#fast burn prompts

[sylkiddsey]

D.

After spending three hours at a café, her trying every donut flavor and him drinking coffee, they’re eventually kicked out. The place is closing and the teenage barista isn’t impressed with their behavior.

He drops her off at her apartment like a true gentleman. They stand in front of her locked door as she (secretly) takes her sweet time fishing her keys out of her purse.

It isn’t clear who leans in first. Somehow, it feels like they meet right in the middle.

This isn’t normal for her. She rarely makes a move on the first date, but then again, she already made a move the night they met.

Somehow, allowing him into her place, shedding clothes and laughing about bumping into furniture, feels natural. He finds her bedroom right away, hooks a hand around her thigh and lifts.

He carries her to the bed, falling onto her soft comforter, Matt on top of her. He tastes like roasted hazelnuts and sugar. She tells him that when he pulls his shirt off and wow…

Wow, the firefighting physique is so damn impressive. She’s convinced she’s drooling.

Maybe she’s dreaming? Maybe she never found the courage to track Matt down at Molly’s.

She hadn’t planned on showing up there. When she turned Casey down, she meant it. Yes, he’s great, but she’s cursed. Everything she touches turns to dust when it comes to romance. Destroying him isn’t an option.

Or so she thought.

The truth is, she wanted to say yes, but felt like it wouldn’t make her look good. She’s new to the paramedic game and dating (or whatever) a well respected lieutenant might make her look desperate. Worse, all her future accomplishments will be diminished since she’s with Matt.

Her plan goes to shit because her co-worker's suck. They’re bad humans who don’t respect her and here she is, not going after Matt Casey for them. They don’t deserve that.

She was so sick of men treating her like scum. Casey never did that. He’s so good so she decides screw it, she wants to surround herself in something positive and good.

Now, admiring the ridiculously good view, she thinks Rosales and his crew of pervs are obsolete.

“Are we moving too fast?” He asks.

Not fast enough.

She sheds his belt, grabbing his hips and pulling his whole weight down on her.

She’s pretty certain she blacks out from ecstasy because next thing she knows, she’s waking up in her bedroom, tangled in sheets and still damp from last nights activities.

She stretches her arms out, hands landing on her rumpled comforter and not Matt.

Wait.

Sylvie lifts her head from the pillow and sure enough, Matt’s not snoring next to her.

Oh my god. Did he ditch her? He didn’t seem like the type to do that, but who knows. Maybe she misread the whole situation to begin with and he was under the impression this was a one-night thing.

She combs her frizzy hair away from her face, frowning. She didn’t just want a one-night stand. Hell, she was contemplating moving to New York over a kiss.

Now, that kiss seems innocent compared to last nights events.

Dang it.

She collapses into her pillow, groaning a little into the fabric. How is she supposed to forget last night?

She’s drifting somewhere between almost asleep and awake when she hears her coffee maker ding.

She lives alone.

“Good morning.”

She lifts her head, rubbing her eyes. Matt’s sitting on the edge of her bed, two coffee mugs in hand. He’s fully clothed and looks like he’s been up awhile.

She blinks, hard. “You’re still here?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies. He sets both full mugs on her nightstand. “Did you think I snuck out?”

She really really did. Thank god she was wrong. She pushes herself up right, leaning against her velvet headboard. “Well, you weren’t next to me so…”

“I made coffee,” he explains. “I hope that’s okay.”

Like that wouldn’t be okay? He made her morning coffee in bed. That’s heavenly. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

He places her drink in her hands. “Based on the amount of coffee creamers and sugars you had…I took a gamble on how you like it. If it sucks, I can make a new cup.”

She brings the mug to her lips, sipping the warm drink. Holy cow. She’s never made her coffee this good before. She adds secret coffee wizard to the many appealing qualities Matt has.

“This is so good,” she hums, eyes closed. “Thank you.”

“Glad you like it,” he replies. His hand brushes against her under eye with a feather like touch. “You have some mascara on your face.”

Of course she does. It’s not like she had time to wipe her make up.

“I have a construction job in an hour so I have to go soon.”

Right, they can’t live in this magical bubble forever. They both have lives.

“Okay.”

What does that mean for them? Is he leaving and that’s it? Does he want to see her again? Was last night a onetime thing?

Sylvie plays with the tag on one of her pillows. “So, not to be that annoying girl who immediately wants assurance, but…is this a regular thing?”

He thinks about her question for a second. The waiting makes her nervous, but she doesn’t want to push him.

“Yeah, I’d like it to be,” he finally says. “I had a lot of fun and I don’t do that often. I was hoping you did too.”

She nods a little too eagerly, nearly spilling coffee in her lap. “Yeah, I did too. A lot of fun.”

“Good, so we should do it again,” He winces, shaking his head. “Not the sex. I mean, we can, but I’m not saying I just want the sex. A date. I want to keep going on dates. Jesus…”

She laughs, closing the distance between them and kissing the corner of his mouth. “Another date sounds wonderful.”

“Okay, good.” His hands curls around the small of her back, rubbing his hand up her spine. “You free tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah…is that too soon?”

No, not at all. She’s just kind of baffled by all of this. It’s sweet he’s so eager to see her and the feeling is very very mutual.

“Not at all. I’m free,” she explains. “I have to help my friend Olivia move out of her exes apartment, but I should be done by four.”

“Great. My job should wrap up by three. How about I pick you up at five and take you to dinner? There’s a great pizza place not far.”

She’s been craving a deep dish so his suggestion is perfect. “Ooh, yes to pizza. Also, maybe we could stop by Molly’s after?”

He laughs, squeezing her hip. “You just want to hang out with Stella, huh?”

Guilty.

“So so much,” she grins, batting her eyelashes. “I’m in desperate need of girl friends in the CFD.”

“Okay, we’ll go to Molly’s,” he agrees. “But only if you swear not to abandon me for Kidd. I met you first.”

She grabs the collar of his jacket and kisses him, this time deep and slow. She wants him to know she does really like him and no badass firefighter chick will ruin that.

“I promise,” she whispers, examining every one of his features. His eyes look more blue this morning. They almost looked grey-ish in Molly’s dark lighting, but with the sun peeking through her windows, they’re blue. His hairs longer in the front, not combed back in any capacity.

He’s so very cute.

“I really did have a lot of fun, Sylvie,” he says, eyeing her with that same look that led them into her apartment. “And I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight.” She repeats.

They both don’t make any move to leave the bed. She has a feeling he doesn’t want to go.

She doesn’t want him to either.

“Okay, I really have to go now.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

He gives her a look. “Oh, but you are.”

She moves her hands off him. “Well, I’m not trying to.”

“That’s the problem.”

Honestly, she has to get up too and get ready to meet Olivia for breakfast before they start moving to her new place.

[furysblade]

tag drop.

♜ ❝ i will never stop complaining and that is a promise ❞ || ooc. ♜ ❝ nothing left but walking down the line ❞ || ic. ♜ ❝ shedding all my old regrets ❞ || headcanons. ♜ ❝ burning like an effigy in here ❞ || vis. ♜ ❝ spirit of my silence i can hear you ❞ || mus. ♜ ❝ questions and rebuttals ❞ || asks. ♜ ❝ do not throw yourself to the waves for questions you beg answers for ❞ || prompts. ♜ ❝ gossip travels fast ❞ || dash com. ♜ ❝ children of the land do you hear echoes of truths that once rang clear ❞ || music.

[pellucid-constellations]

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it. 

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful. 

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified. 

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left. 

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond. 

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much. 

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this. 

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now. 

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.” 

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.” 

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent. 

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection. 

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him. 

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?” 

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly. 

Something dropped in your gut. 

“It’s good, sweetheart.” 

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end. 

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it. 

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not. 

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched. 

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much. 

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.” 

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them. 

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?” 

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door. 

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.” 

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth. 

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.” 

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. 

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation. 

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…” 

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache. 

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.” 

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle. 

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.” 

“But I didn’t—” 

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze. 

A tick of silence passed. 

“You heard me.” 

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—” 

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—” 

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.” 

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained. 

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.” 

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.” 

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat. 

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability. 

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ���bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.” 

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—” 

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted. 

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.” 

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.” 

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.” 

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him. 

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”

[sweetcalebb]

Reader who can’t cum pretty please 🙏

Squirtings good tho~

LADS men helping you squirt ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

a/n: idk how everyone out there does these kinda prompts without it sounding like copy paste 😿 i have a newfound respect for u guys. I TRIED! and ik these were fast paced. sorry. also, did research, and u CAN squirt w out cumming!

context: you have a condition (medical or it's just hard, you decide)in which you can't come. you tell the boys and they insist they can take care of you <3

p.s. idk rafayel that well 😞 and i had another request similar to this one "they make you squirt for the first time I beg of thee <33" if that was u and u still want that after this pls let me know!

Caleb <3 !

Caleb lets out a shudder when your hand wanders down to the bulge in his pants. For weeks, this was your routine.

Messy make-outs, eager handjobs or sometimes blowjob, Caleb trying to return the favor and you nudging him away.

"N-no, not today," Caleb manages, gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it away.

You frown, your hand tensing slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

Caleb swallows thickly, his cock giving a twitch of protest when he rests your hand at your side. "Not at all. I just—I feel bad."

"Why? I really want to, Caleb."

Caleb has to will himself not to give in to the way you say his name. "No, it's not that... I just can never return the favor."

He sees the flash of panic that passes through your eyes and quickly continues, "Which is fine! I don't have to touch you if you don't want me to, I just think we should give this a break for a little."

You glance down at the sheets, your face burning with shame. Both, at what you're hiding and the fact that he won't let you touch him.

Caleb scoots closer. "Hey, I really want you to touch me. Really, I do, it just doesn't feel fair."

You take a small breath, then softly murmur, "I can't come."

Caleb's brows furrow. "What?"

"I can't come," you repeat, heart beating wildly in your chest. "I've tried everything, I just can't. That's why I don't let you return the favor. You literally can't."

Caleb blinks. Then, utters a soft, "Oh."

It's quiet for a beat until he speaks up again.

"So, does it not feel good?" His voice is curious, not accusatory. "'Cus when you touch me it... It seems like you like it, but if you don't I don't want you to fa—"

"No!" you blurt out, a furious blush coloring your cheeks. "I like it. I like it a lot. I still feel pleasure, I just can't come."

Caleb lets out a soft breath, almost like it was meant to be a laugh but he subtly covered it up. "So... do you want me to touch you?"

You chew your lip, your body screaming a wordless yes even as you shake your head. "I can't come."

"That's not what I asked."

You take a second. "Yes.."

Caleb smiles, slipping his hand down your waist and tugging you closer until your stomach is pressed to his. "I can touch you all day and night if that's what you want. I don't care if you don't come."

"Your wrist will hurt."

He can't help the laugh that slips out at your warning. "Do you want me to, Pips?"

You nod again and he slowly slips his hand under the fabric of your underwear, teasing his fingers through your slick.

You can't help buck into his hand and Caleb sighs. "I could've done this sooner.. God, you've been so needy, huh?"

When you nod, he eases a finger in. There's almost no resistance and that makes his dick jump.

"I'll take care of you. I'll go as long as you want," he pushes a second finger in, "as hard or soft as you want." He starts pumping slowly, drinking in your expressions.

Your face pinches in pleasure, hands clinging to him as he effortlessly reaches that spot that makes your toes curl.

"This still okay?"

You nod, chest rising and falling with your uneven breaths. "Mhmm.. It feels—different.."

Caleb nudges his fingers deeper, rubbing along that spongy spot inside you. "Here?"

"Yes, Caleb!"

He gives a soft moan at how perfectly you squeeze around him when he rubs over that sweet spot. "Want me to keep touching you here? Or do you want to try something else?"

"Mmn! I–I don't know!" you gasp, your body arching into his touch against your will.

Caleb slows down, gently rolling you over so you can lie on your back. "I won't do anything you don't want. You tell me what you need, alright, Pips?" He leans down to capture your lips.

You can't even return it properly, too focused on the way your stomach curls and your hips jerk every time he pushes his fingers in. Was that normal?

"Why does it feel like I'm gonna—wait–" You bring your arms around his neck and hug him close. "Caleb, it feels like I'm gonna—"

"That's normal," Caleb says, slowing down just a fraction. "You're doing good."

But he keeps hitting that spot. Keeps the same pressure, the same speed, the same angle and it makes you think you might actually pee.

Wait, you think you are.

You can't even tell him to stop before you're making a mess all over him.

"I'm.. hnn.. I'm sorry, Caleb!" you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut and hiding your face in his neck as if that might erase the pure mortification of whatever the hell you just did.

Caleb inhales sharply, easing his out fingers to rub languid circles over your clit. "Shit. You—you're so pretty."

Your ears burn.

"Don't say that.."

"Why not?"

"I didn't... pee?"

"No," he responds, kissing the top of your head. "That was something else and you—" he breaks off on a groan, trying to withstand the urge to grind himself into your leg. "You were.. so perfect."

Caleb carefully pulls back to look at you. "Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

You can still feel him stroking you in small circles, and despite how overwhelming that was, you don't want to stop.

"Can we... keep going?"

Caleb nearly shudders. "Anything for you, princess."

Zayne <3 !

Zayne presses a fervent kiss to your jaw, his hand slowly drifting lower. Down your stomach, and stopping at the waistband of your panties.

You squirm, your cheeks flushing as you grip his wrist. "Wait.."

Zayne instantly draws his hand back. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I got ahead of myself."

"No, no, not at all.. It's just.." You pause, your chest tightening.

"What is it?" Zayne's about to shift away from you when suddenly you cling to his shoulder and pull him back.

He flinches slightly, but he doesn't resist. "It's alright," he starts again. "We can simply—"

"I can't, Zayne."

Zayne blinks once. Then he nods. "I know. It's okay, we don't need to do this. We can—"

"No, Zayne.." You sigh, your whole body burning with embarrassment. "Touching me is pointless. I can't... I can't... come."

Zayne opens his mouth, then closes it again. Did he hear that right? You can't.. come?

"You have anorgasmia?"

You flush. You're not even sure what that word means, but the fact that you're even having this conversation—with Zayne of all people—is making it hard to breathe.

"I don't—I don't know." You shift uncomfortably, your hand squeezing around his shoulder. "I've tried. But I just can't."

Zayne looks at you thoughtfully. Then gently, he says, "Pleasure doesn't always need a climax. But if you don't want—"

"I want to," you quickly say, arching into him despite yourself. "I just didn't think you'd want to since I can't..."

Zayne lets out a soft breath through his nose as he leans down to press his lips against yours. "You know me better than that, don't you?" he murmurs.

You give him a weak nod and kiss him back, gently guiding his hand back between your legs.

Zayne's breath hitches, but he doesn't hesitate.

He starts rubbing you through your clothes, drinking in the soft sighs that come tumbling out when he puts just the right amount of pressure.

"Don't feel like you need to perform for me," he reminds quietly. "I'm not doing this to make you cum." He kisses you slower, matching the pace of his fingers.

"I'm doing this to make you feel good."

You sigh, your hips bucking into his hand. You can't help it. Some part of you wishes he would stop. You two could be at this for hours and you wouldn't finish. But another part of you is screaming at him to continue. To go further.

Almost as if he read your mind, Zayne carefully helps you out of your panties and nudges them aside.

You bite your lip, your face flushing as he stares down at you with pure adoration. He drags his hand down your stomach, then lower.

He runs his fingers through the slick mess between your legs, watching as your thighs twitch around him, like your body can't decide whether to squirm away or pull him closer.

"Relax," he coaxes. "I'll be gentle."

Zayne circles your clit firmly.

"This still feels good, doesn't it?" When your hips come off the bed in confirmation, Zayne smiles. "Good." He rubs faster, absorbing every shift and twitch like it's scripture.

"I won't—I can't come," you remind him, even as your body melts into his touch.

Zayne shakes his head. "Shh. This isn't about making you come. Just enjoy it."

You give a barely-there nod. Then slowly, carefully, you feel him push a finger in. You gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets.

"Is it too much?"

"No. No, it feels good."

Zayne nods, gently pulling his finger out, then pushing back in. He does it over and over again, making sure you're relaxed before he adds another finger.

"Is this still good?"

"Yes," you breathe out, wiggling your hips. "Please don't stop."

Zayne's breath catches in his throat as he pumps his fingers in your slick heat. He could stay here forever, listening to you, feeling you.

He lets out a soft groan, sinking in deeper.

The pressure makes your stomach tighten. He keeps hitting that weird, spongy spot inside that makes your whole body ache. You can't even keep your moans down long enough to ask him to wait.

Your thighs tremble and Zayne stills when a sudden gush of wetness spills against his fingers, down your thighs, and onto the mattress.

For a second, you're frozen. Humiliated. You've never done that—whatever that was. You glance up at Zayne, mortified, but his eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You..—"

You squirm, your face flushing. "I'm sorry—"

Zayne shakes his head and surges down, capturing your lips with his. "Don't apologize. I don't want you to hold back with me."

You kiss back, your heart still pounding in your ears. "Was that..?"

"No. It's different," he murmurs against your lips. "But did it feel okay?"

You hum against his lips.

"Do you want to continue?" he asks, his fingers flexing inside you.

Yes.

Yes. Everything in you is screaming at him to please continue, but you just shake your head. "No, that was good."

Zayne stares, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Is that what you want?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "No..."

"What do you want, then?" Zayne shifts his fingers, the wet sound making your face burn. "Use your words."

"I want you to continue," you whisper.

Zayne hums, his lips twitching with a subtle smile as he leans up to press a small kiss to your forehead. "That's better."

Xavier <3 !

Xavier snuggles into your boobs, inhaling you like you're the only air he'll ever need. You sight softly, heat dripping low in your stomach despite your best efforts to keep your horny thoughts at bay.

"Xav.."

"Yes?" he murmurs, blinking up between your breasts.

The sight forces you to tear your eyes away. He's too good at this—the whole innocent 'I'm-just-resting-my-head-here' act when you know what he really wants.

"You're being naughty."

"No, I'm not." He closes his eyes and nuzzles into your chest again, his hands coming up to palm your breasts.

You'd been holding back with Xavier weeks given your... issues and he never questioned it too much. He was content with just kissing you, but he did get a little needy every now and then.

Like now.

You stare down and feel a pang of guilt. He's been so patient. Even when he wants it so much. You can feel it—physically feel how much he wants you when you two kiss and you're sitting in his lap.

You sigh, raking your hand through his hair. "Hey, Xavier."

"Mmn?"

"I'm sorry we haven't... gotten physical."

You mentally cringe.

"Don't apologize for that. This is good," Xavier hums, pressing a reverent kiss to your chest, the warmth of his lips seeping through the fabric of your shirt. "This is really good."

"But.. do you want more?"

Xavier looks up, blinking, like he can't decide whether this is a trick question or something you want an answer to.

"Um... I.. Is this a trick question?"

You give a rueful little smile. "No. Be honest."

"I mean, doing more with you would be nice. But I don't need it. I'm perfectly fine like this."

The ache between his legs might beg to differ, but he would never guilt you into doing something with him.

You stay silent, fidgeting with his messy hair.

Xavier immediately sits up when you don't say anything. "Did I say something wrong? Was that actually a trick question?"

You shake your head. "I just—I want to do things with you, Xavier... but... I can't come."

Now Xavier's silent. He wasn't expecting that.

"Oh. Do you know why?"

"No," you murmur. "I've tried everything. Nothing works. I even tried toys."

Xavier's face flushes at the mention of toys, eyes darting around like he's trying to find their hiding spots. Then, quickly he forces his eyes back to you. Now isn't the time to look for your secret dildos or whatever it is you tried.

"Oh," he says again, his chest tightening. "That's.. fine."

You pause. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you still feel good when you do... things?"

Your cheeks warm as you nod. "I just—I've never tried anything with you because it would be useless. I wouldn't—you know?"

The thought makes his cock twitch traitorously. Xavier shifts awkwardly, slowly crawling back over you. "I could still make you feel good, if you want me to."

He slides his hand down your waist and squeezes like it's the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

"Even though I wouldn't...?"

"It doesn't matter. I would do anything you want for as long as you want," Xavier insists. And he means it with every fiber of his being.

Your heart stutters and heat rushes between your legs.

"Is there anything you'd want to try?" Carefully, he dips his hand down your stomach, stopping between your thighs, his touch light. "I'll do it."

"Are you sure..?"

Xavier nods. "Positive."

Your body lights up at his answer, your head already swimming with all the things you've wanted him to do. But one thing sticks out.

Shyly, you start, "Would you... go down on me?"

Xavier can't bite back the strangled sound that comes out. "Yes," he breathes. "Yes, I would go down on you."

He slips his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear, waiting. "Can I?"

You nod, watching with clouded eyes as Xavier gently pulls your clothes off and dips his head between your legs. He pulls your legs over his shoulder and when you feel his breath on your needy heat, you think you want to keep him there forever.

