#he wants that guy. he wants his hands and grin and teasing voice all to himself and not on eddie.

[jo-com]

Hey if your request are open can you please write kimi antonelli fluff

──★ ｡°🌿. ⋆ Interview Things

Kimi Antonelli x Fem!reader

୨ৎ Summary: 5 Times Kimi Antonelli Can’t Stop Mentioning His Girlfriend in Interviews

୨ৎ Genre: based off the suggestion above☝🏻 Fluff, established relationship

୨ৎ Note: there's some grammatical error and always not proofread cuz i am lazy, also send request guys!! hope y'all enjoy

Kimi wasn’t the type to overshare. Not usually. But something about her had turned him soft in ways he hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the way she loved him so gently. Or the fact that he trusted her with the raw, unfiltered parts of his life—the parts no one else got to see.

...

Kimi sat in the guest seat— hands resting on both armchairs and legs spread slightly, wearing a practiced yet soft smile on his face as he listened to his interviewer.

“What’s your pre-race ritual?”

Kimi paused for a moment to think. “Nothing crazy,” he answered. “I usually FaceTime my girlfriend in the morning. She’s kind of like my reset button.” a sheepish grin slowly cracking his neutral facade as he continued. “Then I eat whatever she tells me to—she says I have the diet of a toddler.”

His interviewer laughed, and Kimi just shook his head, now fully smiling—his cheeks visibly turning pink. He couldn’t help it, not when his thoughts kept drifting back to her, like she was the only thing that ever clouded his mind. God, she’d definitely tease him for this later.

"Moving on, then," the interviewer interjected, smirking knowingly—as if they hadn't just caught Kimi blushing like a lovesick teenager.

...

It was an after race interview that one of the tv channel hosted. They did almost half of the driver's and Kimi was up now.

They stood off to the side, several cameras trained on them. A mic rested in his hand as he answered questions about the race earlier, his voice calm despite the post-race buzz.

The interviewer held the mic as she asked, "What motivates you when things get rough?"

Kimi tilted his head slightly, lips pressed together as he paused to think, fidgeting the mic slightly. “I think about her. About how she always believes in me—even when I don’t. I want to make her proud. That’s usually enough.” he answered with a shrug.

Thinking about the time where y/n stayed up all night listening to him talk about strategies with him, not understanding a single chart but pretending she did—just so he wouldn’t feel alone.

The Interviewer looked at awe with his answer, "That's really sweet of you kimi, i bet she's so lucky to have you."

Kimi chuckled softly, shaking his head with that familiar, lovestruck smile. “No way,” he murmured, eyes soft. “I’m the lucky one.”

Because he was. You were the heartbeat behind every win, the quiet moon pulling his tides. Without you, he wouldn���t shine the way he does. You were never just part of his world—you became it.

...

The day pass and It was another media day, and the room buzzed with light chatter and laughter. Kimi sat comfortably on the small stage, mic in hand, surrounded by his teammate. Cameras flashed occasionally, but the atmosphere was far more relaxed than race weekends.

The interviewer smiled as they flipped to the next card. “Alright, let’s have some fun—what’s something the fans don’t know about you?”

Kimi hummed softly, parting his lips to speak before pausing, the words lingering on his tongue. “I’m actually really sappy when it comes to my girlfriend,” he admitted. “I send her good morning and good night texts, even if we’re in the same house.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “She’ll definitely kill me for saying that.”

The fans erupted into excited screams, their voices rising like a tidal wave of chaos and love. Kimi blushed instantly, ducking his head with a shy smile as the noise filled the room.

Beside him, one of the drivers nudged his shoulder with a grin. “Aww, look at him turning pink,” George teased.

From the side one of their crew chimed in “Hopeless romantic, this one,” earning a round of laughter.

Kimi could only shake his head, his cheeks still warm. But he didn’t mind—not when the reason behind it made his heart feel this full.

...

It was part of a special behind-the-scenes feature—a sit-down profile for Mercedes’ official F1 YouTube channel, spotlighting Kimi beyond the race track. The kind of interview where helmets were off, team suits swapped for casual shirts, and answers went deeper than tire strategy or qualifying pace.

The room was quiet, lit warmly, with a single camera framing Kimi as he sat comfortably across from the interviewer. It was meant to show the person behind the driver—and so far, it had done just that.

