hand down your face as the heat in your cheeks caught up with your mouth. “Nevermind, I’m drunk.” You stood up, wobbling a little from the beer and embarrassment. “Forget it. I’ll talk to Tara.” You didn't even bother glancing back as you snatched your empty bottles, the glass clinking as you stomped toward the kitchen. “Apparently a new hot art student has joined the campu, so maybe I’ll get a chance.” you murmured more for you. Behind you, silence. Caleb blinked at Sylus. Sylus blinked back. And then, like a perfectly timed glitch in the universe, both spoke at once:

“Hot art student?”

Caleb was already flying over pictures on social media. He obviously knows everyone on campus, and it would only take a couple of messages to find the guy in question. A few seconds later he pulled up the profile. Caleb clicked his tongue and a slight spasm made his face twitch for a moment. Without a word, he tossed the phone across the couch. Sylus caught it one-handed, gaze flicking down with mild disinterest. He studied the screen for all of two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched. Violet hair, clothes with light, almost theatrical cuts. A flamboyant guy named Rafayel.

You peeked around the corner, raising a brow. “You two shouldn’t care who I date or fuck.”

Sylus leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. “Kitten,” he said, that dangerous softness in his voice. “Do me a favor, okay?” You tilted your head, already bracing. “Raise your standards.”

You straightened up, trying to project an air of nonchalance you absolutely did not feel.

“Are you suddenly volunteering to step in and save me from a life of celibacy?” You crossed your arms, daring them to answer. The silence stretched with unspoken possibilities, with implications that made your skin prickle. You cleared your throat awkwardly, waving a hand dismissively. “Gosh… It was a joke. I mean, obviously,” you added quickly. “I’m not actually... I just—ugh, whatever. Just go home, both of you. I need to sleep.”

You turned on your heel and started toward your room, absolutely refusing to make eye contact.

Behind you, Caleb chuckled under his breath. “Sure, Pips. Jokes. Good night.”

“Sleep well, kitten. Try not to dream about moody art boys who can’t find your G-spot.”

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the apartment. Your heart was racing. Your skin was on fire. And all you could think was: You were never drinking around them again. Never. Again. Your cheeks are still blazing, and you can practically feel Sylus's smirk through the door. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. And Caleb, that traitor, just egging him on. They love this, don’t they? Love seeing you flustered and embarrassed. This whole situation is just a mess.

Why did they have to look at you like that? Like they were actually considering it. Caleb, with that flicker of genuine concern and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. And Sylus… Sylus with that infuriating, knowing glint in his eyes that always made you question everything, every boundary, every assumption you had about him.

What were you trying to do? Was it a pathetic attempt at making them jealous? You couldn't deny that you'd been more than a little attracted to them when you first met them. How could you not? Their sculpted bodies, the way their muscles flexed under taut skin, their easy confidence. You've seen them shirtless too many times… Sweaty post-game, fresh out of the shower, pants slung far too low. Honestly? They should open an OF. Just for you. So you could enjoy the view in private, without having to explain why your brain short-circuited every time they took off their T-Shirt.

You’ve gone too long without a decent date. That was the only rational explanation. Now you’re sexualizing your friends. Which led to dangerous, fleeting images flashing through your mind, so vivid it made you swallow hard. Both of them, staring at you. Cheeks flushed. Foreheads glistening with sweat. Their eyes dark, locked onto you, devouring you. Their voices rough. Almost in sync, whispering your name with a heat that makes your hair stand on end.

An electrifying sensation shot through your entire body, hitting all the wrong places. Or maybe the right ones. Your breath catches. You slap a hand over your mouth, fast, stifling the sound threatening to escape. A very involuntary and absolutely needy moan that rises from somewhere deep in your chest.

You blink hard, shaking your head like it might rattle the fantasy loose. God help you. No. You’re not going to think about it. You were going to take a cold shower and pretend this entire humiliating, sexually charged conversation never happened.