He kisses you—soft at first, then harder. You just taste so good. Musky, a little sweet, too.

He wraps his hands around your thighs and starts eating you out like a man starved. You gasp, shooting your hand down to tangle in his hair.

"Xavier!"

He hums in response, the vibration making your toes curl. You didn't expect it to be so good, but it is. So, so good.

You roll your hips, unable to stop it and Xavier groans when he feels you. He even pulls your thighs to guide you on his face.

The sounds you two make are obscene. Wet, sloppy squelches, groans, and sighs that are borderline pornographic. It's something you never thought you'd experience.

And when Xavier slowly eases two fingers in, you nearly cry. How can he even reach that deep?

"Oh, God! X-xavier! You—You're—!"

He gives you slow pumps, his tongue working your clit at the same time. And when he curls his fingers, your hips jump.

"W-wait! Why does that feel so—?"

You can barely speak before he's doing it again. And again. And again. And again. You're a squirming mess, hips chasing his mouth and fingers.

"Xavier...! Wait I think I might—!"

Xavier moans when he feels you spill against him. But you're desperately trying to twist away from him, embarrassment stinging your cheeks.

You gasp. "Oh my god, did I just— I’m sorry, that was so gross—"

Xavier slowly eases away, chin and lips glistening with your arousal. He wipes it away, pupils blown wide pure adoration.

You can't even look at him, but you're still blurting out apologies like that might erase the mess you just made.

"Gross?" He breaths out an incredulous sound. "Are you kidding?"

You swallow hard. "It wasn't—?"

Xavier makes an incredulous sound. "That was the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"W-what?"

"I loved it." He notes the way you're squeezing your knees together and feels a pang of guilt. "Were you enjoying yourself?"

You take a moment before giving a shy nod. "Yes. I just.. wasn't expecting that. Were you okay with that?"

"More than okay," he immediately answers.

"But that wasn't coming, was it?"

Xavier shakes his head. "No, not quite. You're sure it felt okay, though?"

"Mhmm.."

"Then, is it okay if I stay a little longer?" Xavier asks, sliding his hand over your knee.

Yes! You want to greedily pull him back down, but you see the way his chest falls and rises a little too quickly. "Don't you need a break?"

"No." He leans closer. "I don't need a break unless you do."

Your stomach flutters. "I don't need a break yet."

Xavier smiles, gently prying your legs apart and lowering his face between them again. "Then neither do I."

Sylus <3 !

"Something's been bothering you," Sylus says between kisses, his hands dragging up your sides and squeezing like he can't help it.

You sigh, arching into him. "What are you talking about?"

He presses a soft kiss to your head before pulling back. "Whenever we get intimate, you tense up." He cups your face, rubbing a soothing circle over your cheek before letting his fall to his side.

"You can tell me if this isn't what you want, sweetie. You always can."

You nod, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down as if to prove your point when you say, "I know... It's not that though."

Sylus chuckles when he feels you close your arm around his neck. "All right then. What is it?" He brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses it. Soft. Slow.

You smile, chest squeezing at the way his eyes never leave yours. "It's embarrassing.."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed of. Tell me what's on your mind."

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. "Um.. I really want to do stuff with you.. But I can't..."

Sylus quirks a brow, but he doesn't look accusing or judging; he is just curious. "Say more..."

"I can't.. come.."

There’s a beat of silence. A slow, terrifying beat, before Sylus finally nods in acknowledgment. "All right.. Do you want to talk about that more?"

Your cheeks burn an embarrassing red, but despite the heat, you still feel an odd sense of comfort. So, with a shaky breath, you start, "I still feel good. But there's just... no finish."

"No release," Sylus echoes, and you nod.

Sylus hums, nibbling on your knuckle. "So that's what it is? You don't want to burden me?"

You give a shy nod and Sylus almost can't help the scoff that slips past his lips. You frown, about to ask him what he's making that sound from when he leans down and kisses you. "You could never be a burden to me. In or out of bed."

You gasp against his lips.

"But—"

"No buts. Do you want to feel good?"

"..Yes."

"Then let me make you feel good."

–

The next time you see Sylus he pulls out a velvet-wrapped box, intricate designs engraved on its side.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you stare down at it, cheeks flushing like you already know what's inside.

"What's this?"

"These are options," he says, watching with an amused little smile as you slowly open the box. Inside are lubes, oils, and a few dildos. They look beginner-friendly, but it doesn't stop your mind from spinning.

"You don’t have to do anything tonight. Just… options for you, if you ever feel curious. I want you to feel safe."

You tentatively pull an oil out. "What's this?"

Sylus grins, his chest warming at the way your lips part with curiosity. "It's meant to enhance your pleasure."

Then slowly, you pull out the dildo. It's not as intimidating as you thought it'd be—It's actually a cute pink, not too big or too small, with a few ridges lining the side.

"Again, you don't have to try that."

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. "I want to."

Sylus's lips twitch with a smirk. "You do?"

You nod, tapping the oil. "And... this too."

Sylus nudges the box aside and kisses the top of your head. "Tell me if you ever want to stop. This oil can be overwhelming at first."

You let him guide you onto your back and strip you down—slow and gentle. Like he would stay in this moment forever if you let him.

Then slowly, he rubs the oil on your clit, his touch making your back arch. Sylus smiles. "Does it feel good, sweetie?"

"Mhm."

"It'll take a few minutes to kick in, but in the meantime, we can explore with this." You watch, your stomach fluttering as Sylus applies a generous amount of lube on the toy, then gently nudges it at your entrance.

He watches every shift, careful not to hurt you.

And when he pushes it deeper, your little mewl makes him twitch in his pants.

"How does this feel, sweetie? Do you want more?"

You gasp, clutching his arm. "Yes, please!"

He presses deeper, giving you a moment to adjust. The second you start squirming your hips, he gently starts pumping the toy in and out, gauging your reactions. At the same time, he reaches down and starts rubbing firm circles over the achy bud between your legs.

You squeeze his arm tighter, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

"Talk to me," he breathes. "Is it too much?"

You furiously shook your head. "No! Please don't stop!"

Sylus lets out a soft laugh. You're beautiful like this. He works over every spot he knows will have your back arching and your toes curling, building you to a high you didn't know was possible.

"Sylus...! I feel like—Ah! Every time you do..hahh.. that! It feels like I'm... I'm gonna..!"

Sylus smiles, slowing down, just enough to let you relax, but not enough to let you come down from the high.

"Shhh... Let go. You're not going to pee, if that's what you think."

You grab him impossibly tight. "P-promise?"

Sylus nudges the dildo deep, hitting that spot once more and you nearly lose it. "I promise. Do you still want this?"

When you nod, he doesn't stop anymore. He hits all the right places, again and again and again. Then you feel it—the pressure in your stomach, the sickening tightness—

You barely have time to speak before you're spilling yourself on the dildo and his wrist.

Sylus lets out a stuttered breath. "God, look at you… absolutely stunning."

You want to flush, ask him if that's really what you thought it was, apologize for just... spilling yourself but he's already leaning down and kissing you.

"That was okay?" you ask between kisses and he groans.

"That was perfect. You're perfect."

Rafayel <3 !

Rafayel leans back, lips kiss-swollen, and brows furrowed in concern. "Hey, you okay? You..." Rafayel pauses, unable to hide the hint of offense, "tense every time we do this."

You open your mouth, unsure of what you're even going to say, but Rafayel quickly continues. "It's fine if you don't want this," he assures you, slipping his hand into yours and squeezing. "Just tell me. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No.. It's not that..."

He sees the way you seem to shrink. "Not that I’m demanding fanfare every time I lean in,” he jokes, hoping that might ease the tension.

Your lips curl up in a small smile. "I know..."

"Then what is it?"

With a shaky breath, you finally manage, "I can't come."

Rafayel's brows come together. "You.. can't come?" he repeats, relief flooding his chest when you nod.

Not that he's happy you can't come, but at least it isn't him.

"I'm sorry I didn't know," he murmurs, cupping your cheek and pressing a light kiss to your forehead.

You smile, leaning into his touch. "It doesn't mean I don't experience pleasure though.. I just," you shrug softly, "never finish."

Rafayel nods, thoughtfully. "You should've told me sooner. I wouldn't have—"

"No, Raf—" you laugh breathlessly, cupping his face in your hands. "I'm trying to say that I want to do things with you. I want to right now."

Your cheeks warm when you hear yourself.

"I still feel good. And if you didn't mind..—"

"I don't mind," Rafayel answers, already slipping his hand around your waist and pulling you close. "I don't mind at all."

"Then do you want—" You break off on a yelp as Rafayel scoops you into his arms. You laugh, curling your arms around his neck. "What are you doing?"

"Setting the mood."

You scoff, nuzzling into his neck. "You don't have to make this a big deal."

"Why not? You're a big deal to me."

He gently sets you down on his bed and dims the light before crawling over you. You swallow hard, every cell in your body lighting up the instant he leans down to kiss you because now you know where this is going.

He's slow, gentle. The way he always is, but he's also hungrier, needier.

His hands drag down your side, remapping your body before finally landing between your legs. He pulls back to look at you as he applies gentle pressure.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Rafayel asks, his voice low, laced with a hint of frustration. Not at you though, at himself.

"I just didn't know if you'd still want to... do stuff if you knew."

Rafayel lets out a small shudder, rubbing firm circles through your clothes. "Do you seriously think I'd walk away because I know you better?"

You give a slow shake of your head. "I'm sorry.. I shouldn't have thought—"

Rafayel kisses you again, his hands slowly working your pants and underwear down your legs. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry."

He's gentle when he nudges your clothes away. "I should've been more attuned to you," he says, his hand finding the heated skin between your legs again.

He drags his fingers through your slit, a quiet breath slipping out when he feels how much you've wanted this.

"N-no, Rafayel," you try, your hips rolling into his touch. "It's not your fault."

"It is." He crushes his lips against yours, his fingers slowly working over your slick heat. "Let me make it up to you."

You press your palm to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath the faint whiff of turpentine and terpene clinging to his skin. Then you nod.

"Okay."

Rafayel doesn't waste a single second. He pushes in slowly, his mouth parting at the way you cling to his finger.

He waits until he's certain you're ready, then he nudges another finger in, drinking in the way your face pinches with pleasure.

"Tell me if it’s too much, or not enough. Every stroke is for you."

"It's enough," you mewl, the sound shooting straight to his core. He can't help it. You're so beautiful like this.

He curls his fingers once, gasping when he touches the spot that makes your back arch and your hips jump.

"There?" he asks. "Do you like that spot?"

You don't even know what that spot means, you just know it feels good so you give a furious nod. "Yes! I like.. It!"

Rafayel knows he should keep his teasing to a minimum. You're being so open and vulnerable with him after all, but it slips out unbidden.

"That's it." He bites his lip, a silent scolding, but then it comes out again. "Falling apart on my fingers.."

When you flutter around his pumping digits, he nearly loses it.

You cling to his shirt, heart pounding. "Feels so good... keep talking.."

Rafayel shudders, his thumb brushing against your clit when he speaks. "Yeah? You want to hear my voice?" His voice dips, jaw tensing from the effort of holding himself back. "Look at you... dripping all over me."

He hits that perfect spot. And once he finds the exact place that makes you breathe out a whiny moan and curl your toes, he hits it again and again.

"You're so beautiful."

You feel your stomach burn, the pressure inside you coiling tight. Too tight.

"Rafayel..!"

You gasp as you spill yourself over him, a furious blush painting your cheeks. You want to curl up and his in his blankets, but he's leaning down and pressing his whole body weight onto you, kissing you slow and deep.

"You're my most beautiful work."

You make a muffled sound into the kiss, melting into it. When he pulls back, his cheeks are tinted a cute pink and his breathing is uneven.

"You said... that you don't finish.. but you can squirt?"

You cover your face. "Don't say that!"

Rafayel smiles. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's gorgeous."

You peek through your fingers. "Really?"

"Really."

He gently pulls your hands away and kisses you again. "Thank you for showing me that side of you."

"Thank you for helping me."

—

@cafekitsune for dividers!

i didnt like this.

[apatheticsunday]

Single Dad Dead on Main

AKA "Danny is the ghost-equivalent of a foster parent for de-aged Dani and Dan. Jason's just wondering who the hell these two feral meta children are." prompt idea!

Danny thinks he's doing an okay job at being a single dad of two. They're living in a quaint two bedroom apartment in Park Row, he's managing his Ghost King money well, and the kids haven't died (again). (He's definitely not getting a "World's Greatest Dad" mug anytime soon, but, hey, at least the house hasn't burned down yet!)

...Until he wakes up from his nap to an eerily silent apartment.

If there's one thing he's learned over the last few months, it's that silence is not good. He's scrambling off the couch fast enough to give himself a headache, practically flying down the hallway so he can get to the kids' room. Ellie is wedged halfway under her bunk bed. Dan's also squished under the bed but quickly squirms out when he realizes Danny's standing in the door way. He's holding... a socket wrench??

"...do I want to know what you two are doing?" Danny deadpans.

Ellie scrambles out as well, smears of something oily on her cheek. For a seven and eight year old, they have surprisingly convincing I'm innocent! expressions.

"I dunno," Ellie singsongs while Dan simultaneously barks, "Nothing!"

Danny squints. The kids squint back. Yeah, there's definitely something under the bed that's not supposed to be there. Since Dan's holding a wrench (and where the hell did he get that?? Danny doesn't even own any tools aside from maybe a little rubber mallet he found in the hallway closet), Danny hopes thinks it's not an animal.

It takes a minute of arguing in which Danny promises not to be mad, let them eat ice cream, and let them stay up an hour later than curfew for the kids to even let him near the bed without biting him. (Jokes on them, the ice cream is sugar free and Danny's going to reset the clocks to an hour before. Check and mate, bitch! Parenting is so easy.)

And then Danny pulls out... a tire. No, a rim. Two tire rims. Oh, Ancients. Engraved on the tire rim is a red Bat symbol. His stomach nearly drops to the floor; everybody in Crime Alley knows what the Red Hood's symbol looks like. "Eight Heads in a Duffle Bag," Crime Prince of Gotham with a gang big enough to take over all of Park Row. And yeah, Danny could easily beat the guy, but that doesn't mean he wants to. He doesn't want to uproot Dan and Ellie from their schools, move cities, run from yet another organization that wants them dead.

"How did you get this?" Danny asks, utterly dumbfounded.

"I dunno," Ellie says, just as Dan's saying, "Nowhere."

(Danny takes it back. Parenting is definitely not easy.)

"Danielle. Daniel. Where did you get these tire rims?" Danny asks again, more stern this time, to which he only gets shrugs. And that's when he notices the window is open and the screen his missing. "You're kidding me. Did you climb out the window? We're on the third floor!"

"We flew, duh." Ellie rolls her eyes, only shooting a wide-eyed, guilty look to Dan when he elbows her with a vicious shuddup!

"I-okay. Here's what we're going to do. We'll... just return the rims. It's not like the Red Hood saw you two steal them-," Danny stops when Ellie and Dan give each other a side-eye. He knows that look. It's the same look he and Jazz used to give each other when they had a silent agreement about something. Oh, no. No, no, no.

"...he didn't see you, did he?"

Another side-eye look. Oh, Ancients. At least there's no way the Red Hood knows where they are, right?

(Jason stares at the kids playing with his bike. He's not stupid enough to think they couldn't have been paid to sabotage it, but the way the little girl hikes herself up onto the seat and pretends to rev the engine makes him think otherwise. It's cute. The boy mostly seems interested in the engraved bat symbol on his tire rims, scraping at it like it's a 3D decal.

"I wanna be a bicycle-rider when I get bigger. I'll wear the jacket and everything!" The little girl laughs, deepening her voice before saying, "I'm a bicycle-rider! I'll beat you up!"

Jason snorts. He's leaning against the fire escape balcony overhead and it's dark enough for them not to see him, but they both freeze at the soft sound. When nothing happens, the kids relax again.

"It's a motorist, stupid. C'mon, help me take this off and I'll build you one."

"You wanna take the tire? Why?"

"'Cus of the symbol! It's the Batman symbol, do you know how scared people are of 'em? Show 'em this and nobody'll mess with us."

The kid's got a point. Crime Alley knows Red Hood's symbol like the back of their hand, but somehow Jason doesn't think rolling around a tire rim is going to have the same effect. Jason's about to step in when the kid bends the fucking metal with his bare hand. His fucking bike. It looks like the kid barely broke a sweat, too; just wiped his hands on his jeans and started prying apart front of his motorcycle.

Jason's voice is more biting than he means for it to when he shouts, "Hey!" He swings over the fire escape, landing with a heavy thud, before hauling ass towards the kids. Almost immediately the boy yanks the girl behind him and snarls... and his eyes go Lazarus-green. Jason stops abruptly. His voice is softer, gentler, when he tries again.

"Hey, kid. Don't you know not to go tearing apart people's bikes? C'mon, at least do it the right way."

That makes the boy pause, looking momentarily baffled and the green turning into bright blue. Jason takes that as an in and says, "Y'know, it's a lot faster when you use tools. I've got a wrench in my bag. If you use it like this..."

Jason spends the next thirty-five minutes helping the kids steal his own damn rims. He shouldn't. But he's curious about who these meta kids are and they're almost painfully easy to talk with, they just blabber like they've never heard of keeping a secret before in their lives. They talk about their dad, school, their favorite tv show. And then they talk about "the bad men" and Jason's stomach drops. "The bad men" who drive white vans, capture people, and experiment on them. And that sounds an awful lot like a meta-trafficking ring in his city, dead set on coming after the kids and their dad.

Then he's very, very grateful he's letting the kids take his rims home. After all, what Bat doesn't put GPS trackers in their symbols?)

[ebodebo]

hey, so…bull rider!simon?? MDNI

more bull rider simon

“You come to wish me luck?” Simon purred in your ear as his hands gripped the back of your thighs and his body pressed onto yours, stabilizing you against the wall of a rundown dive bar’s back room.

“You’ve gotta be as dull as an ox if you think I’m here for any other interest than self, Beef-head,” you hiss as his fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, etching closer to slide your panties off.

“Beef-head, huh?” He murmurs against your neck as your hands fumble with his buckle, unclasping it before sliding the zipper to his pants down.

“Seems fittin,’” you prompt, as your panties slide to dangle around your ankles. He slips his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. You slip your hand between the two of you to gently tug on his painfully erect cock.

You lean closer into him, lips barely grazing his temple. His sizzling breath fanning across your cheeks as you stroke him. “I bet this one gets taken care of when you’re tourin.’ Huh?” You tighten your grip around him; he releases an anguished groan, fingers digging deeper into your thighs.

“Ah—fuck,” he whizzes as one of his hands releases your thigh and instead braces against the back wall.

“Ya—I bet you find a pretty girl who's just jumpin’ at the chance to touch ya in every city,” your fingers move quicker on their volition, “you don't even have to try.”

If Simon didn't know you, he'd assume you were doing what everyone else does: stroke his ego, but he knew you.

You were majorily fucking with him.

“Fuck—don’t tell me you're—ah—jealous, babydoll,” Simon murmurs, his tone is dripping in arrogance. You let out a dry laugh, tugging his cock slightly harder, making him groan.

“Come on, Beef-bead. You know I don't have to do a damn thing before your comin’ up to me beggin’ for a taste,” you drag lips down his temple to his busted lip. “Beggin’ for a feel of me.”

He quickly moves his hand braced onto the wall onto your face, pulling your lips roughly onto his. He tasted of blood and Nicorette, which did nothing to tamper your reclusions.

Your teeth scrape against each other as the kiss becomes more fervent with each passing moment. The air is now dense and burning with desire.

His hand moves from your cheek to his erect cock still in your hand, cheekily pulling your fingers off to push himself inside your soaked cunt.

“Shit,” you wheezed, fingers digging into his shoulders. His hands wander, gripping your waist impossibly closer, back pressed tut with the cracked walls behind you.

“You’re right—fuck—been waiting to come back,” he pants as he increases his pace. “Just to get a God-damn look at ya,” he spits.

It’s almost pathetic. Almost.

“Suppose this ain’t half bad,” he brashly says. You find a slight smirk pulling at your lips at his quip, though your humorous expression quickly dissipates almost as fast as it came when he plows into you.

You lean your head into his neck, nipping at the flesh, then quickly soothing it with a swipe of your tongue. “Damn firecracker, you are,” he groans into your hair.

When you feel his impending orgasm nearing, you swing your legs down, easing his cock out of you. Slight regret passed through you at losing contact, but you would finish yourself later.

Simon hisses, gripping his cock, attempting to regain any ounce of stimulation, but to his dismay, it had passed.

“If I know one thing about you, champ, I know you don't like it easy,” you pant out. “So I’ll be damned if I let you think for a moment you got it easy with me,” your eyes lock to his.

You’re surprised to find his face paler and eyes smokier. Though they weren’t filled with anguish, it was more admiration.