The interviewer smiled, glancing down at their notes before looking back up.

“Alright,” he said, tone soft and curious. “Let’s go a little deeper. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said, tone softening. “She once told me I’m her safe place. Not because of what I do or what I’ve won—just because I make her feel loved.”

He paused. “That meant more than any trophy.” It wasn’t scripted. None of it was. He didn’t plan to bring her up every time. But she was rooted in the quiet corners of his mind, always ready to bloom into the conversation.

The interviewer smiled at him softly, feeling the endless love he has for you in just those few words.

Those words had you melting the moment you watched the interview online. Of course, you brought it up—more than once—teasing him with that smug smile he secretly loved. He never protested, though. He’d just grin at you, all shy and wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe you were real. And if hearts could form in someone’s eyes, Kimi’s definitely did.

...

Kimi was on one of those fan-focused media panels—bright lights, comfy chairs, and the kind of questions that made even the most composed drivers loosen up a little. Kimi sat among a few of his fellow drivers, mic in hand, answering with that calm charm fans had come to love. The audience buzzed with excitement, hanging onto every word.

The interviewer smiled, clearly enjoying the energy in the room.

“Here’s one I think the fans will love", they said, glancing at Kimi. “If you weren’t a driver, what would you be doing right now?”

He didn’t even blink. “Probably traveling with her. She wants to see the northern lights.” A dreamy smile tugged at his lips.

“I’d take her tomorrow if I could.”

The crowd responded with a soft wave of awe, their reaction wrapping around the room like a warm breeze.

The interviewer turned to the next driver, smoothly shifting the spotlight. The mic passed hands, a new question was asked, and the cameras rolled on. But Kimi?

He was still thinking about her.

About how she’d text him in exactly twelve minutes to ask if he’d eaten—probably with a heart emoji she knew made him blush. About how she’d pretend to groan when she watched this later, claiming he was too cheesy on camera, even though she secretly saved every single clip.

He didn’t plan to talk about her. He never had to. She just lived in the spaces between his words. Because no matter the question, somehow… the answer always circled back to her.

[yasminawayne]

caught in 4(han)k!

SYNOPSIS: Kevin, Hank 4, is balls deep and still finding time to send pics to the group chat

TAGS: FEM/AFAB! Reader, Crack/Smut, Hank 4-focused, Whiny!Hank 4, Name Kink, Photo/Video During Sex, Slightly Sloppy Writing, Group Chat Shenanigans

AO3: yasminwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

daddy-o: can we get some ambient lighting too? soft focus?

twohanky 👻: WHO GAVE YOU DIRECTORIAL VISION???

twohanky 👻: GET OUT

"Say the word," Hank 4, Kevin, breathed, lips dragging messily along your jaw. "And I’ll be on my knees so fast I’ll leave skid marks on the wood, baby."

He bit his lip as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a wild, adoring grin tugging at his mouth. Too much teeth, too much mischief, too much everything. His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed, hair clinging to his forehead like he’d already run a marathon just kissing you.

And he had the nerve to still look so happy about it. Like ruining himself for you was his favorite sport.

You didn’t answer, not verbally. Just grabbed the hem of his stupid little crop top and yanked him closer by the collar. That was all he needed.

"Ohhh, you’re mean," Kevin whined, half-laughing, voice going thick like molasses. "Lookin’ at me like that? Giving me those eyes?"

His hips found yours automatically, slotting into the space between your thighs like they’d been molded to fit. He moved instinctively, pressing closer, rolling his hips just enough to make you gasp.

"I’m just a dude, babe," he rambled, hands skating under your shirt, fingers greedy but still gentle. "Like. A guy. With a dumb brain and worse self-control and a major, major situation happening in his pants right now."

You started to laugh, but it turned into a squeak when he lifted you clean off the floor like it was nothing, setting you down on the edge of the kitchen counter with a little bounce that had heat curling through your gut. His palms skimmed over your thighs, fingers pressing in like he wanted to memorize the shape of you, sliding up your sides like he couldn’t decide where to land.

His eyes roamed slow, shameless over the soft lines of your chest, the flush on your cheeks, the way your breath caught under his touch.

"Oh, fuck," Kevin muttered, absolutely stunned. "You’re unreal. Like… I think I just forgot my name."

