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ja3yun · 2 months

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Melting Point | Bonus Chapter

ice skater!sunghoon x gf!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (f.rec), pussy muncher hoon is back, unprotected sex, very bad descriptions about ice skating, cheesy and wholesome (not sorry one bit), not proofread, if i missed any lmk! w.c: 12k synopsis: with sunghoon and minhee competing at the winter olympics, you're in the most romantic city in the world. your nerves are strung high for both of them but your boyfriend has a surprise once everything is said and done. masterlist** a/n: hi! my melting point lovers, this is for you and only you! i hit 4k followers on this blog and i thought, what better way than give my lovely people a bc of the fic that got me my first 1k followers! plus, i missed them like crazy and i felt like this was a nice wrap to their story. as always, comments, feedback, reblogs and likes are all welcome.

** if you haven't read mp then this will probably not make sense to you but if you really wanted to, you could read it as a stand alone. this is also dedicated to 🌊 anon bc no one loves mp quite like them 🙏🏻

Kicking your feet, you sit at the edge of the hotel bed, watching your boyfriend pack the last few costume pieces into his gym bag. He looks so pretty in front of you; his dark hair is freshly cut but still long enough that some of his fringe dangles in front of his face. His body is strong and dependable, just like always, and his concentrated look adds cuteness to him despite his typical handsome charm.

The room is filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and the faint scent of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your heart swells with affection as you watch him, every detail etching itself into your memory - the ripple of his muscles under his shirt, the furrow of his brows, and the gentle way he handles even the most delicate pieces.

"I miss you," you blurt out, the words slipping past your lips before you can stop them.

Sunghoon stops packing and looks up, his thick eyebrows raised in confusion. "Sweets, I'm standing right in front of you," he says, pointing to himself with a puzzled expression and a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“I know, but we’ve hardly seen each other,” you begin, rising from the bed and approaching him with a slight pout. “We’ve been in the most romantic city in the world for the past four days, and I’ve seen you for a collective twenty minutes.”

Chuckling softly, Sunghoon shakes his head. “I mean, I am competing at the Olympics. That kinda requires my attention,” he explains, though the playful glint in his eyes betrays the lightness of his tone.

“I require your attention,” you counter, sulking slightly, though you’re aware of the unfairness in your complaint. He’s been relentlessly training for the biggest and final skate of his professional career, and here you are, feeling neglected because he is rightfully busy. You should be cheering him on and savouring every moment you get to spend together, especially since the competition is this afternoon.

Despite your unreasonable grumbling, Sunghoon's expression remains warm and understanding. With a gentle sigh, he pulls you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting your head against his chest. You can feel the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat and the slight rumble of laughter he’s holding back, a comforting vibration against your ear.

"Paris isn’t all that anyway. I mean, what is there to see anyway? Nice restaurants? The Louvre? The Wall of I Love You? Sounds awful if you ask me." The sarcasm in his voice is dripping with humour, each word teasing you softly.

You lift your head to look up at him, unable to suppress a smile at his exaggerated complaints. His eyes, filled with a mix of affection and mischief, meet yours. “You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head but feeling your heart lighten.

Sunghoon leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And you’re my favourite distraction,” he murmurs, his breath warm and reassuring against your skin. “But I promise, Sweets, after this competition, we’ll have all the time in the world to explore Paris. And I’ll make sure to give you all the attention you deserve.”

His eyes gleam with the love he always shows you, but there’s a subtle shadow of uncertainty behind them. Though you haven’t been able to spend much time together since arriving, you’ve been by his side for months leading up to this moment. You understand how much this means to him.

Sunghoon’s training for this prestigious event has been nothing short of gruelling. Hours upon hours spent perfecting his routines, pushing his body to its limits, and honing his skills have left little room for anything else. It was his decision to leave the competitive world of figure skating after the Winter Olympics, shifting his focus to coaching and leading a less hectic life - a choice he is content with. However, this final performance carries immense weight, and the pressure is almost suffocating. Once it’s over, he can finally breathe, but for now, his lungs and heart are trapped in a cage of nerves and anticipation.

“How are you feeling about it?” you ask softly, pressing gentle kisses over his heart, hoping to soothe the tension you know is building inside him.

“Fine,” he replies, but the tightness in his voice betrays him.

You give him a pointed stare, silently urging him to be honest with you. His facade crumbles, and he lets out a heavy sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Shitting myself. If I fuck up, I don’t have a chance to redeem myself. This is what I’ll be known for forever.”

The weight of this final performance hangs heavily on Sunghoon’s shoulders. The relentless drive to be perfect, to deliver a flawless routine, feels almost unbearable. The thought of a single misstep, a minor flaw, is paralysing. He knows that in the world of figure skating, this performance will be his legacy. The pressure to be remembered as a champion, to leave the ice with no regrets, is a relentless force pressing down on him. His heart races at the mere thought of stepping onto the ice, every nerve in his body taut with the anticipation of the moment that could define his career.

“Hey,” you say softly, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’ve already proven yourself time and time again. No matter what happens, you’ve achieved so much. I believe in you, and everyone who loves you believes in you too.”

He shakes his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “It’s not just about what I’ve done. It’s about how I finish. Everyone remembers the ending, and if I screw this up...”

“You won’t screw it up,” you interrupt gently. “You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re more prepared than anyone else out there.”

“But what if I’m not?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. “What if I stumble, or fall, or miss a beat? This is my last chance to get it right. There are no do-overs.”

You tighten your hold on his face, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “Listen to me, Sunghoon. You’re human. Perfection isn’t the goal, that is still the lingering words of your mum talking; it’s about doing your best and knowing you gave it everything you had. You’ve done that already. You’ve pushed beyond limits, and you’ve inspired so many people, including me.”

He closes his eyes, absorbing your words. “I’m so scared,” he admits, his vulnerability laid bare. “What if it’s not enough?”

“It is enough,” you say firmly. “You are enough. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here, proud of you. Always.”

It’s not often you see your boyfriend doubt himself like this, not since his mum has been out of the picture and he has actually started to enjoy skating again. But you can understand why he is so nervous and self-diminishing his abilities. This is the Olympics, something that he has been dreaming about since he was a little boy. That would put a weight on anyone’s shoulder never mind it being the definitive.

You lean up and press a tender kiss to his lips, pouring all your love and reassurance into the gesture. He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening as if drawing strength from your unwavering support. When you pull back, you see a flicker of resolve in his eyes, a reminder of why he’s made it this far.

Sunghoon’s expression softens, a gentle smile spreading across his face. He nuzzles his nose against yours, a sweet and intimate gesture that makes your heart flutter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his eyes glistening with affection as they lock onto yours.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a wave of warmth envelop you. “Well, good thing you don’t have to find out,” you reply, your voice laced with both tenderness and playful teasing.

He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you in a protective embrace, his fingers digging gently into your t-shirt. “I love you,” he whispers, his breath warm and comforting against your ear. “So freaking much, Sweets.”

“I love you too,” you murmur back, letting the words settle between you like a shared secret.

Sunghoon’s smirk suddenly makes an appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Alright, but seriously,” he says, leaning back slightly to meet your gaze with a teasing glint. “Who are you rooting for to win? Me or Minhee?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink at him in surprise. “I’m rooting for both of you, obviously!” you protest, your tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Sunghoon arches an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Come on, Sweets. Let’s say the stakes are higher. Gun to your head, who takes the top podium: me or Minhee?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, swatting at his chest playfully. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Minhee is my brother but also my client. It’s literally in my job description to root for him!”

Sunghoon chuckles, the sound resonating deeply from his chest, warm and infectious. “So, what you’re saying is, if it weren’t for your job, you’d be rooting for me?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to stay serious. “None of you will let this rivalry go, huh? It’s like you both live for these little competitions till this day.”

Shrugging, Sunghoon picks up his bag, slinging it effortlessly across his shoulder. "Old habits die hard," he replies, a sly twinkle in his eye. He reaches out and pinches your cheek gently, his touch light but affectionate. “But I’ll just say you want me to win.”

As you open your mouth to retaliate and defend yourself, he leans in and plants a quick, playful kiss on your nose. The unexpected touch makes your face flush with a delightful mix of embarrassment and affection. You blink up at him, momentarily disarmed by his endearing gesture.

Sunghoon’s grin widens, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Gotta go,” he says, stepping back with a playful wink. “Remember, I’m competing right after Minhee, so try to stick around that area so I can see you. Can’t win without my good luck charm rinkside.”

He makes his way toward the hotel door, his confident stride carrying him with an air of excitement. Just before he exits, he glances back over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and warmth. “I love you, Sweets.”

“I love you more, Hoon.”

_____

The moment Sunghoon walks into the changing room, he is hit by a mix of heat, sweat, and deodorant. It’s not like he isn’t used to it, every sports locker room is the same, even when he used to share it with the hockey boys at the Albion. Sunghoon is a particularly clean person, however, so the sight and scent are still disgusting to his senses.

What is a sight for sore eyes though, is his best friend Minhee sitting under his assigned peg as he ties the laces of his black, shiny skates, his facial expression serious though the task is mundane and easy to carry out.

That’s the thing about competition day, everything is charged to 100 and even the simplest of actions can feel like a monument. And since this has been Minhee’s ambition - even competing at the Olympics never mind winning - he is feeling the pressure like he is a car under a compressor, two seconds away from being crushed scraps and thrown into the heap with the rest of the junk.

Despite that, when he hears someone approaching, he looks up to see his rival-turned-friend-turned-rival for one last day and plasters a smile on his face, hiding the tension in his frame.

“Hey, Hoon,” he greets simply, straightening up to look at him, squinting his eye slightly at the overhead light casting a heavenly glow around the skater. He doesn’t know what watt they have in Paris bulbs but he sure as hell misses the dullness of the Belmore, never complaining about the flickering yellow and burnt bulbs again.

Returning his smile, Sunghoon sits beside him, clasping a hand onto the boy's shoulder and rubbing it slightly, emitting a similar feeling to a brief massage. “Hey, Min.”

“How is my lover this morning?” Minhee winks, enjoying the relief from Sunghoon’s hand. He knew he should have taken up the offer for Wonyoung to give him a full body massage, but he didn’t want to get too loose, or the real reason, fuck her until his alarm blared cruelly in the morning.

Shaking his head, Sunghoon retrieves his hand and sighs, running it lazily through his locks. “Shitting a brick, to be honest. You?”

Spitting out a laugh, your brother nods. “Same. Once this is over do you want to get into construction? I’m shitting enough bricks to build a mansion.”

The sarcastic notion allows Sunghoon to relax and laugh alongside his buddy, the air a little lighter with the ease of the conversation. For Sunghoon, growing up with no friends in this field meant he only had his mum to confide in, who wouldn’t even let him air his worries, stating that it created a negative mindset and would ruin his chances. So having Minhee by his side is a welcomed change.

Your brother and boyfriend have gotten so close since Nationals that you have practically become the third wheel when they are together. You understand, though; as much as you love and empathise with the gruelling training and pressure, you will never understand them the way they do one another.

And with Minhee now crazily in love with not only your boyfriend but his girlfriend Wonyoung, it means you get to spend time with her too. She’s been teaching you how to skate and sharing insights from her own experience managing herself, which has been incredibly helpful for your role as Minhee’s manager. You love having her around, and double dates have become some of the highlights of your life.

Unzipping his duffle, Sunghoon begins to retrieve his handmade costume, looking at it with unfiltered awe. Rina outdid herself this time, the black sheer top with black and red gemstones splattered over it in the shape of a deconstructed heart fits perfectly with his heartbreak-themed performance. You had come up with the idea to skate to a song that signifies farewell but nothing obvious like Adele or Lewis Capaldi, something that people would remember. Eventually, after listening to hours of playlists curated on Spotify, some named after ex-lovers or ‘songs to get over One Direction too’, he finally settled upon Porter Robinson’s Goodbye to a World. It’s not what he is used to, the electronic track a stark contrast to his usual melodic symphonies, but with the song signifying a bittersweet end that promises brighter days ahead, he couldn’t think of a better song.

Once your best friend and Sunghoon’s self-proclaimed stylist heard the song, she came up with this jewelled masterpiece. She felt heartache with a slice of redemption in the lyrics, hence, the heart isn’t broken or whole, it is simply there to feel how it wants to as it trails up his side and over his chest.

Minhee glances over at the top and smiles brightly. “Looks good, man. I’m going to steal her once you retire,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes. He had already messaged Rina the moment he found out she was the one who designed the famous blue National outfit.

“I’m sure she’ll be more than willing,” Sunghoon replies fondly, hooking the top behind him. “She’s changing her final project to costume design. You can be her model. Just be prepared to give her some freebies from those new brand deals you have.”

Ever since you became Minhee’s manager, you’ve done a far better job than your mom did in her 15-plus years of managing him. Brands lined up at the door as soon as Nationals were over, eager to partner with Korea’s number one skater. The initial wave of attention was overwhelming. Your first day on the job was filled with countless emails about potential sponsors and multiple love letters asking you to play matchmaker.

But you made it clear to Minhee that these decisions were his to make. After years of your mom forcing him into deals he didn’t care about for quick cash, you insisted that he choose the ones he genuinely wanted, and you would handle the details. Being the brother you know and love, the first sponsor he accepted was Aston Martin. The promise of a new car to impress Wonyoung was too tempting to resist.

Laughing, Minhee nods in agreeance to Sunghoon’s statement, already planning to steal some cosmetics from the Black Rouge shoot he has in two weeks.

Finishing up his laces, your brother stands and checks the stability of his skates, wobbling back and forth a few times. “I can’t believe we need to get dressed and everything just to wait around for hours,” he complains, thinking about the long wait ahead. The pair have at least 5 hours to wait before they can even take to the ice, and with no practice rink like the Nationals, it’s a waiting game.

“I know,” Sunghoon agrees, beginning to get changed, discarding his casual clothes. “Y/N was hinting at spending some time together this morning. I felt so bad leaving her when I could have taken her to that La Bossue cafe she was talking about on the plane here,” he says regrettably, sleeking his black slacks on.

If anyone understands, it’s Minhee. This is his and Wonyoung’s first holiday together, even though they’re both competing. He wants to spend time sightseeing and kissing her outside Sacré-Coeur Basilica.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he picks up one of Sunghoon’s skates and starts unhooking the strings. This is a trust that had to be rebuilt, especially after what happened between them, but it’s a gesture Minhee likes to do as a constant apology for his previous actions.

“How is my Bubs anyway?” Minhee asks, referring to you. Your absence when he woke up this morning meant he hadn’t seen you yet. It’s not very professional from a client-manager perspective, considering this is the biggest skate of his life, but he’ll let it slide since Sunghoon probably needs your presence more right now.

“Adorably clingy and beautiful as always,” Sunghoon replies, his tone filled with adoration as he recalls your pout when he said goodbye this morning.

The love painted on Sunghoon’s face makes Minhee’s expression fall into fake annoyance. The older skater pretends to gag, a running bit he does whenever you and your boyfriend get a bit too mushy for his liking.

Once Sunghoon has his sparkly costume fully on, he notices Minhee’s antics and rolls his eyes. “Oh, get over it, Min. We’ve been together for over half a year now,” he smirks, snatching his skate from Minhee.

“Don’t I know it? I’ve been stuck watching you both eat each other’s faces for the past four months,” Minhee grimaces in disgust.

“Well, I hope you haven’t been watching me eat your sis-”

“Right, that’s my cue to get the fuck out of here,” Minhee interrupts, raising his hands in mock surrender. The playful banter and easy camaraderie between the two skaters are a testament to how far they’ve come. Sunghoon's laughter fills the room, rich and genuine, a sound that brings warmth to the moment.

“I’ll meet you out there, save me a seat,” Sunghoon says, settling back onto the bench to lace up his skates. His fingers move with practised precision, threading the laces through the eyelets with ease. He glances up briefly, his eyes meeting Minhee’s, a silent communication of mutual respect and friendship.

Minhee pauses at the door, turning back with a mischievous grin. “Do you want anything from catering?” he asks, his eyebrows quirking in a playful challenge.

Sunghoon’s response is immediate. “Yeah, grab me a chocolate muffin.”

Minhee’s expression shifts to one of exaggerated horror, his eyes widening theatrically. “The ones Henrik guards with his life? You want me to die?”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Sunghoon’s mouth, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Minhee laughs a deep, infectious sound. “Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it,” he teases, leaning in with puckered lips, his face comically close to Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon pushes him away with a playful shove, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Get out of here, you idiot,” he chuckles, his tone filled with affectionate humour.

Minhee backs away, still laughing. “Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can do about that muffin. But if Henrik comes after me, I’m blaming you,” he says, pointing a finger at Sunghoon before disappearing out the door.

Sunghoon finishes lacing his skates, a fond smile lingering on his lips. Talking with his friend like this has helped ease some of the lingering apprehension and doubts in his mind. If Minhee can remain calm, or at least fake it, when this skate means just as much to him, then Sunghoon can do it too.

He’s going to make everyone proud out there, especially himself.

_____

You stand nervously next to Minhee, holding his hand impossibly tight as you both await his first Olympic skate. Honestly, you might be more nervous than him. For months, you have watched him batter and bruise his body attempting to perfect the hardest move in his routine—the Quadruple Lutz.

At Nationals, Minhee did the impossible and landed a quadruple Axel, a feat almost unheard of in figure skating. The moment was surreal, the entire arena holding its breath as he launched himself into the air, his body spinning at a dizzying speed. For what seemed like an eternity, he hung in the air, a blur of motion and grace. When his blades touched down on the ice with a clean, precise landing, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar. It was his greatest achievement, a moment of sheer perfection that few skaters ever reach.

Despite this triumph, Minhee knew better than to put his faith in landing it again at the Olympics. The stakes were higher, the judges more stringent, and any minor mistake could cost him dearly. The fluidity and overall performance were crucial here, and a fall on such a difficult jump could overshadow the rest of his routine. Instead, he had decided to go with the Quadruple Lutz—a move that, while safer than the quadruple Axel, was still incredibly challenging and demanding.

For months, he has landed on his ass, the echoes of his chosen song "Home" by Daughter becoming his laughing track until finally, he was able to do it with some ease. Minhee has a habit of getting his blade caught in the toe before launching, a flaw that Coach Kim has grilled him over time and time again because it is a stupid mistake that can easily be remedied.

That is what is weighing him down. He feels confident in his routine, but that one slip could be the difference between standing on a podium and leaving with his tail between his legs. Resting your head on his shoulder, you offer silent encouragement as you see one of the coordinators come over, signalling that it's almost time.

"Minhee," you whisper softly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "I believe in you. You've worked so hard for this, and you've overcome so much. No matter what happens out there, you’re already a champion in my eyes.”

He turns his head slightly to look at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of nerves and gratitude. "Thanks, Bubs. That means a lot," he murmurs, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You squeeze his hand gently, your thumb brushing reassuringly over his knuckles. "Remember, it’s not just about the jumps. It’s about the story you tell out there. Skate like you’re sharing a piece of your heart with everyone watching. And if you get nervous, just think of Wonyoung and me cheering you on. We’re with you every step of the way."

“Y/N, you’re not gunning for my job too are you?” Coach Kim interjects with a teasing tone, poking his head from behind Minhee. You were so wrapped up in nerves you almost forgot he was there. “She’s right though, Min, performance is key here, if you think you can’t do any of the jumps, substitute it and we’ll take the deductions. They will be less than if you crash.”

Minhee takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He nods, a determined glint returning to his eyes. "I don’t need to sub, I can do everything,” he replies with arrogance but you can see the tremble in his chin as he speaks, nerves seeking their way out of his body in any way they can.

“You have been spending far too much time with Park, your cockiness is extra heightened.” Coach Kim slaps him on the back, touch lingering there for added assurance. If anyone believes in him as much as you do, it’s Coach.

The coordinator gives the final signal, and Minhee stands up, releasing your hand but not before giving it one last, firm squeeze. "See you on the other side, Bubs," he says with a wink, trying to infuse some lightness into the moment.

You watch as he heads towards the rink, feeling a mix of pride and anticipation. "Go get em’, Mini," you whisper under your breath, knowing that whatever happens, Minhee is ready to give it his all.

He steps onto the ice, and the world narrows down to the crisp sound of his skates carving through the surface and the soft, haunting melody of his chosen song filling the arena. The starting pose is simple yet powerful: Minhee stands tall and poised at the centre of the rink, his back straight and his gaze distant. His arms are extended slightly, creating a frame of elegance around him. The music begins softly, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in the calm before the storm.