Release every 1-2 week

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 (coming soon) // AO3

Back to MASTERLIST

#The taste of apple and pomegranate #caleb x sylus x reader #university au #friends to lovers #they all care but don’t know how to show it #reader is trying her best #soft heartbreak #slow burn with feelings #gentle angst #sylus #love and deepspace #slow burn #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #poly love triangle #no one knows what they're doing but they're in love

207 notes · View notes

idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 10 months ago

Text

Don't Bite Your Lip - Lando Norris

Another night, and another stream. This was how you had met Lando, but he had slowed it down once F1 was back up and running. Of course, he didn't really have much time to play games with George, Charles, and Alex anymore.

Today, you had been recommended a game by a few followers as well as a few friends. 'Don't Scream'. The game premise was just the same as the title, you had to get to the end of the game without screaming. If you made any noises that the program deemed too loud, you would have to restart.

"OK chat, I haven't looked at the game, I haven't watched any clips, I didn't want to take away any of the scare factor from it," you explained, watching the rapid replies of the chat come through as they filtered into the stream.

From the other room, Lando was watching on. He always enjoyed your streams, even if he got to see the real thing practically every day. Something about seeing you play games and chat with people was oddly comforting to him.

As much as he wished he could join you and play games together, he had team emails he needed to sort through, and he wouldn't get any of that done if he was watching you. He left the stream on his phone off to the side, just so he could hear the soothing tones of your voice while he worked.

"So, here we go," you said after calibrating your mic so that you could still talk to the chat in quiet whispers, but screaming would kill your character. "I've got to last 18 minutes, without screaming," you whispered, navigating around the map for a little bit.

Lando smirked to himself as he heard, his mind instantly taking you back to the last time you had visited his parents. He just couldn't keep his hands to himself, practically pinning you down on the bed in his old room the second the door was closed.

You had told him to stop, since you didn't want anyone (especially not his family) to hear any activities of that sort. As usual, Lando made promises that he did not intend to keep. Said he'd go steady, said he'd be gentle, but he got carried away.

You spent the whole time with his hand clapped over your mouth as you used every ounce of self restraint you had not to bite into the flesh of his palm. Lando thought it was one of the best nights you had together, but he wasn't a moaning, quivering mess, so you disagreed.

Shaking his head to snap out of his far from innocent thoughts, he glanced over at your stream to see that you had gotten 2 minutes into the game, the lights still on as you explored the site of the plane crash.

You wandered into the cockpit of the plane, trying to click on the tape recorder in the center console. Lando found the slight way that your nose scrunched up and your eyebrows came together in confusion as one of the most adorable things he had ever seen.

"Well that isn't worki-" you said, being cut off as you turned around and some form of monster ran at you. You let out a small squeak of surprise, and your character fell over and died. "Right, so that's how the game works. Got it." you said, slightly annoyed.

The jumpscare was cheap, it was basic, but damn was it effective. Both you and Lando could see the chat laughing at you and making fun of you for getting scared at such a minor thing. Someone sent through a super chat, with a small message of 'Y/N, Charles in a banana costume is scarier than that'.

"Charles in the banana costume was funny, not scary. That was scary. But now I know for next time," you laughed, entering back into the game. You manoeuvred back through the map, back through the plane, holding your breath as you turned around and endured the jumpscare again.

"I did it that time, I did it. I think I just need to try and not talk, because then I'm not making any noise to start with. That would make for some very boring content though," you whispered, continuing your way through the game.

The daylight turned to night, and you took your hands off the keyboard. "This is where shit gets scary," you said, subconsciously biting your lip so that you wouldn't let out any noise. Lando spotted the action out of the corner of his eye, his attention instantly averted from his emails to the stream.

"Emails can wait," he mumbled to himself, swapping off the tab of his emails and logging into Twitch so that he could watch the stream on his laptop instead of his phone. You looked tense, ready for something to happen at the drop of a hat.

"Is something supposed to be happening? Nothings happening," you quietly ranted, still walking through the forest. "I can hear weird noises but there's nothing going on," you continued, the only sounds being some faint sirens in the background.