"It’s Kevin, babe."

"Yeah," he exhaled, grinning wide as he leaned in close again, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. "That sounds right. Sounds so right comin’ outta your mouth."

He crashed forward again, kissing you open-mouthed, licking at your tongue and nipping at your bottom lip like he was trying to eat you alive.

"Mmpgh. Say it again," he groaned against your lips. "My name. Please."

You tilted your head, teasing, eyes half-lidded. "Kevin."

His whole body shivered. Like the word itself knocked the wind out of him.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he muttered, pulling back. "You could say literally anything and it would be hot."

You laughed, breathless, and leaned back just a bit, letting your legs slide further apart as your fingers curled into the hem of his crop top. "Anything?"

"Anything," he repeated, eyes locked on your mouth like it held scripture. 

One of his hands moved to grip your thigh, tight enough to bruise. The other slipped under your shirt at last, broad palm skimming hot over your stomach before sliding up, greedy, trembling just slightly with how badly he wanted you.

When he cupped your chest, squeezing through the fabric of your bra, a low groan rumbled out of him like it had been sitting in his chest all day.

"Love you," he grinned, almost delirious, eyes blown wide. "Love how soft you are—how squishy. You make the best noises, babe."

His thumbs dragged slowly over your nipples, teasing through the fabric, and your breath hitched. His eyes flicked up to yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he tore your shirt up and over your head in one swift motion. The shirt fell away, leaving you bare from the waist up, save for the flimsy scrap of lace and cotton that barely covered your breasts.

"Off," he whined, voice low and thick. "Please, can I take this off? I wanna see."

You nodded, and his hands were immediately on you. In one swift move, your bra snapped apart in his hands like paper, tossed somewhere over his shoulder. 

"So fucking gnarly," Hank whispered, dragging his eyes over you like he was trying to memorize every inch. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you caught the flicker of something wild behind his grin. "You’re so hot, it’s actually not fair, bro!"

He dipped down without another word, mouth warm and eager as it captured one hardened peak in his mouth, sucking hard as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud.

His other hand palmed your other breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as he laved attention on its twin.

He bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp.

"Homie, you taste so fucking good," he mumbled against your skin, nipping and sucking a trail up to your collarbone before latching onto it and sucking a dark mark into your flesh.

His hips ground down against yours again, the thick line of his cock sliding against your core through the fabric of his boxers.

He was already so hard, so desperate for you.

One hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your bottoms before he gripped the fabric and ripped them down your legs, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze.

"Kev," you gasped, arching into him as his mouth trailed lower, lips dragging hot and open along your stomach, your hips, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He sucked a dark bruise into the softest spot, groaning like he was tasting ambrosia.

You shivered, hand threading into his messy curls, just about ready to beg—when suddenly, he froze.

"Oh my god, bro. Wait—wait, wait," he choked out, eyes blown wide as he jolted upright, one hand frantically patting down his pocket like he’d forgotten something crucial.

"Kev—what—"

"Gimme a sec," he laughed, face flushed and wild with affection. "Gotta send the boys a lil gift!"

Your eyes widened. "Kevin—"

Too late. His phone was already out, camera open, tilted at just the right angle to catch your flushed face, your legs bracketing his hips.

"You just look so pretty like this," he said, utterly smitten. "Gotta let ’em know what they’re missin’. Bet they wish they were me right now, brah."

Your cheeks were flushed a pretty red as he pointed the camera at you, lips parted, and chest heaving as you lay bare and wanting beneath him on the kitchen counter. The cool marble sent a shiver down your spine, nipples pebbled and aching for his touch. 

Deciding to play along, you arched your back slightly, pushing your breasts up towards him in offering as you spread your thighs a little wider, baring the glistening of your cunt to his hungry gaze.

"Say cheese!" 

He grinned and pointed the camera down at the both of you. The flash went off, throwing harsh shadows over the mess of limbs, skin, fabric, and flushed grins. Every dip of your waist, every ridge of his muscles, caught in that split second.

🐻 kevinbear: [SENT AN IMAGE]

🦴 hanksz: bro. you can’t just drop that in here raw

twohanky 👻 : HOLY fUCNJSDJDNJD I DROPPED MY LAPTOP. IT HIT MY FOOT. SKADOKSJDKKJ??? WOGSJJ?!?