As the music swells, Minhee starts his program with a series of intricate footwork sequences. His movements are fluid and precise, every step and turn executed with grace. His body flows seamlessly from one movement to the next, the choreography reflecting a deep, emotive connection with the music. The audience is captivated by the narrative unfolding on the ice—a story told through every glide, spin, and leap.

Minhee’s first major element is a series of spins, beginning with a fast, clean camel spin. He transitions into a sit spin, his body folding gracefully as he maintains a steady, controlled rotation. The audience watches in awe as he moves effortlessly between the spins, his form perfect and his speed unbroken.

The anticipation builds as he nears the pivotal moment of his routine - the quadruple lutz. Minhee takes a deep breath, his focus sharpening as he glides toward the takeoff point.

He picks up speed, his skates slicing through the ice with powerful, rhythmic strides. As he approaches the takeoff, you can see the concentration etched on his face. The quadruple lutz requires a precise and powerful launch, and Minhee’s years of hard work have led him to this moment. He performs a deep, smooth edge before leaping into the air.

From your vantage point, the moment feels almost surreal. You can see the determination and the slight tension in his body as he completes each rotation. His landing will determine the success of this routine. As he descends, his blades graze the ice with a delicate touch. You watch with bated breath, the entire arena silent, waiting for the impact.

He lands the jump cleanly, his body absorbing the impact with a controlled grace. There is a brief pause as he glides out of the jump, his movements smooth and confident. The audience erupts into gentle applause, filling the arena. Minhee’s face lights up with a mix of relief and elation, his eyes briefly searching the crowd for a glimpse of familiar faces.

When he comes across yours, a blur due to the rapidness of your jumping, he knows he’s done enough to make you proud, which wouldn’t be hard, but it’s nice to see you buzzing with glee now that he has successfully landed his hardest move, giving him enough confidence to finish his performance with intentional but relaxed tension.

As the music reaches its climax, Minhee performs a series of intricate step sequences, his footwork sharp and precise. His movements are quick and expressive, reflecting the emotional high point of the routine. He concludes with a final pose - his arms extended, his body arching gracefully as he holds the position for a heartbeat before the music fades.

The final note lingers in the air as Minhee holds his ending pose. The arena is a sea of applause and cheers, and Minhee takes a moment to soak in the overwhelming response. He smiles, a mixture of relief and pride evident in his expression, as he skates to the edge of the rink to greet his coach and the one person who has been by his side every step of this journey.

You watch with tears of joy in your eyes as Minhee glides toward you, his performance complete. The routine has been a triumph, a testament to his dedication and skill. Whatever the final score, you know that this moment will be remembered as a defining achievement in his career. After all, he had just performed a flawless routine at the Winter Olympics.

Minhee approaches the side of the rink and his face reflects a mix of relief and exhilaration. He bends down to carefully slip on his protective blades. The clinking sound of the skates against the ice seems to punctuate the end of his extraordinary performance. Once he's secured his blades, he makes his way toward you, his steps light but purposeful.

Without a word, you rush forward and envelop him in a tight, joyous hug. The embrace is fierce and full of unspoken pride and admiration. Minhee’s arms encircle you, holding you close as he buries his face in your shoulder. For a moment, the world around you fades away, and it’s just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of shared triumph and emotional release.

When you finally pull back, you can see the glistening in Minhee’s eyes, his smile wider than you’ve ever seen. “You were incredible,” you whisper, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

He grins, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Bubs.”

“Sure you could have, you’re the Kang Minhee after all.”

“Who is nothing without the Kang Y/N,” he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully as the emotions in his body swirl and threaten to overflow through his eyes. But he holds it together, knowing that he still has to wait for the score, easily the most nervewracking part.

As the scores are about to be announced, you both sit with Coach Kim in the waiting area, hearts racing in unison. The scoreboard flickers to life, and the crowd holds its collective breath. The numbers slowly come into focus, each digit reflecting the culmination of months of hard work and dedication.

You glance at Minhee, who is watching the scoreboard with a mix of hope and anxiety. The realisation that he has done everything he possibly could, that his performance was nothing short of spectacular, brings a surge of pride and love.

The first number flashes, followed by another, and then the total score is revealed: '324.60'. The audience erupts into a thunderous roar, and you can barely contain your excitement. Minhee’s face lights up with an ecstatic grin as he takes in the numbers, a little dumbfounded to believe it.

Your eyes quickly scan the leaderboard, and you see the name Yuga Kagiyama at the top. The Japanese skater has posted an even higher score, placing him just ahead of Minhee. But Minhee’s score is nothing short of extraordinary, putting him in a close second place. The competition is fierce, but Minhee’s performance has clearly made a significant impact, and with only Sunghoon and one other skater to take to the ice, his chances of snagging an Olympic medal are high.

“You did it, Minhee!” you exclaim, hugging him tightly again, overwhelmed with pride. Your brother is about to be an Olympic medalist, something you have heard him go on and on about since you were little, and here he is achieving it with you by his side.

You and Minhee embrace, the weight of the moment sinking in. Your eyes brim with tears of joy as you hold your brother, feeling his heart pounding against yours. Coach Kim wraps an arm around both of you, his normally stern face softened by pride and emotion. The three of you stand there, on a small triumphant island amid the chaos of the cheering crowd.

Coach Kim gives Minhee a shining smile, his voice thick with emotion. "You've worked hard for this moment, Minhee. This is your victory. You've earned it with every drop of sweat and every ounce of effort."

Thankful, Minhee puts his hand on Coach Kim’s shoulder and sighs a final breath of relief, happy to have the pressure off his shoulders. "We did it, Coach," he murmurs, a smile playing on his lips. Coach Kim nods, giving Minhee a firm pat on the back, his pride evident.

After a few more moments of celebration, officials signal that it's time to move. As you're escorted towards the exit, Minhee suddenly stops and jerks his head back towards the rink.

"Sunghoon is on next," he says urgently, his eyes locking onto yours. "He’d want you there. Go be by his side."

You hesitate, looking around. "But they won't let me since I'm not part of his team." The rule is that only managers and coaches can be at the rinkside to see off and greet their skaters, and since you are none of those things, the chances of you being able to sneak back and be there for him are slim.

Minhee shakes his head, determined. "He's only got Coach Lee, trust me, he needs you there with your disgusting puppy love eyes to give him support," Minhee jokes, pushing you back the way.

You laugh despite your nerves, touched by Minhee’s playful yet sincere encouragement. "Alright, alright, I'm going!" You rush back towards the rinkside, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The official looks puzzled as you approach, but you quickly explain, "My boyfriend, Sunghoon, he’s on next and it’s his last ever skate before retirement and if I’m not there by his side I would be such a shit girlfriend and he would never forgive me and we would break up and then you would be responsible."

The words tumble out your mouth at record-breaking speed, hearing the announcer already calling out your boyfriend’s name through the tannoys. You don’t mean to guilt trip the poor girl but you’re desperate and couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t try. Either this works or you will throw a tantrum until she has no choice.

Luckily, The official nods quite willingly, allowing you through. “If anyone asks, I never let you by,” she whispers in a thick Parisian accent, stepping aside to let you bolt through. With a quick thank you, you weave through the throngs of cameramen and other personnel to find Coach Lee standing with his arms crossed and face serious.

Once he sees you, his expression lightens, and he tucks you in under his arm. "Glad you made it, Kiddo," he says, his voice low. "He'll be happy to see you here. Give him an extra boost."

Sunghoon glides onto the ice, his face a perfect blend of focus and determination. The music begins, his ears infiltrated with the electronic beats as he hears every word, ready to skate his last competition and start a new life, one where you are his main focus and not the ice.

Sunghoon starts with a series of fluid crossovers, gaining speed before launching into a triple axel, landing perfectly with barely a sound on the ice. The crowd gasps and then applauds, already captivated. Without missing a beat, he transitions into a combination spin, showcasing his flexibility and control, his body a blur of movement. He looks regal out there, the gems from his top catching the light and adding another layer of beauty to it.

As the music swells, Sunghoon prepares for his next big element - a quadruple toe loop. This was difficult for him, something Coach Lee had suggested as his power move, which he spent forever perfecting, both in the rink and out. For a few weeks, he even attempted it on a trampoline to get the projection right. He was so dedicated to making this work that you feel his nerves bouncing off each glide on the ice and straight to your chest.

You hold your breath, watching as he launches into the air, rotating four times with precision before landing smoothly, his blades slicing the ice like a whisper. You resist the urge to cheer loudly, knowing it can throw him off, so instead, you settle for the audience etiquette of light applause.

He moves into a complex footwork sequence, his feet dancing in intricate patterns across the ice, each step perfectly synchronized with the music. His expression is intense, every movement telling a story of passion and struggle, triumph and heartache, beginning and end.

The middle of his routine is marked by a stunning triple lutz-triple loop combination, each jump executed with flawless technique. His body seems to defy gravity, hanging in the air for what feels like an eternity before descending gracefully back to the ice.

Sunghoon's artistry shines in the next segment, a series of choreographic elements that flow seamlessly, his arms and upper body movements expressive and emotive. He glides across the ice in deep edges, his body language conveying the emotion of the music, drawing the audience deeper into his performance.

As the final crescendo of the music approaches, he gears up for his closing element, a breathtaking quadruple salchow. He takes a deep breath, pushes off, and flies into the air, rotating perfectly before landing with strength and grace. The audience erupts in applause, unable to contain their awe at the sheer perfection of his routine.

Sunghoon finishes his performance with a dramatic final pose, the music reaching its climactic end as he holds the position, his chest heaving with effort. The arena is filled with the sound of thunderous applause and cheers, the crowd on their feet in a standing ovation.

He bows deeply to the audience, his face flushed with exhilaration. When he straightens up and turns around, his eyes immediately find yours. His expression changes instantly, his eyes widening in surprise and joy. A brilliant smile spreads across his face, mirroring the elation in your heart.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunghoon skates over to you at speed, his movements as graceful and powerful as they were on the ice. He reaches you in what feels like no time, pulling you into his arms with a mix of laughter and tears in his eyes. It was the perfect passing-the-torch moment, leaving the ice behind to run to you and your future together.

"What are you doing here?" he questions, still trapping you in an iron grip, his voice filled with amazement and joy.

"I couldn’t not be here, it's your last skate," you explain, your voice trembling with emotion. "I had to see it up close. I had to be here for you."

His grip tightens, his head burying into the crook of your neck, grounding himself in your presence. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I’m so fucking happy you’re here.”

You hold him tightly, feeling the rapid thud of his heart against yours. Tears of pride and happiness stream down your face as you soak in the moment, the culmination of all his hard work and dedication. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, and you see the deep gratitude and love reflected in them.

"You were perfect out there," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "Every single moment was incredible. I've never been so proud of you."

“I love you like crazy,” he confesses with the same amount of passion he put into his routine. His lips find yours in a kiss filled with fervour and emotion, the world around you fading away. The noise of the crowd, the flashing cameras, and even the bright lights of the arena all dissolve into a blur as you lose yourself in the kiss.

Sunghoon's hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the heat and intensity of his love. The kiss deepens, each of you pouring all the emotions of the night into this singular, powerful moment. It's a kiss that speaks of triumph, of shared dreams, and of a future together that you both can see so clearly.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, you rest your forehead against his, your eyes locked onto his. "I love you too, Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice full of conviction and tenderness. "More than anything."

Just then, an official approaches, reminding Sunghoon that it's time to get his score. He looks at you, a mixture of reluctance and determination in his eyes. "I have to go," he says, his voice steadying. "But meet me in the hotel lobby at 7pm? I have something planned for you,” he says ominous, a mischievous glint twinkling in his dark orbs.

You mindlessly nod, head racing to come up with conclusions to his riddle. But you know better than to try and guess what Park Sunghoon has in store, instead, you give his lips one final kiss before letting go. “I’ll be there.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he turns towards the judging area, taking the same spot that Minhee did moments ago. He just had to get in the 310s to get bronze, which is by no means feet. But you know he secretly wants the gold, knowing that it’s the perfect icing on the cake for his career.

You glance up at the board, nervously switching between biting the skin around your fingers and your lip. Of course, you were nervous for Minhee, but he had at least one more shot at Olympic gold, Sunghoon didn’t. That mounts immense anxiety onto your chest, hoping that he can achieve victory the way he wants.

The first number flashes on the screen, followed by another, and then the total score is revealed: "331.75." The audience erupts into a thunderous roar, the sound almost deafening.

Sunghoon's eyes widen in disbelief and joy as he takes in the numbers.

He won…first place.

The realisation is gradual, knowing that no matter how good the next skater is, beating a score like that is near impossible, with their average being 287.20, he knows he’s secured gold. Jumping up from his seat, Coach Lee crushes him in a bone-breaking hug, lifting him so his skates are off the ground.

“My fucking champ! I knew you could do it!” he shouts loud enough that the cameras pick it up and probably has to be bleeped to the millions of viewers on the other end, yet, you know they can probably make out how excited and proud the coach is despite the redacted words.

Laughing, Sunghoon nods, eyes roaming the area for you. He wants you to be the first thing he sets his sights on because, without you, this wouldn’t be possible. Your expression is a mix of gratification and pride, your gazes meeting as they whisper poems of love and adoration, even through the distance.

He owes you his entire life for making him see the joy in this strenuous sport once again, and he is going to do everything in his power to repay you for it, and he has his entire life to do so.

_____

Waiting in the lobby at precisely 7pm, you anticipate the arrival of your gold medal-winning boyfriend. In the time between his victory and now, you’ve managed to doll yourself up a bit. While he and Minhee were training the past few days, you took some time to go shopping, picking up a few bits and pieces. Your brother is generous with manager fees, so you can afford to spend a little extra while you’re here.

Now, you are clad in a stunning black Krysta Tulle Mini Dress, reminiscent of the one you wore at your award ceremony back in August, but this one is a bit shorter and more revealing. Sunghoon earned it, after all, and the least he deserves is some cleavage with whatever he has planned.

Speaking of his plans, you’re still in the dark about what he has in store for you. Your mind wanders to the obvious choices like the Eiffel Tower—perhaps he’s managed to get a private dinner booking like you see in movies, or maybe the Louvre instead. Perhaps he’s planned a romantic walk across the love lock bridge; although you can’t participate and adorn the bridge with a new lock that signifies your love, it’s still romantic to see all the lovers of the past and how their stories are still shared.

Suddenly, there is a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see your boyfriend standing there, looking as handsome as ever. His hair is styled in the side parting you always liked, with that one strand curving over his face, somehow highlighting the bridge of his nose which you love so much. Those freckles mark frequent kissing spots.

You’re glad you decided to dress up because Sunghoon is wearing a fitted suit, chic and beautiful, perfectly matching the city’s aesthetic. He looks like a vision, your mind swirling with love and a hint of desire. You’re just a girl, after all—it’s only natural to see your man in a suit and the first thing you want to do is rip it off.

Sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes widen, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire world falls away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the softly lit lobby. He’s always known you were beautiful, but tonight, dressed in stunning frills under the gold-hued lobby of this overly expensive hotel, you look breathtaking.

His heart pounds in his chest, and he feels a wave of emotions wash over him - pride, adoration, and a deep, overwhelming love. The dress hugs your curves perfectly, the short length showcasing your legs, and the neckline draws his eyes to your exposed collarbones and the soft swell of your cleavage. It’s alluring without being overt, and he can’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you pull off such a look.

“You look...wow,” he finally manages to say, his voice filled with awe. His eyes trace over you, taking in every detail - the confident way you hold yourself, the sparkle in your eyes that mirrors his own excitement, and how your heart is beating in synch with his.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he whispers, low enough that only you can hear it.

A laugh erupts from your chest before you swat him with your hand. “You are not getting out of taking me out in Paris just because you can’t keep it in your pants. You roll your eyes to convey annoyance but it’s hard to even feign being stern with him when you were thinking the exact same thing about him.

That fuck buddy sex drive you had never left once you got into a relationship, that much is evident.

“Well,” Sunghoon says, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, “I’m not exactly taking you out in Paris.” He turns around, leading you back the way you came from. His sheepish tone is accompanied by an apologetic look flashing across his face as he walks you towards the elevator.

“Hoonie, I swear to god, if you made me get all dressed up just to take me back to your hotel room to fuck, I will be so mad. I-,” you struggle to think of a bargaining chip in this fight. “I won’t let you eat me out ever again.”

Sunghoon stops dead in his tracks, turning to you with wide eyes and an even wider mouth, his free hand dramatically resting over his heart. “How dare you threaten to take away my favourite activity? That is cruel, so cruel, even for you.”

You can't help but laugh at his theatrics but by Sunghoon’s standards, this is actually quite tame considering the cards you have dealt. He can’t go three days without being between your legs so the punishment you would inflict by taking that away from him is worse than any torture interrogation method.

“Well, you deserve it if you think you can just drag me back to your room.”

Smiling and slightly proud, Sunghoon resumes his position, walking you to the lift and pressing the button. “It’s not my room. It’s a surprise. Just trust me, okay?”

Of course, you do trust him, but your heart beats quicker as you realize you really have no idea what you are getting yourself into.

Stepping into the elevator, Sunghoon presses the rooftop button and you eye him curiously. “The rooftop?” you question, but before you can guess further, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Shhh, don’t try and spoil the surprise I worked so hard for,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck. His lips trail soft, teasing kisses from your jawline to your collarbone, each one sending shivers down your spine.

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, a mix of adoration and desire in your tone. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the anticipation is killing you. His hands roam gently over your back, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body and the intoxicating scent of his cologne make it impossible to think straight, any questions about the roof now gone.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Sunghoon reluctantly pulls away, yet a satisfied smirk sits on his lips as he leads you out onto the rooftop.

To your surprise, the usually bustling terrace is completely empty. Instead of the usual crowd, there is a single, elegantly set table for two. Soft fairy lights twinkle around the perimeter, casting a warm glow. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket on the table, and beyond it, the Eiffel Tower stands majestically, its lights shimmering against the night sky.

You walk forward, admiring the view of the city from this vantage point. It’s full of night tourists and young lovers who share the same depth of feelings as you and Sunghoon do. Never has a place taken your breath away. Granted, you haven’t ventured much out of your home country, but this is unlike anything you could have imagined.

Leaning over the stone balcony, you let out an almost inaudible 'whoa' and cherish the view. “Sunghoon, this is beautiful. How did you manage this?”

He chuckles, pulling out the cork of the overly-priced champagne. “I have my ways. Why would I take you to something a million and one couples do when I can give you something unique?” Sunghoon’s pouring skills leave much to be desired, the overflow of the liquid spilling onto the ground, splashing on his shoes.

Although it should slightly ruin the moment, you can’t help but tear your eyes away from the city and laugh at the less-than-aesthetic scene before you. Sunghoon looks up at you with a sorrowful expression and hands you the damp glass anyway.

“You know, I was aiming for elegance,” he says with a playful pout.

Taking the glass from him, you grin. “I’ve learned you can only do elegance when it comes to skating, it’s okay, baby.”

He relaxes, the tension easing from his shoulders as he joins you at the balcony. Together, you raise your glasses, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the background. “To you,” he grins brightly, tilting his glass to be clinked with yours.

“To me? Shouldn’t it be to your gold medal?” you ask a little incredulously. This night should one hundred percent be about your boyfriend and his deserved win, so why on earth is he cheersing to you right now?

“My gold medal doesn’t mean anything compared to you.” Sunghoon is so sweet with his words, to the point you wonder if he came straight out of a romance novel. But knowing your boyfriend better than anyone, you have a sneaking suspicion about something, more precisely about something possibly around his neck.

Narrowing your eyes, you lower your glass and hold it close to your chest, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re wearing that medal right now, aren’t you?” you challenge, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Sunghoon attempts to play it cool, shaking his head with a feigned look of innocence. “What? Me? No way. I’ve not got an ego,” he says, but the slight twitch of his lips gives him away.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Sunghoon, I can see right through you.”

He sighs, realizing there's no use in denying it. With a sheepish grin, he dips his hand into his shirt and pulls out the gleaming gold medal, letting it sit in the lights for a moment before tucking it back in. “Fine, you caught me,” he laughs.

You give him a weird look, your confusion evident. “Why are you wearing it under your shirt?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful glint in his eyes. “What? I like the way it feels,” he admits, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Not everyone has a gold medal.”

You shake your head in disbelief, eyes rolling as you take your first sip of the golden liquid. With the city of love sprawled out beneath you and the Eiffel Tower twinkling like a thousand stars, the moment feels perfect. Sunghoon wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you both gaze out at the stunning view, savouring the magic of Paris and the joy of being together.

“You know,” he begins, placing his flute down, “I also like the way you feel,” he breathes out seductively, both hands twirling you to face him. As mesmerising as the city is, the look of need in your boyfriend’s eyes trumps it all.