"Chat stop saying my game is broken? Is it actually broken?" you asked, and Lando could hear the slight tone of panic in your voice. "I'll keep going, I can see a building."

"I really don't wanna go in the scary building. But fuck it," you said with a burst of confidence, sinking your teeth back into the soft flesh of your lower lip. You pushed your way through the shop, taking in your surroundings as you waited for something to happen.

"Hanging bodies, how cheerful," you mumbled, scared to speak in case something popped up and you were mid sentence. Some form of skeletal monster jumped up from the bottom of your screen, and you leant back and bit even harder into your bottom lip.

"That nearly got me, but we've gotta power through," you whispered, and Lando could see the reddish-purple marks that your teeth were leaving behind in your skin. A pang of concern rippled through him, not wanting you to hurt yourself too badly.

Yes, he loved it when you bit your lip in that way, but not in the way you were currently doing so. He could see the way your jaw tensed when you bit down harder when you thought something was coming, or you heard a noise in the background.

'Baby don't bite your lip so hard, you'll start bleeding.' Lando messaged you, and it popped up on the corner of your desktop.

"OK, sorry," you said, and chat was confused. "Lando just texted me, don't worry about it," you explained, and they were all asking you to bring Lando in. "Guys he's busy, maybe he'll make an appearance later." you told them, and Lando giggled to himself in the other room.

He was supposed to be busy, but he was currently occupied with making sure you didn't make yourself bleed.

You took yourself out of the shop and back out into the forest. Every small rustle made you flinch, but you were focusing more on not chewing on your lip than the actual jumpscares in the game. "Who is she and why is she stood there?" you questioned, looking at the lady in white with black hair that was stood in the forest.

As you took a step closer, she disappeared along with a blood-curdling scream. You had to hold a hand over your mouth and push your chair back from the desk to make sure the mic didn't pick up any noises you made or the sounds of your very heavy breathing.

Lando found it extremely amusing, though he could tell you were biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise, even under your hand. His suspicions were confirmed when you pulled your hand away and the faint teeth marks on the skin were darker and slightly more pronounced.

'Bite that lip one more time and I'll be right in there to make sure you don't hurt yourself, got it?' he texted, the urge to burst into your office proving to be very strong indeed. He saw as your eyes drifted to the corner of your screen, and he knew you had read his message.

"How the fuck have I still got 7 minutes left?" you complained, chat finding your reactions funny as hell. The next few minutes were fine, and you were nearly on your way to beating the game. You had gotten through 4 minutes of some pretty bearable jumpscares, and your chat was telling you that now the game just throws them at you without many breaks.

There was more rustling, then footsteps, then silence. You didn't even care about Lando being annoyed at you for biting your lip, you cared more about not losing the goddamn game. You carried on walking, until you heard the footsteps coming at you in quick succession, not allowing you to compose yourself before the jumpscare happened.

You saw a woman running at you from the shadows, and everything happened way to fast. "Oh fuck!" you yelled as your character died. Lando heard your shout from his place in the other room, yet he was more bothered at the sight of you biting your lip again.

As you released it from between your teeth, his eyes narrowed and a hint of frustration crawled through his veins as he saw the dark indents they had left behind. He knew it was scary, but he didn't like you doing that to yourself.

"God I was so close to the end as well. Fuck, that's annoying," you bloviated, leaning back in your chair as the main menu to the game popped back up on scream. "Give me a sec, and then we can go again chat, whew," you said, taking a deep breath.

"I'm going to go and get a glass of water, don't be getting up to any shenanigans while I'm gone." you told them, staying for a few seconds with the replies of 'we'll be good'. You hopped out of your chair, making your way down to the kitchen.

Lando made sure you were gone before slipping into your office, sitting down in the space you had vacated. Chat lost their minds as he appeared, the comments playfully berating him for pretending to be busy when he really wasn't.

"I was busy, but now I am not, so I'm here," he explained to them,. "She hates horror games, so I don't know how you talked her into playing this, but well done to your guys. It has been thoroughly entertaining."