“I didn’t get to finish last time, so you don’t get to finish this time round,’” you say, pulling your jeans back on and buckling your belt.

“Suggest you find one of your buckle bunnies to help ya out—with that,” you gesture to his now half-erect cock splayed out.

You reach into your back pocket, grasping a five-dollar bill, pushing it into his chest because you could at least give him enough to cover an ice pack.

He grips the money, an irritated smirk playing on his lips. As you leave, you approach the door, dipping your head to avoid catching attention.

You hear Simon murmur a faint, ‘Firecracker, my ass, that's a whole damn bomb.’

You smile because, well, karma is karma.

a/n: come on yk thanksgiving brings out all the freakies hence this!

[rafesangelita]

♡ bitchy!kook!reader finally lets rafe fuck..

warnings: making out, slight degradation, teasing, fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, praise, multiple orgasms

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this prompt request for my follower celly! i accidentally deleted your ask ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

you didn’t expect things to get this heated, this fast, both you and rafe messily kissing each other in the darkness of his room, his playlist playing softly in the background while his hands didn’t leave a single inch of you untouched. you could feel his hard-on poking you through the thin lace material of your panties, your resolve crumbling more and more as you let yourself get lost in the taste of him, your desire to surrender and give into his advances only growing with each filthy sentence he spoke to you. “remember all that tough shit you were talking? ‘saying i couldn’t handle all of this but here you are fucking dripping for it..”

you whimpered, your head rolling to the side as rafe planted his lips on your neck, his hand snaking down underneath the hem of your skirt until his fingers slipped below the waistband of your underwear. “you know i can make you feel so good, baby, just give me the word..” he whispered, his teeth lightly grazing your flesh just as his fingertips dipped between your folds, a curse falling from his mouth as your slick allowed him to stroke your clit with ease. you gasped softly, your nails digging into his skin as he rubbed hard, firm circles around your sensitive bud. “come on..” rafe encouraged you quietly, “let me fuck you.”

you sighed softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he moved his lips down from your neck to your chest, his digits continuing their ministrations on your needy cunt. you couldn’t believe you were finally giving into him, all the months of begging and pleading with you to let him have his way all coming to an end once you nodded, your boyfriend cursing under his breath as he tried to his best to keep his composure. rafe’s fingers prodded at your entrance, the sensation making you panic before you stopped him. “wait—!” you panted, slightly embarrassed, “i’ve never done this before, rafe..”

upon hearing your words, rafe used his free hand to grip the back of your neck, his gaze scanning down your pretty face as his chest rose and fell in disbelief. your usual bitchy expression was long gone and was now replaced with what looked like intimidation, your brow etched with worry as you watched the realization dawn on him. “holy shit—” rafe laughed, “you’re a virgin?” you looked away from him, avoiding his burning gaze. “don’t be weird about it, you’re not special.” rafe scoffed, his jaw clenching as he pushed his fingertips into you. crying out, your nails raked down his toned chest, the burning tension making you wince.

“these are just my fingers, babe.. if you can barely handle this, just imagine when i’m fucking you balls deep.” the thought alone made you shudder, a shiver running down your spine as rafe began filling you up with digits, your walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion. “gentle, please..” you whimpered, a hiss leaving your lips when he pulled at the roots of your hair, forcing you to look at him as he started thumbing at your clit. “gentle?” he laughed, “why would i be gentle with you? you’re not special.” rafe used your words from earlier against you before curling his digits and hitting that soft spot inside of you, your head falling onto his shoulder at the added stimulation.

“m’gonna make you cum all over my fingers, ‘get you all nice and stretched out before i fuck you stupid, yeah?” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as your breathing grew sporadic, the heavy tension in your core making your limbs feel like jelly. “fuckkk!” you squealed, burying your face in his chest as you felt the sudden snap in your tummy, your pussy squeezing around rafe’s digits like a vice. you saw stars behind the backs of your eyes, your thighs trembling as he held your hips down to keep you from moving away from him. “r-rafe, that’s enough,” you huffed, “s’too much now!” considering you were about to let him pop your cherry, he decided he’d give your poor cunt a break.

rafe didn’t give you nearly enough time to recover before he had your wrists pinned between tits, your ankles sitting prettily on his shoulders as he tapped the aching tip of his cock against your clit. “i’m never gonna let you live this down,” rafe teased, slipping only the tip in to watch the way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, “no one’s ever gonna fuck you like this.” was the last thing he said before thrusting into you without warning, a half scream emitting from your throat as rafe groaned, his eyes glued to where you two were connected.

“oh my god, you’re fucking gorgeous—” rafe said through gritted teeth, admiring every detail of you he hadn’t seen before tonight. you were rendered speechless, any kind of protests or smart remarks dying on the tip of your tongue as the ache between your legs dulled and melted into pure unadulterated pleasure. from pained whimpers to pleading cries, rafe’s lips found yours as he fucked into you with an unforgiving force. nipping his bottom lip, rafe hissed, cursing under his breath as you managed to get your hands out of his grip.

“not so scared anymore?” he teased, his words making you roll your eyes. “shut up, rafe— oh!” your back arched up into his chest when he changed his momentum, the long strokes of his hips making you hiccup. “tell me to shut up again.” you just about lost it when you felt his thumb return to your clit, your palms pushing against his stomach at the overwhelming pressure building up in your tummy. you hated how easy it was for him to take control of you in this moment, but god, you felt too good to care. not daring to say another word, your eyes screwed shut as rafe pushed you over the edge, his own orgasm causing his hips to stutter.

burying himself as deep as he could, you pulled rafe close as he emptied himself inside of you, your toes curling as he filled you up with his seed, the thick, hot ropes of cum painting your insides while you cried at the overwhelming feeling of your high. you felt like your head was in the clouds, your vision growing hazy as you blinked in slow motion up at the high ceiling. with rafe’s weight on top of you like this, and his moans in your ear, you reveled in the new intimacy that you two hadn’t yet shared with each other, both of you holding onto each other as your climaxes subsided.

still nestled inside of you, rafe collapsed on top of you, your hands wasting no time in moving his bangs out of his face, your heart fluttering in your chest at the sight of the smug grin on his lips. “don’t you dare say anything—”

“i can’t believe you actually let me hit.” rafe sighed, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. you shook your head, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you twirled the ends of his hair with your perfectly manicured fingers. “act up and you’re not getting sex for as long as you piss me off.” you threatened, your words making his eyebrows raise. “you don’t have to worry about me acting up after this.. i can’t go on without it now.” you rolled your eyes at his dramatics before he took your lips in a kiss. “i hope you’re not fucked out just yet, i got some more rounds in me.”

[hyunjinsmuze]

First Time For Everything

warnings: ⛔️18+, first time, fingering, making out, dirty talk, soft!dom felix, praise

pairing: felix x reader

summary: What starts as practice kissing with Felix turns into something neither of you expected

words: 2.5k

You had no idea how it started — your friendship with Stray Kids, that is.

It just happened. One minute, you were awkwardly tagging along to a mutual friend’s birthday dinner, the next, you were curled up on Chan’s couch, surrounded by empty snack bags and limbs tangled between Hyunjin and Han like it was your second home. But among all of them, there was one person you felt closest to the one who always noticed when you were quiet, who made sure you ate when they were ordering food, who waited for your reaction first when he showed you a new song.

Felix.

Felix was the type of person who made space for you. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He made you feel like the most important person in the room, even when there were seven other boys shouting over each other about fried chicken and anime.

You didn’t know when it shifted, when your feelings toward him started to twist into something that felt more than platonic. It wasn’t obvious. It wasn’t loud.

It was in the small things.

Like the way he’d smile when you laughed. Or how his hand would linger just a second longer on your back. Or how he looked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

You were already at the dorm when he walked in hoodie loose, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from dance practice. He froze when he saw you sprawled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a half-finished can of Coke in your lap.

“Y/N,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Seungmin invited me,” you said casually. “But he ditched me for a nap, so now I’m hanging out with your cereal and this very unimpressive Netflix selection.”

He laughed, dropping onto the couch next to you with a soft grunt. His thigh brushed yours — just enough to notice, but not enough to move.

You turned to him, chewing your bottom lip.

“Oh, by the way…”

His brows lifted. “Hmm?”

You tried to play it off like it was no big deal. “You know your friend Jake? From Enhypen?”

Felix’s smile dipped slightly. “Yeah…”

“He DM’d me last night,” you said, keeping your tone light. “He asked me out.”

Silence.

“Wait, what?” Felix blinked at you, straightening slightly. “Jake… DMed you?”

“Yeah,” you said, scrolling through your phone and flashing him the screen. “See? He was like, ‘Hey, I saw you in that photo with Lix. Thought you were really pretty.’ And then he asked if I wanted to get coffee this weekend.”

He wanted to be happy for you. Really, he did. But behind the easy smile, jealousy twisted in his chest like a slow burn. Of course Jake noticed you — everyone did. You were bright, beautiful, magnetic. But the thought of you going out with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made him feel… small.

Stupid, even.

He’d had years. Years to say something. To tell you that his feelings had shifted, that somewhere along the line, you stopped being just a friend. But he didn’t. He’d kept quiet, convincing himself it was better this way safe, simple.

And now someone else was going to take you out. Make you laugh. Maybe even kiss you.

He swallowed hard, nodding like it didn’t tear him apart inside.

Felix leaned back against the couch, his voice careful. “When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“Huh.”

You glanced at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “That’s great. I mean, he’s a good guy.”

“But?” you prompted.

“No but,” he said, too fast.

You gave him a look, and he sighed. “I just didn’t know he was interested in you. That’s all.”

You laughed. “Why? You gatekeeping me from your idol friends now?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off. “Just… surprised.”

A beat passed.

“You’re really going?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said. “He seems sweet. And I haven’t been on a real date in, like, forever.”

Felix smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well… make sure you wear your good lipstick.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why?”

“So your lips look good when you kiss him.”

You choked. “I’m not gonna kiss him!”

He turned to you, eyebrows raised. “You’re not?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

You hesitated.

Felix’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. “Y/N…”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

The silence that followed was heavy.

“…Seriously?” he said softly.

You nodded, cheeks flushing. “Never found the right time. Or person.”

Felix’s voice dropped just a bit. “You nervous?”

“A little,” you admitted.

He smiled again, softer this time. “Want me to teach you?”

You froze.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“I mean…” he chuckled. “Only if you want me to.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He was leaning back casually, but his gaze was steady. Focused. You couldn’t read his expression was he joking? Was he teasing you? Or… did he want to?

“Okay,” you said.

His head tilted. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you repeated. “Teach me.”

The room suddenly felt warmer. Closer.

Felix shifted to face you more fully, one leg bent beneath him. “Alright then,” he said, voice low.

You swallowed.

His hand lifted, fingertips brushing lightly under your chin to tilt your face up.

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he said, and his voice was so gentle, so Felix, it made your chest ache.

“I want to,” you whispered.

His lips brushed yours like a question. Soft. Barely there.

Your breath caught. He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded.

This time, he kissed you properly.

It wasn’t clumsy or rushed. It was careful thoughtful, like he was mapping you out. His lips moved slowly against yours, pausing occasionally like he was listening for your reaction. When your fingers brushed the hem of his hoodie, he let out a quiet breath against your mouth.

You leaned in instinctively, and suddenly it wasn’t practice anymore.

Your fingers slid into his hair, and his hands found your waist. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours gently. The way he kissed like he wanted to take his time, like this was something he’d dreamed about, making your heart thud wildly in your chest.

When he pulled back, his lips were pink, his voice low.

“You’re a fast learner,” he murmured.

You were breathing hard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes dark.

Your hand rested on his chest now, his heartbeat as fast as yours.

“I should probably cancel the date,” you whispered.

Felix blinked. “Wait, what?”

You met his eyes. “I don’t… want to kiss Jake. Not after this.”

He stared at you.

Then his lips curled into the smallest smirk.

“You can still go,” he said, voice dipping. “But just remember who taught you how to kiss.”

Your breath hitched.

“What if I want more?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He was quiet for a second. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw.

“Then you’ll get more,” he murmured.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers grazing your bare waist. “But only if you want it.”

“I do,” you whispered, trembling slightly.

He kissed you again, rougher this time — more sure. His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

And then his lips found your throat. Open-mouthed, slow, until he found a spot just beneath your ear that made your stomach flip. He sucked gently, leaving a blooming hickey there, and your breath hitched so hard it made him chuckle against your skin.

“You’re so sensitive,” he said, dragging his teeth lightly across your skin.

His fingers moved lower, brushing along the top of your jeans. You tensed slightly not from discomfort, but anticipation.

He paused. “Can I…?”

You nodded.

His mouth was on yours again before you could second-guess it.

This time, it wasn’t careful or polite it was heat and need. His hands gripped your waist with more certainty, more hunger, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough.

Felix’s lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting to do this for a long time. Every tilt of his head, every brush of his tongue against yours, felt deliberate. Focused. And yet… tender.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, grounding yourself as his hand slid beneath your shirt again warm, gentle, but insistent. When his palm pressed against the bare skin of your back, you shivered.

“You okay?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded. “Yeah. I just…”

Your voice trembled slightly, and he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

He leaned in again, slower this time savoring the kiss, letting it linger. You could feel his breath hitch slightly when your hand skimmed up his chest. When your fingers brushed his throat, his eyes fluttered shut.

Then he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he said softly.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His eyes flicked open. They were darker now deeper, filled with something unspoken.

“I don’t want to stop either,” he admitted.

You barely had time to breathe before his lips were on you again. He pushed you gently back against the couch cushions, bracing himself over you. His thigh slid between yours, pressing just right against your core, and when his hands found your waist again, your hips arched instinctively into his touch.

Felix groaned low in his throat quiet, but real.

“You feel that?” he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your skin buzzed, every nerve alive.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “So many times.”

“I didn’t think you—” you started.

“I tried not to,” he said honestly. “You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to ruin anything. But watching someone else try to take you out—” His jaw tensed.

Your hand found the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “It wouldn’t have meant anything.”

“This means something,” he whispered.

You didn’t realize your shirt had ridden up until you felt his fingers under your bra line. When you tensed, he paused — not pulling away, just waiting.

He kissed down your stomach slowly, reaching your chest, brushing his lips over your clothed nipple. You squirmed, and he pulled back, smirking.

“I’ve never done this,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” he said, kissing your collarbone. “That’s why I’m going slow.”

“I want you to touch me,” you whispered.

He exhaled, voice rough.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked. “I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

He slipped his hand into your waistband, every move careful and patient. His fingers moved gently over your warmth soft, teasing strokes. He didn’t rush. He circled your entrance with the tip of his finger, slow and steady, watching your face.

You gasped — not just at the contact, but the intimacy.

His other hand found yours again, thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“Breathe,” he murmured.

The first brush of his finger inside you was slow, deliberate and when he curled it slightly, your hips jumped. His thumb moved to your clit, circling it gently as he slowly pumped his finger.

Then he added a second.

Your breath stuttered. He groaned softly.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “So perfect for me.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours not once as his fingers found a rhythm, hitting just the right spot. Your hands gripped his arms, nails dragging down as your thighs trembled around him.

“Lix…” you moaned, breathless.

He kissed your throat again, lips dragging over your jaw. “That’s it. Say my name.”

You whimpered again, unable to help it.

His pace picked up just slightly enough to build. You couldn’t keep your eyes open. The pressure was unbearable and euphoric.

His pace stayed the same curling his fingers at the perfect angle as his thumb stayed on your clit applying the slightest bit of pleasure.

You didn’t even realise how loud your moans were getting but felix was sure seungmin could hear, but he didn’t slow down he didn’t ask you to be quiet. Infact he sped up drawing more moans from you thinking it’s the hottest thing how your so close to coming undone on just his fingers.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his voice suddenly low and firm. “Not Jake’s. Not anyone’s. Mine.”

His thumb stroked your hand in time with his fingers inside you, grounding you as you spiraled higher.

Your whole body arched.

He kept whispering, lips at your ear.

“Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

When it hit, it crashed through you — hot, tight, overwhelming. You cried out his name, trembling, and he kissed you through it, holding you close like you were something sacred.

Your whole body shook, you kept your head hidden in the crook of his neck, whimpering and babbling random words as you come down from your orgasm.

Afterward, you lay curled against him, panting, his fingers tangled gently with yours.

“No one’s ever touched me like that,” you whispered.

“No one’s going to again,” he said softly.

You blinked up at him.

He swallowed. “I mean… unless you want this to be—”

“I don’t.”

His relief was instant.

“I don’t think Jake’s getting that coffee,” you added.

Felix laughed quietly. “Good. I like being your first.”

“You’re smug.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m yours.”

You paused. “Really?”

He cupped your face and kissed you slowly, deeply.

“Always.”

[krosiefics]

is that a bet? • stray kids ot8 x reader

M D N I 18+

Synopsis: at some point of playing ‘never have I ever’, you make a bet that you could make all eight of your best friends cum within 10-15 minutes…and well, you did.

WC: 3.7k (I have issues)

Tags: PURE SMUT, afab!reader, softdom!chan, dom!minho, dom!changbin, softdom!hyunjin, sub!jisung, sub!felix, dom!seungmin, switch!jeongin, switch!reader, piv, unprotected sex (wrap the eggplant yall), same hole double penetration, ass smacking, squirting, begging, overstimulation, hair pulling, spitting, oral (f. receiving), lwk gangbang, praise (pretty, good girl), degradation (slut, whore), light dacryphilia, breeding kink, creampie, biting(?), grinding, pet names (baby, babe, princess, hun, darling, kitten, bun, etc), marking/hickey, probably forgetting some…sorry :P

a/n: this is so smutty i am so sorry…but yw 🫠

You don’t remember how exactly you ended up in this position…something about a bet, yet here you are, half-naked spread out on the floor with eight pairs of eyes burning into your body.

8 minutes earlier

“Never have I ever,” Minho pauses in thought, “nutted before my partner.”

“What the actual fuck Minho.” Seungmin grimaces, though he takes a swig of soju. “What?!” Minho shrugs defensively, “It makes the game more interesting.”

“That’s a fucking lie though.” Jisung snorts as he also takes a shot of soju. “And how would you know that?” You ask with a sly smirk.

“I’ve seen him watch porn,” He deadpans, which sends everyone into a fit of laughter.

“You wanna bet Ji?” Minho challenges.

“Y’all seriously aren’t about to jerk off right here…right?” Chan looks at them in disgust and then at the white shag carpet underneath them, “Why, you wanna join?” Minho pokes.

“I bet none of y’all virgins can stop yourselves from cumming as soon as someone touches you.”

“You wanna make that bet.” Changbin chimes in. You groan at them which catches their attention, “Do you have something to say princess?” Jisung raised his brows teasingly. You groan yet again at the nickname before saying, “I bet I could make all y’all cum in fifteen, maybe ten minutes.”

“You really wanna do this?” Hyunjin lifts your chin with his finger. “Hmm,” you hum, “if you guys cum before I do, a hundred…from each of you.”

“That’s eight hundred bucks!” Jeongin blurts out, you nod slyly. “And if we win?” Felix tilts his head. “Y’all can decide on that.” you state.

You move to get up, dragging your hoodie over your body and exposing your oversized shirt underneath. You turn around looking at the eight boys. “Are we doing this or not?”

Everyone unanimously agrees. It went so fast, the soju from the previous rounds probably getting to everybody’s heads and letting you carelessly make these decisions.

“Oh and rules-“ “RULES?!” Minho, Seungmin and Jisung cried out. “Guys it’s her body, she can make rules.” Felix interrupts their protests. “Thanks Lix,” You smile before continuing, “no touching…well to be more clear no touching me or yourselves…but I can touch you.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed in disappointment.

“It makes the game more interesting.” You shrug, spewing Minho’s previous words at them, the said boy shoots you a playful glare.

You glanced over at the digital clock that hung from the wall. 12:48.

Present

And well, that’s how you ended up here.

Your hand trails down your body stopping at your soaked panties before circling over your clit, toes curling at the feeling.

You stare up at the eight boys, their eyes dazed on your leaking cunt that stains your panties. You let out a moan as you hook your fingers around the material and slip it down your legs, exposing your now bare glistening cunt. You let a finger plunge into your heat, biting your lip. You lock eyes with Changbin, his knuckles gripping at his sweatpants, the outline of his cock bulging through the material. You bite your lip as you stare at his bulge.

The sound of a small whine prompts you to look over at another flustered and painfully hard boy. Jisung looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. “Please, Y/N.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” You coo, pulling your fingers out of your cunt and crawling ever so slowly towards the round cheeked boy. As you settle by his side, you purposefully arch your back and push your ass out so that the guys sitting criss crossed on the floor behind me have a nice view. You trail your fingers up his knee and towards his thigh

He shivered under your touch as you made your fingers dance along his inner thigh. A desperate whimper left his mouth as you pulled back teasingly and went back to your original spot on the shag carpet.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathed out, “you’re ethereal.” His usually perfectly sculpted face contoured into a needy look- yet through his desperation he still looked as beautiful as ever. You moan softly as his praise. “Oh, does our little slut like to be praised?” Minho said to your right, you turned to him and bit your lip, your legs instinctively closing as his degradation surged throughout your body. “Fuck and degration too.” Seungmin hums as your eyes trail to him.