His hands rest on your hips, fingers gently kneading as he draws you even closer. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest, like a million butterflies have just escaped their cocoons and are roaming free around your ribcage. “I’m the lucky one,” you reply softly, tracing your fingers along the edge of his jaw.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with intensity as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace. The night air is cool against your skin, but his touch is warm, grounding you in this perfect moment.

The kiss deepens, becoming more fervent with every passing second. Your heart races as his hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing in all the right places. You clumsily place your glass down beside his, but it’s hard to concentrate because his hands are everywhere - one gripping your waist, the other sliding down to cup your ass. He pulls you closer, pressing your bodies together, his need palpable in every touch.

His mouth moves hungrily against yours, each kiss more intense than the last. You can feel his desire, his longing, in the way he devours your lips. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you can’t get enough of him and the only way to be satisfied is to crawl into his skin. His kisses trail down your jawline, nipping and sucking gently at your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

When he reaches your neck, you gasp, your head tilting back to give him better access. He takes full advantage, his lips and teeth working magic as he moves down your throat. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you against him as he nibbles and licks at your sensitive skin. Your breath comes in short, desperate gasps, the sensations overwhelming.

Just when you think you can’t take any more, he drops to his knees in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, and you glance around, worried about being seen. “What if someone sees?” you whisper, your voice shaky with a mix of fear and excitement.

Sunghoon looks up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Then I’ll make sure we put on a show,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. The thrill of his words sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but tremble in anticipation.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them to the side. The cool night air hits your exposed skin, making you shiver. But his touch is warm, his fingers gentle as they slide against your most sensitive places. He looks up at you one last time, his eyes filled with desire and mischief, before he leans in, his mouth pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against you.

The sensation is electric, his tongue teasing and tasting, driving you wild with need. Your hands grip the stone balcony for support, your legs trembling as he works his magic. He’s relentless, his mouth and tongue working in perfect harmony.

Just like the first time he ever tasted you, he’s losing himself in your flavour, manually putting your legs around his shoulders to allow him deeper access to your dripping cunt. The juices that are leaking from your body are better than any gold medal. Each cry that passes your lips is accompanied by more of your sweetness coating his tongue.

You can’t help but grip his hair now, holding him in place as he lavishes attention on your aching clit. He savours your taste, his tongue flicking and circling with expert precision as he laps you up. Long, slow licks are interspersed with quick, teasing flicks, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He knows exactly what you need, and he gives it to you without hesitation.

Sunghoon's mouth moves with purpose, sucking gently at your clit before delving back with his tongue, exploring every inch of you. He hums against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that has you arching your back and moaning his name. The heat builds inside you, an inferno that only he can control.

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue pressing harder, his movements more deliberate. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as you writhe against him, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, forgetting that with every mewl of his name, there is a greater risk of this entire hotel knowing what you’re up to. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

Finally, the tension that’s been building inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body shaking with the force of your release. Sunghoon doesn’t stop, his mouth and hands guiding you through every wave of pleasure until you’re spent, leaning back against the balcony for support. Sunghoon shoulders most of your weight as you fold in on yourself, your feet still dangling over his broad shoulders.

Sunghoon wastes no time. He gently places your feet back on the ground and rises to his full height, his eyes dark with desire. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, and you taste the remnants of your own release on his lips, mingling with the champagne. It's intoxicating, the mix of flavours and the intensity of his kiss making your head spin.

All apprehension goes out the window as you begin to undo his trousers, your fingers fumbling with the button and zipper in your eagerness. You pull out his cock, feeling its hard length throbbing in your hand. His eyes remain locked on yours, the connection between you unbreakable as you guide him to your entrance. The city lights behind him create a halo around his head, making the moment feel almost surreal.

He pushes into you slowly, and your breath hitches at the sensation. Your eyes remain focused on one another, the world around you fading into the background. The feeling of him filling you is overwhelming, the connection between your bodies electric. The city behind you twinkles in the night, a backdrop to the raw, passionate scene unfolding.

Sunghoon starts moving, his pace quickening as he finds a rhythm that makes you both gasp with pleasure. Your body responds to his every touch, your legs wrapping around his waist to allow him to reach deeper. His thrusts become faster and more desperate, the sound of skin against skin mingling with your moans and the distant hum of the city below.

"God, you feel amazing," he groans against your ear, his voice thick with desire. "I could stay inside you forever."

You grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his skin as you feel the pressure building again. "Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice breathy and needy, "don't stop."

"I won't, I’ll never stop fucking you. I’ll never stop loving you," he promises, his thrusts becoming even more intense, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands roam your back, one slipping down to squeeze your ass, the other tangling in your hair to pull your head back, giving him better access to your neck.

In a moment of heated passion, he takes his gold medal from around his neck and places it over yours, the cool metal resting against your heated skin. He uses the ribbon to pull you closer, bringing your lips together in a bruising kiss. The weight of the medal and the intensity of his gaze make you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

Leaning on the balcony behind you with your elbows, you try your hardest to jerk your hips in rhythm with his, the motion causing him to hiss into your mouth as he tip punctures your cervix a few times, giving him a taste of something more. It’s too dangerous to throw your legs over his shoulders and have you balancing on the edge, he never wants to put you in danger, so he thinks if the next best thing.

Without warning, he flips you around, pressing your front against the cool stone of the ledge. He enters you again from behind, his thrusts more intense, driven by a primal need. The contrast between the roughness of his movements and the serene beauty of the city below is stark, making the moment even more exhilarating.

You brace yourself against the balcony, your moans echoing in the night as he pounds into you with relentless enthusiasm. His hands grip your hips, guiding you back onto him with each thrust, his cock hitting deeper than ever before. The force of his movements sends shivers down your spine, your body completely surrendering to the pleasure he's giving you. The city behind you is a blur of lights and sounds, but all you can focus on is the man who is driving you to the edge once more.

Sunghoon's hands grip your hips with a possessive strength, his fingers digging in as he drives into you with a relentless pace. Each thrust is purposeful, his body moving with a precision born of passion and familiarity. His breaths come in staggered gasps, his face pressed against your shoulder, lips brushing against your skin. The rough stone of the balcony presses into your chest, adding a contrasting chill to the searing heat of his body. The city lights below seem to blur as the intensity of the moment takes over.

"I'm gonna love you until the day I die," he growls into your ear, his breath hot and needy despite the sweetness of his words. The weight of his desire is palpable, sending shivers down your spine. "I can’t wait to make you mine."

His words are a catalyst for the pleasure that courses through you, intensifying with each powerful thrust. Your body is on fire, a taut string being pulled to its limit. You can feel the pressure building to a breaking point, the sensation almost overwhelming as he keeps up his relentless rhythm. The sheer force of his movements pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm yours," you gasp, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own moans. "I’m already yours, Hoonie." Your hands grip the railing tightly, knuckles white, as you brace yourself against the force of his thrusts. The night air is cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the burning desire you feel.

Sunghoon’s breath becomes ragged, each inhalation coming in quick, shallow bursts. His fingers slip around your body, finding their way to your clit with a precision that makes you cry out. The touch is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through you with every stroke. He moves his fingers in tight, swirling motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild.

The combination of his skilled touch and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts is too much to handle. Your body trembles violently as you spiral into another intense climax, the sensation causing you to scream his name into the night. The release is all-consuming, leaving you feeling as though you’re floating in a sea of pleasure.

The intensity of your release acts as a trigger for Sunghoon, who is lost in the frenzy of the moment. With a final, deep, and forceful thrust, he comes inside you, his body tensing and shuddering as his climax overtakes him. His grip on your hips tightens, his muscles flexing as he rides out his orgasm. He collapses against your back, his breathing ragged, and you can feel his warmth spread across your skin.

Both of you pant heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. The city below remains a beautiful, shimmering backdrop, but the focus of your world is now on each other. The contrast between the intensity of your passion and the serene beauty of the Parisian night is almost surreal.

Sunghoon pulls you gently against him, his lips trailing soft, tender kisses along your neck as you both come down from the high. His hands caress your sides, a soothing contrast to the earlier fervour. “I love you so much, Sweets.”

The confession passing his lips isn’t new and you’ve heard it umpteen times just today but somehow this one means a lot more than previous. Maybe it was the setting or the fact his cock is snuggly inside of you, but either way, you cherish it just like the rest.

“I love you, too, Hoonie.”

Sunghoon’s movements are gentle as he pulls out of you, his touch tender and careful. He reaches for a soft napkin from the table, using it to clean both of you with practiced, considerate strokes. The contrast between the cool fabric and the warmth of his skin creates a soothing sensation, a calming end to the intensity of your shared experience. His eyes are locked onto yours with a depth of affection that makes your heart swell. It’s a gaze so filled with love and tenderness that it feels almost surreal, as if you’re both suspended in a perfect, unblemished moment.

“This was perfect, Sunghoon,” you murmur, your voice soft and filled with genuine appreciation. The night has been magical, a blend of romance and intimate connection that feels like a dream. “Thank you.”

Sunghoon’s face lights up with a beaming smile, his eyes twinkling with an emotion so raw and pure that it almost makes you catch your breath. He shakes his head in a modest gesture, though the joy in his expression is unmistakable. “Believe it or not,” he says with a playful glint in his eye, “this wasn’t what I had planned.”

“Oh?” you reply, your curiosity piqued as you watch him with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.

With a dramatic flourish, Sunghoon reaches into the pocket of his suit and retrieves a small, elegant box. He presents it to you with a blend of excitement and nervous anticipation, his hands trembling slightly. “I have something else for you,” he says, his voice a blend of excitement and tenderness.

Your fingers tremble as you take the box from him, the weight of the moment sinking in. You open it slowly, revealing a delicate necklace with a beautiful ring attached. The ring sparkles softly in the low light, its beauty undeniable. Sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on you, his expression a mixture of hope and love.

“I wanted this day to be unforgettable,” he begins, his voice steady but emotional. “When I first saw you that day, crying in Belmore, I knew I needed to protect you from anything and everything bad in the world. I know, our start was rough and we had way too many close calls that tore us apart. But we did it, we got through it which makes me think we can really get through anything.”

He breathes out slowly, before taking his glass from earlier and downing it for dutch courage, causing you to laugh through the bubble of emotion in your throat.

“I thought now, that everything is done and I’m not going to be Ice Prince Park Sunghoon that I need a new title and that could be Y/N Kang’s husband?” The smile grows on his face as he imagined being addressed in such a way, wearing it as a badge of honour. “So I got you this. You can wear the necklace for now, and when you’re ready to be my wife, you can take the ring off and put it on your finger.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the significance of his gesture. The necklace is elegant, the ring a symbol of commitment that transcends the ordinary. Tears of joy well up in your eyes, and you struggle to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, overwhelmed by the depth of his love. “This is...it’s beautiful.”

Sunghoon’s gaze remains locked on you, his expression a blend of adoration and nervousness. He watches as you carefully lift the ring from the necklace and slide it onto your engagement finger. The fit is perfect, and as you look up at him, your smile radiates happiness and awe. “What if I’m ready now?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sunghoon’s face softens, his eyes shimmering with tears of joy as he reaches out to cup your face in his hands. His touch is gentle and reassuring, and he leans in to press a tender kiss against your lips. “If you’re ready now,” he mumbles against your lips, his breath warm and comforting, “then I’m ready for forever.”

The world around you blurs into insignificance as you both embrace, the enormity of the moment enveloping you. The city lights below shimmer like a vast constellation, their brilliance echoing the love and joy that fills your hearts. In the perfect Parisian night, amidst the twinkling lights and the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower, you and Sunghoon stand together, united by a love that feels as boundless as the city itself. The promise of the future stretches out before you, a journey you’re ready to embark on together, hand in hand and heart to heart.

perm taglist (sorry if you didnt read the series): @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @monstanctiny21 @strawberrysavi @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve @heeseungsbm @star-hoon

#enhypen smut #enha smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon x reader #melting point #aj writes

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nighttimealone · 4 days

Text

Cw: Nsfw (141 x fem!reader, live together)

Beside you, Kyle is the first to wake up in the morning. He’ll pad towards the kitchen, enjoying the sight of you making your morning drink silently, before moving to stand right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds he bulge lazily against your ass. He just wants to feel your warmth, how nice your soft flesh press against his cock.

“Just want to feel you, baby. It’s so cold out here.” He’ll unabashedly slip his hands under your pajamas shirt, kneading your breasts and tugging at those sensitive buds, forcing you to stop brewing your drink because you might spill the liquid.

Kyle just want to get an orgasm from you, a gift for you two morning birds, he claims before succumbing to sleepiness and tuck himself back under the duvet, fully content with being the first man making you come undone everyday, and sleeps in 5 more minutes.

You know Johnny will drag you into the shower with him whenever he comes back from his morning jog. You chide him before he engulfs you in his embrace, lightheartedly calling him a stinky man and shush him to go shower first.

So his solution is hug you despite your protest, then pull you inside the bathroom together, stripping off your pajamas and his sports wear impatiently before jumping into the shower with you.

“We’re both stinky now, jus’ thought ye might need a shower too.” Johnny grins when you glare at him, shamelessly pretends he’s just ‘looking out for ye’ while his hands traveling across your body, groping and preparing you for his cock with his hard dick prodding at the small of your back. He’ll never hurt you, but as soon as you’re wet enough for his girthy shaft, he’ll pick you up, stretching you deeply and completely with the help of your weight, groans and growls at how good you are, how your precious pussy takes him so good, ignoring Ghost’s noise complaint coming from the other side of the bathroom door as he fucks you fast and feral, making you unable to care about suppressing your moans and cling onto him, let him keep scooping you in his arms and thrust into you till he empty his balls in your good little cunt.

Finally getting Kyle and Johnny pass out from the alcohol, John and Simon manhandle them back to the bedroom before entering the living room again. 00:13, a glance at the clock telling you it’s late in the night, but it’s just the start for the three of you. Retrieving a bottle of fine rum, John seats you between him and Simon, thighs touching with theirs as you all sip on the wine and chat quietly. “The boys will chug the rum like it’s some cheap beer, they can settle with those just fine.” John chuckles lowly and comments on the awful taste and drinking habit of Kyle and Johnny.

“Those bonkers will stick to your side the whole day and complain if they find out, old man.” Simon chimes in after huffing out a laugh at John’s words.

You snicker along with them, feeling fully content and relaxed with squished between two of your lovers, joking about the other two men you loved while the rum flows smoothly down your throat. Soon your composure slips after few nips of the wine, whining cute and groggily as Simon ravish in the kiss with you, tongues dance and tangle with each other in a slow pace, let him drink down all your syrupy moans and coos in rare gentleness, so John can slickens up your pussy with his lips and your juices, making sure you can accommodate their fat cocks later, and you can’t expect or plead him to sink his cock into you already until him and Simon can see your juices dripping down your soaked folds, praying them to fill you up.

The two men will treat you so well, worshipping their dearest girl in the world. Simon’s fingers and lips are always on you when John squeeze his fat tip into your entrance, gliding in and out slowly and heavily, so all those spongy spots of yours that can make you chant his name like a mantra aren’t missed out. When he put a load in you with a husky groan, passing you onto Simon’s lap and let you lean back on his chest, he’ll plant tiny kisses on your shoulder, murmur about how they love you—will protect you and keep you safe and sound—against your skin. Simon allows him to indulge in the heat and tightness of your pussy, grunting and praising you as he fuck John’s cum back inside you, making sure you take each drops of John’s seeds, like the reliable lieutenant he always is for his captain. The base of his length has formed a creamy froth the time he nips down slightly on your shoulder to muffle his moan, drenching your messy cunt with every bit of his release. “Atta girl.” His croon is added with John’s soothing voice “Yeah, been so good for us, princess.”

They both pick up the glass once again to finish the remaining rum, with you already drifting between your slumber and consciousness, listening to their small chatters as your own lullaby. You don’t know when they’ll finish drinking, or if one of them will nestle their cock inside your pussy again, just to feel your walls clenching down subconsciously, but you let yourself slip into a dream, because they’ll take good care of you, always do and always will.

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thethingswedotomorrow · 11 months

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Crowley has been with humanity since the beginning. The original serpent of eden, he is the first "monster" in humanity's bedtime stories. He is the figurative and literal demon on human's shoulders, always there to guide them one way or another. He's weaved through history itself, and prides himself on an impeccable track record of demonic activity throughout the last 6000 years.

But, naturally, after 6000 years, Crowley finds that he's spent more time pining after a certain Angel than doing any sort of work. Like, an extreme amount of pining.

And it isn't until after the notpocalypse that Crowley realizes that, entirely accidentally and very embarrassingly, he may have accidentally made his pining very, very public.

One of Crowley's favorite ways to waste a day is to take Aziraphale to different museums around the world and watch as the angel wanders around and points out all of the inaccuracies

"Good Lord Crowley, have you seen this painting? Portraying you as a dragon is a tad dramatic, I think. All we were doing were having a picnic. And I have never had my hair looking like that, thank you."

"I don't know Angel, they've got your wings spot on. Wa-Hang on, have they added horns to my head?"

"Oh, I see, suddenly it's only inaccurate when they've got you wrong."

The museums always seem to be miraculously empty, and whenever Crowley mentions this, Aziraphale suddenly finds a new, very interesting piece of art to admire

Crowley admires the lengths Aziraphale goes to to hide the small miracles he's done for Crowley's sake

As if Crowley wouldn't move literal mountains for the angel

*He did, actually, do that once.

In the 12th century, they were having a lovely evening together with multiple caskets of wine, up until Aziraphale complained about the amount of light in his eyes

"Honestly Crowley, all this sun and no shade, it must truly be awful for the humans around here with no shelter. It's a tad much, even for me."

Crowley, even then, immediately recognized this off-hand comment as an underhanded complaint, and knew that would not stand

When the small earthquake passed, Crowley claimed that the nearby church was on a fault line and he was simply doing his demonic duty by damaging holy goods in the area

If Aziraphale realized that the mountain range in the distance suddenly provided much more sun coverage, he never mentioned it.

Currently, however, Crowley follows Aziraphale around, wandering behind him and never truly looking at the things in the museum

In every single place they've ever gone together, there was only ever one thing that deserved Crowley's attention

And it certainly was not an inaccurate model of a 18th century tea set

But when Aziraphale wanders into a hall titled 'Love of the Past', he starts to panic. Just a very tiny amount, basically none at all. A small enough amount of panic that he could deny it, even to himself.

He thinks about the past, towards the beginning, back when Humanity was still getting it's footing and figuring out how to have governments and societies and (the most important part) figuring out the whole alcohol situation

Throughout the years, especially towards the beginning, Crowley began to resent any time not spent with Aziraphale

Everything seemed small and dull when compared to the way the Angel smiled when he saw new type of human dessert, or the way he laughed when Crowley managed to work out a clever comment

And once Crowley experienced those things, he never wanted anything else

He had seen the poetry the humans had written, how much emotion they could pour into a simple piece of parchment or a clay tablet

He never cared for written word, but he was shocked at just how much feeling the humans could manage to pour into words

So after Aziraphale left Rome (after the oysters and the wine and the smiles, for somebody's sake the smiles), he went due east for a new miracle on another continent

Crowley stayed and got well and truly drunk. As he did best.

He had spent a few weeks around the other drunks around the area, most poverty stricken and saddened with some sort of grief of one type or another

It wasn't until a group of poets wandered into his dark corner of the pub that he started to considered writing

Obviously nothing anyone would ever read, he'd ensure that. Every scroll or parchment that he'd touch with a quill would be burnt with hellfire before it left his sight

But, as many of his worst ideas started, he had nothing better to do and too much time to think

So he wrote. He wrote letters, first addressed to nobody, about random thoughts that would pop into his very intoxicated brain. Whether humans would ever find traces of the unicorns they lost on the ark, whether he would ever find a way to count just how many scales he had, whether he would ever reach a point where he didn't have to cover his eyes every day

Slowly, the letters started becoming addressed to 'A'. Whether he was conscious of this or not, he'd never admit.

But he wrote. He wrote to A about Hell, the jobs they required of him, the things they'd have him do. He wrote of the way humans had beaten him to the punch 90% of the time. How they would do things worse than Satan himself could imagine, and they'd never blink an eye while doing it.

He wrote of the way the sun darkened each day that passed without his Angel, the way his wine never seemed to have enough flavor when he was alone.

He wrote of the ways he imagined he could orchestrate an elaborate reunion, a convoluted mess of too much demonic activity in a small area that just happened to have a wonderful new tea, or so he's heard, and wouldn't it be a shame to leave the town without tempting the angel to try it?