🧼#3: DAWG I’M IN A LECTURE. WITH A GUEST SURGEON. YOU SENT ME NUDES WHILE A MAN IS HOLDING A HUMAN HEART.

daddy-o: saved. thanks king 🙏

Hank 4 was still laughing at the chaos in the group chat when your hands slipped beneath the hem of his crop top. 

He gasped, eyes wide for a split second before that familiar toothy grin took over. "Okay, wow. Greedy much, baby?" he teased, voice breathless, half-laughing but already leaning in.

The phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the counter, completely forgotten. Then he was on you. All wet kisses and panting breath, laughter stuttering between hungry mouths. 

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, fingers fumbling with the elastic, and he swore softly, hips bucking forward like his body had already made the decision for him.

"Babe," he gasped, breathing hot and shaky against your mouth as he fought with his own clothes. "Gimme—fuck—just two seconds. I’m trying to get undressed and not literally pass out at the same time."

You laughed into his neck, biting lightly, and he made a noise. It was somewhere between a whimper and a bark of a laugh, as he finally got the boxers halfway down.

He grunted as he kicked off his boxers, sending them flying across the kitchen with a careless flick of his ankle. His cock sprang free, long and hard and already leaking at the tip, the thick shaft flush against his belly.

He nipped at your pulse point, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue before his hips against yours, the thick line of his cock sliding against your slick folds.

With his hips propping up your legs, all you had to do was grind back down on him to get some friction. It stole the breath out of his chest, splotchy red hues burning up on his cheeks.

Kevin gripped your hips bruisingly tight, fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he notched the swollen head of his cock against your dripping entrance. With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, clutching heat. His thick cock pulses and twitches as your velvet walls clench down around him, gripping him like a silken vice. 

"Fuuuck," He groaned, eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he pistoned his hips forward, driving into you. "That's it, take it, baby."

His hips begin to move on their own accord, drawn to the slick, scorching heat of your core. He starts to thrust, his movements at first jerky and off-balance, but quickly gaining rhythm. His large hands roam the curves of your body greedily, squeezing and kneading your soft flesh as if he can't get enough of touching you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck...!" you moaned, nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

Without even pausing, he grinned and grabbed his phone again. Sweat dripped down his chest, his skin flushed and tingling with the heat of his all-consuming lust. 

He zooms in, filling the screen with your face, immortalizing your ecstatic cries and the way you whine as he rails you against the countertop. The lewd, wet sounds of your fucking echo obscenely from the phone's microphone, mingling with your shameless screams and his laughter.

"Look sooo good... taking my dick... like you were made for it, babe," He grins, sweat dripping down his tensed muscles as he hooks your leg over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to slam his thick cock deeper into your cunt. His swollen balls slap against your ass with each brutal thrust, drawing even more desperate, keening cries from your lips.

Kevin snapped a few more pics, the camera flashing rapidly as he zoomed in and out, trying to get just the right angle of you splayed out on the kitchen counter.

🐻 kevinbear: [SENT A PHOTO]

🦴 hanksz: YO. YO. YO

🧼 #3: I’M IN SCRUBS. I HAVE AN EXAM IN FORTY. SEVEN. MINUTES. IF I FAIL NEUROANATOMY AGAIN I DIE IRL

daddy-o: lol. hot... send more? slower pan.

daddy-o: zoom in on the hands maybe?

daddy-o: can we get some ambient lighting too? soft focus?

twohanky 👻: WHO GAVE YOU DIRECTORIAL VISION???

twohanky 👻: GET OUT

🧼 #3: I’M PRINTING THIS CHAT AND HANDING IT TO MY PROFESSOR SO HE KNOWS WHY I FAILED.

Kevin’s phone buzzed and lit up with incoming messages. He glanced at it quickly, a wicked grin spreading across his face at the chaos unfolding in the group chat.

"Five wants a video, babe," Hank 4 panted, breath warm against your cheek. He leans over to grab a half-empty protein powder tin, using it as a makeshift stand for his phone. With deft movements, he zooms in close enough to see the way your folds stretch obscenely around his cock.

"There, that's a good angle," he grins, giving a few test thrusts as he checks the frame. "This okay, homie?"

"More than okay," you pant, feeling the tremble of his muscles under your hands, the way his arms flexed slightly to keep you grounded. 