'Lando I thought you were working, but you're watching the stream?' one comment said.

"Yes, I was working and watching, I can multitask very well, thank you." he chuckled, hearing your feet coming back upstairs. "I was never here, OK? Don't grass on me." he instructed, but he knew chat would undoubtedly grass on him for his impromptu appearance.

Lando hurried out of the room and back into the room next door, hoping you hadn't spotted him. Sitting back down in your chair, you saw all the comments screaming about Lando. "Lando isn't here, I don't know what you're on about."

The barrage of comments telling on Lando and talking about Lando continued to flow in, and you were getting more confused by the second. "Guys I do not know what you mean, Lando wasn't here. He's still working." you told them, and Lando was trying to keep his laughter quiet in the other room as he watched on.

"Lando?" you called out, his ears pricking up at the sound of your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a sec?" you asked, and he moved from his position and came into your office. "Right, have you been in here at all today?"

"No, I haven't. Why do you ask?" he cheekily grinned, looking over at chat and seeing the replies.

'This man is trying to gaslight his way out of it smh' was a response that caught his eye.

"I am not gaslighting, I wasn't here," he kept up his act of innocence. "Do I get to sit down or do I just have to hover awkwardly here?"

"Pull up a chair, my old one is in the closet," you told him, watching as he moved over to your cupboard and opened it, wheeling it out to be by your side.

"Well shuffle up, you can't hog all the frame," he lightheartedly jibed, pushing you over. "Come on, we're playing again. No biting your lip this time, that looks like it hurts," he repeated, leaning in to look at the fading marks on your lip.

"Yeah yeah, whatever," you rolled your eyes, starting up the game again and going through the motions. The scares got you less, but Lando was watching you like a hawk. As you returned to the shop, your lip somehow found its way between your teeth again.

"Baby. Lip." Lando scolded in a whisper, and chat were dying at his commands. You listened and managed to not tug at your lip for the next 15 minutes, but, once you had reached the end, new scares that you hadn't seen before were popping up one after the other after the other.

All you had was one minute left. One more minute and you could be done with the stupid game and go back to your chilled out, cozy streams of games that didn't make your heart rate spike through the roof. One more minute until-

"Don't bite your lip like that!" Lando chided a little too loudly, causing the game to react and kill you just before you had reached the end.

"Lando for fucks sake I was nearly there!" you exclaimed, looking at him with eyes of thunder. "My lip would've been fine for just 30 more seconds."

"Don't blame me, you could've just done what I asked, but no." Lando returned, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

The comments were all along the lines of 'Oh shit, mum and dad are fighting again.'

Before Lando could get another word in, you told chat that you were going to call it a night, the both of you saying your goodbyes and shutting down the stream. Lando went to get ready for bed while you shut off your computer and your equipment, before turning off the LEDs in the room and leaving.

The second you walked through the bedroom door, Lando tugged on your wrist and pushed you down on the bed. You had no time to respond to his actions as he crawled over you, holding himself on top of you with a hand at either side of your head.

"You bite that goddamn lip one more time, I'm going to be pissed, got it?" he lowly said, his tone firm with a slight hint of mischief.

"Mhm," you hummed, nodding. If you were going to listen to him at any time, now was sure as hell that time. Lando could be one ruthless bastard, but you were always one to answer to his demands. It ended better for you that way, anyway. Much, much, better.

A/N - Seriously you lot, thank you so so so much on the love you've been giving my stuff recently. I really hope that I don't get shadowbanned again, and I hope you enjoy this little ol' Lando thing I whipped up last night. Also... lmk in my comments or inbox (if the fucking thing starts working because Tumblr really needs to get on that) if y'all want me to get back into writing smut... because I've been considering it recently. I have 2 or 3 things started that I just never finished because I hate the way I write it, but it's gone down pretty well before, so I'll let you guys be the judge. Sorry for rambling, have a wonderful day/night, love y'all! 💖💖

|masterlist|

993 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 11 months ago

Text

lee chan as your sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, cock riding, overstimulation, oral (m. receiving). — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

chan's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the couch under him squeaking as his friends shifted closer, eyes glued to his screen. the profile had been a joke, a dare born out of a boredom and too many beers. his bio was something ridiculous, like “lee chan, 25. likes dancing, long walks to the fridge, and avoiding adult responsibilities.” he doesn’t think much of it, just another one of those dumb things you do with friends that you forget about the next morning.

so when that notification popped up, he’d been fully ready to shrug it off.