He wrote to A about how he was sure he had no heart, no emotions. He was a Demon, for somebody's sake, he certainly had no need for stupid things like that, and so the ache in his corporation's chest when he sees the Angel had to be some sort of malfunction.

Anatural function, surely, that could be fixed with the right amount of aloofness and strong liquor

He wrote of the way the sun always seemed to hit the Angel's hair just right, and Crowley had no faith, he had no God.

But in those moments, with a halo around the angel and that smile aimed towards him, he might consider praying now to a different source altogether, a closer source. One full of life and light and actual proper goodness, not that fake advertised bullshit they plaster on church walls in pretty paintings and sad songs

Crowley wrote for a long while, and found that the writing helped the pain.

Even if only because it brought on memories of Aziraphale, and that was enough to hold him until they met again. It had to be, he had no choice in the matter.

And he wrote so often throughout the ages, and often while he was drunk. And he was so sure, so positive that he had burned every trace of his heart and emotion out of existence.

He had to be. The danger those words could put Aziraphale in was far too great. He couldn't be bothered to care of the danger to himself, but the fact that the very hint of any emotion could come close to hurting his Angel was enough to ensure that they would never come across another being's eyes.

He destroyed every letter and word that described his desire, his pain, his greed. He ripped the words he created out of reality as easily as he had written them. Every time, he burnt the parchment, and every time, it burnt a part of him with it.

And then the Apocalypse had happened. Or, well, didn't happen, he supposed. Really, he wasn't entirely sure if there was a difference.

Because everything had changed, even if the rest of the world hadn't noticed. And he was suddenly allowed to see Aziraphale with no excuse, no half-hearted reasoning behind it. He was allowed to want, and to crave, and he relished it.

And he was allowed to take the angel to museums to watch him fuss over small mistakes humanity had collected throughout the ages

Until he realized that they had, in fact, also collected HIS mistakes.

In a hall. A whole bloody hall. A hall, dedicated to and full of stupid parchment and sappy letters and wine stains over words written so long ago

And honestly who gave them the right? Leave it to the humans to collect other people's belongings and put it on display as their own

And he knew, from the moment Aziraphale read the first page on display, he just knew. This was it. All of it was ruined.

All because Crowley had gotten so drunk and passed out in his room above the pub, and when they'd thrown him out in a drunken stupor, they'd collected his belongings to sell afterwards. And he'd never even realized, so concerned about the next meeting, the arrangement, concerned about anything and everything except the one thing he forgot about and could end them both.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would look up at him, with disgust and confusion and all those emotions that he'd really rather not see on his face, preferably ever, but especially not towards him.

But Aziraphale never looks up. He reads the first page 5, 6, 7 times, being sure to capture every single word. Every wrinkle in the paper, every crease.

Then he moves to the next, and then the next. He repeats this process. Every page, he scours each and every page. Searching and scanning, analyzing every word.

Crowley is frozen at the entrance of the hall, too terrifed to say a word, but too hopeful to leave. He stands there, suddenly feeling the same feeling in his chest that he felt so many years ago, in the corner of the pub, sitting in the dark, wishing for the light that he knew would never come.

He's so panicked, that he doesn't notice Aziraphale finishing the last page, and wiping the tears from his eyes. He startles when he accidentally meets his eyes, and prepares a number of excuses and deflections, all to preserve this shred of peace and safety they had carved out for themselves.

"Angel, I- you really- ngk- humans are so rid- are you hungry? I could eat, I've heard they've got a killer bar around here, and we cou-I can get us there in 10 minutes, ngk actu- scratch that, we could be there in 5, I bet. Museums aren-angel?"

Crowley finds himself stopping the random stream of words coming out of his mouth, when he notices tears in Aziraphale's eyes

"Angel, I-"

That's all Crowley can get out before Aziraphale is walking towards him with a purpose

And suddenly Aziraphale is very close to him

Very very close

And suddenly Aziraphale's lips are on his, and Aziraphale is holding onto Crowley's jacket, and Crowley's hands are just waving in the air back and forth while he processes the last .5 seconds.

By the time he realizes what is actually happening, Aziraphale pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Crowley's, and laughs.

He laughs. Laughs. Aziraphale is laughing and it's a wonderful, beautiful noise and Crowley doesn't quite understand why, but then he's laughing too and then they are both standing there, arms around each other, laughing and Crowley realizes now that all the words he's written, all the praises he sang of his Aziraphale, the way he wished and prayed for his heart and laugh and love

Not one bit of it is at all comparable to the real thing.

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lilacwants · 3 months

Text

ensnared.

18+ notes: ensnared is finally back! coding is a blessing fr... ̤̮ summary: Homelander becomes dangerously obsessed with you, a new supe whose powers of possession challenge his control. Your intense attraction spirals into a lethal game of desire and even power. warnings: Homelander being homelander, sublander, morally grey! fem reader. word count: 1.5k

The Seven's headquarters were never quiet, even in the dead of the night. Homelander paced the halls, his footsteps echoing against the sterile floors. Tonight, though, his mind wasn't on the usual politics of Vought or his public image. Tonight, he was obsessed.

It started a few weeks ago when you had just joined The Seven. Vought had been vague about your origins, only mentioning that your powers were unique and invaluable. Stan Edgar had personally recommended you and it was easy to see why. Your abilities included mind control and a hypnotic form of seduction that even the strongest of wills struggled to resist.

Homelander prided himself on his control, but you tested him in ways he hadn't anticipated. He found himself drawn to you, his thoughts consumed by your every movement and the sultry tone of your voice.

Tonight, he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. The way you moved through battle earlier, your body sleek and fluid like a snake hunting its prey. The others watched in awe, but Homelander felt something deeper—an uncontrollable desire that both excited and infuriated him.

He spotted you on the balcony of one of the observation rooms, alone and staring out over the city. The dim lights cast shadows that danced across your face, enhancing your already enchanting features. You didn't flinch when he entered, your senses attuned to his presence as if you had been expecting him.

"Mesmera," he greeted, his voice a controlled growl.

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Homelander," you replied, your voice a soft purr.

He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto yours. "You're becoming quite the distraction."

A slow smile spread across your lips. "Is that a complaint or a compliment?"

"Both," he admitted, taking another step. He was close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from your body, to catch the faint scent of something intoxicating that clung to your skin. "What is it about you that makes it so hard to focus?"

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. "Maybe it's the way you can't control me," you said, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Or maybe it's because you see a reflection of your own darkness in me."

His jaw tightened. No one spoke to him like this, but you weren't like anyone else. "You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You leaned into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. "I think you like dangerous games."

For a moment, he was tempted to give in to the magnetic pull between you. But he knew that giving in meant losing control and that was something he couldn't afford yet. Not even for you.

"You might be right," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "But don't think for a second that you can tame me."

Your smile widened, revealing a hint of something predatory. "I wouldn't dream of it. I prefer to let the wild remain wild."

The tension between you was palpable, an electric charge that threatened to ignite at any moment. Homelander stepped back, his eyes still locked onto yours. "This isn't over," he said, a promise and a threat intertwined in his words.

You nodded, your smile never faltering. "I wouldn't want it to be."

As he turned to leave, he felt your eyes on him, a silent reminder of the dangerous game you were playing. A game that could tear you apart or bind you together in ways neither of you could foresee.

One thing was certain: in the end, you would both bear the scars of this deadly attraction.

In the days that followed, Homelander found it increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. Every meeting, every mission, every casual encounter with you chipped away at the carefully constructed facade he wore. Your presence was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, making it hard to think straight. He hated the power you had over him, yet he craved it at the same time.

One evening, during a debriefing in the conference room, you caught his eye across the table. Your lips curled into a knowing smile, and he felt his pulse quicken. He forced himself to look away, focusing on the dull drone of A Train's report. But his thoughts were a storm, swirling with images of you, your voice, your touch.

After the meeting, he cornered you in the hallway. The space was narrow, the walls closing in on him as he stood inches from you. "We need to talk," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Is this about my performance?" you asked innocently, though your eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Don't play games with me," he snapped. "You know damn well what this is about."

You arched an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his temper in check. "You've been toying with me. Pushing my buttons. I don't appreciate being manipulated."

"Manipulated?" You laughed softly. "I'm not manipulating you, Homelander. Everything you're feeling is real."

"Real or not, it needs to stop," he growled. "I can't afford distractions."

"And yet, here you are," you murmured, stepping closer until your bodies were almost touching. "Chasing after the very distraction you claim to want to avoid."

His breath hitched as you placed a hand on his chest, your touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. "You're a walking contradiction, Homelander. You say one thing, but your actions tell a different story."

For a moment, he was paralyzed, torn between the desire to push you away and the urge to pull you closer. His mind screamed for control, but his body betrayed him, leaning into your touch.

"You think you can control everything," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. "But some things are beyond your control. Some things are meant to be wild and free."

With a growl of frustration, he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from his chest. "You're dangerous," he said, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and desire. "And not just to me. To the team. To Vought."

"Then maybe you should do something about it," you challenged, your eyes blazing with defiance.

He stared at you, his grip tightening on your wrist. The air between you crackled with tension, a battle of wills that neither of you was willing to lose. Slowly, he released your wrist, stepping back as if burned.

"This isn't over," he repeated, his voice a rough whisper. "I won't let you destroy everything I've built."

You smiled a hint of sadness in your eyes. "I'm not here to destroy, Homelander. I'm here to uncover the truth. About you. About me. About all of us."

As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing control, not just of you, but of himself. The line between attraction and obsession was becoming dangerously blurred, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on without crossing it entirely.

The days turned into weeks, and the tension between you and Homelander only grew. Every encounter was charged with unspoken words and barely restrained desire. The other members of The Seven began to notice, casting curious glances your way, but no one dared to intervene.

One night, after a particularly gruelling mission, Homelander found himself standing outside your quarters. He didn't know how he had ended up there, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He raised his hand to knock, hesitated, and then lowered it again, feeling foolish.

Just as he turned to go, the door opened, and there you stood, silhouetted in the dim light. "Couldn't sleep?" you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

"Something like that," he admitted, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

You stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The room was small and sparsely furnished, a stark contrast to the opulence of his own quarters. But it felt more real, more grounded. He watched as you moved to the window, your silhouette framed by the city lights.

"Why do you do it?" he asked suddenly. "Why do you push me like this?"

You turned to face him, your expression unreadable. "Because I see the real you, Homelander. The man behind the mask. And I think you need someone who isn't afraid to challenge you."

He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking. "And what if I don't want to be challenged? What if I just want to forget, even for a moment?"

"Then you have to let go," you whispered, closing the gap between you. "You have to trust that not everything needs to be controlled."

With a trembling hand, he reached out, cupping your face gently. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. And in that moment, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to do it all alone.

As your lips met, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in a web of desire and defiance. It was a dangerous game, but for now, it was the only game that mattered.

#homelander x reader #homelander fic #homelander imagine #the boys x reader #the boys #the boys imagine #— lena writes 🔖

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hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha · 6 months

Note

hantengu (+plus all of his clones) reaction to their wife giving them their first ever kiss on the lips. This would probably take place like at the beginning of their marriage. Also if you don’t feel comfortable with making wife reader kiss Zohakuten on the lips, you could do like his nose or the area above his lips. Thank you! :))

𝓐 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓛𝓾𝓬𝓴.

Hantengu x Fem!Reader Kissing HCs

Synopsis: The Upper Rank 4's now wife couldn't resist kissing her sweet husband just to see his reaction, or in her case, her sweet husbands.

Warnings: A bit of NSFW elements on Sekido's, Karaku's and Urogi's parts, otherwise it's just a whole lot of sweetness \(>v<)/

Divider credits:

Saradika's roses, golden railing and that weird green thing

Purples sparkles and paint roll splodge thing

Water like waves

Note: OMG THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!! I LOVE IT!!!! ALL OF YOU HAVE THE BEST IDEAS!! (I wrote this really quickly cuz the smut is taking WAY too long for even me so have at it in the meantime, anyways, enjoy the food ^3^) + please forgive me if this isn't too great, this is my first time doing HCs. I couldn't really picture a full on one-shot with this so I turned them to HCs, it's also a great way for me to try it out for the first time (° 3 °) + did not proofread (I never do)

The mere fact that the Upper Moon Four out of all the six (eight) upper moons actually got married, much less got into a relationship and somehow managed to keep it is a shock in itself for not only the other moons but for Muzan himself. If anything, he thought it'd all end in just a few days, but no, his fourth strongest demon is married now. Oh well, he could care less for any of his employees. As long as they did as they were told, they were free to do as they wish.

As for the newlyweds, they were perfect and happy. The wife's family was very happy for the pair, though, they had been under the impression that it was just one man and not a demon that could split into younger versions of himself. That would've been quite the scandal. Now, the day – or in this case, night – after the wedding, they are all simply relaxing in their shared home after having returned from a mission.

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮

— The first thing this little demon does is rush to his wife, sobbing and bawling his eyes out about the fact that demon slayers tried to kill him, claiming that he "can do no wrong" or that he's being "wrongly accused of crimes". It's the same old thing and even then, she listens to every word he has to say as he shivers in her palm.

— Is quite surprised to say the least. He didn't expect the soft lips of his perfect wife to press against his small head but that doesn't mean it wasn't welcomed, if anything he cried more, though this time, not about the fact that he was hunted by demon slayers. Well, maybe that too, but that was only so his wife could pity him more and give him more kisses.

"T-They were all s-so awful! Their b-blades against my n-n-neck was so a-agonising!! It scared me!" He sobbed while hugging her thumb, wiping his tears and snot on the sleeve of his kimono as he continued his complaints. "Oh, my poor husband. Maybe some kisses will make you feel better." She said as she places a multitude of soft pecks on not only his head but also his small body. The small demon could not resist the feeling of his wife's lips against him and thus moved closer so more of his body could gain the sensation of her lips pressing against it.

— Is far too shy (scared) to ask for kisses. Instead, he uses his manipulation tactics to get her to pity him and so she could kiss him. A little bit of guilt here and there but it is all worth it for a few of his wife's kisses.

— Is the one who enjoys getting kissed by his wife the most after Aizetsu and surprisingly enough is very greedy for them to the point where he forgets being shy and simply begs for her to kiss him.

"P-Please kiss me again, d-dear! Just o-one more time!" He pleaded, almost on the verge of crying again at the thought of his wife's show of affection stopping. She chuckles softly at his desperacy for her kisses and is even a little bit surprised at how much he craves them. Usually he's busy cowering in a corner or something. "Of course, my love. I'll give you all the kisses you want." She cooed before her lips pressed themselves against his cheeks.

— Gets extremely flustered if it's on the lips. He'll begin to stutter and perhaps even forget how to speak as his face flushes a bright red despite his still heart not really giving a proper blood flow.

— Must always kiss him whenever he leaves for a mission or in general, or if you go to bed or anywhere else really and it must be on the lips, he will settle for nothing less. And I mean nothing less.

— Will kiss you softly in your sleep if he returns from a mission and you're already lights out before cuddling up beside you.

— Favourite places to kiss you are your lips, forehead and cheeks, how cute.

𝐒𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐨

— Sekido is probably at the patio rubbing his temples, trying to get a moment of silence and peace all to himself after having dealt with his annoying younger selves. Their tomfoolery and clown-like behaviour makes him want to absorb them so they shut up, especially Karaku who doesn't know when to keep his trap shut.

— The tension in his head is instantly relieved at the mere sound of his wife. He had heard her approaching from a few rooms away and is pleased with her presence before standing up to give her a firm hug and sighing heavily to begin his complaining about the other clones.

— Completely caught off guard and stunned to silence when he suddenly feels his wife's lips against his face, only blinking in pleasant surprise as his crimson eyes stare into hers. He never knew how much he liked her kisses until now.

"They are such a pain to manage and it makes want to rip them all to shreds so they could shut their traps for once!" He spat angrily while shaking his head in annoyance. The urge to punch something grew ever so stronger as he then got up to grab and throw something before he was interrupted by the feeling of soft lips on his jawline. "Don't break stuff, Sekido, those are expensive." Her soothing voice rang out in the large space, the soft sound waves of her voice reaching his hypersensitive pointed ears and instantly calming his extreme rage.

— Will immediately ask for more kisses and is not ashamed about it, though that won't encourage him to openly ask infront of the others, especially not Karaku.

— Surprisingly enough, he gets a bit hot and bothered at just your kisses alone and even moreso when on the lips. Poor clone is constantly stressed out that any outlet of relief already gets him so worked up. Doesn't mean it's unattractive, if you know what I mean 👀

"Again." He huffs softly, rough hands grabbing onto her waist and pulling her to his frame before his lips connect to hers. Immediately, his tongue fights its way through her mouth, intertwining with hers and venturing as deep as it could. His hands hold onto her waist firmly before one of his them slips just below her buttock and groped it firmly, the other slipping upwards and cupping her breast.

— He was beginning to enjoy himself before his advances were stopped by you with the excuse that the others would hear and would also want to join, much to his disappointment and irritation.

— Nevertheless, he's well-aware that you're right. While he doesn't mind sharing you with the others in the slightest, he'd like to have you alone for a little while due to how worked up he is.

— Will give you kisses should you go anywhere that's not near them and may even follow you just ensure your safety and expect the same when he's going on missions.

— Favourite places to kiss are neck, lips and jawline.

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮

— At this point, she's had the idea to go around and kiss the other clones to see how they'd react and she had a fair idea of what Karaku's reaction would be. Karaku, who was in the kitchen doing God knows what, was surprised when his wife suddenly approached him and kissed him on the lips.

— I mean, who said he's complaining? If anything, he can put aside time he had made to play fight with Urogi for a few kisses and perhaps more from his wife (⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

"Am I that irresistible to you, sweet thing?" He purred teasingly, face leaning in far beyond her personal space (not that she minds). "Perhaps." She teased back before backing away her head. "Oh no, no, stay a little. I'd like to have some more little kisses from my little wife!" Karaku wasn't going to let her get away that easily, no way. The demon grabbed her hips and pulled her closer before kissing her neck and jawline, slowly trailing his lips upwards towards her lips.

— Instantly got handsy with you (no surprise there), hands busy down there groping your asscheeks as if they were some stress toys while he's busy making out with you. Almost seemed like he wanted to lift you up...

— His mouth was definitely everywhere, especially near your cleavage. The guy has a weird obsession with your boobs and not just in the horny way.

— Was definitely disappointed when you pulled away and said you still have the other clones to attend to but didn't fuss about it. He's just happy he got to get a few grabs on his wife here and there and managed to get a make out session with her, even if short.

"Alright, alright, fine. But were definitely continuing this when you're done." Karaku says before giving her rear a slap and disappearing into the living room as she stood there chuckling at his behaviour. She expected nothing less from the pleasure demon.

— Will often try to engage a make out session with you whether or not the others are present and not giving a rat's ass about what they may think, do, or say as long as he got to taste your lips.

— Favourite places to kiss are definitely cleavage/boobs and neck. He's that guy.

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮

— Shocked but gladly welcomed it as his face gained a light red colour before he kissed back harder. Instantly went soft and (politely) asked for more kisses, also wanting to feel his head be held in her delicate hands.

— Immediately begins to complain about Sekido having yelled at him too much and that he was following orders. Out of each clone so far, Aizetsu appeared the most stressed and frustrated and the only way he could out that was through crying since he didn't really possess any other emotional receptors other than sorrow.

"He always yells so much, it hurts my ears and head... Even when I do what I'm told he still yells." The now crying demon sniffles softly into the crook of her neck. She pat his back softly as she listened to him vent while also scolding Sekido in her head at his brash behaviour. "Please kiss me, darling... Your love always makes me feel better." Even if he couldn't feel the emotion love itself, he loved it when his wife would express her love for him no matter what way that may be (pause).

— The longer this goes on, the sappier he gets as he constantly asks for words of affirmation and kisses while snuggling you more. While he prefers kisses on his forehead and cheek, he isn't too shy to kiss back on the lips and they're not just the soft once you see in those love story movies.

— The man (demon) can kiss just as well as the others, I mean for goodness' sake, they're the same person but at different ages of their shared life (even though that's barely noticeable). Aizetsu can start a whole make out session if he so wished with the way his tongue was dancing with yours right now, but all he wants right now is comfort from the frustration his second oldest counterpart had caused (Urami is the oldest, dumb dumb excluding Hantengu).

— Like Hantengu, he's a sucker for kisses. Please kiss this man anywhere (pause) because he loves it. He'll kiss you too in return, can't only take without giving something in return for his lovely wife, now can he?

— He comes to you when he's sadder than usual for kisses and snuggles so he can calm down or in case the others are too loud.