With your permission, he drew back slowly, until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming forward again. You let out a keening cry as he rolled his hips in a slow, deliberate circle, grinding his pelvis against yours to stimulate your clit with each thrust.

"Ahn… You gonna draw this out?" you giggled, dizzy with pleasure.

"Would you rather I just destroyed you and got it over with?" he purred, voice low and rough with lust. "Or would you prefer I take my time and make this last...all...night...long?"

He punctuated each word with a sharp, deep thrust. One hand released your wrists to slide down your side, fingers splaying across your lower belly. You could feel the thick line of his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he ground against your g-spot.

"Oh shit—they’re video calling the group chat, babe."

You giggled, settling closer. "Looks like we’ve got a live demo to put on."

"Nah," Kevin said, voice low and warm. His grin turned softer, a little more real. "They already got their video. Kinda wanna focus on you now."

The call connected a whole two hours later.

Kevin’s camera opened first, he was sprawled on the couch, a half-finished bag of chips resting on his chest. You were fast asleep on his shoulder, cheek smushed comfortably against his hoodie, dead to the world.

🧼 #3 joined the call

"Ayoooo," he drawled, munching loudly. "What’s good, brah?"

"NO," Hank 3 shrieked instantly, his camera vibrating from how hard he was shaking his phone. "YOU DID NOT. YOU DID NOT JUST ANSWER ALL SMILEY AFTER WHAT YOU DID."

Kevin blinked, chip halfway to his mouth. "Me? What’d I do?"

"YOU—YOU DIDN’T ANSWER THE CALL."

"Ohhhhhh," Kevin said, smile widening into something bright and smug. "You were tryna tune in?"

"YES, I WAS TRYNA TUNE IN," Hank 3 snapped.

twohanky 👻 and 🦴 hanksz joined the call

"I—" Hank 2’s voice cracked as his face appeared on-screen, pink and flustered.

"I waited, Kev. I had my headphones in. And you just—" he trailed off, voice going wobbly. "You left me on delivered, brah."

Kevin tilted his head, clearly trying not to laugh. "Aww. Sorry, brah."

Hank 1 gave a sad shake of his head, "Not cool, dawg. Not cool."

daddy-o joined the call

Hank 5 popped into frame, sitting in his car. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, and he smiled the moment he saw you asleep on Kevin’s shoulder.

"Aw," he murmured, voice low and warm. "She looks so peaceful."

He glanced at Kevin, smile turning boyish. "Did you send the video yet?"

"Gonna," Kevin replied, shifting just enough to rub your back as you stirred slightly.

"She was so loud, too," he added, grinning. "It was gnarly. You guys would’ve loved it."

"I KNOW," Hank 3 wailed somewhere off-screen

a/n: yeah this is kinda bad eheh but i thought i'd share it w u guys! inspired by a j.ai bot i talked to the other day

[letteremi]

childhood friend!Gojo x fem!reader

warnings: angst

credit goes to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!

part 4 <- part 5 -> part 6 | series masterlist

You find the head of the Gojo clan fast asleep at the teacher’s desk — his desk now — in his classroom. Head buried in the crook of his elbow as he slumps in that rickety old chair that you guys used to fight over during recess, chest rising ever so gently. You almost don’t want to wake him. 

But duty calls. And so does Yaga. 

All it takes is one tap of his shoulder before his sleep-addled eyes blink open. He squints, and you can see it in his face — how he’s swimming through mind fog, before recognition flashes in his eyes. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how he looks when he wakes up — so untroubled, still. You cling to every moment he does, to make up for the way you won’t ever get to wake up beside him. 

“Oh hey, you.” A familiar smirk tugs at his lips. Even when half-asleep, Gojo’s first instinct is to tease. 

His voice is husky with sleep, like he’d been calling for you in a dream. 

You swallow that thought, push it away before it poisons you. 

“Hey.” You slide a stack of documents on the table. “You’ve got to finish this by tonight.”

Gojo blinks at the stack, and then at you. His gaze drifts down to the papers, and then back up, incredulous — like it’s a live grenade that he can’t believe you, of all people, just handed to him. 

He groans, slumping further into his chair, fingers raking through his snowy locks. “Paperwork is just an excuse for Yaga to work me to the bone,” he decides, dragging out each syllable with contempt. 