The hot touch of a hand on your lower hips snapped you out of the trace that Seungmin had basically pulled you into. You look towards your right, and there Minho is, smirking as his hand squeezes at the curve of your ass. “Hey!” You slapped his hand away, “No touching!”

“You never said what would happen if we did though, kitten.” The stupid pet name had you squeezing your legs together even more, “Aw, such a filthy slut for us.”

“Shit he’s right,” Felix breathed out, “what happens if we do touch you?” Shit, you didn’t think this far ahead- fuck you don’t even remember what the prize of the bet was…or if there even was one. Why are you guys even doing this again? “Fuck,” Chan groans gently, “does this pretty little cunt of yours want to be filled, love?” You feel his rough hands cup your bare cunt, jerking at the sudden touch. “Y/N?” Jeongin’s soft voice cracked as he whined out your name. You hummed in response as you fought the urge to grind against Chan’s large hand. “Can we touch you now? Please.”

“Oh God,” You throw your head back with a moan as Chan teasingly slips a finger inside your glistening pussy, “fuck yes! Please Innie!”

With that Jeongin springs up to his feet and quickly makes his way towards you. At the corner of your eye, you see the other five move from their spot to get closer to you. “Fuck,” you moan, feeling Changbin’s hands run under your tshirt, lightly teasing your pebbled nipples, “why did we do this again?” A small chuckle resonated from Seungmin’s sweet lips, “Because you wanted to win a bet, right pup?”

You bite down on your lower lip, Jisung’s lips attaching themselves to your clit next to where Chan’s fingers are plummeted inside. Felix helps you out of your shirt as Hyunjin and Changbin each take one of your breasts into their mouth. It all happened so quickly and at the same time, you feel your climax nearing faster than ever. And just like that your release is stolen from you as the four boys pull away from your body. You whine out desperately, “I swear to fucking God if y’all do that again I’m leaving and finishing by myself!” You threaten, sitting up onto your knees.

“Okay, okay princess.” Jisung purrs as he tilts your head up by hooking his knuckle under your chin.

You whimper as he nears your face, “This okay?” you gulp and nod quickly and to that he just clicks his tongue, pulling back slightly. “Words babe.”

“Yes.” you sigh breathlessly, Jisung attaches his lips to yours ever so roughly, a pair of soft hands grab at your hips, placing you down onto their lap. Your legs slotted against your chest being held by the man whom you’re laying on, while the said man leaves butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck.

Chan slipped his fingers out of your cunt prompting you to whine but the feeling of something warm and wet poking at your clit causes the whine to turn into a gasp, Jisung takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively clench around the head that’s propped between them.

“So sweet.”

Jeongin muttered against your folds before slotting his tongue alongside it yet again. “Holy fuck Innie!” you throw your head back, lips detaching from Jisung’s, with an erotic moan, your head now resting on the shoulder of the man behind you. At this angle you catch a glimpse at the the man- fucking hell.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, though the action seems so rough he doesn’t bite down to the point where it hurts. “Fuck, keep her making those faces.” Felix bites his lip, his hand rubbing himself through his shorts. You whine, shutting your eyes as Jeongin continues to assault your throbbing cunt as Changbin moves into massage your breasts. “Look at you,” Minho purred into your ear as he started grinding his hardened cock against your ass, “being so obedient and submissive for everyone, just like the little slut you are.” You moan out at the overwhelming mixture of sensations; Hyunjin nibbling at your nipple, Jeongin’s tongue running up and down your folds, and Minho breathing dirty words into your ear while peppering your shoulder with kisses and love bites.

The cat eyed boy sneakily brings his hand to your cunt and smacks it slightly, not too hard but enough that it stung a little. “Fuck you,” you groan out as Minho massages your core, his fingers dipping further down towards where Jeongin’s face is buried. “No,” Minho tsked, “I’ll do the fucking.”

“Don’t be too rough on her Min.” Chan spoke, you glance over to him and he had his hand shoved down his pants. “She likes it.” Seungmin said confidently, “Right, whore?” You do nothing but whimper at his words meanwhile your body starts to shake slightly. “Answer with words pup.”

“God, fuck yes! I love it- please don’t stop.” You can feel Jeongin smirk against your heat.

Your eyes wandered to the boy next to Seungmin, his eyes stuck on mine as his pretty face scrunched up, his shorts rustling while his hand too was shoved inside, and his freckled cheeks flushed so very red. “Lix,” you gesture for him to move closer, almost immediately the freckled boy quickly rushed down from his spot on the couch and next to you on the floor. He looks at you with pleading eyes, “take it off.”

You grab at the hem of his shirt, he swiftly pulls it over his head awaiting your next instruction. You were about to ask him something but the feeling of a harsh bite on your inner thigh caused you to squeak out instead. Your head whips down to see Hyunjin licking at the skin he just bit. They’re moving so quickly you can barely keep up with who’s doing what.

“Can we fuck you already?” A voice said from your left, your head instinctively turning towards the source. Seungmin stared at you with prying eyes. “Kim Seungmin!” Chan lightly smacked his shoulder, “Let her choose, remember?” The oldest shakes his head at the younger. “Min,” You whimper from the stimulation. “Yeah?” Both Seungmin and Minho responded. “Lee.” Seungmin pouted as Minho leaned in closer, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

Though your senses are so overloaded, you snake your hands down the space between your bodies, shifting your hips up to grab at his hardened cock. Minho’s brows furrow as you stroke his clothed dick. “Desperate are we?” He smirks, “You want all eight of us tonight? Or just a few?” Chan questions, he’s so thoughtful and that makes your heart hammer in your chest. “All.”

”Fuck.” Each boy’s voice sounds throughout the room, they all stare at you with lust-filled eyes.

Your hand that’s still wrapped around Minho’s cock, begins pumping it. Minho hisses at the feeling, precum leaking from the tip. You tease his slit before shifting your hips in his lap. Lifting your hips, you grind down on his cock, your arousal coating his shaft.

“Oh, fucking hell.” Minho throws his head back erratically as his tip pokes at your clit, he could feel as you throbbed against him. He wanted nothing more than to slip inside you already. Unbeknownst to Minho, you gesture with your head for Hyunjin to move closer.

The taller boy obeys, moving into your space, sealing your lips against his. Hyunjin’s hands moved to your hips, gently- yet quickly- pushing you down onto Minho’s cock. Both you and Minho moan out as you clench around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so well, yeah slut.” Minho grunts before he slams his hips into you roughly, not even allowing you to adjust. “Min, not too rough.” Chan warned as you dug your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulder as he continued kissing you.

“Yeah, she’s still got all of us!” Jeongin whined from Chan’s left. You clench at Jeongin’s words, the thought of you having all eight of them tonight makes you spiral towards your climax. “Not yet kitten. Hold it off.” Minho snarled into your ear, his cock continuously hitting your gspot.

“Hyune.” You whined, reaching down to pump his cock, jerking him towards your pussy that is getting pounded into by Minho. “Shit, you want me too darling?” Hyunjin smirked, his eyes gazing down towards where you and Minho are connected, where you’re pulling him towards.

You hastily nod, nothing but whimpers and moans spilling out from your mouth. Hyunjin shoots Minho a look over your shoulder, the latter smirks at him, taking your thighs and pushing them farther back to give space to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin’s tip pokes at your entrance before he pushes in. The stretch didn’t hurt too bad, but it was enough for tears to prickle in your eyes. As Hyunjin and Minho fucked into you, tears finally fell, cascading down your cheeks from the mixture pleasure and pain.

“Aw, don’t cry bun.” You hear Changbin coo. The built man moving over to you, kissing the tear stains on your cheeks. “They making you feel that good?” He gives a sly raise of his brow, his bottom lips jutting out. “F-Fuck Binnie.” You moan, you can feel both Minho and Hyunjin twitching inside you.

A harsh slap stings on your ass as Minho rubs at the now red spot. “I’m so close princess, can I fill you up?” Hyunjin grunts against your neck. “Yes, God, please, Hyune.” Your body begins to shake as Hyunjin spills into you, Minho following close after at the feeling of your clenching and Hyunjin’s cum coating his cock.

Jisung pushes Changbin out of his way before helping you up off of Minho and Hyunjin’s sweaty bodies, greedily taking you towards the sofa, sitting down and playing you on his lap. Jisung’s cock slips in with ease after being stretched out by Minho and Hyunjin.

You melt into Jisung touch as his hands guide you to roll your hips. His hands make their way towards your ass, spreading your cheeks apart revealing your swollen cunt to the boys behind you.

“Fuck you’re so warm baby.” Jisung groans into your ear. Suddenly another pair of hands are on you, massaging at your hips before rutting his cock between your ass. “Can I have a turn hun?” You hear Felix hum behind you.

You turn your head and give him a weak smile as a go ahead. With that Felix slips his cock alongside Jisung’s, both boys moaning at the feeling. Having almost orgasmed earlier, you feel it build up quicker than last time. Your thighs began quaking as Jisung bucked his hips and Felix thrusted into you.

Your hands shoot up to Felix’s blonde hair, tugging at it when the two boys hit your gspot directly. Felix released a low whimper, “Darling please, I won’t- last long if you do that.” He stumbled over his words, his freckled cheeks a deep pink hue.

You decide to tease the boy, clenching down on his (and Jisung’s) cock, pulling at his hair. You feel as he twitched inside of you before unexpectedly releasing. The freckled boy’s face scrunched up in pleasure as he leaned his forehead against yours as Jisung thrusted into you a few more times before emptying himself into you as well.

“Holy shit.” Felix shook, biting his lower lip before slowing his thrusts, robbing you from your orgasm again. “Save it for me, yeah love?” You heard Chan chuckle to your right. You turn to look at him, flinching when Felix and Jisung ease out of your clenching cunt.

Jeongin helps you off of the other’s bodies. He holds you up when your legs threaten to give out on you. Holding you by the waist, his pretty brown eyes flicker down to your lips, hesitant to lean in. You chuckle before cupping his cheeks and pulling his lips towards yours.

Jeongin groans into the kiss as he grinds his clothed erection into your hips. He pulls away, an embarrassed flush taking over his cheeks. You chuckle before setting him on the sofa like the other had been previously positioned.

Throwing your legs around his lap, you straddled the flustered boy under you. “This okay Innie?” You asked, even though you’ve already crossed that friendship line with him having already eaten you out, you still wanted to make sure he was okay with this.

“Oh fuck yeah I’m okay.” Jeongin grinned, his hands immediately roaming your breasts, squeezing and massaging at the flesh. You hastily undo the zipper of his jeans before tugging his cock out of the slacks. Jeongin hissed at your touch.

Suddenly a hot sting spread through your ass. You whimpered at the slight pain, turning over to see Seungmin glaring down at you. “Bend.” Jeongin stared up at the elder and you in a daze. You leaned as much as you could onto Jeongin before another slap landed on your ass.

A moan echoing from your mouth. With you moaning into his ear, Jeongin grew impatient, grabbing his cock before pressing inside of you. The mixture of the slaps and Jeongin’s cock filling you up made your back arch.

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, Seungmin rammed his cock inside your sopping cunt. You practically scream from the sudden intrusion, nails digging into Jeongin’s shoulders.

The two youngest boys out of your friends absolutely railed you, both stopping whenever your moans would pitch and you would start squeezing their cocks uncontrollably. “Minnie, Innie- let me please, I’m so close.” You cried, that knot in your stomach so tight that it almost hurt.

“You think you deserve it, after driving us all into this stupid bet, you whore?” Seungmin snarled, grabbing your hair and pulling your head backwards, “Open.” You oblige, parting your lips, lolling your tongue out as you understood what the man was hinting at. Seungmin let a drop of saliva fall from his mouth and into yours before harshly pushing your head back towards Jeongin’s neck.

The two boys continued using your cunt until they were spurting out warm ropes into you. Yet again you were robbed from your orgasm as the two roughly filled up your cunt.

“Fuck, you did so well pup.” Seungmin panted against the nape of your neck, leaving a small kiss there before slipping out of your pussy. When you pulled away from Jeongin’s sweaty body, he stared up at you with a wide grin and a dazed look, he looked absolutely fucked out.

Changbin helps you off the boys before pushing Jeongin off the couch and getting comfortable in that same spot, pulling you onto his lap. “You wanna take a breather?” Chan asked, crouching down to your seated level. “No…just…please, I’m so close.”

Changbin chuckled from behind you, guiding you to straddle him in reverse. You sink onto Changbin’s thick cock, the built man’s hands flying to your tits, holding and squeezing them as they bounce with your movements.

You peer through your eyelashes, raising your brow at Chan, insinuating for him to hurry up and fuck you. The oldest of the eight chuckles before slipping his cock out of his pants. “Gonna fill you up so good, yeah baby?” He says before sliding right inside your stretched out pussy.

“Holy mother of fuck!” You cursed, the stretch of Changbin was already overwhelming- but now adding on Chan’s way above average length…you don’t think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

Changbin thrusted harshly from underneath you, roughly pinching at your nipples. “Fuck bun, your squeezing us so much, might just bust right now.”

You loll your head back into his shoulder, “Bin…fuck- Binnie please.” You beg, your arms moving to tug at his wavy hair.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching inside you as he fastened his speed. Chan just watched as Changbin rammed into your cunt alongside his. The intense feeling of Changbin railing into you from underneath had you reeling, though the sudden circling of your clit made your orgasm finally hit you.

Liquid squirting out of you as you cried out, before Changbin released inside of you, Chan now picking up his pace, edging towards his climax.

“I know love, I’m sorry…just a few more.” Chan cooed as you whimpered from the overstimulation, he continued railing into you, not stopping when Changbin had pulled out of you.

Chan nuzzled his face into your neck, leaving kisses and sucking at the skin there. “Almost there love, gonna fill you up so good, yeah. You’ve been such a good girl for us.” His praise had you crying out, squeezing around his cock. At that Chan finally came, filling you up with his warm release.

Chan slowly eased out of you before gently moving you to lay on the less dirty part of the couch.

“Imma go get the towels.” A voice you’re not even sure who’s said. “I’ll get her some water.” Another stated.

Sometime later, Felix returned with some damp warm towels. As he wiped your lower region, you flinched at the sensitivity. “I’m sorry darling, almost done.”

A sudden hand gently raised your head from the back, supporting you to sit up. “You okay? We didn’t go too rough on you, right?” Seungmin asked as Minho handed you a glass of water. You took the glass with an appreciative smile.

“You guys were fine- oh.”

“Oh?” Hyunjin smiled in confusion. “The time.” You said pointing at the digital clock. 1:03. Exactly fifteen minutes.

“I win.” Some of the boys groaned while some chuckled, a bet is a bet after all.

taglist: @katsukis1wife

[quickestgold]

1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?

Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)

Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.

You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.

You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.

But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.

The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.

So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.

Maybe you were embarrassed.

Definitely ashamed.

Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.

“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.

The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.

“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.

“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”

Why is everything spinning?

“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.

“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.

“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.

You can't remember any of it.

You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.

Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.

But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.

“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.

Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.

Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.

“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.

But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.

Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.

You’ve become friends.

You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.

“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.

You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.

Until you get to say goodbye.

But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.

You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.

You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?

Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.

“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.

Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.

“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.

Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.

Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.

He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.

Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.

His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.

“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.

Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.

Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.

He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.

Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.

“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.

Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.

“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”

“Time of death: 10:35”

Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.

He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.

Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.

“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”

Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”

“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”

“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.

Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.

But there’s something else. Panic.

Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.

But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”

In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.

Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.

His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.

The one that was supposed to be forever.

“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.

“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”

The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.

The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.

There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.

“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”

He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.

He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.

Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.

Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.

“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.

Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.

“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.

Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”

“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.

“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.

“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.

Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.

Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.

The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.

Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”

Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.

The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.

“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.

You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.

Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.

“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.

Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.

“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.

“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.

His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.

With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.

Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Dialogue Tags Aren’t the Problem, Your Dialogue Rhythm Is

friendly reminder that the word “said” did not kill your scene.

you don’t need to replace every line of dialogue with “he rasped” or “she intoned” or “they gasped breathlessly” (please no). your dialogue is not dying because of your tags. it’s dying because the rhythm is off.

👀 let me explain:

✨ what is dialogue rhythm?

it’s the flow of speech between characters. the beats. the pacing. the way words bounce, interrupt, cut off, trail, clash. it’s less about the words themselves and more about the energy they carry.

dialogue rhythm is what makes two people arguing feel like a boxing match, or a confession feel like a car crash. it’s how you keep tension in the room. if your rhythm sucks, no amount of fancy tags is gonna save you.

🔪 signs your dialogue rhythm is off:

every character is speaking in full, polished sentences like it’s a staged play

nobody ever interrupts, stammers, hesitates, or doubles back

the emotional pace stays flat, even in high-stakes scenes

all the action beats are “he nodded” “she smiled” “they looked at her” over and over

you read it out loud and it feels like a middle school skit

👂 here’s how to fix it:

Read your dialogue out loud. Like, actually out loud. if it sounds robotic, it is robotic. listen for places where people would realistically pause, ramble, get cut off, or trail off. insert those beats. add the mess.

Use white space and formatting to control speed. short lines = fast pace. long blocks = slow burn. a line break right before someone says something unhinged? elite move. example: “You really think I’d betray you?” Pause. “You already did.”

Cut 30% of your dialogue. if you can remove the line and nothing breaks, it was filler. chop chop. more silence = more tension. not every reply needs a full answer.

Let action interrupt speech. don’t wait for the character to finish talking before you show what they’re doing. intercut body language or physical actions mid-line. it mimics how people actually talk. like this: “Don’t touch that—” she lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. “—you don’t know what it is.”

Stop overexplaining with tags. you don’t need to say “she shouted angrily” if the line is literally “GET OUT.” trust the line. if the dialogue’s strong, “said” works just fine. if the dialogue’s weak, “murmured” won’t save it.

🛑 but what about dialogue tags?

use them! but treat them like punctuation, not prose. the goal is clarity, not ✨flair✨. you want the reader to know who’s speaking without noticing the machinery.

“Said” is invisible. “Snarled” is a spice. Use spices sparingly.

better yet: mix tags with beats to keep rhythm tight. example:

BAD: “I hate you,” he said angrily. “I hate you,” she snapped back.

BETTER: “I hate you,” he said, jaw clenched. She didn’t even blink. “Good. Then we’re even.”

💡 TL;DR: your scene doesn’t need fancy tags. it needs movement. conflict. silence. interruptions. character-specific tone. you fix that by fixing the rhythm, not the verbs.

go back to your WIP, open your messiest conversation scene, and test it. read it aloud. break it up. cut what drags. add one beat of silence. give someone a half-finished sentence and a reason to storm out.

watch how fast it starts to breathe.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[cheers-to-you-th]

Waterloo

Part 2 to Winner Takes it All

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Genre: Smut, humor, fluff Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), seft-doubt, idiocy, self indulgent nerdiness, STAR WARS EP 111, IV AND V SPOILERS, fingering, oral (f!receiving), raw (do not irl yall no dick is worth it), lmk if i forgot smthg Word count: 14.7k

Summary: Finally, he's yours. The game is over, and maybe you lost, but it feels like a win.

or

First dates, first kisses, first times w/Mingyu

tyty @supi-wupi @flowerwonu for betaing and fixing all my mistakes on such short notice, y'all are the best ily

It’s not like anything changes overnight. You don’t kiss in the café, don’t run into each other’s arms like the end of a movie. It’s slower than that—gentler. But somehow, it feels exactly right.

So when Mingyu texts you a few days later—“Picnic date?”—your stomach flips, but you don’t hesitate.

You just say yes.

The sun is out, the sky obnoxiously blue, and you’re sweating through your sundress—not because it’s hot, but because Mingyu just texted “I’m already here :)” five minutes before you even left the house.

You speed-walk to the park like you’re being timed for an Olympic marathon, clutching a paper bag of cookies you made last night in a panic (One batch is slightly burned. You brought them anyway).

When you spot him sitting on a checkered blanket under a tree, your stomach does a backflip, twisting even further when he looks up as you approach, grinning like he’s holding back from smiling too hard.

“Hey.” His voice is deep, smooth, and perfect as always, but it wavers slightly.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly forgetting how to use your legs as you sit down a bit too fast, almost toppling over sideways onto the blanket.

Mingyu blink, “Smooth.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks already burning as you smooth out your dress.

He grins and holds up a cute weaved basket. “I brought sandwiches and hors d'oeuvres, although one of them is slightly lopsided since I panicked halfway through making it.”

You can’t help but laugh at the contrast of the dishes as you raise your own paper bag. “Perfect, I brought slightly burnt cookies for the same reason.”

“Great,” he says, “we’re thriving.”