— Favourite places to kiss are corner of your lip, nose and temple

𝐔𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐢

— Oh boy, this one is already so hyperactive and it only gets worse when he gets attention from his wife, so imagine how giggly and jumpy he was when he suddenly felt her lips connect to his. He could almost ascend to the heavens even though that's not where he's ever going.

— Will demand for more because it makes him happy and according to him, he gets "a pleasant feeling" in his chest that he can't get enough of.

— Will instantly grab hold of her to deepen the kiss, so much so that he forgets she needs to breathe (oopsie). He does apologise for forgetting so there's a plus.

"You taste exquisite, songbird. I could kiss those lips forever and not get tired from it." Said the lively harpy clone before once again going in for a deep and passionate kiss while being mindful of his talons and wrapping his wings around her.

— Guaranteed privacy screen with his wings when your kissing him. It reminds him of how you belong to nobody else but him, that you love only him (and the clones) and have eyes for nobody else. It's also a way of asserting his dominance.

— Absolutely LOVES it when you put your hands on his chest, it fuels his already inflated ego since he's the clone who shows off the most ("How do you like my talons?" ahh). Not only does he like to gloat about his talons and their strength, but he also LOVES to show off his body to you and boast about how good he looks (for you).

— Can't have Urogi headcanons without mentioning his wings now, can I? Since – according to actual research – caressing a bird's wings can get them aroused/sexually frustrated (if you don't do anything else), Urogi loves it when you place small kisses on his wings. It makes him feel oh so good. Sometimes he forgets he can't just grab you randomly and make love to you right then and there. Oh well, a kiss will do for now.

"Kiss my wings, it feels good." Urogi commands rather bluntly as he flared his wings out for her, caressing her face gently to coax her into kissing them. She chuckled softly before doing what was requested from her. She was quite surprised to hear a soft, barely audible moan from Urogi before realising why he wanted her to kiss his wings. That gives her ideas for... future playtime.

— Gets embarrassed when you hear him moan and uses the excuse that you must've heard wrong or teases you about wanting him (I sure do 😝). He will never admit that his wings do more than just get him to moan.

— Favourite places to kiss are ears, collarbone, forehead and lips.

𝐙𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧

Now, hear me out. While I among many other people see Zohakuten as a child, I've got a more complicated view on it. I see Zohakuten as an adult child if that makes sense. I am comfortable with writing him being married to an adult woman because essentially, he is still an adult, like he has the mental age of an 87 year old man. I can write stuff like kissing and even minor spicy stuff for him but that extends only so far (i.e: him purposely shoving his face into Y/N's breasts like Karaku just to get attention or just very slight groping). I will not go any further than that point. No exceptions. He still physically appears as a child.

— Now, this is a little different. After everyone had calmed down and the wife was wandering elsewhere, they all had gotten the sudden strong urge to fuse. They all realised that Zohakuten wants to have a turn and who could blame him? They just got married and not to mention he rarely ever reveals himself.

— Imagine her surprise when she hears a deep voice – somewhere in the range of Sekido's voice – calling out to her "Woman." and turning around to see a the youngest clone standing there with his arms behind his back.

— Of course, like a good husband, he asked how she fared while he was out on a mission and the usual before respectfully asking for a kiss, however, there was a very faint hint of envy present. She knew he was a tad bit envious of his older counterparts being able to gain her affection at any time of the day or night while he couldn't so of course she couldn't resist him.

"I've missed you..." He mumbles softly before wrapping his arms around his precious wife, reveling the feeling of getting to hold her in his arms even if only for a moment. "I've missed you more, my darling." She coos in return before cupping his small face and placing a soft kiss on his lips. Zohakuten in turn intensified the kiss, his fangs grazing her lower lip as he did so and arms tightening around her waist.

— Believe it or not, this little fella is a certified gentleman. Ignoring what he said to the Love Hashira (💀), this boy is the most gentlemanly after Urami. He's the type to hold your hand like those princes with their princesses to assist you when walking down the stairs.

— I mean, everytime he reveals himself, he greets you with a small bow and a kiss to the back of your palm, idk what more you could want from this little cutie.

— Although, he can be quite vulgar, he tones it down a massive amount when he's around you and is less scornful thanks to the calming effect your presence has on him.

— Do not he surprised when he's simply staring at you with a harsh look as if you've just murdered his main body, that's just him suppressing the urge to kiss you.

"Uhm, d-dear?" The wife calls softly to Zohakuten who's been doing nothing but stare at her with the harshest glare she's ever seen him stare at her with. Zohakuten snaps out of his daze as his expression softens before he hums inquistively. "You've been staring at me like I've just sided with the demon slayers. Is everything, okay?" His eyes then widen slightly before he sighs and shakes his head. "Oh... no. I just simply wish to kiss you, that is all." Her cheeks gained a red tint after that surprisingly blunt and honest confession as she then smiles. "Oh, well... Who am I to say no?"

— Is very honest about what he wants if he's caught. Unlike the other clones – excluding Urami – and the main body, who try to hide what they want, Zohakuten is not shy to admit that he wants your lips against his and he will say that with the straightest face.

— Loves it when you kiss his forehead, it makes him feel all soft inside and he doesn't know why or how.

— Favourite places to kiss are hands, temple and lips.

𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢

— His presence alone surprised her even more than Zohakuten, especially when he walked out of the room that Hantengu was in. Urami reveals himself every once in a blue moon due to the fact that he simply wishes not to deal with his younger selves' bickering and monkey business. However, seeing as all the others gained a bit of affection from their wife and that they're newlyweds, he too wished to spend some time with his wife.

— Much like Zohakuten, he's very gentlemanly when it comes to asking for affection from his wife. He respectfully asked if he could hold her and lift her up to his level so he could kiss her properly.

— Hear me out. The best kisser after Karaku. I don't know, he just looks like he has so much experience with women (which he kinda does 😒), like look how massive he is 😳.

She was surprised when a rather large hand gently grabbed her waist to turn her around. "Oh! Hello you!" She greeted happily as she looked up at her massive husband before hugging his legs. He was surprised but allowed it and even picked her up into his arms before kissing her temple. "Yes. I figured why not also be present when the others are gaining your addicting love?" Quite a flirt.

— Urami is surprisingly chill when it comes to kissing yet also really passionate. Like think of just wanting a quick kiss from big ass hubby over there and he picks you up only to give the most leg-shaking casual kiss ever 😫.

— He's quite a flirt. You could almost say he's near Karaku's level just minus to pervert stares, touches and so on. Like, he's the type of "Formal old man dilf" type of flirt and knows how to use his words, he just doesn't do it often due to how rarely he's present and even if he is, he's just mostly quiet (most sane clone).

— Should he ever engage in flirting with you, be prepared to have a face painted red and him drinking blood as if it were tea as he sits there with his most neutral expression.

— I swear, his kisses make you think you're a virgin again with how well he does it. Like, he even uses his fangs to graze your lips and even your tongue softly while also (respectfully) touching you to the point where your legs aren't even jelly, they're straight up water (😏).

Urami felt the familiar grip of his wife's hands on his kimono and knew that he was once again doing a flawless job at making her melt like ice in his arms and he couldn't be more satisfied at that fact as his fangs gently graze her tongue that was being twirled with his as if it were a sort of waltz. "You're doing it again." The tall clone teased before resuming their kiss.

— Holds your face or hands when he's kissing you cuz he's just that guy.

— Favourite places to kiss are hands, neck and forehead.

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ikarakie · 2 years

Text

hopper sees steve as a surrogate son. really, he shouldn't make such a habit of picking up stray children, but he looked at harrington and saw a kid who just... needed someone. saw the vacancy in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. saw the police file, the noise complaints and the few reports from hawkins middle school about suspicious bruises that had been swept away. saw a boy who'd seen too much. who just needed someone to lean on.

so he tries to be that. offers the kid a hand every now and then. keeps an eye on him, all alone in that big house, after everything. after '83 and then '84 and then summer of '85, when he'd signed his medical papers because there was no other adult for him around. it always left him a bit hollow, but he told himself that it was okay as long as he was around. as long as steve knew, deep down, that he could come to hopper for help, even if he'd wait until he was on the brink of overload before doing so.

it's all this that makes the sight of steve's car, that brown beemer that had dropped his daughter back home so many times, pulled into a ditch with the lights off cause his stomach to sink. a million awful things come to mind as he pulls in behind it and quickly hops out of his cruiser.

had he seen something and spiralled into a panic? had he gotten a bad migraine? had he run off into the woods alone?

thankfully, he finds the best case scenario: a slightly flushed and dishevelled steve rolling down a foggy window. grinning like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar when he realises it's just hopper. he's fine, he's in one piece.

what's not fine, however, is the person with him in the backseat. eddie fucking munson, a kid hopper's put in handcuffs more than once. not because he's another boy, who gives a shit about that, but because it's eddie munson. drug dealer, general troublemaker, and definitely a bad influence on his boy.

he does his best to save the judgement this time, sensing the fear emanating off the couple. tells them to be more careful, to go home and kiss or do whatever there instead in case anyone else drives by tonight. munson looks at him like he's grown a second head, (which, fair. usually their interactions go a lot less amicably than this) and steve just tears up and nods. he reaches in to ruffle the boy's hair, ignoring the protests, before reluctantly trudging back to his car and driving away.

he calls steve the next afternoon and gets him to confess that, yes, he is dating edward 'eddie' munson. no, it's not a fling. yes, they're boyfriends, god help him. he gripes about it a decent amount, because really, steve? that one? you picked that one? but he keeps the tone light enough that steve feels comfortable enough to defend eddie's honour amidst laughter. within a week he's got steve sat across from him, eddie by his side looking two seconds away from shitting himself.

"well, boys." he grins, cracking his knuckles. eddie watches. gulps. "let's have a little chat, shall we?"

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sadhours · 9 months

Text

steve harrington x fem!reader

masterlist

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, a whiny, whimpering steve, short

steve makes the prettiest sounds. all the time. even when the mother fucker stubs his toe for the nth time on the foot of the couch. he knows where the little piece of wood is, you’ve lived here for a year together with this couch in the same place yet he stubs his toe on it weekly. and he always makes this whiny, drawn out complaint.

“goddamnit, ouchieeee!” he sings out with his face contorted in pain. every time. and you don’t tell him it’s the cutest sound you’ve heard him make. instead, you always offer a snort or stifled giggle and a comment about how he needs to pick up his feet when he walks.

but by far the best sound he makes is the one right before he cums. when you’re between his thighs, mouth lazily sucking on the head of his cock with his balls rolling in your palm. it’s the same sound he makes when he’s inside you, fingers gripping your hips as he presses deep— as deep as he can go. it’s a strangled gasp, followed by a high pitched whine that makes your ears hot. you always watch and listen in awe. his face contorts prettily, eyelids squeezed tight, brows furrowed, plush lips parted and flushed cheeks.

it’s addictive, you want more than the few seconds of pornographic audio. so you do a bit of research, learn about things like edging and milking and prostate massages. steve’s hesitant to let you near his asshole but he agrees to the other two.

leads to the two of you on the couch, several times. sometimes using your hand to milk his cock. languid and deliberate strokes that stop abruptly when you feel his thick cock twitching in your grip. other times, using your pussy to do the work. those times are harder for you. steve’s cock is long, hooked just right to brush against your spongy spot and you end up chasing your own orgasm instead of dragging a slow, drawn out one from him.

but it all works out in the end, ‘cause steve’ll press his lips right up against your ear and whimper, borderline cry until he releases, deep and hot and so lovely.

you become so attached to the sound, you’ll call him up and work, try to get him worked up enough to hear that tilt to his voice. to hear the desperation and neediness.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader

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goldsbitch · 9 months

Text

That one trip up the stairs

part 5 to That one Christmas flight

summary: The rest of the hotel visitors probably had a bad sleep that night.

warning: unprotected sex, minors DNI (absolutely no plot involved), and all the classic ones - cheesy af, swear words and alcohoI I guess, cliche probably, typos most definitely

PS: Thanks for the support and reactions!! Love you all!

Dancing was great. But simply not enough for two impatient hearts. The kind of tipsy for which alcohol was not enough.

"I got us two rooms. Just in case," he said in the very few moments when his tongue was not deeply in her mouth. "Don't want to make you uncomfortable." Lando was big on consent. This only made Y/N want to fuck him more.

Talking and making out at the same time was becoming a shared past time for the pair. "Yeah? Well that makes two of us. I don't want pressure you," she said in between kisses. "That's the last thing I'd want to do. You don't have to fuck me. I understand the thought of you being inside me might be hard to take in," she said in a low suggestive tone with no other intension that seducing Lando. It was not like he needed to be at this point. He had her seated on some random alcove window on the way to their hotel room, hands full on touching her boobs, legs, kissing her neck, everything all at once.

"Get it? It's a pun," she broke their kiss again for a small moment.

"Yes, I get it. And you'll get it too if you don't stop now." Tongues and lips danced together as if their life depended on it.

"Hm, that might be hard, in fact getting harder and harder. Makes one wonder, huh" she teased and ran few stairs away from Lando.

There was no elevator, but Lando and Y/N sure had the making out while walking on stairs thing covered like professionals. Leaning on walls, nearly breaking a vase with a massive flower arrangement. They hardly noticed a distressed gentlemen walking in the opposite way who then filed a complaint to the hotel about their inappropriate behavior, describing it in such a detail one would expect the premium hotel to somewhat censor - which was not the case this time. When Lando received this email two days later, he had it printed, framed and hung on his bedroom wall. Next to his trophies.

Y/N wanted Lando and for him to want her too. And coming to think of it, she had been lusting for him for weeks now. The public shirtless pictures did not help. And he was right here at her finger tips. Her clouded mind saw no issue in removing his shirt in the middle of the hallway. Quickly working the buttons and the immediately throwing it out of the nearest window.

"Oops," she smiled and bit her lip. Lando stared at her in awe, her playfulness being something new to see in a woman. "Just sort of felt like a crime to have you dressed, you know?" she continued. If he could, he would take her right there. "Let's hope your hotel rooms are close, otherwise you'll be in trouble for public nudity soon," she sang loudly, indeed without a care in the world. Lando laughed, took her by the hand and kissed like as if he was ready to eat her up.

"That door, honey," he pointed to the end of the hallway.

"You're just lucky, aren't you."

And again, Y/N's hands went immediately for the chest. What she did not expect when studying Lando's photos was how smooth his skin felt. She remembered his fragrance working like magic on his skin, but this was a whole another level. She wanted to sink in him. They did not bother with putting the card in the holder, switching on the lights or anything else. It would be hard to find some other pair that took of their shoes so fast. Desire was putting them both into hyper speed.

This time Y/N had Lando pressed against the door, holding him locked by his arms. Lando could have easily escape that if he wanted to, which was the last thing he'd do. Y/N was becoming more driven and forward.

She bit his lower lip. He gasped. "Do you like this?" He nodded and smiled. "Good boy," she replied and continued pulling his hair a little bit more, just to the edge of pain. The she abruptly stopped. Lando looked at her and she instructed him to stay as he was. Her soft kisses started at Lando's ear, moving slowly on his jaw, then neck - where he seemed to be extra sensitive - and then down to his chest, all the way to his toned stomach. She looked up at him and took the hem of his trousers into her mouth. And finally, one of her hands touched his growing erection.

"Interesting," she commented with a hint of being impressed. Lando was absolutely loving that. But as much as he'd like to be in her mouth, he hoped there would be another time for that. He put a finger below her jaw and instructed her to move up.

"Honey, be patient. There steps that can't be skipped," he said as he began to toy with her shoulder straps until one of them fell down her shoulder. "Oops," he remarked mocking her previous actions. "Let me help you." And he moved the second strap as well. Y/N was getting flustered. She did not break eye contact for a second when she was removing her dress, leaving her standing there centimetres away from him only in her underwear. The rest of their clothes was on the floor in the matter of seconds. Both of them being eaten up by their curiosity. It was impossible to stay there standing. Lando pushed Y/N towards the bed in the same was they'd manager to walk up three flights of stairs. Only once she was finally lying below his, with his body hovering over hers was he able to relax and take the moment in. A week ago he would not have believed this was going to happen. His deep philosophical thoughts were gone the moment her hand reached for his cock. A shock wave of horny energy sprung through him and took Y/N nipple in his mouth and started playing with one, hard making sure the other one did feel left out. She was beautiful - this was not a surprise to Lando, but something about the shape of her body, the way she moved, the way how her body reacted to his actions was making her angel-like. Y/N wanted to go slow - if slow meant him waiting another minute maximum before he got into her. She touched him and started stroking him. "I have a proposition," she whispered to his ear.

"Anything," and he was sure he'd do anything she desired at the moment.

"Let's skip the fingers and tongues, I need to feel you like now. I want you inside. And the rest can be a nice breakfast tomorrow."

"I can't have that. Let me lick you once, just to taste, hm?"

"You can do whatever. Just make me happy and make me come, finally."

She was wet, ready and impatient. Lando licked her few times, making her regret her request instantly. It was something completely new. He wasn't just spalling his tongue around like the boys before him had. It was as if he had a secret map and was not afraid to be a little rough with his tongue. "Please, don't stop," she almost begged.

"As you said, breakfast," he joked once he was back face to face with her, being proud of himself when he saw her flustered look. Their bodies acted on their own from that moment. He slowly entered her, making sure to stay aware of her expressions. She had her eyes closed and was gripping his shoulders tightly. First moans arrived. Lando recalled Y/N teasing him on the way to the hotel that she likes to express herself verbally. He hoped this was what she talked about, because the sound she made was one of the hottest things he heard. Lando felt as if he belonged inside of her. Started thrusting slowly - and that was the moment Y/N lost it and let go. The rest was a mixture of blurry pleasure waves coming from all parts of the body, alcohol intensifying the experience for both of them. Lando was trapped in the moment and the rhytmn, watched her boobs bounce as he pushed to her. Y/N felt him present at every inch of her skin, his cock hitting spots she had no idea existed. Small waves of pleasure turned bigger with every move, until she collapsed in his arms and screamed out loud. He could watch that on repeat for centuries. She tightened around him for a good few seconds and then released. Lando sped up and pulled out at the dead last moment, hitting her stomach and a part of her arms. He cleaner her up and they both started catching up on their lost breaths. "Forgot to ask you, do you have a condom?" he asked cheekily. She laughed. "You'll send me your test results later, honey," she laughed, fully exhausted and high from all the hormones. Lando's body felt relaxed, as if someone finally allowed him to go off all the tension. Y/N was still receiving small pleasure waves in her fingertips. Was sex supposed to always be this good, she asked herself, putting her previous hook ups in a completely new light. He reached to her face and wiped a tear of sweat from her cheek. During that her studies her, the way her collarbone stood out and how her chest still went up and down faster than usually. Y/N looked him deep into his eyes. It was so easy, no awkward tension. She admired his pretty face and then kissed him lightly.

He was the one to suggest a shower. Tired Y/N grabbed all that was left in her and went ahead. She got up naked and hoped he was watching her. Which he did shamelessly, trying to burn the image of her ass into his brain for later use.

Lando's hair was all curly and cute. Y/N commented on that to which he responded by splashing some water in her face. It was hard to focus on anything else but the way how Lando looked and glowed with ease. "I'll help you with the soap," he offered dearly.

"Always a gentleman," Y/N remarked as he spread it all over her body, being extra focused on very specific parts.

"I don't think my boobs have ever been this clean, Lando," she said and reached for his again erected penis.

"Hygiene, people tend to underestimate it dearly," he managed to get out before dozing off from the way she stroked him, making him come for the second time today.

They dried each other with hotel towels, when Y/N started to come to her sense and usual brain usage levels. "Do you happen to know what happened to my luggage? Is it in the car?"

"Had it all brought here, I guess it's in the second room across the hall."

"Wow, who would assume for you to be such a planner. Shall we get to the second room? And maybe test which bed better?"

Lando smiled. "I can see you falling asleep while standing, honey."

"It feels nice spending time with you, you know?"

He kissed her once again, cupping her cheek and stroking her hair. They went to the other room, brushed their teeth and laid down. Y/N was gone asleep immediately. He watched for few more moments before also dozing off. If he wanted to he, he would - and he really wanted to.

part 6

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Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @ilove-tswizzle @thehufflepuffavenger1 @superlegend216 @mehrmonga @lovely-blackinnon @mylifeihate1029 @lausdigitaldiary @tswizzleismother @goldenharrysworld @llando4norris @classiclitfreak

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crazy-only · 3 months

Text

beating subby!lando in a grand prix !

pairings: subby!lando x fem!reader

premis: lando gets angry after losing first place to his female teammate so she lets him finish first in something else (･ω<) super smutty !

preface: thanks for all the support you guys are amazing i don’t deserve it ≧﹏≦ and please send requests and stuff, i’ll make sure to read them and write some more content based on your asks ! i’m open for any drivers. while you wait, enjoy lando being dommed <3

“yes!!!” you scream as you pass the finish line, watching happily as the crowd claps at your first-place finish.