“To the bone? Is that what they call falling asleep nowadays?” You nudge the heap closer to him, like the proximity would increase the likelihood of him completing the task. 

He snorts. “I was meditating. Conserving my energy,” Gojo protests, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh, staring at the ceiling like he’s asking the heavens for strength. Then, one finger hooks itself under his blindfold, and he peeks at you from under his lashes, mischief glinting. 

God. 

He has to know what that does to people, right? What that does to you. 

“You could always help me,” he drawls, leaning forward like he might close the impossible distance between you. “If we work together, maybe I’ll even have time to take you out for some late-night mochi.” 

Dessert seems to give him the incentive he needs to get it together. Okay, you’ll play along. 

Just for dessert. Nothing else. 

You roll your eyes, because that’s safer than anything honest. “Finish the paperwork first. Then we’ll talk.” 

A spark of excitement lights up his entire face. Gojo straightens up, cracking his knuckles like he does before facing the final boss in some Digimon game. 

“Oh? That’s practically a yes.”

“It’s a maybe,” you correct, but you’re already regretting giving him that sliver of hope. 

He grins — wide and boyish, the kind of grin that would make you wonder how this man could be the strongest sorcerer alive, if you hadn’t already seen his prowess in battle. 

Gojo finally picks up his pen with exaggerated seriousness. But as he moves to start, it slips from his fingers and rolls off the desk. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He leans down to retrieve it amidst your laughter. 

Under the desk, his gaze catches on something, and he goes still. 

Scrawled into the old wood, half-hidden beneath years of scratches and chewing gum, is a heart. Inside it, your name and his, messily carved together in childish handwriting — he recognises it from years of reading off your notes — from a time when you were young and silly enough to believe that something as simple as a carved heart could keep you tied together forever. 

He runs his fingers over it slowly, almost reverently. Then, he looks up at you, blue eyes wide and softened by something unspoken. 

“What’s wrong with your face?” You bend down to his level, your neck cricks at the uncomfortable angle you tilt your head at. “Oh.” 

The heat that rises to your cheeks is immediate, and you’re a mess trying to cover it up. You never did get over your habit of intertwining your name with his, and it’s about to bite you in the ass. 

Quick! How to salvage decades of friendship with one sentence?

You clear your throat, shift your weight. “Oh yeah,” you say, as if he had just told you about the weather. “I used to like you then.” Then. And now. And probably for the rest of your life. 

This crush was getting pathetic. You could practically feel Shoko judging you right now, sifting through about hundreds of conversations worth about the idiot sitting before you. 

A faint pang of hurt echoes in your chest at the realisation. Still, speaking about your feelings in past-tense felt wrong. Like you were betraying Gojo in some way. Even if he didn’t even know of the true extent of your feelings, even when he never once reciprocated. 

You brace yourself for the teasing, the jokes, the inevitable smirk that would let you pretend this moment hadn’t cracked your carefully built walls wide open. 

But it doesn’t come. 

Instead, Gojo just stares at you. Really stares. His fingers hover over the carved heart, tracing the shaky lines of your names as if he’s really memorising what they look like side by side. You shake your head. Wishful thinking.

The silence stretches, humming with all the words that have always hovered just out of reach. You’re begging for one of his easy laughs, anything to slice through this awkward tension. 

Then, after what feels like forever (maybe about five seconds), he exhales a soft laugh — almost disbelieving. He tilts his head, eyes meeting yours, impossibly blue and impossibly open. 

“I used to like you then, too.” He’s matching your tone so easily it hurts. It’s like he’s reading the morning newspaper — you can picture it right now, him, an ankle crossed over his knee, sipping coffee, and prattling about the crossword. Except the answer to today’s puzzle is not just one word, it’s a four word phrase you’re going to agonise over until the end of time. 

Too little, too late?

Or is it: right person, wrong time. 

The words feel like a physical blow, aimed for your heart, and felt in your gut — dull and aching. Your lips part, but no sound comes out except for the hitch of your breath.

His gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer, and then, the switch flips. He leans back, the smirk slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. 

“You know I learned how to play the guitar for you, right?” He strings an imaginary instrument, fingers gliding across illusory cables with practiced ease. 

You scoff a disbelieving huff, though you’re leaning into the playful ease like it’ll scrub away the growing ache in your chest. “Thought you did that cause Suguru bet you couldn’t.”