“oh shit, someone actually bit,” seungkwan snorted, elbowing him in the ribs.

“no way,” vernon leaned in closer, practically draping himself over chan’s shoulder. “what, is it a granny looking for a toyboy?”

chan was already smirking, about to type back something half-assed, but then he clicked on the profile.

silence.

“bro…” was all soonyoung managed, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

you stared back at him from the screen, the photo set in dubai. expensive-ass bikini that screamed designer without being obnoxious about it, a pool so clear it could’ve been a goddamn mirror. every photo after that, some crazy tourist spot, one after the other. greece, italy, fucking bali. you were clearly someone who had their shit together, someone who probably had the same watch collection as his entire paycheck for the last year.

chan’s still staring at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he’s never seen anything like this before. you look like money, smell like money, like that fancy, understated kind of wealth that doesn’t need to brag.

“are you gonna reply or just keep ogling?” seungkwan’s voice snapped him out of it.

he glanced at the message again. just a simple “hi” but now another one had popped up.

“she’s typing again,” someone whispers, and chan snaps out of it, eyes darting back to the chat window.

“you’re real cute in that profile pic,” it read, followed by a winking emoji.

“well, fuck me,” chan muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “what the hell do i even say to that?”

“anything but something stupid,” vernon quipped, nudging him.

chan bites his lip, glancing at his friends who are all staring at him like this is the most important conversation of his life. and maybe it kinda is.

his fingers hovered again. you were out of his league in every way that mattered, but here you were, talking to him. and what was he? just some dude who loved dance and cheap beer. but fuck it. he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

“hii! you know, you look even better than all those tourist spots. might have to see for myself sometime...”

“oh my god, dude,” vernon whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“he’s going in!” seungkwan half-yelled, covering his mouth in shock.

chan hit send and immediately regretted it, cheeks burning. “what? too much?”

“nah, man, that’s bold,” soonyoung said, barely containing his grin. “you might’ve just scored.”

seconds felt like hours, everyone staring at the screen, waiting. then, the notification pinged.

“lol, that’s cute,” you replied. “where you living rn?”

chan’s hands shook as he typed back. “seoul. just a humble dancer here. what about you? where you at?”

“imma bet she’s like, in some penthouse in new york or something,” soonyoung guessed.

chan rolled his eyes but waited, heart in his throat, until your next message popped up.

“france atm. here for work.”

“what the fuck?” chan whispered, blinking. “she’s in france? who just casually drops they’re in france?”

“she’s high-class, bro,” vernon chuckled, “better up your game.”

chan swallowed, typing back, “damn, france, huh? that’s far. what kind of work are you into?”

“bet she’s got some crazy job,” soonyoung mused, leaning in closer.

your reply came quicker this time. “i’m a director at a company. lots of traveling, lots of meetings, but it’s worth it.”

“right?” chan exhaled, trying to play it cool. “guess i better brush up on my french. so, when are you back in seoul?”

“soon,” you replied. “might need a tour guide when i get there. you up for the job?”

chan felt his heart skip a beat. “hell yeah, i’m up for it. i’ll make sure you see all the best spots.”

“even better if one of those spots is your place,” you teased.

his friends erupted into laughter, nearly falling off the couch as chan’s face turned beet red. “fuck… she’s smooth,” he mumbled, grinning despite himself.