“congrats, y/n. well done! another win for mclaren!” your manager praises through the radio.

you smile, parking the f1 car at the first place marker. “couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

hiding your tears of joy, you climbed out of the tight vehicle, removing your heavy helmet.

as you were skipping to meet your mclaren crew, though, a f1 car came flying dangerously close to your legs. you jump back, finding a fellow mclaren driver staring angrily at you from the cockpit of their car.

“not again,” you mutter under your breath, slowly walking away from the stalled vehicle as if it were a momma bear.

“hey!” lando shouts from his car, hurriedly escaping its seat and running towards you. “you can’t just overtake your teammate like that!”

you roll your eyes, trying to shove down the strong urge to choke him and shut him up. “that’s kind of how the sport works, lando.”

yet he doesn’t quit whining, and instead, snatches your hand, forcing you to look at him.

“aw, are we holding hands?” you say sarcastically with traces of venom.

lando steps closer, his height unfortunately much taller than yours. “we might need to if we’re going to be on the same team for the next few years.”

oddly enough, something in you shifted when lando said that with a straight face.

“so, should i let you finish first next time?” you ask, raising your eyebrows and brushing off the weird feeling you felt with lando so close by.

lando blinked rapidly, quickly retrieving his hand from yours. “th-that sounds wrong.”

“you perv! such a dirty mind,” you remark, trying to run away before you start to feel things for the cute annoying guy.

yet, lando leaves you no escape as he imprisons your arm into his strong grasp once again, dragging you away from the flickering cameras of the paparazzi and into his temporary racing room.

“y/n, why must you always drive like a fucking muppet and—“

you ignore lando’s complaints (mainly because they hit harder than what you let him see). even though you only knew him for two months, the boy was a good racer, and you respected that. he’s a big reason as to why you chose mclaren in the first place.

“what’s this,” you murmur while he rambles, walking towards his desk where a notepad lay.

“shit!” lando curses, quickly running to block your path. “don’t you dare,” he says, hiding the book in a hand behind his back.

you smile, sensing a challenge. “no.”

staring into his green eyes you reach a hand around his back, yet his reflexes are faster, moving the notepad to his other hand. you lean against him, his body trapped against the desk. you make fruitless attempts to steal his secretive journal until lando speaks up.

“jesus, y/n,” lando says, cheeks reddening with the close contact. “some personal space, no?”

you sigh, a bit sad, still wanting to see his secret diary or whatever that little notepad of his contained.

“ok,” you mutter, deflated.

he rakes a hand through his brown hair, a bit stressed. “like i was saying, i think it’d be much better if you,”

he continues ranting about the things you do wrong, his current subject about your excessive speeding in the last grand prix in which you placed behind him.

but you can’t focus, as that little notepad flys around in the air, lando’s passion for racing translating to his hands.

and you don’t think about it before you finally make a grab for the book. lando, a bit shocked, loses balance and falls back to his bed. he latches onto your arms in panic, forcing you to fall rather hardly onto his big body.

“ugh,” he groans, head hitting the back of the bedframe.

you smile and open the notepad while his consciousness was still weak. but you don’t find what you were looking for.

you found something much, much more shocking.

“lando, what the fuck!” you screech, still on top of his body. “why does it say right here that i almost crashed into carlos on turn three?! are you taking notes of my fucking races?”

you punch his shoulder hard, only making him groan harder.

lando, face frowning in dismay, tried to get up, but you pressed your body weight onto him.

“no, no, no, lando.” you say, tutting at his sorry excuse of running away. “you need to explain yourself.”

“fuck.” lando raises his arms and nervously fiddles with hair. “i just—i don’t know—wanted you to be safe and shit.”

you frown in confusion, flipping through the pages only to find more details of your supposedly dangerous racing style, highlighted in bold: she needs to slow down!

“shit, lando,” you say, trying to understand why he would do such a thing. “you obsessed with me?”

he sighs. “no! i’m just a good fucking teammate and want to make sure you don’t crash into me and kill me in the next race!”

you rest your head onto his chest, utterly confused. hearing his rapid heartbeats and rise and fall of his chest, you know he’s nervous.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur, tracing the curves of his flexed bicep. “i can take advice. just don’t like rude comments.”

your teammate, clad in his compression shirt and unzipped racing suit, groaned.

“god, this is so fucking embarrassing.”

you smile and look up at him, feeling like maybe lando wasn’t actually so bad after all. “you’re cute.”

lando purses his lips, pushing your shoulders away. “just get off of me already.”

you shake your head, curious to see how lando would react. “what if i want to nap,” you say, pointing at his chest, “right here?”

lando looks up at the ceiling and scrunches his eyes. “y/n, stop it.”

you hum in question, rasing your body so you could see his face better. “stop what?”

“you’re-you’re getting me fucking hard right now, y/n,” lando rasped out, his hands covering his tomato-red face.

“i knew you were a pervert,” you murmured, rasing a hand up to gently caress his face, feeling the stubble on his chin.

lando’s eyes opened, surprised to still see you on top of him after his dirty confession.

enthralled, you look between his eyes and lips, wanting to feel the passion of a man that just wanted the best for you. you’ve never had anybody this sweet before.

“lando,” you whisper, playing with his brown hair, “do you like me?”

he nodded, bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

that was all you needed before pressing your lips onto his, smiling as he let out a deep groan. he broke away, looking up into your eyes a bit sporadically and shyly.

“can i touch you?” he asked quietly, cautiously placing his hands on your waist.

unsatisfied with his pg-placement, you tugged his hands towards your ass, knowing that’s where he secretly wanted them. “are you this shy with all of your other girlfriends?”

“i-it’s just different with you,” he said, sheepishly looking down at your shirt, green eyes widening at your semi-exposed cleavage.

“lando?” you say, scoffing as he attempted to take his eyes away but simply couldn’t.

you take advantage of the moment and sit up to straddle his waist, discarding your shirt and leaving you in a sports bra.

“happy now?” you say with a curved brow.

but lando seemed to become a different person after you stripped, his hands tugging your bra off so your top half was naked.

“h-hey!”

lando moves your hands that cover your tits, an inexplicable urge in him to feel you. he latches his mouth on your nipple, causing you to shudder.

“fuck, lando,” you whisper, head bowing at the sweet sensation of his lips.

growing in confidence (and simply wanting to please you), lando started playing with your other tit with his hand, looking up at your pretty reactions.

“you’re so pretty, y/n.”

you brush lando’s hair back, kissing his forehead. “should i let you finish first this time?” you asked, smiling.

“please?” lando squeaks out cutely, watching as you take off his racing suit and bottoms.

drawing his boxers down you find his dick, way larger than expected and as hard as a rock. “fuck, lando, you’re so fucking big.”

“i know,” he chirps with a grin on his face.

you scoff, watching his conceited face turn into a concentrated one as you lick his tip, tasting his precum.

his hand clenched into your hair. “mmm, please don’t tease me, y/nnn, m’begging you.”

“what happened to that cheekiness of yours, hm?” you ask, drawing your index finger slowly up and down his dick.

“fuck,” he whimpers, hips jerking. “please, please, fuck!”

you take off the rest of your clothes along with lando’s shirt, marveling in his defined abs.

you climb over so your pussy was over his dick, teasing him by licking his nipple. you laughed as he merely whined more, eyes lidded. you pumped his cock, its desperate veins showing.

“y/nnn.”

“okay, okay, baby, need it so bad, hm?” you ask as you lower slowly onto his dick, just now remembering how big he was.

“fuck,” lando gasped, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. “feels s’good.”

you, on the other hand, were trying your best to maintain your composure, wanting him to finish first this time. he stretched you in all the right places, making you moan as you starting sensually riding him. that goal of yours seemed more and more impossible with each stroke you felt.

“shit, so tight,” lando sighs out before grabbing the small of your back and pulling you down to kiss you deeply, humming and moaning in your mouth.

you bite his bottom lip that he himself bites so often. “been wanting to do this for a while. selfish to keep them all to yourself, baby.”

lando blushed profusely. “such a flirt.” he played with your tits, making you leave breathy kisses on his neck. “must be a player.”

you shook your head, riding him harder, a bit pissed at his conviction. “dumbass,” you say in between pants, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping. “only you,” you murmur.

lando grins cheekily, pupils blown out, as he places his veiny hands on your hips, helping you slam down onto his perfect cock. “oh, yeah?”

you roll your eyes. “how. do you. still manage. to piss. me off?!”

“dunno,” he murmurs, taking his right hand and rubbing your clit, making your head fall back. lando was good, you realized—why hadn’t you done this sooner?

but you held your release in. lando needed to be first—there was no other option!

so you kissed his collarbones, finding he was particularly sensitive there, smiling as he let out breathy whines.

“such a fucking bottom,” you murmur. “even though you try to seem like a badass on the track.”

lando’s face becomes more fucked-out.

“i’ll always beat you on the track, baby; accept it.” you tug lando’s hair, getting a better view of his eyes. “want me to give you some tips, hm?”

“quit it,” lando gasps, watching as your pussy enfolded his dick rapidly.

you nudged his chin up with a finger, his green eyes so soft. “you wish.”

you kiss him gently, his cock twitching inside you as he moaned, hands grabbing your hair rather forcefully and crushing his lips on yours. almost as if he were scared you’d evaporate.

“fuck, y/n,” he moans in between kisses. “don’t deserve you.”

with a smile you break away to leave pecks on his jaw. “who knew lando was this sweet?”

“need—mmm,” he groans out. “need to cum, fuck.”

suddenly a knock sounded on the door, followed by a, “lando? you in there?”

the both of you paused your movements, staring at each other in horror.

“hey, lando, the press is waiting!”

“fuck it.”

you ride him even harder, sweat dripping down your body, and whisper while staring into his wide eyes, “think you can stay quiet?”

with that, your teammate ruts his hips into you, chasing his release with his eyes on your face. he grinned as you also unraveled from the sudden force on your cervix, pussy tightening around his already-clamped dick.

“fuck, baby,” you whine, “so strong.”

as his strokes became more sloppy, lando came down, panting hard as he watches your pussy squirt. both of you, blissed-out, rest for a bit on each others’ heaving bodies.

“so hot, fuck,” he whines, his cock already hard again.

lando was about to beg for another round when a familiar voice shouted from the outside, “lando! i can hear you! clean up—we’re running out of time!”

lando gasps as you laugh loudly. “we gave him a performance, didn’t we?”

your teammate sighs with an annoyed expression. “fucking hell. why’d he listen to us?”

fastening into your racing suits once again, you get ready to leave the room before you notice something very important on lando’s face.

you go to wipe the lipstick kiss marks you left on his pretty skin when he stopped your hand, murmuring, “this is my first place trophy.”

with grins on both of your faces, you and lando walk out of the room, hand in hand, battling the paparazzi together. every time lando looks at you, he thinks of the hickies trophies he’ll give to you next time.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando smut

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k1ss0fjudas · 7 months

Text

untitled mean lucifer fic

(first time posting something like this anywhere but regardless of that, enjoy. all lowercase and not beta-read. just slightly edited wordvomit pretty much. written and uploaded on mobile.)

tags/cw: nsfw, lucifer being mean, gender neutral reader/mc, dub-con (implies that lucifer wouldn't stop if you asked him to but only bc he knows whats best for u. ur rlly into it i promise), degradation + name-calling, puppy play, creampie, spanking (a little), breeding mention but not too in-detail - thats abt all i can think of.

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lucifer fucks you like he hates you.

when he allows you to warm his bed he makes sure you know it is a mercy on his part to even let you touch him, let alone in the haphazard, careless way you do— impatient and needy and pathetic.

an excitable, dumb puppy is the image he always circles back to; especially when you're on your knees and peering up at him with those wet, lost eyes of yours— tongue out and panting like a bitch in heat for a taste of his cock. you're so pitiful.

aw, don't look so sad. there's always a fondness for you nestled in his chest. who can blame him when you're such a tantalizing little thing? you're simply too endearing to ignore. you were made for him; made to be picked up by his own two hands and have him break you into something fun.

he knows you won't disappoint. mammon can talk all he wants with that idiotic mouth of his, you are lucifer's pet, and being lucifer's pet means that you will always entertain him without fail. it's what good pets like you live for. you really think lucifer would settle for anything less?

and what a good little pet you are, making such sweet sounds when he truly starts the process of breaking you in, bending you over the bed— ass up and face down so you can be properly bred and mounted like the dirty little mutt you are.

his hands are tight around your hips in case you decide to run away. you have a tendency to believe that you have any say in how lucifer plays with you. it's nothing a little punishment can't fix.

when light spankings aren't enough to tame you he pulls on your hair and makes it hurt, tormenting you even more with a mean little chuckle when you whine at him for 'being too rough'. if he's feeling especially evil he'll chastise you with a heavy slap to your ass to remind you that a "good little whore takes cock with no complaints." dumb cocksleeves like you always remember your place after a few good and hefty slaps.

and what kind of owner would he be if he didn't cum inside and mark you as his? you know he's reaching his limit when he starts to breathe a little heavier— huffing and puffing through clenched teeth as he presses your face even deeper into the bed. if you bitch and moan he might even try to suffocate you a little just as a reminder that you are his puppyslut to fuck and abuse. not even you can tell him how to use your holes, whether it be to satisfy him or to simply breathe.

you should be thanking him, really. you like to pretend you hate it when he's mean to you like this but he feels the way your fuckhole squeezes around him when he is.

it's okay, he'll treat you the way you deserve.

and what you deserve is to be collared and leashed, fucked and bred, used and abused. all of that is something lucifer can provide so make sure you lay there and take it all when he suddenly pushes balls deep inside you and cums. it's hot and so thick and there's just so much of it that you can barely hold it. you should pray to whatever there is out there that it won't leak onto the bed, unless you want lucifer to click his tongue and scold you, muttering something to himself about how he "should have known that a stupid whore like you would be incapable of doing something as simple as being a cumdump."

what a shame, really. oh well. that only means that you're going to have to be pumped full of cum for the next few hours until you learn to be a proper cumrag. aw, don't look so scared, puppy. you're only going to turn lucifer on even more.

in fact, he's already hard and rearing to go, pressing his tip against your freshly broken-in hole. he'll fuck you even rougher and he'll be so smug watching you struggle beneath him. aw, trying to run away again? that simply won't do.

now be a good little bitch and take it.

#obey me x reader #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me reader #obey me mc #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x you #obey me smut #obey me nsft #obey me shall we date

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sweetkpopmusings · 11 months

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heart-fluttering moments with stray kids <3

a/n: just a quick post to prove i'm still here! life is demanding, but i will always be on that sweet delulu agenda, so i hope this brings you some joy whenever you read it <3 these boys really do make my heart flutter regularly :,-) pics not mine~

content: fluff, can be read as nonidol!straykids | wc: 1.2 k | warnings: none really! | pairing: stray kids x gn!reader | requests: open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

chan♡‧₊˚

when you make him laugh.

chan loved acting childish with you. he could let his guard down; with you, he could always have fun. games were more enjoyable, conversations were more playful, and everything was brighter when you two were with each other. you both relished in the feeling of being childish together. the living room, coffee shop, sidewalk–these were all your playground. chan was extra certain of that when you cracked a particularly clever joke in response to his teasing comment. he laughed, eventually giggling with pure delight because it just kept getting funnier. you couldn’t explain why, but your heart soared every time the sound of his laugh met your ears, and it didn’t feel like this sensation would stop any time soon. that sound, you decided, was more enjoyable than any game of childhood makebelieve ever could be.

minho♡‧₊˚

when he protects you.

minho viewed you as one of the most precious people in the world. sure, that meant that, at times, he got a little too doting, scolding you for minor injuries that normally wouldn’t bother him. it was annoying but still sweet, so your complaints were lighthearted whenever they came out. you were not complaining, however, as his arm gently guided you through jampacked downtown crosswalks. cars and pushy passersby abound, yet you only felt a rush from the rustle of his jacket against yours and the way his eyes checked on you every few seconds, ensuring you were still by his side in the mess of it all. he even pulled you out of the crowd to ask if you were okay. you thought you’d always be okay, as long as you could stay with him. so you said, yes, thank you, minho. if you weren’t too busy calming your own heartbeat, you might have caught a glimpse of minho’s pink-tinted ears.

changbin♡‧₊˚

when he buys you a gift.

changbin felt so excited whenever he got to spend a day off with you. today, your schedules aligned well enough to take a day trip, and changbin never stopped smiling, giggling, or showcasing his joy in some way. you joked around with cheesy accessories in tourist shops, stared in awe at gorgeous antiques, and enjoyed each other’s company as though the day would last forever. changbin made sure it felt like that when he handed you a simple necklace, saying i bought this at that thrift store while you got us coffee. i thought you could have it as a reminder of a happy day we had together, whenever you’re down or i’m away. you accepted it, a soft thank you, changbin falling from your mouth as you latched the chain around your neck. he laughed his signature laugh, and you knew that, necklace or not, you’d never forget this day.

hyunjin♡‧₊˚

when you tell him he’s beautiful.

it wasn’t every day that you got to spend quiet time with hyunjin. that’s why every opportunity was special–well, more special, as any time with hyunjin was precious to you. you’re both relaxing, enjoying the soft sunlight that washes over your reclined bodies on the picnic blanket. you turn to look at him, and you’re struck by the beauty of the man beside you. he glows, all perfect angles and warm soul. when he asks why you’re staring, you reply because you are so beautiful. his eyes spin with wonder and gratitude when he looks at you, and you feel more beautiful than you ever have in your entire life. he smiles, pauses, and replies, so are you. only seven words were exchanged between you two, yet it felt as though you both had poured your hearts out over the remnants of your favorite snacks littered about the blanket beneath you.

jisung♡‧₊˚

when he looks over at you.

you’re about to watch a movie together for the first time. not just any movie, though. you’re about to watch jisung’s favorite because he has deemed you worthy of such an important endeavor. you two sit close to each other on the couch, not completely intertwined, but the space still a clear indication of how comfortable you are together. there’s a glint–excitement, mixed with fondness–in his eyes when you catch his gaze. the smile on his lips is sweeter than anything else you’ve ever seen. this moment, this fleeting exchange with jisung, is sweeter than anything else you’ve ever experienced. you’d refuse to admit it, but the way he looked at you is the reason your cheeks ached from smiling before the movie was halfway done. you had to admit you loved the movie, though, when he looked at you with his bright brown eyes, clearly grateful to have shared this experience with you.

felix♡‧₊˚

when you two make a promise.

felix was out of town again, so your weekly hangout had to be over video. felix, being sunshine personified, still managed to warm you up through the screen. it was getting late for you, though, and felix noticed before you did that your eyelids were starting to get heavy. you protested against his you need sleep! i’ll be here when you wake up, so please go to bed! but felix knew how to coax you into listening. after all, he knew you better than most, and he cared about you even more. he said so, asking you to promise that you’ll call as soon as you wake up. the beaming smile on his face that appeared after your promise truly left you breathless, and all the more certain to call him every day, if that’s what he wanted. you could even hear that smile when he picked up the phone, and his signature warmth filled your chest as soon as he said you kept your promise!

seungmin♡‧₊˚

when he tells you the truth.

seungmin wanted to take you to an arcade, so you both could let off some steam in a lighthearted, cost-effective way. while that sounded good in theory, you both realized that was impossible when the stress and cost of the claw machine overtook your night. it was still fun, and neither of you would give up until at least one plushie was in your arms. on your 23rd try, you couldn’t hide your furrowed brow or frustrated huff when the plushie slipped out of your claw fingers at the last second. seungmin laughed beside you, saying you look ridiculous right now. you frowned, and, still laughing but not wanting to kick you while you were down, seungmin clarified that it’s cute. you were grateful for the neon lights, hoping they blended with the blush on your skin to save your dignity, as the smile that grew on your face gave too much away. seungmin must not have noticed because he just slid into place in front of the claw machine. as you watched him focus, however, you noticed that a smile never left his face, despite failed attempt after failed attempt.

jeongin♡‧₊˚

when you confide in him.

jeongin knew something was on your mind when you were less enthused than normal during his shopping haul. he made himself comfortable near your spot on his bed, saying you can tell me, you know? only if you want, though. you smiled, cherishing the ease with which jeongin pulled out your trusting side. without going too much into it–you still wanted to enjoy his fashion show–you admitted that you had been more stressed than normal lately, probably creeping your way toward burnout. he sighed, understanding completely and immediately, and asked what can i do to make you feel better? like magic, that alone made your world shine brighter, but you asked him to continue showing off his clothes, because that was as close as you could come to admitting how much better he made you feel just by being there.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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temis-de-leon · 4 months

Text

Day 17 - Jealous kiss

Characters: Solomon x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: none, just fluff. Developing relationship.