Saying his name still hurts. Like pressing on a bruise you keep forgetting is there. 

“Well, that too,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “but also because you said you liked that one guy who played guitar.” He takes a photo of the engraved wood, giggling to himself. 

You grab at his phone, only to completely miss. “Did he sing that one song, and did he play in that one band too?” you tease. 

The room falls silent, and the setting sun casts warmth into the space. You've never felt so cold.

“Man…we were such dumb kids, huh?” He laughs, light and breezy. Like he hadn’t just cracked your entire world open, and then crassly stitched it back together. 

You force out a shaky chuckle of your own, nails digging into your palms. The sting grounds you enough to reply. “Yeah,” you say, and you hope your voice doesn’t sound as small as you feel. “Just dumb kids.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we grew out of that, right?” he adds, grin stretching wide. Almost a bit too bright. But that’s Gojo for you.

“Can’t imagine us being together,” he hums, as if it’s not a fantasy you’ve built in your mind throughout the years. Not a reality that you wished so desperately would come true, if not for his thick head. 

That last thought is bitter. Ew. It’s wrong to blame your best friend for failing to realise that you felt the same way, when you never realised he did either. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it worked out this way. If you two couldn’t even read each other, you’d probably fall out, miscommunicate. 

Yeah. Satoru will always just be a friend. You ignore the strange pang in your heart, as though you haven’t gotten used to that truth already. It just hurts, remembering it. 

“Right,” you echo. And for a second, you can almost pretend it doesn’t feel like lying. “I’d probably get sick of you forgetting anniversaries and the lack of bouquets,” you tease, slipping back into routine. 

Gojo almost looks offended, sitting right back up to defend himself. “Hey! I’d always remember important dates. And, I am a flower freak.” 

Oh, you know. Whenever his ex-girlfriend posted pictures of beautiful floral arrangements, or romantic, candle-lit dinners, you’d like the photos and pretend jealousy wasn’t simmering in your gut. 

Gojo picks up his pen again, twirling it like nothing ever happened. “Now, about that paperwork…” he murmurs, though, his hand hovers over the pages a moment longer than it should. 

You watch him, your heart knocking against your ribs, a quiet ache settling in your chest, full of almosts and what ifs. 

“Don’t stay up too late.” You turn to the door before your face can betray you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls after you, all teasing bravado again. But you don’t miss the way his eyes drop back under the desk, fingers brushing that old heart one last time. 

You step into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you, sealing the moment away. 

Your last attempt? Successful. 

You wish it hadn’t been.

taglist: @bloopsstuff @vynn30 @juliarchiv3s @fushiguroooozzz @lagataprrr @justachillgirllui @arahiraaai @jheneea @chiefsandwichcrown @bakugouswaif @casssiesthings @duckness-spam-acct @momoewn @reree22222 @kodzu-ken @sarcasticintrovertedsoul @unknownw0css @44ina @ginginha @ri-sa20 @nanamisss @ieathairs @bbatzvil @apobangpowrld @onyxxxxqq @youregettingtickled @zurakoofgintama @gris3o @sanchann @doeionic @mashtura

[xoxomingi]

simon riley x bunny!reader

summary: you won’t stop talking, so simon shuts you up his way.

warnings: explicit sexual content, language, oral (m receiving). wc: 1.1k

you’d been all over him since he walked through the door.

it started the second he dropped his duffel bag on the floor—barely inside the house before you were leaping into his arms like a kid, wrapping your legs around his waist and clinging to him like velcro.

he grunted softly. didn’t stumble. just caught you and held you there, arms flexing around your waist like it was muscle memory. like he never forgot what you felt like.

you didn’t stop touching him.

you cupped his face like you were making sure it was real. you ran your fingers over his scruff. brushed your nose against his. giggled as you kissed every part of his face—messy, wet, fast—like you had a list and couldn’t skip one.

and then you just stared at him. wide eyes. lips parted. breathing like you’d been running.

“wait.”

he raised a brow.

“wait.”

you just kept blinking.

he shifted you higher in his arms. “what is it, bunny.”

your voice cracked like you were on the verge of tears. “you’re home.”

he gave you the flattest look. “…yeah.”

“no no—like home-home. in my house. in my arms. breathing my air.”

he opened his mouth.