You eat in mostly silence, with a few awkward giggles when you both reach for the same juice box (he insisted on bringing them) or when a piece of lettuce escapes your sandwich and lands dramatically on your lap.

At some point, Mingyu finally breaks the silence, simply saying, “So…” before trailing off and staring so intensely at the sky that it looks like he’s trying to astral project.

“So.” You respond, cookie halfway in your mouth.

He glances at you, then quickly looks back up at the sky, “I, uh,” Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, “I almost wore a button-up for this. Like a real shirt, collar and all.”

You raise an eyebrow, “What stopped you?”

He shrugs. “I spilled coffee on it this morning, but it felt like a sign. Like ‘hey, maybe don’t try to impress the girl who already knows you panic-text giant paragraphs at midnight.” 

He glances at your outfit, making you feel oddly exposed, “Kinda regret not wearing it now, since you’re…” His voice trails off as his eyes linger.

Your heart does a little hop. “I like this shirt better anyways.”

He glances at you sideways. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to be very interested in the juice box straw, “It's very… you. I like that. You.” You immediately regret saying it and look away, cheeks flushing.

Fuck, this is awkward.

Mingyu huffs out a small laugh, the kind that makes his nose crinkle adorably, then you both fall quiet. It’s not uncomfortable, just soft. Like neither of you quite know what to say now that feelings are out in the open and there’s no yelling or dramatic exits involved.

A very loud bird chooses that exact moment to chirp from a nearby branch. Mingyu jumps about three feet in the air, prompting you to laugh your ass off.

The silence settles again as you eat, this time more relaxed as you look at each other with warmth, familiarity.

Your hands brush as you both reach for the last cookie. You freeze. So does he.

Then, without looking at you, Mingyu quietly says, “I’ll split it with you.” You peek at him, mildly delighted to find his ears tainted red.

“Okay,” you say, voice a little too high. “Yeah. Cool. Sharing. Cool.”

He breaks it clean in half (which feels like some kind of divine sight—no crumbs, no crumbling chaos. Are you looking too deep into it? Probably.) and hands you a piece without meeting your eyes.

You expect to eat in the same silence as before, but Mingyu surprises you when, out of nowhere, he blurts, “I wanted to hold your hand earlier, but I got scared and touched a sandwich instead.”

You choke on your cookie.

“I mean—I didn’t touch the sandwich because I thought it was your hand—I just—”

You giggle, covering your mouth. “Gyu, are you okay?”

“No,” he says, wide-eyed, although his gaze softens at the nickname. “Absolutely not. God knows I don’t know what I’m doing, Fuck.” He groans, leaning his head on your shoulder like he used to before tensing at the realization of his casual display of affection. You chuckle softly and thread your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp (and trying to ignore your racing heart).

“Me neither, but… I’m having a good time.” You whisper the last part like it's a secret meant only for him, heart feeling lighter than it ever has.

He lifts his head to look at you, eyes vulnerable as they search yours. Then he beams. Not a grin, not a smirk, a full, sun-breaking-through-the-clouds kind of smile that makes you smile back because how could you not.

“Me too,” he says as your hand falls from his head.

You can’t help but smile brighter, nerves finally bubbling over and turning into laughter. “That was cheesy.”

“You want cheesy?” His eyes sparkle with mischief as he digs through his cooler bag.

You laugh harder as he offers you a mini Babybel, accepting it like it’s a rare and priceless gift and actively pretending he doesn’t look at you like you hung the stars in the sky whenever you laugh.

And just like that, the nerves start to fade. Not completely, but enough for you to lean into his side, sighing contently. He stiffens for half a second before melting, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. His shoulder fits under your head like it’s meant to be there, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

A little fast, just like yours, but calming nonetheless.

You both watch the leaves above sway in the breeze, the occasional bark of a dog or hum of a bike wheel floating by in the distance. But none of it touches the moment.

You study his face in the warm light, trying to memorize this version of him—the gentle one, with cookie crumbs on his shirt and emotions blooming behind his eyes. To you, the moment is perfect. It's not fireworks or grand declarations, it's softer. Safer. Something that wraps around your ribs and makes you feel steady for the first time in a long while.

He clears his throat. “Can I try again?”

You blink, confused. “Try what?”

“Touching your hand, on purpose this time.”

Before you can think, you respond. “You can touch me anywhere you want.”

There's a beat of silence.

You slap your hand over your mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my god. I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying to—”

Mingyu stares at you for a long second.

And then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not a nervous titter. An eyes crinkled, hand over his stomach, doubled over, full-body laugh. And you—well you’re dying. You look at him, mortified.

“I didn’t mean that.” You mutter through your fingers. “I didn’t mean that.” 

Mingyu gasps through his laugh. “You can’t just say stuff like that mid-cookie!”

“I panicked!”

You duck your head, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you, or at least rewind the last ten seconds. But when you peek up at him, he’s looking at you. Not mocking, not teasing, just looking. Glowing. Like your chaos is his favorite thing in the world.

“I missed this,” he says, catching his breath. “You. Your mouth. The weird filterless thoughts that come out of it.”

“I should be admitted to a ward.” You mumble.

“No,” he says, more serious now. “Don’t.” 

You look at him. “Don’t change. I know you’re joking, but don’t change.” He squeezes your hand. “I like this. Us. Even when you make sex jokes at inappropriate times.”

You look at him, “Especially then?”

He snorts and pats your head. “Sure, especially then.”

You roll your eyes, but the tension that’s been coiled in your chest since he first texted finally loosens.

You lean back on one arm, fingers still laced with his. The sun is warm, the leaves above rustling like background music, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels… okay. More than okay.

Comfortable.

You study him out of the corner of your eye, the way he’s watching you. Soft, kind and steady. Not amused. Not smug, Just open. Willing.

You sit there for a while longer, sharing silence like it's something sacred, like neither of you want to move, in case it breaks whatever spell you’re under.

But eventually, Mingyu shifts beside you, nudging your knee gently with his. “So… hear me out.”

You look at him, wary. “That’s never a good start.”

He smirks, chuckling. “There's a photo booth down the street, the kind that's black and white and makes you look vaguely haunted.”

“That's your pitch?” You snort.

“I just think,” he starts with a grin, “that we should commemorate our first date with haunted Victorian ghost photos.”

You huff a laugh, “That's… very on brand for us, actually.”

“Right?” He’s already starting to pack up the cooler. “One weirdly burnt cookie and a neat sexual harassment lawsuit later, what a way to remember it by.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

He stands, arm outstretched in an offer. “Liar.”

You take it, letting him pull you up with those ridiculously hot muscles of his, your fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary. “Fine, but if the pictures are cursed I’m blaming you.”

“Worth it.” He replies, smiling like a kid as you start walking hand in hand.

The photo booth is tucked away in the corner of a small record store, wedged between a rack of dusty mixtapes and a gumball machine with two broken legs. It smells of old vinyl and vaguely like popcorn. You don’t question it.

Mingyu feeds the coins into the slot with exaggerated care. “Okay, we have four shots. That’s like, two opportunities for you to regret ever agreeing to this.”

You step into the booth and sit beside him, knees bumping in the tiny space. It’s close, intimate, too much and not enough all at once.

The screen starts counting down from five.

“I don’t know what to do with my face!” you hiss.

“Be hot,” he whispers. “You’re great at that.”

Your head whips to him, eyes wide, “Wha–” 

The first flash goes off, the photo probably catching your shocks and him mid-laugh, and honestly, that feels perfect.

“Now is when you choose to flirt with me for the first time?!” You complain, but the pink dusting your face discredits any real annoyance you may have.

The second flash hits as you both lean in, cheeks nearly touch, faces still buzzing with excitement from the last joke. You can’t help it when you smile. Big, bright, giddy, and real.

The third one comes too fast, Mingyu panicking and throwing up a peace sign while you do finger guns. It’s terribly amazing.

The final countdown starts, seeming slower somehow. You look at him. He looks at you. Neither of you move.

And then, with one second left, you lean in and press your forehead to his. It’s not a kiss. Not yet. But it’s close, and it’s honest.

The flash goes off.

You’re both slightly breathless when the strips print, you take one like it’s fragile, smoothing the curl of the paper as he takes the other.

“Geez,” you say, staring at the photos. “We look like idiots.”

“We are idiots,” he says, peering over your shoulder. “But we’re idiots with a photo now.”

You glance up at him. He’s already looking at you.

You fold the strip carefully and tuck it into your bag. “I’m keeping it. So you can’t deny any of this ever happened.”

He grins. “Good. I wouldn’t want to.”

The sky is melting into soft amber by the time you both leave the booth, a strip of blurry, laughing snapshots fluttering between your fingers. Mingyu’s arm brushes yours as he stretches after sitting down too long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, it just feels like him.

“Want me to walk you home?” he asks, already falling into step beside you like he always does.

You glanced at him, amused. “You do that even when I don’t ask.”

He grins, eyes flicking to the sidewalk. “Yeah, but now it’s a date-walk-home. Totally different category.”

“Right,” you say, pretending to be serious. “That changes everything.”

“I should have brought a rose. Or walked on the traffic side like a gentleman.”

“You always walk on the traffic side.” You point out.

“Oh,” he says before gasping, mock-scandalized. “Then I guess I’ve been courting you this entire time!”

You laugh, bumping your shoulder with his as the two of you fall into step like always. Same rhythm, same streets, same jokes traded over the same old cracks in the sidewalk, but now there's something quieter between you. Not tension, like before, just the awareness that what you used to call platonic has been rearranged, softened by truth and proximity and all the bullshit you two went through to get here.

“I used to think you were walking me home out of guilt,” you say after a few blocks. “Like, ‘well, I crushed her dreams of getting laid, might as well make sure she doesn’t get kidnapped.”

He snorts, “That was only part of it.”

You glance at him, taking in his faint smile, slightly shy eyes as he says, a little quieter now, “I just like walking with you, even when we were a mess. Maybe even especially then.”

You nod, because you did too. Back then, you never knew what to say when you felt too much, but just walking beside him, not saying anything, was always enough.

He holds the cookie container under one arm and keeps the photo strip neatly in his back pocket, like it’s worth saving.

You reach your street before you’re ready, both of you slowing your steps without saying anything. He stops at the entrance to your apartment, hands in his jacket pockets, looking up at your front door like it’s suddenly very interesting.

You can see that he wants to say something, so you wait, giving him time.

“Since we’re being honest with each other now,” He starts, “I almost kissed you earlier.”

You swallow, caught off guard. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, looking up. “Because… I didn’t want to mess it up by going too fast. I think—I know—if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop. I’ll want to do it all the time. And we’re taking things slow, so I don’t want to push too far too fast and lose this. Lose us.”

The light above you flickers in time with your hearts skipped beat as you nod.

“I’d let you. Kiss me, I mean.” You say softly.

“I know,” his voice catches slightly, “That was part of it too. Still in shock that this is real, you know? Like, I know it is but I still feel like… I’m gonna wake up alone.”

You know what he means. Know how your past words and actions had made him feel this way, so you offer whatever support you can give, looking down and nodding slightly with a breathy chuckle. 

“Yeah. For the record, I’m 100% on board with going slow. I don’t want you to think I’m just in this to fuck you.”

For once, you hold your tongue, not adding the usual ‘although I wouldn’t complain if you did’. But you know he sees it by the way his lips quirk up in recognition, the way he squeezes your hand gently.

“We really are a mess, huh?” You say after a moment.

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, “I’m a perfect picture of emotional restraint.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You once cried because a bird stared at you too long.”

“It was a very aggressive bird!” He defends, making you both giggle.

You’re still laughing as you unlock your door, him standing a few steps behind you, like he always does. Like he’s guarding the space without pushing into it.

You turn around just before you step in. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Always.”

You hesitate, looking at him. The curve of his face, the familiar look in his eye that mimics your own, not wanting to part but not knowing how to ask. So you just do it without overthinking (too much).

“Star Wars marathon?” You offer.

And you know you won’t regret it as soon as you see the way Mingyu’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to ask all week, since we haven’t done our monthly rewatch.”

You jokingly scoff, letting him in. “You could have asked me.”

“Yeah, but then I’d seem too eager.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh yeah?” You snort. “And what reputation is that?”

He follows you inside naturally, “Cool. Untouchable. Mysterious.”

You guffaw before you can stop yourself, “You cry every time Anakin and Obi-wan fight on Mustafar.”

“Okay, first of all,” he says, toeing off his shoes, “that was a betrayal of cosmic proportions. You don’t just recover from that. Secondly, so do you, you cry about Anakin being—and I quote—‘too hot to be evil’.”

You laugh as you flick on the lights. “I think you just imprinted on Obi-wan too hard as a kid.”

“I was a noble child with a strong sense of justice,” he says, already heading to his designated spot on your couch. “Also, have you seen Ewan McGregor? He had really good hair.”

“Still does.”

“Exactly.”

After changing into comfortable clothes—sweats, and a soft T-shirt that definitely used to be his— you grab the stack of old DVDs from your shelf—because despite all your streaming subscriptions, neither of you trust the digital versions not to change scenes—and toss them onto the coffee table. Mingyu holds up one of your fluffy blankets like a question, you nod. The two of you set up, falling back into the rhythm you always have.

You settle in beside him and he drapes the blanket over both of your legs, knees bumping his in a way that feels familiar. Safe. 

You nudge him when he steals the remote, and he just shoots you a cheeky grin and sets up the first movie without asking which one to start with, because you always alternate chronological and release order, ever since you argued over which is the superior option back when the tradition first started. Today is release order, your favorite.

The opening crawl rolls up the screen and you can’t help but steal a glance at him.

He’s mouthing the words. Of course he is.

You grin, sinking back into the cushions. He notices and turns to you. 

“What?”

“You’re a huge dork.” You whisper with a smile.

He shrugs, not embarrassed in the slightest, “You like it.”

And you do. You really, really do.

Somewhere between Alderaan exploding and Obi-Wan dying you end up leaning into him, your head falling naturally against his shoulder. He tilts slightly toward you, resting his cheek on the top of your head. It’s quiet in the best way, no pressure, no expectations, just shared warmth and the low hum of the TV (and the occasional Wilhelm scream).

At some point, you realize he’s not mouthing along anymore.

You peak up and a small smile creeps onto your face. He’s asleep, mouth parted slightly, hair a mess, one arm loosely around your waist like it ended up there by accident. 

You shift just enough to rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. He stirs a little but doesn’t wake, instead tightening his arm around you like he’s been doing this forever.

You smile, closing your eyes.

The next morning arrives with a soft, golden light filtering through your curtains, and the distinct realization that you’re not alone on the couch.

Your neck aches, your foot’s asleep, and Mingyu is half on top of you, snoring softly with his face smushed into your shoulder like it's a particularly comfortable pillow.

You blink, brain slowly coming back online.

The TV is still on, frozen somewhere in the middle of Return of the Jedi. There’s a crumb trail on the coffee table, a tangled mess of blankets at your feet, and Mingyu’s hand is dangerously close to your ass.

You shift, causing him to groan, barely stirring, and muttering something unintelligible about Wookies.

You stifle a laugh. Of course he’s dreaming about Star Wars.

You glance at the clock. It’s somehow almost ten, and—despite the fact that you’re sweaty, uncomfortably folded into the couch cushions, and slightly drooling—you’ve never felt more at peace.

Mingyu stirs again, this time blinking awake slowly, brow furrowing as if waking up requires deep mental effort.

“…Are we dead?” he croaks, voice rough with sleep.

“Only emotionally,” you say, shifting under him. “You’re crushing my spine.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he rolls off you with all the grace of a tranquilized elephant. “I had dream about turning into a blueberry and getting eaten by chewbacca.” He says as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

“Sounds like a pretty accurate metaphor for your emotional state.”

He squints at you through messy hair. “Do you ever shut up in the morning?”

“Nope,” you stretch your arms lazily over your head, wincing. “God, how are we not paralyzed after that?”

“I’m built different,” he says, groaning as he sits up and immediately regrets it, judging by the look on his face. “By which, I mean stupid.”

You both sit there for a moment, blinking at each other in disheveled silence.

And then he smiles.

It’s slow. Easy. Sleep-soft and fond in a way that turns your stomach into warm mush.

“You look good like this,” he says, nudging your socked foot with his, “all cute and tired.”

You flick a crumb at him to hide your flushing face—you don’t think you’ll ever get used to him flirting back. “Don’t start flirting with me before I’ve brushed my teeth.”

“No promises.”

He stands and stretches with a noise that might belong to a dying walrus, then offers you a hand. You take it, even though you don’t need help, because it’s just the thing now, apparently. Finding those little excuses to touch each other (not that you’re complaining).

“I’ll make coffee?” he offers, already padding toward your kitchen like it’s his.

“Wait,” you call, following. “You remember where everything is?”

He throws you a smug look over his shoulder. “Babe. I’ve made coffee in your kitchen like a hundred times. The only difference is that now I get to kiss you, if I want to.”

You pause in your tracks.

He doesn’t look back right away, like he didn’t just drop that on your morning like a bomb. But then—just as he pulls the mugs down—he glances over his shoulder.

A question in his eyes.

You don’t answer with words.

You walk up behind him, stand on tiptoe, and press a kiss to his shoulder blade through the fabric of his shirt. You can feel the way his breath hitches as you rest your cheek against his back, arms loose around his waist.

“That okay?” you whisper, smiling when he nods. You hug him tighter, just for a second, before letting go.

He doesn’t move for a beat, just stands there with your warmth still lingering on his back, his hands frozen mid-reach toward the coffee pot like his entire system’s short-circuited.

Then he says, quietly, almost reverent, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s more than okay.”

You hum and slide onto the couch, tucking your knees up beneath you. Watching him try to regain control of his body after one shoulder kiss is possibly the highlight of your entire week.

He fumbles the coffee grounds a little, doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You’re blushing,” you sing-song.

“Shut up,” he mutters, ears practically glowing crimson.

You rest your chin on your knees, grinning. “I thought you were gonna be cocky, considering your reputation.”

“I was cocky before. Now I’m terrified.”

You snort. “Of what?”

“That this is a dream,” he says, flicking on the coffee machine. “Or that I’m gonna say something dumb and ruin it.”

“Statistically speaking, that second one’s a very real threat.”

He throws a dish towel at your face.

You catch it, laughing.

The apartment fills with the smell of coffee and comfort—like home, but warmer. Messier. Better.

Mingyu hands you a mug the way he always has—but this time, your fingers brush on purpose. And when he sits down next to you, he doesn’t try to hide the way he leans in a little, like gravity’s stronger now that you’ve crossed that line.

It’s quiet for a moment, both of you sipping and stealing glances, the hum of the machine fading into the background.

Then he says, cautiously, “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You turn your head to look at him, eyes softer than before, waiting for him to continue. He sighs, running a hand through his hair like he’s pulling the truth up from somewhere buried.

“I’ve…” He frowns, eyes fixed on the swirl of coffee in his mug. “I’ve never really done this part. The actual serious, wake-up-next-to-you-and-make-coffee kind of thing.”

You stay quiet, just listening, letting him find the words.

“I usually screw around. You know that. I know you know that,” he says, glancing at you with a brief, wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve always kept things light. Easy. No promises, no strings. It’s safer that way.”

He sets his mug down and laces his fingers together, elbows on the table. His tone shifts—honest now, like a confession.

“I’m good at the beginning part. The flirting. The jokes. The late nights. But once it gets real? I bolt. Or they do. I don’t think I’ve ever really given someone the chance to stick. Not because I didn’t want them to—but because I didn’t trust myself not to ruin it.”

You tilt your head, watching him with something gentler than surprise. You’ve known Mingyu for a long time. You’ve heard the stories, seen the aftermaths. But this is different. Raw.

“I never wanted to risk losing someone just by being… me. Stupid, flirty, kind of reckless me. I thought it’d be easier to never try. Keep it casual. Keep it fun. I mean, I know why people sleep with me, it’s not for me, it’s for,” he gestures vaguely at himself, not cocky, just… almost tired, “me. After a while that became what everyone expected, so that's all they wanted. The casual flings, the one night stands. That's all I could get and it’s all I wanted.”

He glances at you again. This time, he holds your gaze.

“But then you—you made it impossible not to care. You snuck in when I wasn’t looking, and now I’m scared in a way that I don’t know how to deal with. Because I do care. Fuck, I care so much, and I don’t want to mess it up by rushing into something I don’t know how to do without running away after.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So what do you want to do?”

He exhales through his nose, smiling faintly. “Go slow. Learn how to do this right. I want to kiss you like I’ve got time. Hold your hand like it matters. Wake up next to you a hundred more times and make coffee even when I forget the right ratio.”

You huff a laugh, tears stinging unexpectedly at the corners of your eyes at the confession.

“I want to figure it out with you,” he says, softer now. “Even after everything, you’re still the most important person to me. Always have been. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to get it right for.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—thick with everything unsaid and understood. Your heart feels like it’s expanding and cracking all at once.

You reach over and slide your fingers over his, sure but gentle.