Getting used to only seeing the moon, especially an unfamiliar one, was something that took more of MC’s time than they would like to admit. The darkness, loosing track of time and the drop in temperature were one thing, but it was the lack of vitamin D what proved to be a significant problem. Their body weakened and their mood plummeted to the point where even Lucifer panicked.

Fortunately for all of them, the solution was as simple as adding certain foods to their diet, mainly fish, and of course the brothers bought enough to feed an entire army. In the end, however, MC grew sick of it and resorted to consuming vitamin D supplement pills.

Then they had the dilemma of finishing the whole stack of seafood that filled the entire kitchen, including the fridge, the freezer and the cabinets. Not even Beel could force himself to gulp it down and soon Satan had the genius idea of feeding it to the stray cats.

They would get rid of the awful smell that roamed the house and other cats would visit in hopes of getting more gourmet treats, because where else would they find salmon or trout? At first, obviously, Lucifer refused in fear of any animal creeping inside the house while no one was looking, but once Asmo begged for the damn dead fish to get out, no one dared to complain.

So that’s where they were, the Avatar of Wrath almost crying in happiness while cats climbed all over his body, his younger brother beside him taking selfies with the cutest kittens and MC in a more secluded space giving all of their attention to a particular cat. It had greyish blue eyes and striking long white fur, stained with dirt, but beautiful nonetheless.

A certain sorcerer with similar features stared at them while they cooed at the cat, kissing its nose, scratching its ears and massaging its little paws.

“If I didn’t know you any better”, MC said with uncharacteristic pompousness “I’d think you were jealous”

“Me? Jealous?”

Solomon’s expression was mischievous, but a glint in his eyes betrayed him. He was definitely jealous.

“You must be imagining things, my dear MC”

The term of endearment made their heart flutter, still vulnerable to his teasing even after weeks of endless flirting. Those who weren’t close to them already thought they were dating and after the kiss they’d shared a few days ago during RAD’s latest festival, they might as well be.

It had been a nervous gesture, too short for both of their likings, but MC hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The taste of soda on both of their lips, his hands on their waist, gently keeping them close.

The memory made them feel like a love-struck schoolgirl.

“From the way I see it, you’re simply being too selfish with your affections”

They turned to the side to look at him with an incredulous smile, hugging the cat close to their chest and rubbing its belly. Solomon’s eyebrow twitched at the sight.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Isn’t it clear?”

“Enlighten me”

Solomon opened his mouth to speak, but his words got stuck in his throat when MC shimmied their way to his body, resting impossibly close to him and letting the cat smell his RAD uniform. He smiled with genuine care and scratched its chin, once again unknowingly increasing MC’s heartbeat.

“Look at him, how handsome he is” murmured MC, their head oriented towards the cat, but their eyes directly looking at the blushing sorcerer “His white hair, his grey eyes… I could kiss him over and over and over again…”

And so they did, hoisting it until their heads were at the same height and enthusiastically pressing loud kisses on the fur. It smelled bad, but they did it anyways.

“Are you being mean on purpose?”

MC laughed at his childish complaint, trying not to make too much fun of his pout and his crossed arms. He only looked at them again when they finally let the cat go and threw themselves at him, making Solomon gasp in surprise.

“You’re funny”

The whisper clashed against his lips and became inaudible to everyone but them.

This kiss was even shorter than the one they shared at the festival, but it eased Solomon’s frown and it made his small smile reappear. He hugged their waist before they could get too far and deepened the kiss, not letting them go until a delighted screech reached their ears.

By the time they turned around, Asmodeus had already taken a picture.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation @owlisbuffering @chizukimp4 @ravenredwine @darkflowerav @craftysclown @mehkers

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me fluff #obey me writing #obey me drabble #25 kisses challenge

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headkiss · 2 years

Text

single thread

part 1, part 2, part 3

pairing: spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve has a big secret and convinces himself he needs to stay away from you to keep you safe. that’s tough to do when you’re his neighbour.

word count: 8.2k

warnings: spider-man!steve au, some violence (r is attacked and a pocket knife is mentioned but nothing major happens), blood/injuries, strangers/sort of friends to lovers (ish?)

a/n: i really liked writing this one and i hope u guys like it too!!! spidey!steve is something i’ve wanted to try for a while and here it is!!!! he’s my baby <3

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

When Steve moved to Indianapolis, not once did he think he’d get bit by some radioactive spider and gain super powers. Yet, here he is, swinging through the city like something out of some comic book. Sometimes he doesn’t even believe it’s real, and it’s his life.

On his way home, he spots his building easily, the route embedded in his head. The corners to turn, the spots to shoot his webs.

Stuck to the wall beside his window, he tries to open it and realizes he left it locked. “Idiot,” he grumbles to himself.

With a groan he jumps down, landing in the alley. He throws his clothes over his suit and makes sure nobody’s around before slipping the mask off and into his bag. For once, he uses the actual door to enter the building.

He opts for the stairs and when he makes it to his floor he sees you in the hallway. He resists the urge to go back down and wait a couple of minutes.

His door is across from yours, and when he walks over, you’re quick to send him a smile and a ‘hello.’ He nods at you and faces his door, unlocking it quickly and going inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s that he doesn’t want to involve people in his life when it’s gotten so complicated. He has Robin in the city and that’s about it. And he already worries enough about her. If he’d met you pre-bite, things would be much different.

He’d return your kind smiles and greetings, he’d tell you when he likes your outfit or thinks your hair looks really nice (which is pretty much every time he sees you, even when you think it’s awful).

He’d rather not put you in any danger, though, so he doesn’t. He just thinks you’re pretty and keeps it to himself.

You don’t know any of that, however, so you’re convinced that Steve doesn’t like you and you have no idea why. Every time his only response is a nod or a limp wave, you wait until he’s out of sight to frown, to scrunch your eyebrows.

You try to think about what you might’ve done.

You first met Steve when you moved into the building, your hair held away from your face with a clip, baby hairs sticking to your damp forehead, and your sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder. Not your best look.

He must’ve heard the thump of boxes hitting the ground, the mumbled curses you kept uttering. Knuckling at his tired eyes, he opened his door and peeked his head into the hallway.

“What the-”

He shut right up when you turned around, smiling (almost wincing) at him.

“Hi,” you introduced yourself, and he repeated your name so quietly you didn’t even hear it. “Sorry about the noise. I have a lot of stuff.”

He nodded, looking at the few boxes in the hall, “you’re moving in?”

“Yeah.”

“You need some help?”

“Seriously?” He half nodded, half shrugged. “That would be great. Thank you so much.”

“Sure. ‘M Steve, by the way.”

Steve. He’s pretty, you thought. Brown, fluffy hair and soft eyes, a mouth you think must look even better when he smiles.

He carried the heavier boxes without complaint or breaking a sweat. His arms flexed with the actions, but his face was completely unaffected. You were amazed. And probably stared at him too much.

When every box was inside your apartment, you’d thanked him, and he’d brushed it off saying it was no problem and went back inside his own place.

No problem, like he didn’t carry box after box for you because you couldn’t afford movers.

Now, with your back against the inside of your door after seeing him in the hallway, you replay that meeting once again. You can’t figure out what you did. Worse, you think, maybe you didn’t do anything at all and you’re just someone who’s easy to dislike.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if he wasn’t so good looking. If he didn’t make you nervous whenever his eyes glanced over you, if you had actual friends to occupy your time, if you didn’t want him to like you so bad.

If, if, if.

You try to stop thinking about it and pick up the book you’d left on your coffee table. You have to reread passages, distracted and unfocused.

The bookstore’s been slow today.

You’ve been keeping yourself as busy as possible, even with an empty store. Dusting shelves, re-organizing sections that looked fine before, switching displays around. Eventually you gave in and sat behind the counter with a book, watching people pass by the front windows.

The sun set at some point, sinking behind buildings and leaving the city lit by streetlights and warm glows seeping through windows.

As boring as it can be, you wouldn’t be doing much different if you were at home. Finding things to do to pass time, sitting around aimlessly. At least here, you get paid for doing it.

When it’s time to close up you’re not sure if your sigh is from relief or disappointment. You’re lonely often, but it’s harder to ignore it when you’re all alone at home, no people around at all, even if they’re mostly just passing by on the sidewalk.

You go through the list, sweeping, setting the alarm, shutting off the lights, and locking the door.

The night air is cool, light wind blowing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair. The usual sounds surround you. Honking horns and tires rolling against pavement, indistinguishable voices and the click of the bookstore door locking.

You keep your keys in your hand while you walk home, one of them sticking up between your knuckles. Just in case.

One foot in front of the other, again and again, you walk along the sidewalk. Your footsteps a steady rhythm, hands tucked in your pockets to keep them warm, head bent to avoid making eye contact with any other pedestrians.

Only a couple of minutes from your place, you can hear someone walking along behind you. You shake your head, telling yourself they’re probably just headed in the same direction.

That reassurance disappears when the stranger whistles at you.

You don’t look up, you don’t turn around, you just keep your head down and walk faster, your heartbeat speeding in your chest. You’ve seen stories of what can happen to someone walking home alone. You never thought you’d have one of your own.

“Hey, cupcake! Where you going?” His voice is scratchy and scary. You pick up your pace even more.

At your ignorance, the man speaks again, “I’m talking to you.” His hand grabs your sleeve when he says it.

More afraid than you’ve ever been, you jerk your arm from his grasp and stupidly turn down an alleyway as a shortcut. It’s a horrible decision, but when you’re scared like that, it’s really hard to think straight.

You feel bad for being annoyed with people in horror movies. You get it now.

You’re almost jogging now, but it doesn’t deter the man. No, he catches up and grabs your wrist, twisting you around and pushing your back roughly into the brick wall of the building behind you.

Your wrist is slammed against it where he grabbed you, no doubt scratching your skin and making you flinch, your keys falling from your grasp.

This is it, you think. I’m gonna die here. Alone.

Your eyes water, a tear drips down your cheek and the man laughs in your face. You try to break away from his hold but he doesn’t let up. The only thing you manage is to knee him in the thigh, but it doesn’t do much.

“Nice try, cupcake. I’ve got you now.” he says. That’s when you notice the glint of a pocket knife in his hand.

“Please. Don’t,” is all you can say, trying and trying to get your arms out of the man’s tight hold. Tight enough to bruise.

Steve’s hair stands at the back of his neck, on his arms. Until now, his patrolling had been quiet. Easy fixes like an elderly woman not crossing the street quick enough or a man who’d locked his keys in his car.

Now, his instincts tell him this thing isn’t so small.

Without a second thought, he jumps from where he’d been perched at the ledge of a building and swings in the direction his senses take him. In your direction.

One second, you’re squeezing your eyes shut, thinking it’s the end, and the next, there’s the sound of someone landing in the alley and the thwip of a web.

The man is pulled off of you so fast you can barely keep up. There’s a flash of blue and red, hints of webbing being shot, and just like that, your attacker is knocked out and stuck to the opposite wall.

Your chest heaves and your back slides down the wall, landing on your bum on the pavement.

Steve turns around now that the man’s been dealt with and he thinks his heart stops for a second. He hadn’t realized it’d been you. You and your sweet smile, now turned to tears streaking your cheeks.

He thought, without him, you’d be better off. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should’ve been keeping an eye on you. For now, he’s sort of glad he hasn’t spoken to you much, only because there’s a better chance you won’t recognize his voice.

Steve moves to crouch in front of you, “are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His hands hover by the sides of your face, like he’s holding himself back from touching you. Restraining himself.

Spider-man is in front of you. Spider-man with his suit and white-eyed mask who just saved your life is right there in front of you. So much for a slow day.

You shake your head and wipe your cheeks with your palms, “no. No, just- um, just my wrist, I think.”

“Can I look?”

You hold out your arm for him to see, and he moves his hands down, one tugging back your sleeve and the other holding your wrist gently. The fabric of his gloves brushes against your skin lightly, careful not to touch you where you’re hurt.

“Doesn’t look sprained. Just scraped,” he says. He looks up from your arm to your face, the eyes on his mask narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt anywhere else?”

He sounds genuinely worried. Like, you can hear it in his voice. It makes you want to cry all over again. You’d always thought that when Spider-man dealt with the bad guys, he’d just move on. Now, you can see that he cares a lot more than that.

You shake your head, “I’m fine.”

As fine as you can be after what just happened.

He nods and stands, offering you his hands to help you up. You pick up your keys and accept, slipping your hands into his. He pulls you up and squeezes your fingers before letting go.

“Will you let me take you home?” He asks.

You’re sort of in shock, and you’d rather not walk anymore. So, you agree.

He opens his arms for you, picking you up easily with a single arm wrapped around your waist. Your own arms go around his neck, legs tentatively wrapping around his waist.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you almost whisper.

He hears you loud and clear, your mouth close to his ear, his senses seemingly even more heightened than usual with you around.

“Hold on,” he says.

Then, you hear the whip of his webs and you’re in the air. Your limbs tighten around him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

The wind rushes all around you. In your ears, your hair, your jacket. The city does, too, lights flickering by and buildings growing distant over his shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“You okay?” He asks over the wind.

“Maybe!”

You can feel his chest rumble with a chuckle. You wish you could’ve heard it, too.

He swings you towards your building when he remembers he’s not supposed to know where you live, “where to?”

You tell him, yelling over the noise not realizing he can hear you just fine normally. You don’t know about those superpowers, focused on the ones that have him transporting you home.

He gets you there quickly, landing just outside the front entrance. You stay wrapped around him for a second before you realize you’ve stopped moving. You remove yourself from him so quickly he has to steady you with hands on your upper arms so you don’t fall.

“You okay from here?” He checks, his head lowering to catch your gaze.

“Yeah. Thank you for…” Saving my life, making sure I’m okay, taking me home. Everything since you landed in the alley.

“Just doing my job.”

“Right. Thanks again,” you turn to head inside.

“Goodnight. And take care of your wrist!”

“Goodnight, Spider-man.”

Steve sees you more often after that night. He thinks the universe might be punishing him. Making him see you more, making him work harder to keep his distance.

He tossed and turned the entire night after bringing you home. He wondered if you were actually okay, trying to listen in case you were crying or having a nightmare. He worried so much more than he would have if it had been any other person and he hated it.

He saw you the next morning. You were checking your mail at the same time as him. Your sleeve had ridden up, exposing the scratches on your wrist from the brick wall, the faint bruises of fingerprints, your eyes tired.

“Are you okay?” He couldn’t help but ask, gesturing limply at your hand. Maybe if you give him a convincing yes, he can finally stop thinking about you so much.

You look down at your arm when he asks, quickly tugging your sleeve back down to cover it up. “Oh. It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing. He knows it isn’t because he was there and he saw at least a part of what happened to you. He can’t let you know that, so he just nods and turns to his mailbox, listening to your footsteps as you walk out of the mailroom and back up to your apartment. His fingers twitch by his side.

Steve’s used to feeling protective over people, that’s not new, but to feel so protective over someone he barely knows hasn’t happened before. That night haunts him. Your tear-streaked face, the blooming bruises on your arm. He never wants to see you hurting again.

Maybe that’s why he starts returning your greetings in the halls, actually pausing to ask how you are, to smile back at you (they’re tight-lipped smiles, but it’s something).

He’s trying to be kind without getting any closer. No matter how much he wants to know you.

One day, as Steve’s heading out for the late shift, you’re just getting home from your own job, it seems. The clip in your hair has loosened since you put it in, strands falling freely around your face. For a second, Steve has the urge to tuck them behind your ears.

He pushes that down.

“Hi,” he says, his door shut behind him.

“Hi, Steve.”

“How are you?”

“Okay, thanks. Tired,” you fiddle with the frayed hem of your knitted sweater. “Had the opening shift today.”

“Ah. Any plans?”

“Probably just gonna take a nap.”

He nods. For a second you think he might’ve asked because he wanted to do something with you. It’s a stupid thought and you push it away.

“Have a good nap, then,” he gives you the close-mouthed smile that’s become more common between you, and heads towards the stairs.

The shift in his behavior towards you hasn’t been huge, but it’s been enough for you to notice it. He talks to you sometimes—always briefly, but still—he doesn’t turn away from you as soon as he gets the chance like he used to.

It’s confusing, but you’re happy about it anyway. Maybe he just needed some time to warm up to you a bit. Maybe he doesn’t hate you after all.

Inside your apartment, you change into sweats and practically collapse onto your couch, playing something mindless on the TV and pulling a blanket over yourself.

You really are tired, but it’s not only from working early. Lately, your dreams have been haunted by rough hands, dark alleys, and flashes of blue and red. You constantly feel like there are eyes on you, and when you walk home from closing shifts, you always search for a certain superhero at the tops of buildings.

You fall asleep at some point, and by the time you wake up, it’s dark outside.

Days seem to blur together. Repetitive and tiring all the same. The only thing you have to look forward to lately is your short conversations with Steve in the halls.

You’re not sure how many days later it is when you fall asleep on your couch again. This time, you’re woken up by noises coming from the hallway, right by your door. You get up slowly, feet hitting the cool floors as you walk over to your door.

You don’t know what time it is, but from the darkness of your apartment and the random game show that plays on your TV, you know it’s late.

Peeking through your peephole, you see Steve, fumbling with his keys and almost limping. You open the door.

“Steve?”

He shuts his eyes when he hears your voice, all sleepy and worried.

Like an idiot, he’d left his window locked again and had to use the door after a night of patrolling. A worse night than usual.

You gasp when he spins to face you, one of his eyes swollen shut, a cut on his eyebrow, his nose bleeding, and another cut on his lip.

“Oh my god,” you step forward a little, leaving your door open. “What happened?”

“I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.”

“You’re bleeding,” you say. “Come on. Let me help you.”

You grasp his arm lightly in both of your hands, and when he doesn’t protest, lead him into your apartment.

Steve’s suit feels tighter now, scratching his skin where it sits because he worries you’ll see it despite his layers on top of it. Still, he could use some help. And he can’t bring himself to be upset that you’re the one helping him.

“You don’t have to,” his voice is scratchy.

“I want to help you, okay?”

You bring him into your bathroom, making him sit on the toilet lid. You leave him there for a bit, coming back with some ice in a dish cloth.

“Here, for your eye.” He takes it from you and sucks in a breath when he presses it against his swollen skin.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“‘Course.”

You pull out your first-aid kit from under your sink, setting it on the counter and taking out what you need. You grab another cloth, wetting it in the sink.

“Here,” you stand between his legs, using a bent finger to tilt his chin up towards you. You wipe the dried blood from his skin in silence, Steve’s eyes shut, yours running all over his face.

You’re surprised he trusts you enough to let you do this. You wonder if this is why he’s so closed-off. If maybe he’s involved in something that gets him hurt. Often.

An underground boxing ring, debt with bad people, so many possibilities cross your mind, not a single one being the truth.

Once his face is as clean as it can be, you move on to disinfecting the cuts by his eyebrow and lip. “This might sting a little.”

“S’okay.”

His face pinches a little bit when you dab away at his cuts, but he doesn’t make any noise. All you can hear is his deep breaths and the small sound of his leg bouncing.

His nose hasn’t bled anymore since you cleaned it, and he keeps the ice over his eye the entire time. The cut by his lip looks much smaller when there’s no blood surrounding it.

Only his eyebrow needs a small bandage, which you grab and unwrap. “Last step.”

He feels you press the bandage on, your fingers lightly pushing the sides onto his skin to make sure it’s stuck. The process, he finds, hurts much less when you do it.

He misses your warmth when you step away from him. “Thank you.”

“Are you in trouble, or something? What happened to you?”

“It’s not a big deal. I swear.”

He hates lying to you, but he convinces himself it’s better this way. For your own good.

You don’t look convinced but you drop it. “Okay.”

“I should go,” he stands from where he’d been sitting and waivers a little, leaning on the counter.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine, just got dizzy.”

“You can take the couch, if you want. It’s not a problem, really.”

“I live across the hall, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He steps towards the doorway and has to pause again. “Or maybe I’ll stay. If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t.”

You walk him to the couch, letting him lean on you whenever he needs to along the way. He sits down, and you go to get him a pillow and blankets.