“she’s gonna eat you alive, and you’re gonna love it,” vernon teased, leaning back into the couch, grinning ear to ear.

days passed, and his friends kept throwing out jokes, but none of them actually thought he’d go through with meeting you. it was supposed to be a dare, a laugh, nothing serious. but there chan was, pulling on the finest clothes he owned, trying to look like he belonged next to someone like you. black slacks, a crisp white shirt, the kind of fit that made him feel like maybe he could pass for someone with a little more class, some nice pants, and his best pair of shoes. it wasn’t designer, but it was the best he could do.

he paced in front of his apartment building, checking his phone every two seconds. his palms were already sweating, and his heart raced in his chest like it was trying to break free.

then, he saw it—a sleek black porsche 911 pulling up to the curb, the engine purring like a panther. “no fucking way,” he whispered to himself as the door opened and you stepped out, removing your sunglasses with a casual flick of your wrist. your gaze locking onto his. you were the picture of luxury, the kind of woman who had her shit together and didn’t let anyone forget it.

chan swallowed hard, his confidence from your messages feeling a little shaky now that you were right in front of him. “uh, hey,” he managed, running a hand through his hair.

you smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you approached him. “nice to finally meet you, chan,” you said, your voice smooth, like you were used to making people feel a little off-kilter.

“y-yeah, you too,” he stammered, trying to hold it together. “you look... wow.”

“thanks,” you replied, glancing at his outfit. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “figured i should try to look the part.”

you gave him an appraising look before tilting your head towards the car. “so, you know how to drive?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “uh, yeah, of course.”

“good,” you said, tossing the keys his way. he barely caught them, fumbling a bit as he did. “why don’t you take us for a spin, then?”

“you want me to drive that?” chan asked, glancing back at the porsche, his nerves doubling.

you nodded, a glint in your eye. “you got it, pretty boy. show me what you can do.”

chan’s heart thudded in his chest as he walked over to the car, his hands still a little shaky as he slid into the driver’s seat. the leather was soft under his fingers, the kind of luxury he wasn’t used to, but damn if he didn’t feel like a king behind that wheel.

he started the engine, the car rumbling to life, and glanced over at you. you were watching him, your expression amused but with a hint of something else, something that made him feel like this was more than just a ride.

“so, where to first?” he asked, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

“how about we start with wherever you usually hang out?” you suggested, settling into the seat, your gaze flicking to him. “i want to see the city through your eyes.”

chan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “okay, i can do that.”

chan had never felt so out of his element, yet so at ease. he’d taken you through his world, showing you his favorite spots around the city—the dance studio where he spent countless hours perfecting his moves, a little-known art exhibition that he’d insisted on paying for, despite your amused protests. now, the two of you strolled through a quiet park, the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

as you walked, chan led you to a secluded spot where an old statue stood, slightly weathered but still striking. it was a simple piece, a couple entwined in an embrace, their lips inches apart, forever captured in a moment of almost-kissing.

“so, this statue,” chan started, his voice a little softer now. “there’s this legend that if you kiss someone here, you’re supposed to stay together forever. something about how the artist sculpted it after he lost his wife. he wanted to capture their last moment together, just before they kissed, so they could be like that forever.”

you stopped, staring at the statue, then glanced at him with a knowing smile. “and here i thought you were just a dancer. didn’t know you were into old romantic tales, too.”

he shrugged, a bit bashful. “yeah, well, this place is special. it’s got a vibe, you know?”

“i know,” you replied, stepping closer to the statue, your hand brushing over its surface. “i’ve actually been here before. in fact, i’ve been to every place you showed me today.”

chan’s eyes widened in surprise, a mix of shock and curiosity flooding his expression. “wait, you did? why didn’t you say anything?”

you turned to face him, your gaze locking onto his. “i just wanted to spend time with you. i wanted to see how you experience these places, what they mean to you.”

“that’s… actually pretty sweet.”

you nodded, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, your body almost brushing against his. “you think so?”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you fading into the background. chan could feel the words hanging between you like a challenge and an invitation all at once.

“well,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “there’s still one thing we haven’t done yet.”