“You’re already doing it right.”

He squeezes your hand, eyes going glossy before he blinks it away with a sheepish grin. “Don’t say that. I’ll cry and ruin my cool morning-after image.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “You’re wearing socks with Baby Yodas on them. That image was never happening.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, “Grogu is timeless.”

You squeeze his fingers again, and he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—slow, deliberate.

After a moment, you smile softly. “We can go as slow as you want, Gyu. I know it may not seem like it because of my… history, but I can wait. I want this for more than just sex. I want you for more than that.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want to go slow. I want everything with you, and that scares me shitless because I know that once I start, I won’t be able to stop wanting.”

Your breath catches.

Mingyu’s voice is low, not dramatic or pleading—just honest, in that helpless, almost-shaking way that only someone who means it could sound.

He looks down, like maybe saying too much is a risk he’s already halfway regretting. “I’m scared that once I let myself have this, I’ll want it all. Not just mornings and coffee and slow kisses—but holidays. Fighting over which movie to watch. Grocery shopping. All the boring, real shit. I want that with you.”

You don’t interrupt—you can’t, your heart full to the brim.

“And if I get it,” he continues, “I’m terrified I’ll mess it up. That you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not worth it. Or worse—realize I’m just the guy who never learned how to be serious until he risked ruining the best thing he’s ever had.”

You shift closer, turning so your knees bump his and you’re facing him.

He doesn’t look up until you’re there beside him, fingers brushing his knee. His eyes are glossy again, and yours are burning now too.

You lean down—because just sitting felt too far away—and cup his face in your hands.

“You’re not ruining anything,” you whisper, voice steady and confident. “You’re trying. That’s everything. That’s more than most people ever do.”

He leans into your touch like he needs it. Like he’s afraid you’d pull away.

You press your forehead to his, voice softer now. “And I’m scared too. Of wanting too much. Of losing it before we even get started. But you’re not just some guy I’m experimenting on. You’re—” You break off, breathe out. “You’re it for me, Mingyu. Okay? I don’t care if it’s too soon to say that, because it’s the truth. Whatever pace we move at, whatever we figure out along the way—I want it with you.”

“I love you.” He whispers.

You smile softly, unable to resist responding with, “I know.”

His face brightens as he chuckles, “Are you trying to Star Wars your way into bed with me again?”

“That depends, is it working?”

His hands come up to cover yours, gently pulling you in until his lips meet yours. It’s warm, soft, just the faintest brush at first. When he pulls away and looks at you, your breath hitches. His gaze searches yours for a moment before his lips are on yours again, this time deeper. The second you sigh into it his hand finds your jaw and tilts your face up like he needs it.

For all his past resistance, Mingyu kisses you like a man drowning.

It turns desperate and slow and hungry, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way your lips move on his.

When his thumb brushes your cheekbone and his other hand grips your hip like he doesn’t trust himself to stop, you can’t help the small moan that slips from your mouth into his.

And when he pulls back, just enough to murmur, “You’re it for me too,” you know neither of you is going anywhere. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer as you sink into his lap fully. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly into your mouth. It’s messy, a little breathless, as you both finally give in, losing yourselves in each other.

You roll your hips once, slow and instinctive, and he breaks the kiss with a strangled noise, forehead pressed to yours.

“I thought we were going slow,” you murmur, voice shaky with restraint.

He’s just as breathless, lips brushing yours. “We are. This is just… warming up.”

He laughs once—hoarse, almost desperate—and then his mouth is on your neck, teeth grazing skin in a way that makes you gasp. His hands are everywhere now, still careful but growing bolder, and you’re not sure which of you is trembling more.

“I’m never gonna survive this,” he mutters against your throat.

“Then don’t,” you whisper, pulling him back into another kiss. “Just fall.”

He presses his lips to yours again, and this time, the kiss is filthy.

There’s no slow, romantic build—it’s teeth and heat and the kind of kiss that says you started this, now finish it. He cups the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, presses you back into the couch, finally, finally giving in.

“You’re evil,” he breathes against your lips.

You smile. “You like that about me.”

He doesn’t argue—just kisses you harder and lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to your bedroom off of muscle memory alone.

He sets you down on the bed like he’s afraid you might break—slow, deliberate, like laying something sacred at an altar.

And then he just stares.

You’re beneath him, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt, and it’s like he can’t believe you’re real.

“God,” he breathes, brushing your hair back like he needs to see all of you, “you’re gonna ruin me.”

You pull him down by the collar of his shirt, just enough to whisper, “That’s the plan.”

But he doesn’t kiss you, not right away. 

He hovers there, like he’s savoring it, as if he’s trying to etch the curve of your cheek, the flicker in your eyes, each hitch in your breath into his being. Mingyu’s hands glide down your sides, reverent, like he’s handling something holy.

And then he dips his head.

Not to your lips.

To your neck.

Your collarbone.

Your sternum.

Mingyu kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s tasting parts of you no one else has ever dared to linger on. His mouth leaves heat in every place it touches—open, wet, near-aching kisses down your chest as he pushes your shirt up inch by inch, slow enough to make you writhe.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, nose brushing your ribs. “So warm, fuck, you smell like—God, I don’t know, home? Vanilla and—shit, I’m dizzy.”

You laugh breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair. “You sound high.”

“I feel like I am,” he groans, like it’s a problem he has zero intention of fixing. “I’m so fucking gone.”

His hands tremble a little on your hips. He kisses a trail lower, eyes fluttering closed, and when you lift your hips to help him tug off the rest of your clothes, he has to pause and just breathe. Like if he moves too fast, he’ll short-circuit completely.

And honestly?

He might.

Because once you’re bare beneath him, once he gets his mouth back on your skin, Mingyu is gone.

He worships every inch he can reach with lips, tongue, teeth. One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave a mark, while the other drifts aimlessly—like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most. Your waist? Your chest? Your throat? It’s like he wants everything.

His lips find the swell of your chest, and he groans—deep and raw, like the taste of your skin is too much. His hips jerk against the bed, completely unprompted, like just kissing you there wrecked him.

You’re panting now, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Mingyu…”

He moans your name like it hurts, pulling back just far enough to look at you, flushed and wild-eyed.

“I need to slow down,” he pants, voice thin. “I’m—I’m gonna cum just from touching you, I swear to god—”

You blink at him, dazed. “Gyu—”

“Fuck,” he chokes, biting his lip. “I don’t even know how, but you—I can’t think. You smile at me and I’m fucking done.”

He lowers his forehead to your stomach, breathing hard.

“I’ve never wanted anything this much,” he whispers. “Never wanted to take my time so bad but also fuck you through the damn mattress.”

You whimper, hips shifting under him, and he shudders like the sound physically hurt.

“I need a second,” he mumbles against your skin, trailing his lips along the curve of your stomach like it’ll ground him. “I need to taste you, touch you, everything— gotta go slow, give you what you deserve.”

He lifts his head—flushed, wrecked already—and nods to himself.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Slow. I can do that. I have to do that.”

He finally lowers his mouth between your thighs like a man desperate for salvation. His mouth lingers everywhere except where you need him most—kissing the insides of your thighs, mouthing at your skin like he’s memorizing the taste of your sweat, your heat, your need.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your skin, breath fanning hot over you.

“More,” you practically whine, hips twitching when his tongue finally—finally—slides between your folds, slow and deliberate.

He groans like your taste wrecks him.

And then he devours you.

No teasing. No hesitation.

Mingyu’s mouth moves with purpose—wide licks that flatten against your clit, then soft, maddening flicks that make your thighs try to snap closed on instinct. He holds you open easily, large hands anchoring you to the mattress, like he wants you to fight it. Like the way you tremble only feeds something deep and feral in him.

You cry out—raw and already close embarrassingly fast—and his tongue circles tighter, more focused now, lips wrapping around your clit with gentle suction that makes your eyes roll back.

He moans into you when you grind against his face, the sound vibrating straight through your core.

“Come on,” he rasps between licks, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let go for me, baby. Want to feel you fall apart.”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave—sharp, sudden, thighs shaking as you cry out his name. He doesn’t stop, not even as you whimper and squirm, too sensitive, too much. He keeps licking you through it, mouth greedy, tongue relentless.

“Gyu, fuck, I—” he groans, grip tightening on your hips.

“Tastes like fucking candy,” he says, voice almost wrecked. “Give me another. Please.”

Mingyu doesn’t beg, He pleads. Like his life depends on it. Like making you come again is the only thing keeping him grounded.

And it works.

He pulls another orgasm from you with almost cruel precision, sucking your clit while two fingers slip inside you, slow and deep. Crooking them just right. You sob his name when the second release hits—longer, deeper, your whole body tensing before it breaks.

Your thighs are trembling now, your hands tangled in the sheets, yet he still doesn’t stop.

“Gyu—baby—I can’t—”

“You can,” he pants, lifting his head for just a second. His mouth is soaked, chin wet, lips swollen and red. “You’re doing so good. One more, just one more, please.”

Then he’s back between your legs, tongue working in tandem with his fingers now, faster, harder, until your breath leaves you entirely.

Your third orgasm hits like lightning.

You scream, back arching off the bed, legs quivering uncontrollably as your whole body locks up and trembles—pure overstimulation, pleasure blurring into pain and back again. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and Mingyu moans like he’s the one coming, voice ragged, fingers still moving inside you as you writhe helplessly.

He eases you down slowly, licking you softer now, gentler, until your trembling fades into aftershocks and you’re left boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

Only then does he finally pull back—sits up on his knees, hair a mess, chest heaving, lips glossy with you. He looks wrecked. Eyes wide. Wild.

“I’ve never,” he whispers, staring at you like you’re holy. “Seen anything so fucking beautiful.”

You can’t speak, you can barely move. You’re a puddle. A completely wrecked, trembling, over-loved puddle of a human being.

And Mingyu looks like a man who just conquered Mt. Everest, won an Oscar, and found religion—all at the same time. He’s staring down at you with the dumbest, most wrecked, heart-eyes expression imaginable.

“You alive?” He asks, voice hoarse, lips still shiny, and way too pleased with himself.

You try to respond. Honestly. You try. But all that comes out is a breathy, unintelligible sound that vaguely resembles a laugh and a whimper having a crisis.

“Cool,” he says, grinning, flopping down beside you. “So, you died a little. That’s fair. I kinda did too.”

You nudge him weakly with your foot. “Stop being so smug.”

He gasps—actually gasps. “Me? Smug? I’ll have you know I’m deeply concerned about your well-being. You were shaking. Like, medically.”

“I was getting the best head of my life, geez.”

He groans and covers his face with a pillow. “Don’t say it like that. I was being romantic. I practically saw the light.”

You giggle, reaching over to tug the pillow off his face. He grins against your shoulder, then presses a soft kiss there, his hands trailing up your arm. “Too soon?”

You snort. “Way too soon. At least let me recover my ability to walk first.”

“Right. Right. Fair.” He props himself up on one elbow, eyes softening. “Seriously, though. You okay? Not too much?”

You glance at the water bottle on the nightstand and deadpan, “If you hand me that, I might forgive you for almost sending me into orbit.”

He immediately scrambles for it. “Done. And while we’re at it—snacks? A foot rub? Me apologizing to your thighs personally?”

You take the bottle, laughing. “My thighs are gonna need therapy.”

He wiggles his brows. “Good thing I’m available for emergency counseling sessions. I charge in kisses.”

You roll your eyes and sip the water. “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

“Baby,” he says, grinning wide, “I will always have an ulterior motive when you’re naked.”

You throw the pillow at him. He catches it with a dramatic “oof,” then immediately pulls you into his arms again like a human octopus—limbs everywhere, clingy and warm.

“You’re not escaping,” he mumbles into your hair. “Not after that. You’re mine now. Legally. Spiritually. Cosmically.”

“Cosmically?” You echo, laughing into his chest.

“Yup,” he says smugly. “You broke three laws of physics and at least two of my vertebrae. We’re bonded forever.”

You snort, half-laughing, half-yawning. “Fine. But I get the left side of the bed.”

“Deal. As long as I get you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead—messy, content, maybe a little sweaty—and then another to your cheek, and another to your shoulder like he’s trying to leave little stamps that say property of Mingyu.

You sigh dramatically. “God, you’re annoying.”

He beams. “You love that about me.”

You do.

Especially when he holds you like this. Close, warm, and totally wrapped around you, mumbling half-teasing nonsense until you’re too tired to sass him back.

“Alright, let’s get you in the shower,” Mingyu announces, already shifting like he’s preparing for a mission.

You groan dramatically. “Can’t we just marinate in our sins a little longer?”

He snorts. “Tempting, but no.”

Eventually, you mumble, “You’re gonna have to carry me to the bathroom, my legs aren’t speaking to me.”

Mingyu lifts his head from your shoulder with a proud little smile. “Good thing your legs love me.”

You swat his chest weakly. “They’re in shock. You should send them flowers.”

“Already planning on it,” he says, voice a little smug but eyes still all soft. “Also considering writing an apology letter. Maybe baking them cookies.”

You snort. “You’re such a menace.”

“A gentle, generous menace,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. “Come on, sleepy noodle. You’ll feel better after a shower.”

You groan dramatically, flopping like a fish. “Too far. My body is soup.”

“I like soup,” he says brightly, already slipping off the bed. “Especially when it’s clingy and whiny and in love with me.”

“I am not whiny—”

“You are,” he sing-songs, tossing you one of his shirts like it’s a peace offering. “But you’re cute about it, so it cancels out.”

You pull the oversized tee over your head, grumbling. “You're lucky I can't walk yet or I’d shove you into a wall.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” he says, eyes sparkling as he scoops you up bridal-style. “But I am one hundred percent into it.”

You yelp, flailing a little as your feet leave the ground. “Mingyu!”

He just laughs, carrying you toward the bathroom like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “This is part of the boyfriend package. You get head, cuddles, and a full princess carry service.”

“I didn’t know it came with a subscription.”

“Only available to very special customers,” he says, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot. “Limited time offer. Lifetime commitment optional—but encouraged.”

The mirror greets you with the sight of flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and behind you, Mingyu’s smiling like a golden retriever who just got praise and a treat.

He sets you down gently on the edge of the tub and leans over to start the shower, letting the water run warm before turning back with a small, proud puff of his chest. “Shower’s ready. And so am I.”

You narrow your eyes. “You are not helping me shower.”

He grins. “Why not? I was very involved in this mess. I think it’s only fair I help clean it up.”

“I swear, if you try to flirt with me while I’m shampooing—”

“Too late,” he says, already peeling his shirt off and dramatically tossing it aside as you do the same. “I’m mentally preparing at least five shower puns. Wanna hear the first one?”

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be a soap-erior joke!”

You groan so loudly he cackles, stepping in behind you as you shuffle into the warm water. The heat hits your skin, and you sigh, the tension slowly melting out of your muscles. Mingyu wraps his arms around you from behind like a blanket, his chin resting on your shoulder.

He hums against your skin, swaying the two of you gently under the stream like you're slow dancing instead of standing bare and blissed out in a foggy bathroom.

"You're dangerously good at this," you murmur, leaning into him. “Cuddling. Carrying. Post-debauchery care.”

“I’ve trained my whole life for this moment,” he says solemnly, but he’s already grinning again. “All those hours perfecting my koala cling technique.”

You tilt your head, skeptical. “Koala cling?”

“Yeah.” He tightens his grip like a cartoon villain kidnapping a princess. “This is level four. Advanced. Only deployable on girlfriends who’ve had their souls loved out of them.”

“More like fucked out of them.” You splutter a laugh, almost slipping on the tile, and he tightens his grip again like a safety harness.

“Okay, okay—level five activated,” he says dramatically. “Safety override! Girlfriend in distress!”

You’re laughing so hard your ribs hurt. “You’re so stupid.”

“And yet, I’m still allowed to see you naked,” he says proudly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Clearly I’m doing something right.”

The steam curls around you both and you go quiet for a moment, swaying gently in the warmth, his heartbeat steady at your back.

He presses a second kiss to your shoulder, softer this time. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod slowly, still resting against him. “Yeah. Just kinda… floaty. You make my brain all fuzzy.”

“That’s my favorite compliment,” he murmurs. “Right after ‘oh my god, you idiot’ and ‘what the fuck are you doing.’”

You snort. “You’re impossible.”

He smiles into your neck. “But you like me anyway.”

You don’t say anything right away—just tip your head back onto his shoulder and let the water run over both of you. And then, very softly: “Yeah. I really do.”

Mingyu stills for a beat, like you hit a button inside him he wasn’t expecting, and then squeezes you tighter, just once, before nuzzling your damp hair with a grin you can’t see but can definitely feel.

“I like you too,” he says, voice low and stupidly fond. “Like, in a dumb, irreversible, stuck-on-you kind of way.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“It is,” he says seriously. “I’m never gonna be normal again. I’m ruined. I’ll be in the grocery store thinking about your thighs.”

You burst out laughing. “My thighs?”

“Mmhm. I have to make amends every time I look at them.”

You spin around in his arms, water splashing between you, and poke him in the chest. “I cannot believe you just said that with a straight face.”

Mingyu grins, entirely unrepentant. “It’s true. I’m gonna start leaving them little apology notes. Post-its. Maybe a fruit basket.”

“Oh my God,” you laugh, letting your forehead fall against his chest. “You’re such a menace.”

“A menace with a sincere heart and excellent taste in thighs,” he says, tilting your chin up with his knuckle. His eyes are sparkling, water dripping from his lashes like he’s been carved from sunlight and bad decisions.

You flick his nose. “Behave.”

“Impossible,” he says. “I just went down on the love of my life for like thirty uninterrupted minutes. I’m riding a high no shower can scrub off.”

You cover your face. “You can’t keep saying things like that with no warning.”

He leans in, whispering against your ear, “What, that I’m obsessed with you? That you taste better than anything I’ve ever had? That I’m one missed eye contact away from proposing right now in this damn shower?”

Oh how the tables have turned.

You make a strangled squeaking sound and slap his shoulder, but you’re laughing too hard to look threatening. “You are unwell.”

He beams. “Terminally. Doomed. Completely whipped.”

“Honestly,” you sigh, mock-exasperated. “This is what I get for letting you touch me?”

Mingyu leans back, still holding you, as he runs his fingers gently through your wet hair. “No take-backs.”

You narrow your eyes. “Even if you keep flirting like a Shakespeare character with brain damage?”

He gasps, hand to heart. “Rude. My iambic pentameter is flawless.”

“You’re so lucky I’m soft for you,” you mutter, turning into his chest again.

“I know,” he says smugly, hugging you close. “And I’m never letting you forget it.”

Then, quieter, more sincere: “Hey. I mean it, though. I’ve never done that before. Not like that. Not just… that.”

You blink up at him. “Really?”

He nods, brushing some wet strands off your cheek. “Yeah. But you—” He breaks into a shy, almost boyish grin. “I didn’t want anything else. That was enough.”

Your chest squeezes so tight it’s almost hard to breathe.

You cup his face, fingers curling behind his ears. “You’re kind of a dream, you know that?”

He shrugs, grinning like a goof. “A dream with a tongue like a superpower. Pretty sure that makes me a Marvel hero.”

You burst into helpless giggles, kissing his cheek. “My ‘Oral Avenger’.”

He snorts, and you both double over in laughter.

He tries to stand up straighter, puffing out his chest like he’s about to recite a monologue. “Sworn protector of pleasure. Defender of thighs. Champion of cuddles.”

You wheeze. “Mingyu, please.”

“Silence, civilian,” he says, adopting a comically deep voice and cupping water in his hands like he’s about to baptize you. “You’ve been saved by the Oral Avenger. Gratitude is mandatory. Kisses are currency.”

You smack his arm, still laughing, nearly slipping again, but he catches you immediately—reflexes like a superhero, unfortunately for your dignity.

“You are not real,” you manage, gripping his shoulders for balance. “There’s no way someone like you actually exists.”

He grins, obnoxiously proud. “And yet, here I am. Naked in your shower. Making you laugh. Making you—” He cuts himself off with a smug little smirk. “Well. You remember.”

“Vividly,” you say, pretending to glare at him, though you’re still smiling so wide it hurts.

He softens then, all the goofiness still there in his eyes, but dialed down into something quieter, sweeter. “I like being the one who gets to take care of you.”

Your heart stutters. “Even when I’m a soup noodle who can barely stand?”

“Especially then,” he says, wrapping you back into his arms under the warm spray. “That’s when you’re at your most dangerous. All soft and sleepy and wrapped around me.”

You hide your face against his chest again. “You’re gonna kill me with how much you like me.”

“Plot twist,” he whispers. “You’ve been killing me since day one.”

You groan. “We’re gonna drown in the sap.”

“Good,” he says cheerfully. “If we die, at least we die clean, naked, and stupid in love.”

You shake your head, giggling as you curl into him, his arms keeping you steady, his warmth making the water feel even softer somehow. You’re not sure how long you stand there—swaying slightly, his fingers drawing lazy shapes on your back, the shower a quiet hum around you—but you could stay forever if it meant this.