This is the longest amount of time you’ve ever spent with Steve, and it pinches at your heart that he’s hurt during it. That he only needed help, not company. Even so, you fight a smile when you come back to the living room and find him laying down, already half asleep.

You spread the blankets over him. You take the pillow you’d brought him and guide him to lift his head. You’re convinced he’s asleep, so you let yourself push the hair off his forehead just once.

When you turn to go to your room, he catches your hand in his.

“Thank you, honey.”

Honey. That’s new.

Steve was already gone when you got up the next day. The only evidence of his visit the blankets he’d left folded up on your couch and the washcloth stained with his blood you used to clean him up.

Every time you pass his door you think about knocking and checking on him. About making sure he’s okay.

You’ve been worrying a lot more ever since the night you were attacked and saved by Spider-man, and that goes for more than just yourself. You worry about every person you see walking alone, about Steve being hurt again, about noises you might be imagining at night.

You probably look over your shoulder fifty times on your way home from the grocery store, your hands too full with your bags to be able to defend yourself if anything happens.

You breathe out when you make it in front of your door. You’re safe, you’re fine, you have to tell yourself.

In your rush to get your keys from your pocket, you drop two of your bags. “Shit.” Boxes and cans thump against the floor.

Steve hears everything, all of the time. He hears you curse and the sound of your stuff hitting the ground. He blames the fact that he heads to the door on boredom and nothing more.

“Need some help?” His voice startles you.

“Oh! Hey, Steve. It’s fine, just dropped some stuff.”

You set the rest of your bags down, kneeling to pick up things that fell out of the ones you dropped. Embarrassed, you keep your head ducked.

Steve can sense it, the way your pulse jumps a little around him. He doesn’t know whether to be glad or worried that he makes you nervous. Either way, he bends down beside you, helping you pick things up.

A bag of apples, a can of soup.

You both reach for the bags at the same time, fingers brushing before pulling away. Like there was a shock, a little spark where your skin met for the briefest second.

Before you can, Steve picks up the bags. “I got ‘em. You get the door.”

“I- Okay.”

You turn around and fumble with the lock, opening your door and walking inside. Steve follows you and puts your bags on your kitchen counter.

“Good?” He checks.

“Yeah. Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem, honey. Think of it as payback for you patching me up.”

Honey. Last time he said it, you chalked it up to his tired state. That excuse can’t be used this time, and the term warms you.

“Right,” you look him over. His injuries are almost gone and it’s only been a couple of days. At least, you think it has. “You’re feeling better?”

“You did a good job,” he says.

“I’m glad.”

He nods, rocks back onto his heels once, “so, um, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

He nods again and heads out, shutting your door behind him. With every conversation you have, Steve seems to warm up around you just a bit more. You don’t want to hope too much, so you push your hair from your face and turn to put your groceries away.

That evening, when you’re getting ready to cook dinner—a simple spaghetti and meatballs—you realize you’ve never seen Steve bring groceries into his apartment. Not once.

He must eat, you know that, but you wonder if he eats well, or enough. You cook for two without realizing until it’s finished. There’s extra of everything.

It’s probably stupid, maybe weird, but you make a bowl and head out into the hall. You knock on Steve’s door, three little taps of your knuckles against the wood.

He hears the knocks right away, listens closer to hear your voice mumbling to yourself. He knows your voice well. Sometimes, he can hear you humming to yourself in your apartment. He doesn’t try to listen in on you, but it’s like his ears subconsciously seek you out.

Steve opens the door and sees you in the same clothes as earlier, a shy smile on your face, and a bowl of spaghetti in your hands.

“Hey. What are you…?”

“I accidentally made too much food, and I thought maybe you’d want some?”

Actually, you made too much food for him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh,” his heart does a stupid jump in his chest. You’re so kind and you don’t even seem to be trying. If anything, you seem to be embarrassed about it, like it’s a fault. “That’s really nice.”

“It’s just pasta. You want it?”

“Sure,” he takes the bowl from you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I promise it’s not, like, poisoned or anything.” You wince at yourself, “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s not poisoned.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Okay. Um, enjoy.”

He stands in his doorway while you go back inside, his smile spreading as soon as your back is turned to him. He heads inside after you do, kicking his door shut.

He’s never smiled at a fucking bowl of pasta the way he does. It’s getting harder and harder to make himself avoid you, avoid that light in his chest that seems to brighten when he sees you.

He’s in trouble.

You bring him dinner often. At least twice a week, on days you don’t work or when you’re pretty sure he’s home.

He thanks you every time with a close-mouthed smile and brings back your dishes the next day, perfectly clean.

It feels like, over time, with every dish you bring him, a chip falls away from the walls he’s built up around himself. You can tell there’s a lot of them, and that they’re tall, but you don’t mind waiting for them to lower piece by piece. He’s worth that wait, you think.

You’re happy to cook for him—you’re cooking for yourself already anyway—and you’ve grown closer because of it. Something like friends, almost. The conversations seem to grow longer each time you see him.

Sometimes, on good days, he even invites you inside to eat with him.

You aren’t very close, but right now, he’s the only friend you have (besides your coworkers, who really only hang out with you because they have to). You’d think the way you get excited to see him would be sad if it weren’t for how nice he is, for how he makes you feel.

He listens to you when you speak, his eyes don’t stray, either. He always tells you he likes your cooking when you know it isn’t all that great. He even hugged you before you left his place once, his arms around your waist, hands running over your skin delicately before he pulled away.

“Thank you for dinner,” he’d said. “Again.”

“I like making it for you. Makes me feel useful.”

“Still. Thank you, honey,” he’d surprised you with it, moving close before you could really process it.

“Oh,” you’d stupidly let your arms hang limp for a second before wrapping them shyly around his neck. “I don’t think my cooking is this good.”

“It’s not just your cooking,” he’d told you.

He pulled away after that, leaving your body warm and your smile difficult to suppress.

You’re well aware you have a crush on him, but you don’t want to let it ruin the beginnings of the friendship you’ve built.

Steve’s not sure what the pull he feels towards you is, like one of his webs is tethered to you even though he can’t see it. It’s something his senses can’t tell him, no matter how much he focuses on them.

He thinks you’re the sweetest person and you don’t even try, all shy smiles and soft gestures. He likes how when you talk, he can really hear how you feel about something in your voice. He trusts you, despite not knowing you too well.

He also thinks you’re really pretty, but that’s not important.

Steve had another rough night patrolling. Some guy decided to play Wolverine—he’d made gloves with blades and everything—and scratched Steve pretty good on his upper arm. It hurts like a bitch, even though it’ll heal quickly. And he’ll have to sew up his suit.

He got the guy, which is something, at least.

Luckily, he actually remembered to unlock the window this time, so he’s able to sneak into his place with ease. He stripped out of his suit and took a shower before anything. Maybe not the smartest decision while actively bleeding, but he felt gross.

Afterwards, clad in plaid pajama pants and a plain cotton t-shirt, he searches his bathroom for his first-aid kit while keeping a towel pressed to his arm. A dark stain blooms on the fabric the longer he keeps it against his wound.

“Yes,” he cheers to himself when he finds the small white box.

He sits on the tile floors, back against his sink cabinets, and the kit in his lap. He opens it with one hand, the other too busy trying to slow the bleeding. When he gets it open, he’s disappointed with what he finds.

“Fuck,” he says. There’s barely anything left. A roll of gauze, a box of bandaids, and one tiny alcohol wipe. That’s it. He really needs to remember to refill this stuff.

He pushes himself to stand, winces when he has to use his injured arm.

There’s only one person close by that he knows for sure has a first-aid kit that has what he needs, because he’s seen it pretty recently. That person is you.

He hates that he’s dragging you into this again, that he’s gonna ask a favor of you that he really shouldn’t. One he doesn’t even think he deserves. He needs the help, though, so he walks to his door, into the hallway, and a few steps to your place across from his.

He knocks, his towel more red than its original color by now.

The sound doesn’t exactly wake you up. It’s late, and you’d been in bed, but you’d been having a hard time falling asleep. You were tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling.

You sit up, push your hair out of your face, and head to the door. You should, but you don’t even look to see who it is before opening it, keeping your body behind the door and peeking your head around. You certainly weren’t expecting this.

Steve stands in front of you, his hair damp and a mess, falling over his forehead. His face is pale and, when your eyes flicker down, you find that his arm is bleeding. A lot.

“Holy shit. What happened to you?”

He ignores your question. “Can you help me?”

You move away from the door. The cold air from the hallway combined with the way Steve’s eyes look down before quickly looking back at your face remind you of your attire. A sleep shirt and underwear.

“Fuck! Sorry,” you go to shut the door but remember that he’s literally bleeding. “Come in, you know where the bathroom is. I’ll just- um. Let me put some pants on.”

He’d laugh at the way you pretty much sprint into your room if he wasn’t so focused on the pain of his arm. He’d also be thinking a lot about the way your legs looked just then.

You meet him in the bathroom, legs now covered in a baggy pair of sweatpants. Steve’s sitting on the shut toilet just like he did the first time you helped him. You haven’t touched your first-aid kit since then, finding it exactly where you left it then.

“Sorry about that,” you tuck your hair behind your ears quickly before opening up the box, turning to him afterward. “Can I see?”

“Yeah.”

You take the towel from Steve’s hand, slowly moving it away from his wound to see how bad it is. Steve’s hands twitch where they sit atop his thighs. He’s holding himself back from touching you.

Three gashes break his skin. The outside of his arm, just below his shoulder.

“Do these need stitches?” You ask, the concern is clear in your voice, in how it shakes a bit. “Maybe you should go to the hospital-”

“No. Please. No hospital.”

“I don’t know how to do stitches, Steve. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“I don’t need stitches, I swear,” the look on your face makes him feel awful. The sadness in your eyes, the small frown you try to hide. “I ran out of bandages. That’s all I need.”

“Are you sure?”

He can’t tell you that his skin will mend on its own, that he’ll be fine in just a couple of days. “Positive.”

You nod and grab a different towel than the one he’d been using, pressing it against his arm to make sure the bleeding stops. He groans quietly when you do. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“I’m alright.”

When you’re almost 100% sure that the bleeding is done, you pull the towel away. You hold it under the sink, wetting a part of it that didn’t soak up his blood. You use it to clean away the dried blood on his arm, apologizing every time he sucks in a breath through his teeth, hissing at the pull on his cuts.

One of your hands holds his arm up, the other occupied with the towel. You’re bent close, stood between his legs, your loose hair tickling his skin.

“Steve?” You whisper, still focused on his gashed arm.

“Mm?” He hums, watching you help him with the most careful touch he’s ever felt.

“Who’s hurting you?”

“It’s nothing.” He says it in a way that tells you it really isn’t nothing. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Maybe you don’t need to worry about him, but you do. You worry constantly. Anytime there’s a bandaid or scrape on his skin you wonder if it’s the same people that gave him that black eye and split lip weeks ago.

You worry because he’s so good. He’s a soft person under the invisible armor he protects himself with and he doesn’t deserve to be hurt. His skin is too delicate for it, his face too pretty.

You pull away and grab the roll of bandages you have in your kit. When you look at him again, his eyes are set on you, scanning your face.

“Please don’t worry about me,” his voice is quiet, and you hate the way it breaks on the first word.

He hates it, too.

“I’ll try my best,” you force a small smile at him, trying to lighten things as much as you can given the situation. You look back at his arm, wrapping it slowly. “Is that good?”

He looks at his arm, his wounds now covered with white wrappings. He looks back at you, “thank you, honey.”

“It’s not too tight?”

He shakes his head, standing when you step back to give him the space. You stand toe-to-toe, his head bent down to look at you, yours titled up.

“It’s perfect.”

Your breaths mingle in the air between you, growing thicker. Before you let yourself hope for something you shouldn’t, you move to the counter and grab the rest of the bandages you have.

“Here,” you hold them out to him, “for when you need to switch it.”

“You won’t need it?” He asks instead of telling you that by the time it needs switching, it won't be an open wound anymore.

“The most I use from that kit is the regular bandaids. I’ll survive without it.”

He takes the bandages from you, his hand brushing yours.

“I’m sorry for showing up the way I did.”

“I’d rather that than have you bleeding out in your apartment,” your eyes flick over to the bloody towels on your floor, your heart pinching in your chest. “If you need to talk to someone, or anything, I’m here.”

He leans closer, pushes a gentle peck into your cheek, and speaks with his lips still brushing your skin. “I don’t deserve your sweetness.”

He drops his head into your shoulder, just for a second, before moving away from you.

“Wha-”

“Bye, honey. Thank you,” he says, walking out of your bathroom.

You stand there, a hand lifting to press against your cheek in the spot his lips did. You pull it away and look at your fingertips, like you’d been expecting to see a physical residue of the kiss. Flecks of glitter, or the soft pink of the sky at sunrise.

You just see your skin, painfully normal.

After thinking and thinking and thinking, you determine that maybe Steve likes you more than you thought he did.

The way he calls you ‘honey’ in that voice of his, the softness of his eyes that he can’t hide no matter how cold he tries to keep his exterior, the way he kissed your cheek and let his lips linger when he spoke.

All of those things make you hope that maybe he likes you at least a little bit in the way that you like him, but if not, at the very least, he likes you more than you thought.

You think he tries to hold himself back from getting close to you at all, and you really don’t know why. All you know is that his shoulders were slightly slumped when he forced himself to leave after you'd bandaged his arm, after he told you he doesn’t deserve you.

There’s something in his life that makes him think that way and as much as you wanna know what it is, you hope that the best you can do is prove him wrong.

That’s one of the reasons you’re cooking dinner for two once again tonight. You also feel like, since this is sort of what brought you closer, the dinners are a tradition for you and Steve. Something completely yours.

It’s nice to have something like that with another person. You knew you were lonely, but you never noticed how much until you started talking to him more. With each meeting, the string between you both shortens.

You’ve never cooked this meal before. You’re extra attentive with it, tasting it to make sure it’s right, keeping your eyes on things closely to avoid burning it at all.

When everything’s done, Steve’s meal packed up nicely and your ponytail now a loose mess, you head to the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. The most you do is fix your hair before feeling silly for caring so much about your appearance.

He’s seen you tired-eyed and pantless. This is better than that, at least.

You haven’t brought Steve a meal since you patched him up and he thanked you with a kiss on the cheek and possibly, maybe, loaded words. You’ve seen him, yes, but this is different than a two minute conversation in a hallway or the mailroom.

It’s your way of checking on him.

Your door shuts with a click behind you, his meal in your hand as you step into the hall. You knock on Steve’s door in quick, small taps. You’re not sure why you’re nervous to be doing it this time.

The doorknob twists and you’re met with Steve’s smiling face. Like actually, fully smiling. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that from him before. Not like this. It’s like a beaming ray of sunshine, warm and beautiful.

You’d like to be the one to make him smile like that.

“Hi, honey,” he says. It’s then you notice his cheeks are slightly flushed, little pink blooms on his skin.

“Hey. I made you dinner again,” you hold the container up awkwardly to show him.

“You don’t have to keep making me dinner.”

“I like doing it.”

He nods. Steve knows that you do it as an excuse to see him, and if he were braver, or less concerned about involving you in his impossible life, he’d tell you that you don’t need to have food to knock on his door.

He’d tell you that you could knock whenever you wanted, that he’d happily open the door for you.

“Steve!” A voice—a female voice—calls from inside the apartment. “Who’s at the door?”

Fuck. Okay, he has a girlfriend. You probably interrupted something, you think, looking at his flushed cheeks, thinking about the smile he wore that most definitely was not for you.

You’re embarrassed for even thinking that he could like you, embarrassed for having read everything wrong, for hoping too much.

“Oh. You have company. I’ll just-” you pivot on your heel to leave and realize you’re still holding his dinner. You turn back around and hand it to him, awkwardly turning towards your door again and heading inside.

Steve stares at your door for a couple of seconds before going back inside. He sets his food on the counter and sits back on the couch.

“So, who was that?” Robin asks.

Robin, his best friend and the only person in the world who knows pretty much everything about him. Spider-man and all.

“My neighbor. She was bringing me dinner.”

“It was her? And you didn’t let me say hi!”

Yeah, Robin knows all about you. She knows that you make Steve dinner, that you’ve taken care of him without digging too deep for answers, that Steve thinks you’re the ‘prettiest girl ever.’ His words.

“She left pretty fast after you yelled.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“Nooo. I scared her off!” Steve is clearly very confused, so Robin huffs and continues, “she heard a girl’s voice in your apartment.”

“And?”

“God, you’re such a boy sometimes, it’s insane. She thought I was your girlfriend!”

“Why would that scare her off?”

“I know you don’t get out much, dingus, but seriously?” She literally facepalms. “She likes you! Why else would she be making you dinner and shit? She likes you and thinks you’re dating someone.”

“Oh. Oh. No, she doesn’t like me. Not like that.”

“You’re an actual dingus.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about that possibility because it’ll make it much, much harder to keep you at arms length. Though, even now, that arm is mostly bent, losing resistance.

“So what if she does like me? I can’t do anything with her.”

“Why not.”

“Because I’m Spider-”

“Spider-man, yes, I know. Who cares? You can't live your whole life ignoring every single romantic feeling you have because of that.”

“I don’t wanna drag her into this.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe she would want to be dragged into this?”

“I guess not.”

He goes quiet after that, and Robin, knowing him so well, drops the subject.

Steve thinks about what Robin said even after she leaves.

It’s hard for him to believe that you’d like him enough to worry that Robin was his girlfriend. You, a dream girl, liking him, with his unexplained injuries and past grumpiness towards you. There was no way.

But, on the slightest chance that it did matter to you, Steve decided he wanted to explain.

His crush on you isn’t something he should explore, isn’t something he wants to let grow because, despite what Robin says, his life is dangerous and you already worry about him enough without knowing that.

Still, the thought of you being upset because you think he isn’t single is enough to make him head across the hall.

While Steve wondered what he’d say, you stewed in your embarrassment. You’d sat on your couch in your sweats and tried to forget the girl's voice or the smile on Steve’s face. You were unsuccessful.

The knocks on your door have become a familiar sound—there’s only one person who actually comes to your apartment.

You walk over and muster up a smile that you hope looks genuine, “Steve, hey.”

He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you, “can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

You move aside as he walks in, shutting the door behind him. The apartment feels smaller with him in it, you think. His presence takes up space for you, it draws your focus.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he says.

“You’re welcome-”

“That wasn’t my girlfriend, by the way. The voice you heard,” he cuts you off because he worries that if he doesn’t say it now, he never will. “I mean, she’s my friend, and a girl, but we’re not dating. Her name’s Robin, she’s my best friend, that’s it. Promise.”

You’re not sure whether to be even more embarrassed at how obvious you were with your concern, or to be relieved that he’s not taken like you thought. You settle for a bit of both.

“You don’t have to- I know I was weird earlier but you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you tell him, tugging at the ends of your sleeves with your fingers.

“I wanted to make sure you knew.”

There could be a lot of weight in that sentence, if you let yourself look hard enough.

Rather than reply you confess, “you know, I used to think you hated me. Or, didn’t like me. Before we talked and stuff.”

Steve’s standing really close to you. Has he always been this close? You can smell his soap and feel the light puffs of air leaving his lips. It’s almost dizzying—like, if someone poked your shoulder, you might fall over.

You notice a lot about him from this close, especially when there’s no blood on his face. He has the lightest dusting of freckles over his nose, his eyelashes are dark, framing his brown eyes.

Steve reaches out with a hand to link his fingers with yours, loosely and slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. They fit together easily. His other hand brushes his knuckles against your cheek before cupping it gently in his palm.

His touch is so gentle, so much less guarded than his usual actions. You blink up at him and without even thinking, you push yourself into his touch, just a little.

“I never hated you,” he says. A murmur between your mouths.

“Oh,” is all you can say.

Steve’s strong, inhumanely so, but he isn’t strong enough to stop himself from kissing you.

The first brush of his lips on yours is so light that you think you might be dreaming. When you don’t pull away, he kisses you more firmly, his lips a little bit chapped but still soft as they land on yours.

You haven’t kissed a lot of people but you’ve never felt one like this. One that you’ve been dancing around for longer than you ever realized.

Steve’s hand squeezes yours, his thumb running back and forth against your cheek, his mouth moving with yours like a dance. He probably shouldn’t have let himself kiss you, because there’s no way he can fight whatever this is after feeling your lips on his.

He pecks you once, and twice, before pulling away. If he kept kissing you, the single thread left holding him back from you would’ve snapped. A clean break.

He leans his forehead against yours, and whispers so quietly you would’ve missed it had he not been so close to you. You could almost feel the words being spoken, lips still a breath apart.

“Never hated you.”

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

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