“what’s that?” you asked, your voice equally soft, a teasing edge to it.

chan didn’t answer with words. instead, he slowly closed the distance between you, his hands gently resting on your hips. you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding back, not wanting to rush, but there was no mistaking the want in his eyes.

and then he kissed you.

it started slow, like he was savoring the first taste. his lips were soft against yours, but there was a firmness in the way he held you. the kiss deepened, his hands sliding up your sides, feeling the smooth, expensive fabric of your dress under his fingertips. it was like touching pure luxury, and it made his heart race even faster.

you responded in kind, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his shirt. he was strong, solid, and the contrast between his ruggedness and your refinement sent a thrill through you. you pressed closer, feeling the heat of his body, the way his breath mingled with yours.

he pulled you even closer, his hands now fully around your waist, one sliding up your back as if trying to memorize every inch of you. there was nothing between you and the world but this kiss, this moment, where time seemed to stretch and bend around the two of you.

the kiss was everything—soft and sweet, yet desperate and consuming, like neither of you wanted it to end. his scent surrounded you, a combination of something clean and musky, grounding you even as the kiss made you feel like you were floating.

you pulled back slightly, your lips lingering close to his. you could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your mouth.

chan’s apartment is exactly what you imagined—small, cozy, clean, and it smells like fresh laundry mixed with something musky that’s all him. it’s simple, a little too bare maybe, but there’s something comforting about it. like it’s a place where he can just be himself.

“it’s not much,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he leads you inside. “definitely not what you’re used to. not fancy or anything, but… it’s home.”

you smile at him, stepping further into the living room. “i like it,” you say, and you mean it. it’s a place that feels real, lived-in, and right now, it’s exactly where you want to be.

chan watches you carefully, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction, but when he sees the smile on your face, some of that tension leaves his shoulders. he looks at you, a little nervous, but you can see the desire underneath, the way he’s holding himself back.

“so,” you say, stepping closer to him, letting your body brush against his. he’s solid, all hard muscle and pent-up energy, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. “you gonna give me the full tour?”

his breath hitches when you press against him, your lips so close to his that he can practically taste you already. “uh, yeah,” he says, his voice low and a little rough. “i mean, it’s not a big place or anything, but…”

you don’t let him finish. instead, you lick his lips with the tip of your tongue, just a quick, teasing flick that has him groaning almost immediately. his hands twitch at his sides, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you yet.

“chan,” you murmur, your lips ghosting over his. “why don’t you show me the whole place?”

his eyes darken, his hands finally coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. “you mean… like, now?”

“now,” you confirm, giving him a slow, sultry smile. “and maybe we can start with the bedroom.”

chan doesn’t need to be told twice. he practically drags you down the short hallway, your laughter echoing off the walls as he fumbles with the door. the second you’re inside, his hands are on you, pulling you close, kissing you like he’s been waiting forever to do it.

you push him back toward the bed, feeling the mattress hit the back of your legs as you fall onto it together. chan’s kisses are hungry, almost desperate, and you can feel him trembling slightly, the anticipation building between you.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under your shirt, feeling the soft skin beneath.

you smirk, running your hands down his chest, feeling the hard lines of his muscles. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you tease, slipping your hand lower, brushing over the bulge in his jeans.

chan’s breath catches in his throat, his hips bucking up into your touch. “shit,” he groans, his head falling back as you palm him through the fabric.

you undo his jeans, sliding them down just enough to free his cock, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes as the cool air hits him. he’s already rock hard, thick and pulsing in your hand, and when you lean down to take him into your mouth, the sound he makes is nothing short of pathetic.

“fuck, oh fuck,” he moans, his hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white. “shit, your mouth… feels so good.”

you hum around him, swirling your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum there. chan’s hips jerk involuntarily, and you can feel how desperate he is, how much he’s holding back. you start moving your mouth up and down his length, taking him deeper each time, and the way he’s losing his mind over it is almost enough to make you lose control.