Eventually, you sigh. “I’m turning into a raisin.”

Mingyu kisses your forehead. “Then it’s time for phase three.”

You squint up at him. “What the hell is phase three?”

He smiles like a man with a very serious plan. “Snacks. Sweatpants. Cuddles so aggressive, they’re basically a hostage situation.”

You pretend to think it over, then nod. “Acceptable. But I get to steal your hoodie.”

“Obviously,” he says. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t immediately offer you all my clothes like a Victorian suitor offering his estate?”

“You are so weird,” you say, stepping out and reaching for a towel.

He hands you one, then wraps one around his waist with that same dumb, soft grin still glued to his face. “Weirdly in love with you.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Smooth.”

He shrugs. “You like it.”

...And unfortunately for your dignity, you do.

You do. You like it so much it should be illegal.

And judging by the way Mingyu is looking at you—like you just personally rewrote his understanding of happiness—he knows it too.

“Alright, Avenger,” you say, toweling off your hair and trying not to look too fond, “lead the way to phase three. But I swear, if there are no snacks, I’m revoking your superhero license.”

Mingyu gasps in mock offense. “My license?! Baby, I passed all the tests. Oral, emotional, cuddly—I’m triple certified.”

“Triple certified menace,” you mutter, but you’re grinning again, and he’s already reaching for your hand, lacing your fingers together like it’s second nature.

He tugs you gently through the steam-filled bathroom and into the bedroom, still warm with leftover sunlight and very real post-orgasmic bliss. You collapse dramatically onto the bed, limbs flopping like you’ve been felled by love itself.

Mingyu disappears for all of twenty seconds—just enough time for you to contemplate stealing all the covers—before returning with snacks balanced on a tray like a waiter at a fancy café.

“You didn’t—” you start, but stop when you see what he’s brought: chocolate-covered pretzels and a bag of your favorite chips. There's also a soda can with a bendy straw already popped in.

You blink. “You’re disgustingly good at this.”

He beams and bows with all the grace of a man who just handed you his soul in snack form. “Told you. Trained my whole life.”

You sit up to let him crawl into bed beside you, and the moment he’s within reach, you snag his hoodie off the floor and yank it over your head. It smells like detergent and him, and it’s instantly your new favorite piece of clothing.

Mingyu lets out a pleased little hum, already pulling you into his side. “Perfect. Now you’re officially in hostage cuddle territory.”

You lean into his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m kinda okay with that.”

He presses a kiss into your hair. “Good. Because I’m planning to hold you until your battery recharges.”

“You think I’m a phone?”

“I think you were on 2% when I found you on that bed, and now you’re blinking red with a system warning.”

You laugh quietly. “And what? You’re the charger?”

“Obviously.” He turns his head to look at you, eyes soft. “I’m the premium, extra-snuggly, heart-eyed charger with emotional availability enabled.”

You blink up at him. “Who are you and what did you do with the emotionally constipated flirt I called a best friend?”

He grins, not even pretending to be offended. “He evolved. Pokémon-style. Final form unlocked.”

You nuzzle closer, letting your hand settle over his heart. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Totally. But you like me anyway.”

And you do. God, you do.

You fall asleep like that—not even realizing it at first. Just warm limbs tangled up in his, the quiet crackle of snack wrappers long forgotten, your breaths syncing up, your fingers still tangled. The last thing you feel before the darkness pulls you under is his lips brushing your forehead again, and his voice, soft and half-lost in sleep.

“Best nap of my life. With my favorite person.”

You don’t answer, already drifting.

But if you could, you’d say the same.

The light is different when you wake up—thicker, lazier, like even the sun can’t be bothered to move too quickly. It’s warm, filtered through the curtains, and casting faint gold over the tangle of limbs you’re currently buried in.

You blink slowly. It takes a second to remember where you are, what time it is, who this very warm, very broad human heat source is.

And then Mingyu lets out a soft snore against your shoulder.

Right. Him.

You glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:04 PM.

Jesus. You slept hard.

Probably because of the mind-melting head. Probably because of the post-orgasm snacks. Probably because your body hit the kind of wall you don’t come back from without several REM cycles and light therapy.

You shift a little, trying to ease a cramp out of your leg, but Mingyu just makes a noise of protest and tightens his grip, burying his face deeper into your neck like a clingy koala with attachment issues.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and half-asleep. “You’re my favorite pillow.”

You snort, rubbing at your eyes. “You’re crushing my soul.”

“Good,” he says groggily. “It belongs to me now. Legally. Cosmically. We talked about this.”

You groan and stretch one arm over your head, nearly whacking him in the face. He doesn’t even flinch. “How are you still warm? You’re like a human oven.”

“I run hot,” he says, barely audible before chuckling. “You said that to me once.”

You bite back a smile and lean your head against his chest again. “You’ve been purposefully annoying since the minute I met you.”

“I prefer ‘strategically charming.’”

“You told me I looked like I’d never lifted a box in my life when I asked you for help in chem lab.”

He lifts his head a little, squinting down at you with the dumbest, sleepiest smile. “And look how far we’ve come. I went from roasting your biceps to worshiping your thighs.”

“God,” you mutter, turning your face into the pillow. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

You lie on him a little longer—mostly because you’re still boneless and warm and the hoodie you stole smells like him and sunshine and home. His fingers start tracing light shapes over your hip through the fabric, like he’s not even fully awake, just wired to reach for you.

After a while, your stomach growls loud enough to startle even him.

You both freeze.

Then he grins. “Phase four.”

You sigh, already dreading it. “Don’t tell me there’s an actual plan.”

“There’s always a plan,” he says, rolling onto his back dramatically like a king preparing to address his subjects. “Phase four is: second snacks, lazy post-nap makeouts, and possibly Mario Kart.”

You blink. “Mario Kart?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s an essential bonding ritual. We play. You lose. I gloat. You call me a cheater. I kiss you to distract you during Rainbow Road. Balance is restored to the universe.”

You stare at him, lips twitching. “You kiss me to cheat?”

“Strategically charming,” he repeats, tapping his temple.

You swat his stomach. “Fine. But I get to pick the snacks this time.”

He immediately holds out the imaginary microphone. “Say less, your majesty.”

You throw a pillow at his face. He catches it without looking.

This man. This absolute menace of a human being.

You get up eventually—only because your body is no longer soup and your stomach sounds like it’s trying to file a formal complaint. Mingyu follows close behind, shirtless, fluffy-haired, and smug as ever, trailing you like a golden retriever on a mission to be fed and cuddled in equal measure.

And you let him. Because at 3PM, in a quiet house with the afternoon sun crawling across the floor, being wrapped up in him still feels like the safest, softest place in the world.

The kitchen is quiet when you pad in, your feet bare, Mingyu’s hoodie hanging nearly to your knees, and the way it smells like him does something dangerous to your heart. There’s a gentle hum from the fridge, the distant sound of birds outside. It feels like the world is holding its breath, letting you have this one slow, perfect moment.

Mingyu follows close behind, hair rumpled from sleep, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and the kind of smile that looks like it’s still half-dreaming. He’s blinking slow, like his body hasn’t fully caught up to being awake, and when he sees you reaching for the cabinet, he immediately steps in to help.

“Let me,” he murmurs, voice still thick and scratchy with sleep.

You step aside, not protesting. Watching the way his muscles shift under his skin, the way his fingers fumble adorably on the mugs like he’s too cozy to function at full capacity.

“I was gonna make us breakfast. Lunch? Brunch.” you say softly.

“I’m helping,” he says, placing two mugs on the counter. “That makes me the co-chef. Sous-chef. Whatever gets me a taste-test.”

You smile, nose scrunching. “You just want to eat the batter again.”

“I just want to be near you while you whisk things,” he admits shamelessly. “You get all focused and bite your lip and it does something to me.”

“You’re such a sap,” you say, but your cheeks are warm and your stomach flutters like you’re seventeen and in love for the first time.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you pull out ingredients. You look away fast, too flustered to keep eye contact, pouring milk into the bowl like it’s suddenly become a very serious task.

He stays close while you work—handing you the whisk without you asking, brushing a crumb off your cheek with the gentlest touch, kissing your shoulder in the middle of your stirring like he can’t help it. It’s not rushed or loud or over-the-top. Just soft. Slow. The kind of lazy afternoon that you’d have never believed would be possible for you a few weeks ago—especially not with Mingyu.

Eventually, the pancakes are golden and fluffy and stacked high on the plate. Mingyu sets the table, even folds the napkins like you’re having brunch at a tiny sunlit diner that only exists for the two of you.

You sit side by side at the kitchen table, knees brushing, syrup pooling on your plates, and when you take the first bite and hum softly in approval, Mingyu practically lights up.

“Good?” he asks, like it matters more than anything.

You nod. “Perfect.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Told you we make a good team.”

You both eat slowly, sharing bites, stealing glances, saying very little. The silence is warm, not awkward, just comfortable.

At one point, he tugs gently at your sleeve and says, “Hey. Look at me for a sec.”

You do.

He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and careful and full of something that makes your chest ache.

“Just wanted to,” he says quietly.

Soon enough, you're both camped out on the floor in front of your TV, controllers in hand, knees knocking as Rainbow Road loads with its usual screaming colors and doom. Rainbow Road is chaos. Always has been. Always will be. And somehow, it’s the one track you two keep coming back to like it’s a relationship test.

You’re hunched forward with laser focus, tongue poking out just slightly as your kart hits every drift perfectly. Mingyu’s right behind you, gritting his teeth, doing everything he can to keep up. His character keeps skidding on the edges, and your laughter only makes it worse.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” you coo, which earns you a red shell to the face.

“Oh, I’m so done playing nice,” he warns, trying not to smile too hard as you fake a dramatic gasp.

By the third lap, you're ahead again—just barely. The final stretch is coming up, and you're gripping the controller like it’s life or death. You can feel him shift beside you, like he’s about to pull something.

“What are you—”

You don’t get to finish that thought, because suddenly he leans in and kisses you.

And not just a quick peck.

He cups your jaw with one hand and kisses you full-on, lips warm and insistent, like he’s been waiting all game for the excuse. It steals your breath. Your thumbs slow, your brain short-circuits. You let out a surprised little noise against his mouth, and he smiles into it—because of course he does.

Your kart immediately flies off the side of the track.

“You—!” you start, breaking the kiss as your character spins out into oblivion.

Mingyu’s already whooping like he won the lottery, flopping backward on the carpet with the most satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“That’s not fair!” you say, shoving his shoulder.

“That’s Mario Kart, baby,” he says, breathless with laughter. “And also… that was so worth it.”

You’re still dazed, fingers limp around the controller. “You kissed me to win.”

“I kissed you because I wanted to. Winning was a bonus.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you,” he says smugly, pulling you into him again.

You drop the controller, straddling his lap without even thinking. “Say that again without the smug.”

He kisses you slower this time. Less about the victory, more about you. His hand finds your waist like it’s second nature, and the only thing glowing now is the TV screen forgotten in the background.

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, voice is soft, but sure, like he’s sharing a secret just for you.  It makes your cheeks flush, breath hitching.

You pull away just long enough to whisper, “I love you too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But next race I’m sitting in your lap. Let's see who’s distracted then.”

Mingyu blinks. “Oh,” he says, in that dumb, boyish way that means his brain has officially exited the chat.

You smirk, brushing a thumb across the corner of his mouth. “What? You started it.”

“I didn’t think you’d go feral about it,” he mumbles, staring at you like you just promised to ruin his life—in the best way possible.

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Rainbow Road, rematch. I’ll drive. You suffer.”

He groans, but it’s the kind that curls into a laugh halfway through. “You’re not gonna let me concentrate at all, are you?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you say sweetly, reaching for the controller again. “I mean, you cheated.”

He sits up a little, hands slipping to your thighs, keeping you there like he doesn’t want you going anywhere. “That was strategy.”

“You kissed me, you maniac!”

He grins. “Yeah, and now you’re in my lap, so technically I won twice.”

Your mouth drops open. “You little—”

But he cuts you off with another kiss. This one is lazy, familiar, warm. It makes you feel like you won even though you didn’t. His lips move against yours like he could keep doing this forever and wouldn’t mind never finishing another race again.

You kiss him back, just because you can. Just because it’s him.

Somewhere behind you, the Mario Kart theme loops cheerfully, oblivious to the way you two are definitely not playing anymore. His hands slip further up your thighs, massaging them as the kiss grows hungrier.

He pulls you closer, the world narrowing to the press of his lips and the soft heat of his hands exploring like they remember every curve by heart. Your breath catches when his tongue lightly brushes yours, slow and teasing, inviting but never rushing.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils wide, voice low. “You wanna keep playing?”

You blink, dizzy from the way he’s touching you. “The game?”

“No,” he murmurs, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “but we can pretend.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s fond, your hands sliding up under his shirt like they have a mind of their own. “You’re the worst,” you mumble, but it’s hard to sound convincing when your thumbs are already tracing the ridges of his stomach.

“And yet,” he whispers, tilting his head to kiss just under your jaw, “here you are. Still in my lap.”

You hum, neck tilting instinctively as he sucks lightly at your skin, just enough to make your breath stutter. “It’s for revenge,” you claim, your voice barely steady. “I need to win the rematch. Gotta... intimidate the opponent.”

Mingyu pulls back just slightly to meet your gaze, lips flushed, expression of pure trouble. “Oh yeah? This is intimidation?”

“I’m very scary,” you say, trying to hold back a smile as your nails lightly rake down his chest.

He shivers, mouth parting. “Terrifying,” he agrees, eyes flicking down to your lips again. “Should I be nervous?”

“Only if you’re bad at multitasking.”

He huffs a laugh, deep and breathy, then slides his arms all the way around you, hugging you to his chest like it’s second nature—like it’s always been this easy. His heart is racing. Yours might be worse.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you say quietly, voice just shy of breathless, “and we’re never gonna finish this game.”

He kisses you again—deeper this time. No warning, no teasing. Just heat.

Your breath catches, mouth parting instinctively, and he takes the invitation without hesitation. His tongue brushes yours, slow and deliberate, and your fingers clutch his shirt tighter like you’re trying not to slide right off his lap and onto the floor.

“Who said we need to?” he murmurs into your mouth, lips still moving with yours like he’s trying to make you forget the concept of time entirely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes glazed, lips red and swollen. “We’ve played two matches,” you say, barely holding back a grin, “and you’re already trying to seduce me mid-race?”

He laughs, low and cocky, hands sliding under the back of your shirt like he’s been waiting all night for an excuse. “Babe, I’ve been trying to seduce you since match zero.”

“Well,” you breathe, his touch dragging goosebumps along your spine, “you’re getting better at it.”

“Good,” he whispers, fingers pressing into your hips, dragging you closer. “Because I’m not planning to stop.”

You shift in his lap, just enough to feel the way he tenses beneath you. His breath stutters.

“Oh,” you say softly, feigning innocence, “that distracting?”

He groans, dropping his head back with a curse. “You’re a menace.”

“You like it.”

“I love it,” he says, voice rough now, pulling you back down to kiss you like he’s been starving for it. It’s messier this time, hungrier—your teeth catching his bottom lip, his hands tugging you flush against him like he’s trying to eliminate any space left between you.

The controller clatters to the floor. Neither of you notices.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly, and the way he growls low in his throat makes heat shoot down your spine. “Mingyu—”

“Yeah?” he says, lips dragging down your jaw, kissing the corner of your neck with a kind of reverence that still somehow feels desperate.

“I think…” you gasp, back arching a little as he sucks a bruise just below your collarbone, “...we’re gonna have to pause the rematch.”

He huffs a laugh against your skin, biting down gently just to hear the sound you make. “Call it a tactical delay.”

Your hands are under his shirt now, palms hot against his skin, mapping out every inch like you’re memorizing it for later. “You cheat at more than just Mario Kart, you know that?”

He pulls back to look at you, flushed and breathing hard, hair a mess because of your fingers, and still somehow the most beautiful disaster you’ve ever seen.

“I don’t care if I win or lose,” he says, voice raw, “as long as I get you like this.”

That shuts you up.

Because then he kisses you again—hard, like a promise—and you let him, gladly.

Your hips roll into his without thinking, and his breath hitches, hands tightening on your waist. When you do it again, slower this time, his mouth breaks from yours, head dropping to your shoulder with a ragged groan.

“You’re killing me,” he says, voice muffled.

You grin, breathless. “Still scary?”

He looks up, hair falling into his eyes, jaw clenched, pupils blown wide. “Terrified.”

Your laughter turns into a gasp as he shifts beneath you, both hands gripping your thighs like he’s grounding himself—like if he doesn’t hold onto something, he might actually lose his mind.

You’re not much better. Every point of contact between you feels like static—crackling, insistent, addictive.

He mouths at your neck, open and wet, and you can feel the heat of it radiating through your whole body. “You’re not even trying to hide how smug you are,” you murmur, voice unsteady as your fingers trail along the waistband of his sweats.

“Because you’re the one on top of me right now,” he says, lips brushing against your skin, “and I still don’t know if we’re making out or if I’m being punished.”

You smirk, tugging at his shirt. “Why not both?”

“God,” he mutters, helping you pull it over his head, voice going hoarse at the feel of your hands dragging up his chest. “You're evil.”

“You’re easy.”

“Only for you.”

The air shifts between you then—something thick and loaded hanging in the pause that follows. Your eyes lock, and it’s like you both realize at the same time that you’ve tipped past some invisible edge. That playful energy is still there, but underneath it—undeniable heat. Need.

His hand cups the back of your neck, gentle but firm as he pulls you back down into him. The kiss starts slow but deepens fast, tongues sliding, breaths catching, teeth grazing lips in that barely-restrained way that makes your stomach flip.

You grind into him again, deliberate now, and the moan that leaves his mouth is low and wrecked.

“Shit—” he pants, clutching at your hips like they’re the only thing tethering him to the floor. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna survive this round.”

Your lips find his throat, kissing down the column of it, and you feel the way he shudders underneath you. “You’ll be fine,” you whisper. “You’re strong.”

He laughs, then immediately chokes on it when you suck lightly at a spot just under his jaw.

“Fuck, okay—okay. I’m tapping out,” he groans, but his hands are dragging up under your shirt now too, like he’s searching for skin he hasn’t kissed yet. “You win.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess, pupils blown, lips kiss-bitten and swollen. Your heartbeat’s pounding so loud you can feel it in your ears.

“I wasn’t keeping score,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “Can I still kiss you like I lost?”

You nod once, and that’s all it takes—he flips you both over, laying you back against the carpet with him hovering above you, hands braced on either side of your head.

He kisses you like he’s letting go of every ounce of self-control he’s been holding onto. Like he’s been wanting this for days and finally got permission.

And you—god, you let him. You welcome it. Fingers tangled in his hair, back arching up into him as his body presses you down like you’re something sacred he’s allowed to worship.

You gasp when his mouth finds your collarbone again, dragging teeth over skin like he wants to leave more evidence. His name slips from your lips, involuntary.

He answers with another kiss, softer this time, like he’s trying to say I’m here without the words.

Your hands roam instinctively, finding the warm plane of his back, the curve of his shoulder, the soft tension of muscle shifting beneath your touch. He feels real in a way that makes your chest ache—solid and warm and entirely yours.

And god, the way he’s kissing you—like he doesn’t care about pace or time or the carpet burning into his knees. Like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he’s learning you one kiss at a time and still hungry for more.

His hand slides up your side, slow and reverent, fingertips brushing beneath your bra and then pausing—checking. His mouth parts from yours just long enough to breathe out, “Okay?”

You nod, throat dry. “Yeah. Yes.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath all night, and then he’s kissing down your neck again—tongue flicking over the bruise he left earlier, teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder. You shiver beneath him, hips shifting up against his without meaning to, and the sound he makes in response is something that shoots straight to your core.

“Mingyu—” you whisper, half a warning, half a plea, but you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your skin, and it sounds like a promise.

One hand dips between you, sliding under the waistband of your shorts with that same careful urgency—like he’s trying to balance the need to be gentle with the very real possibility he might come undone if he waits much longer. His fingers trail lower, slow and teasing, and your back arches before you can stop it.

“You’re so warm,” he breathes, like it’s a revelation. “So soft. Fuck—”

Your head tilts back as his fingers move just right, and your legs fall further apart on instinct, letting him in. His name leaves your mouth again, barely audible, and it makes him glance up, eyes dark and soft and completely focused on you.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice tighter now, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You nod quickly, pulling him back into a kiss. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He touches you slower than that morning, like he’s trying to learn every single way you fall apart this time—each sigh, each flutter of your lashes, each shift of your hips. The game’s long forgotten, and this is the real win.

And when your breath starts to hitch, your thighs trembling around his wrist, he presses his forehead to yours and says your name like it’s a prayer. You clutch at his back, clinging to the moment, to him, to this stupid, perfect boy who kissed you mid-race and ruined your life a little—in the best way.

You come with his mouth on yours and his hand coaxing you through it, every nerve alight, every thought blank except for MingyuMingyuMingyu.

When it fades, he kisses you again, softer now, like a thank-you. Like a goddamn lullaby.

“Still smug?” you murmur, breath shaky, eyes half-lidded as you come down.

He grins—sleepy and wild and very pleased with himself. “Depends. Are you still scary?”

You smile, pulling him closer. “You have no idea.”

Mingyu stills. His breath catches—just for a second—before he lifts his head to look at you. The air between you is still buzzing with the aftershock of everything that just passed between your bodies, but his eyes soften like they always do when it’s you. 

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, like he’s offering you a way out. Even now.

You nod, threading your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

He stands first, gently pulling you up with him, hands finding your waist like he needs to keep touching you or he might float off the ground. You lead the way to your bedroom, your fingers tangled in his, the soft creak of the door closing behind you louder than you expect.

The room is quiet except for your breathing—his still uneven, yours still shallow. The soft wash of moonlight spills in through the window, casting faint shadows across your bed, your floor, the way he looks at you like you’re something he never expected to have.

You back toward the bed slowly, legs brushing the frame, and he follows until your knees bump the mattress. His hands find your hips again, thumbs rubbing gentle circles like he’s grounding himself all over again.

“You can still back out,” he says, serious now, even if his voice is a little breathless. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

“I don’t want to rush,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of your (his) shirt, “but I do want this. With you.”

His jaw flexes as he watches you pull the fabric over your head, eyes tracking every slow reveal like he’s memorizing you by the second. You reach for him too, tugging at the drawstring of his sweats as he steps closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

There’s still teasing in the way he kisses you, sure—but it’s slowed now, as if all the earlier heat has melted into something even more intimate. He lays you down with a kind of care that makes your heart ache, crawling into the bed like he belongs there—like he’s always meant to be here with you.

You scoot back until the backs of your knees meet the pillows, Mingyu following you down, one arm braced beside your head while the other traces the curve of your waist. He kisses you again, deep and steady this time, like he wants to feel every inch of you in the press of his mouth. His fingers ghost up your ribs, brushing the underside of your chest, then pausing again, like he’s checking in without words.

You nod, barely a breath. “Please.”

You feel laid bare in every way—your skin, your breath, the way his eyes take you in like you’re something to be studied, cherished.

“God,” he murmurs, voice gone quiet and raspy. “You’re... you’re unreal.”

You shake your head, a little dazed and a lot in love. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?” He bends down to kiss your chest, slow and deliberate, like he wants to worship you in pieces. “You’re mine.”

It should sound cocky. It would if it came from anyone else. But it’s Mingyu, saying it with that look in his eyes—like it’s less about possession and more about awe. Like he still can’t believe you let him have this.

You tug him down until he’s flush against you, skin to skin, the heat between you both stifling and electric. He groans softly as your hands find his hips, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down just enough so they fall to the floor with his boxers.

“Okay?” he whispers again, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the edge of your jaw.

You nod and pull him closer. “More than.”

And then he’s moving—slow and careful, like he’s still half-afraid to break you, even now. But you anchor him with your hands on his back, your legs around his waist, the brush of your nose against his.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, and this time it’s not a promise. It’s a fact.

And when he finally pushes into you, your breath catches hard, eyes fluttering shut from the stretch, the closeness, the dizzying warmth of it all. He stills immediately, pressing his forehead to yours, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Tell me if—”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice already trembling. “I need—just... stay. Right there.”

He does. Of course he does. He always does.

He moves slowly, carefully, like the moment is something he wants to savor—not rush. Like this is the part he’s been waiting for all along. And god, it’s everything. The heat, the weight, the feel of his mouth on your shoulder, his hand gripping yours tight between the sheets.

You whisper his name again and again, and every time it leaves your lips, he gives something back—deeper, closer, gentler. His lips find yours between gasps, half-kisses and murmured sweet things you can’t even process because he’s filling you with too much. Too much heat, too much love, too much him.

And when you finally come again, it’s overwhelming. It hits hard and bright and sharp, curling your toes, your back arching off the mattress as he holds you through it, forehead pressed to your temple, voice saying your name like he means it.

He follows just after, hips stuttering as he buries his face in your neck, his moan muffled by skin and sheets.

The room is quiet in the aftermath. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled limbs, and the faint rush of blood still roaring in your ears.

Eventually, Mingyu lifts his head, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. “Still scary?” he murmurs, voice wrecked but amused.

You smile, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “Only if you leave your socks on again.”

He lets out a groan and flops to the side, dragging you with him. “Low blow. That was one time.”

You curl into his chest, sated and warm and so full of him you don’t even know where you end and he begins. “It was yesterday.”

He laughs, breathless, curling an arm around you like he never plans to let go.

And maybe—just maybe—you hope he doesn’t. Because who cares if you lose when you have him.

BONUS:

[moonstonejpg]

ours (k.bakugou x reader)

—“your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong in"

sum. bakugou is having a bad week, thankfully his girl is always there to make the bad days a little better cw: a little angst, fluffy ending

i hate hate hate paparazzi!! loosely based off of this and the song ours by taylor swift

It had been a rough week for Katsuki.

First, the hero rankings were announced, and he found himself at #15—not even in the top ten. And he swore it didn't bother him, that the rankings were just a stupid popularity contest. But you saw the way his shoulders slightly slumped in disappointment and the way his fists clenched so hard that the half-moon imprints of his nails in his skin stayed for hours after you had smoothed his fingers out.

It broke your heart to see him like that—and then yesterday he got into a silly fight with Izuku, one that was filmed and taken way out of context by thousands of people on the internet. Which in turn prompted the resurgence of people saying he didn't even deserve to be on the list at all, let alone at #15.

bakugou is mentally unstable lol

i worry about his gf tbh, those anger issues are a huuuge red flag

right?! i hope that poor girl gets out of that

she seems so sweet, he’s probably threatening her or something

It was just one hit after another for him.

And now, as he stares out the window at the crowd of paparazzi with a clenched jaw, the only thought in your mind is how this is strike three. All he wanted to do was take you out for a nice dinner to thank you for being so supportive this week, but he couldn't even do that without a swarm of media leeches waiting outside.

"Kats, we don't have to go. We can just stay here." You say quietly, worried eyes set on his tense shoulders.

"No," he growls, "I'm not letting them ruin this too." He positions himself in front of you before taking a few hesitant steps out the front door of your shared apartment building.

His warm hand envelopes your own, fingers threading through before tugging you behind him, half shielding you with his large body. The flash of the cameras and the noise of the crowd makes your vision blur, but Katsuki is moving fast, fingers tightly gripping your own while his gaze is laser focused on the awaiting black car parked on the other side of the street.

Everything is moving so fast, the shouts of the various reporters melting together around you. But you can't hear a word they say, the sound drowning out any specific words, until—

“Why him?”

And you nearly miss the step below as you freeze. The question has you rearing back as if you'd been hit, your eyes dancing towards the sound of the question. You see him right away, a male reporter who is nearly frothing at the mouth for a reaction. The reporter leans forward, eyeing you hungrily as he waits for an answer. And usually, you wouldn't give them any time of day, the daily harassment towards you and every other pro-hero and their significant other almost daily a good enough reason toignore any of their probing questions. But how could you ignore this?

“Why him?” you parrot back, white-hot anger burning through your body at a rapid rate. You don’t think twice before you’re ripping your wrist out of the blonde's hand and taking angry strides towards the reporter. You're nearly toe-to-toe with the man, and while he is a full head taller than you, he shrinks a bit from the look on your face.

Katsuki comes up beside you, gently tugging at your wrist.

“It’s not worth it.” He says lowly, looking down at you with something like sadness tinged in his eyes. And your heart cracks, picking up on the one thing he isn’t saying but you know he’s thinking.

That he’s not worth it.

And you can’t have that, you can't have Katsuki thinking that he isn’t worth any of this, because he is. He is worth everything, and despite being in each other’s lives for years now, the fact that he still doesn’t see that is devastating.  

Your body begins shaking from a mix of anger and adrenaline as you look at the crowd around you. A slow hush falls over the crowd, as if they are waiting with bated breath to see what you have to say.

“Because he is the kindest human I have ever had the pleasure of knowing; kinder than any of you will ever be. And what has he ever done to you to make you so obsessed with twisting every move he makes, every word he utters into something that makes him look like the bad guy? And for a quick buck? You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” After shooting a glare around the crowd, you keep your chin high as you grab a stunned Katsuki’s hand and drag him towards the car.

You gently push him in, keeping a hand smoothed over the back of your dress as you crawl in after him, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The car ride to the restaurant is eerily quiet, and as the adrenaline begins to leak out of your body, your brain catches up to what you did. And yeah—they did need to be told off, but you start to wonder if this is something that will get him into trouble.

You weren’t a hero and you didn’t have a lick of media training, why did you think causing a scene would be a good idea? The thoughts spiral in, and you want to bury your face in your hands as dread slithers its way into your stomach.

When you get inside the building, you are ushered towards the back of the restaurant by the host, presumably to where your table is located. But before you round the corner, Katsuki is tugging you into a dimly lit closet, fingers making quick work of the lock. Even after the door is bolted shut, he stands and faces it, as you just watch the outline of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Kats?” You say quietly, a hand hovering over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just—”

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh pushing its way out of his mouth.  

“No, you—” He shakes his head again, then turns around to face you, his body crowding you up against the wall. His eyes are dark, twinkling with emotions you can’t place. Both of his hands come up to gently cradle your face, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Not only was that the hottest thing I have ever seen, but—well, that was the first time anyone has stuck up for me before.”

“I would do it again—anything for you really. You’re worth it. And I know that’s hard for you to believe, but you are. They can say whatever they want, but I know in my heart that I do not deserve you, and that you ” You say quietly, eyes locked on his. He smiles, eyes shining, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” He whispers in the dark of the room, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“I love you Kats.”

“I love you too. Now, how about we ditch this place?” He asks, leaning back to tug at his tie, before bending forward to loop it around your neck. “I think that new ice cream parlor is open. So, sundaes on me?”

You nod, a giggle escaping when he bends down and tugs the ends of the tie, your body falling into him. He lets out a gentle laugh, the sound like a gentle breeze on a hot day. It has your smile stretching across your face, your heart singing in response.

He reaches down to unlock the door, but when he flicks the lock back, nothing happens. Katsuki tries again, but again, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, not the second time he tries or the fifth, or even the tenth time he tries. On the eleventh try his hand slips from the lock, his eyes colliding with yours.

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then a laugh bursts out of him, followed by another and another. The sound has the grin staying locked in place on your face, relief flowing through you at the change in his mood.

“We—we’re stuck.” He gasps out, hands falling on his knees as he hunches over, deep laughs spilling out of him. It isn’t long before you are on the floor next to him, trying to catch your breath around your own laughter.

[nightingale-prompts]

Dead or Alive- DC X DP prompt

Tim Drake just watched his friend die.

It was supposed to be a lunch date meeting where they went over clues for cold cases. Danny loved true crime and mysteries but not as much as he loved astrological research. They worked so well together.

They were just going to get coffee and head over to Tim place when the most predictable thing happened.

Kidnappers.

It was always kidnappers. Someone always wanted something from Tim or Bruce so it had to happen once every few months. Tim must have relaxed since Damian was the go-to target these days.

They took both him and Danny because the idiots couldn't tell which was Tim. The description of black hair and blue eyes was all they looked for. Never mind the fact that their hairstyles and textures were different. Also, Danny didn't have blue eyes, he had central heterochromania so his eyes were green and blue. They didn't even have the same face shape. Danny had a softer and warmer eyes and a slightly chipped smile.

Uhg...these people were idiots.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Danny told them that he was the real Tim Drake. As Tim was making a plan and untie the ropes they dragged Danny away from him.

Tim still had that moment burned into his head.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay. I promise. Just close your eyes." Danny said between staggered breaths as the gun was pressed to his temple.

Then there was a bang...then a thud...and he was gone.

Tim couldn't hear anything other then the blood rushing passed his ear and the sting in his eyes. His heart felt like it last place in a marathon. Too fast and too slow all at once. The world blurred and all he could see were spots of red that dripped to the floor. He might have screamed. He might have cried. He didn't know.

He knew that by the time he got to Danny's side there was to pulse.

The body had to be taken from him.

Bruce had him take a extended break from patrols.

Not once did Tim believe Danny's last words. It was not okay. NOTHING WAS EVER GOING TO BE OKAY!

A week after the incident an entity was spotted flying around Gotham and Tim threw himself into solving the mystery to distract himself. But everything seemed to remind him of Danny. Especially when he finally found the creature and it had Danny's face.

(Inspired by that one Ivan the terrible painting.)

[mariahcarreyyy]

max making u wear a pendant with his initials/driver's number engraved around ur neck coz he likes to watch it swing when u ride him

# 📝 send a prompt and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio ! nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

"Where's the necklace?"

Max's words had made you halt. He placed a gentle hand on your collarbone, pushing you gently from where you were mouthing at his neck and stroking his thumb where the gold of his initials should be.

With furrowed brows, you craned your neck down to follow his disheartened glare. The absence of the cool chain around your neck didn't seem quite as important as the growing need for max, max, max.

"Dunno," you mumbled dismissively, rolling your hips from where you were straddling his legs on the bed. "Ah—bathroom, 'think, t-took it off to shower."

Your boyfriend hummed sweetly before lightly tapping the side of your thigh. "Get it."

Barely forcing down a whimper, you bit your lip, tugging on the hem of his baggy shorts. "Max, please, just—"

A taunting, raised brow was enough to have you huffing and hauling yourself off of his lap. The walk from the bathroom and back to Max's arms, barely ten steps, made your eyes glassy and the pleasure stirring in your stomach boil.

You made the mistake of catching your reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, hair sprawled in various directions, and an evident pout etched onto your face. The necklace was expensive; you'd known that, but had Max really needed to stop you mid-foreplay to run and get it?

Judging by his cocky smirk and the fact that he'd fumbled out of his clothes in the ten seconds you'd left, you guessed so. Your eyes drifted down his body, past the sweaty abs, and onto his hand, lazily stroking his hard cock. You wanted it inside you, in your mouth—fuck, he was making it really hard to stay annoyed.

"Happy?" you grumbled, your facade slipping when Max swiftly pulled you into his lap, shivering slightly as he nearly ripped the shirt off of your body, the cold air hitting your nipples and Max's wet tongue trailing kisses down your neck.

Moans slip past your lips, and you slide a hand down to the angry, red tip of Max's length. You grin wildly when he groans, the vibrations rippling against your skin and shooting straight down to your core. "More than." He cups the swell of your ass with his massive palms and lifts you up to hover over his dick. "C'mon, shatje, make y'self feel good on m'cock."

And who were you to deny Max that?

The stretch of his cock burned like it always has, spikes of pleasure overcoming the momentary pain. Max's desperate moans mixed with yours, echoing across the room. After a few seconds, Max's palm impatiently striked at your ass, making you jolt and bite your lip to avoid the embarrassing sound that would have left your lips. "M-Max, oh, fuck."

You lifted your hips, almost slipping Max's slick-covered dick out of your wet pussy before dropping back down. Max's eyes were half-lidded, a hazy grin plastered on his face; he watched the gold swing recklessly, worrying his bottom lip at the fast pace you'd set.

Max rolled his hips upward to meet your movements, and the loud yelp that left your lips made you flush. "Fuckk, s'good, baby—ah, all mine, yeah? All. Fucking. Mine."

Punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, Max almost came when your wet pussy clenched around him. "All yours, m'all yours, Max."

That was what the initials on your collarbones stood for, didn't they?

authors note. i havent written in so long pls forgive me everyone

[apatheticsunday]

Cartoons and Cereal

AKA "Dick Grayson adopts recently de-aged Danny Nightingale. He doesn't anticipate Danny being a little... not entirely human." Prompt idea! Might be a multi-part series. :)

Dick never thought he'd be a parent at the age of 22 but the moment he saw Danny's feral little snarling face at the Bludhaven precinct, it's like he turned into Bruce Wayne. In more ways than one. Dick vividly remembers giving Bruce a heart attack by jumping from the manor's upper balcony onto the chandelier, how he cackled in glee at Bruce wide-eyed expression of terror. Watching Danny float off the couch and then drop in mid-air probably has Dick making the same expression as Bruce in that moment.

The frying pan clatters to the stovetop, pancakes flopping out, as Dick swings over the kitchen island and flings himself over the sofa - just in time to catch Danny before he brains himself on the coffee table. Dick doesn't catch himself before he releases a loud, terrified and relieved, "Fuck!" Danny immediately gasps and loudly proclaims sw'ar jar, sw'ar jar!

"I know, bud. I-," Dick squeezes Danny to his chest. His heart is still beating unbelievably fast and his palms are sweating. "Just give me a minute, okay, buddy?" This has to be some kind of revenge for all the stuff he put Bruce through as a kid. Danny squirms as Dick thinks about the next steps: obviously, he has to test for the meta gene, register with the state, and maybe get in touch with Clark about teaching Danny how to control his flying ability. But Clark will tell Bruce and Dick hasn't even told Bruce-

Danny bites him. Dick yelps, dropping the kid onto his sofa again, and thinks this is definitely payback as Danny cackles. Danny reaches his arms up and grins with a menacing little twinkle in his eye that definitely means pick me up so I can bite you again. Dick resists despite how cute (and terrifying) his kid looks. Then, he smells something burning. Specifically, their pancakes, which are now scattered on the floor and on the burning stove coils.

"Ah, shoot. I'm sorry, bud." They both stare at the burnt pancake before Danny starts poking the floor pancakes. Well. There goes the last of the instant pancake batter. After stopping Danny from eating the floor pancake (multiple times, eventually stacking a couple of his gym weights on top of the trash to Danny won't go digging in it), Dick proposes breakfast at the little brunch place downtown. Danny only grunts in answer because he's too busy struggling to lift the lid of the trashcan.

Haven Coffee it is.

He probably should've expected somebody to take their picture, but seeing the image of Dick and Danny plastered on the Gotham Herald's website makes his blood run cold. It's almost like a horror movie. Reading the news article (Golden Boy Richie Grayson following in his father's footsteps with adopted son Daniel Grayson... recently orphaned son of renowned scientists... suggesting a custody battle between absentee godfather and Gotham's Golden Boy...), Dick feels sick. He's never been violated like this in Bludhaven. In Gotham, as Bruce Wayne's son? Sure. In Bludhaven, as Dick Grayson? Never.

The picture is just as damning (and beautiful. Dick would frame it, keep it in his wallet and tucked into the mirror of his car, if it weren't such a violation of his and Danny's privacy). Dick and Danny look like they've lived together for years. Danny, chocolate smear on his cheek and looking up at Dick with sparkling sugar-crazed eyes. And Dick, propping the kid on his hip while they walk to the car, looking down and thumbing at the smear with such adoration that it's clear to anybody looking Dick loves his son dearly.

(Maybe Dick will frame it. He's still going to sue the shit out of Gotham Herald, but Danny's tiny face looks the happiest he's ever been. Double chocolate chip pancakes tend to do that.)

He's almost, almost surprised when his phone starts ringing as soon as he finishes the news article. Afterall, Dick is hardly the only one who reads the news and he knows half his siblings have alerts set for anytime their names pop up in civilian or vigilante identities. Tim's caller ID pops up, quickly followed by several texts from Barbara, Steph, and Duke. He knows Jason and Damian will probably take some time before reaching out. Dick feels a small twinge of guilt for not telling them, but they have a... complicated relationship. Dick has always been more of a parentified figure, solidified more so when Dick stepped in as Batman for a time, than a sibling.

Danny huffs out a heavy sigh on the couch next to him. He's still asleep from his sugar crash earlier, cuddling with his elephant Zitka and dog Haley, as Scooby Doo plays softly on the TV. Dick gently combs Danny's hair back from his face - grimacing slightly at sticky chocolate stuck to a couple strands, how did he manage that?? - when his phone dings for the last time.

This was the text Dick was waiting for.

Dinner tonight at 7pm. Bring Daniel.

Dick glances back to the grumbling lump beside him, smiling slightly as he tickles one small socked foot sticking out from the blanket. He gets a little bunny kick and a louder grumble for the trouble. Another ping and Dick's lips twitch at the hastily added Please. It looks like Alfred beat some common sense into Bruce after all.

He types back K and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. Pats the lump. "Danny, are you up for meeting grandpa?"

It's time to face the music.

(Danny sleeps for another thirty minutes before Dick can't resist bugging him, enduring bunny kicks and tired grumbles. It takes bribing Danny with Alfred's cookies and pizza for dinner to get him out of the blanket nest. Dick hastily calls Alfred to please, please, please make cheese pizza for dinner. Yes, Alfred, really, just cheese. Oh, god, thank you. See you later tonight. They have just enough time to wrestle an owl-eyed Danny into the bath and some non-chocolate-smeared clothing before dinner.)