“i… i can’t—” chan gasps, his voice shaking as he tries to hold on. “i’m gonna… fuck, i’m gonna cum.”

you don’t stop, sucking harder, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. chan’s moans are getting louder, more broken, and you can feel his cock throbbing, his whole body tensing up as he gets closer and closer.

“fuck, i’m cumming, i’m—” he chokes out, his hips bucking up as he spills into your mouth. his whole body shakes, his moans turning into desperate, breathless gasps as he rides out the high, his fingers digging into the sheets like he’s afraid he’ll float away.

you don’t let up, even as he starts to soften in your mouth, your tongue teasing him, milking every last drop out of him. chan’s breath comes in ragged pants, his body twitching uncontrollably as you keep going.

“s-stop,” he pleads, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “too much… can’t…”

you pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you crawl up his body. “too much?” you ask, your voice full of teasing. “we’re just getting started.”

chan barely has time to process that before you’re straddling him, your body pressing down onto his still sensitive cock. he gasps, his hands flying to your hips, but he’s too overwhelmed to do anything more than hold on as you start moving.

“fuck, fuck, i can’t,” he whimpers, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes screwed shut. “i can’t, it’s too much.”

“you can take it,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him, your hands sliding up his chest. “just relax, let me take care of you.”

chan groans, his hips bucking up into you even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him to stop. the overstimulation is driving him insane, every touch of your body, every movement making him tremble, his hands gripping the pillow like it’s his lifeline. he’s never felt anything like this before, never thought he could feel this good and this overwhelmed at the same time.

you can feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body tense with the effort of holding on. it’s almost too much for him, but you don’t stop, not yet. you want to push him just a little further, want to see how far you can take him.

chan brought out something in you that you hadn’t felt in years. it wasn’t just the excitement of being with someone young and full of life—it was how he made you feel, like every moment with him was a break from the weight of the world. he had this way of dragging you out of your high-stress life and dropping you into something simple, fun, and completely unpretentious.

like that time he took you to the amusement park. you hadn’t been to one in ages, but there you were, screaming your lungs out on roller coasters, laughing so hard you thought you’d cry, and holding his hand through it all. it wasn’t fancy, wasn’t anything like the high-end places you usually found yourself in, but it was exactly what you needed. chan made you feel alive in a way you’d forgotten was possible.

then there were the movie dates, sitting in those darkened theaters with him, your feet up on the seat in front of you like a couple of carefree kids. he’d always pick the cheesiest movies, and you’d groan, but somehow, they ended up being exactly what you needed. you loved watching his face light up during the action scenes or how he’d lean in close to whisper jokes in your ear, making you laugh so much you’d miss half the movie.

but it wasn’t just the dates. it was the little things. like when he’d have one of his fashion shows for you, parading around your massive living room in the new clothes you’d gotten him. the way he’d strike ridiculous poses, just to make you smile, or how his face would light up when you genuinely praised him, making him feel like he was on top of the world.

and you loved being by his side when his friends came over. they had this infectious energy, pulling you into their world effortlessly. you even found yourself spoiling them now and then, slipping one of them some cash or buying them a round of drinks, because they took care of chan so well, and you appreciated that more than you could say.

chan balanced you in a way that was almost scary. no matter how tired you were after a long day at work, he was your constant source of energy, always there, always ready to make you feel better. you’d stop by some luxury brand store on the way home, picking up a few things for him because you knew he’d love it, and because it made you happy to spoil him a little.

you knew that when you walked through the door, he’d be there, waiting for you. sometimes, he’d pull you into bed, his arms wrapped around you as he coaxed you to sleep, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you drifted off. other times, he’d be more playful, those dancer’s hips of his working magic as he eased the stress out of your body in ways that made you forget all about the bullshit of the day.

“missed you,” he’d murmur, his voice husky and full of affection as he pressed a kiss to your neck.

“missed you too,” you’d reply, your hands finding their way to his hips, pulling him closer. “you always know how to make everything better.”

and it was true. chan wasn’t just a breath of fresh air—he was your escape, your balance, the thing that made everything else worth it.

533 notes · View notes