“wait no—our air. ‘cause it’s our house. you live here. you’re back. oh my god.”

he didn’t say anything. just sighed, still holding you like it was nothing.

you gasped. “do you think the plants missed you?”

“what?”

“you’re home,” you whispered again, dramatically resting your forehead on his shoulder. “i can die happy now.”

you didn’t stop talking for hours.

you followed him around like a lost duck, glued to his side, chattering nonstop—half teasing, half actually curious about the stuff he never told you about his missions.

“do you guys have to do like 100 pushups every morning or was that just a tv lie?”

“how do you shower when you’re in the woods? or do you just smell bad all month?”

“have you ever worn night vision goggles and accidentally walked into a tree? be honest, simon.”

“do they give you a medal every time you jump out of a plane? i feel like that deserves a medal.”

he ignored most of them. occasionally looked at you like he wanted to put a pillow over your face, but never actually told you to stop.

you climbed into his lap the second he sat down.

tried to feed him chips while you asked if his lieutenant was “actually mean or just scary-looking.”

traced his tattoos. tugged at his dog tags. poked his cheek when he didn’t answer fast enough.

“do you guys wrestle to see who’s in charge?”

“did anyone snore so bad you threw something at them?”

“what if i joined the military—do you think i’d make it through training or would i cry immediately?”

he raised a brow at that one. “you’d cry.”

you gasped. “rude.”

he just stared.

“…you’re right but still.”

you kept poking at him, straddling his lap now with your cheek on his shoulder, legs swinging. the hearts on your socks bounced every time you kicked your feet.

“do you think your boots missed you? they looked lonely in the closet.”

he said nothing.

“what if i glue them to the floor so you never leave again?”

his eyes cut to you. “what if i gag you.”

you froze. blinked. grinned wide.

“okay, rude, but kinda hot.”

then you started bouncing.

not on purpose—but your legs were still swinging, your ass shifting in his lap with every giggle, and you were still talking.

“do you think your lieutenant makes you do pushups just to mess with you?”

bounce.

“do you guys have like secret codewords or do you just grunt at each other?”

bounce.

“wait—what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever—”

his hand snapped out and grabbed your jaw.

you gasped, eyes wide.

“get on your knees.”

“simon—”

“now, lovie.”

you scrambled off his lap so fast you nearly tripped, sliding down onto the floor between his legs with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, heart hammering.

he leaned back on the couch. legs spread. thick thighs relaxed. arms resting over the back cushions like he was settling in.

“open.”

you obeyed. lips parting slowly, tongue sliding out just a little.

he gave a low, dark sound — part growl, part promise.

“knew you’d shut up eventually.”

you whimpered.

he undid his belt. pushed his pants low, just enough. his cock thick and heavy, already rock hard from your voice all day, your hands on him, your thighs in his lap.

without warning, he shoved himself deep into your mouth, taking control like he’d been starving for this. his hand tangled fiercely in your hair, holding you steady while he fucked your mouth with slow, powerful thrusts.

you gagged, choking around him, tears prickling at your eyes — but his grip was relentless, commanding.

he leaned forward, voice rough and low.

“keep that mouth busy, bunny. no more questions.”

your jaw stretched painfully wide, saliva slick and pooling as you took him deeper, hands gripping his thighs, muffled moans escaping around him.

his hips stuttered, his breath hitching.

“good girl…”

he tightened his grip, thrusting harder, faster, making sure you couldn’t speak a word.

when he started to come, he held you still, pouring himself deep into your throat as you swallowed every drop, your eyes fluttering shut.

finally pulling out, he panted hard, face flushed.

“open.”

you obeyed, tongue out, mouth empty but glossy.

he inspected, thumb brushing your lips possessively.

“perfect.”

before you could say anything, he grabbed your hips and hauled you up onto his lap, heavy breath ghosting over your skin.

then he kissed you — hard, sloppy, desperate — like he hadn’t tasted you in years.

when he pulled back, his voice was low, thick with need.

“five minutes to rest that mouth, lovie… then i’m bending you over the couch.”

your breath hitched.

he smirked darkly.

“and if you so much as breathe another question… i’ll gag you with your own panties.”

[sleepy-little-stars]

andy speaks: maybe caleb feels ooc idrk i dont beta my works but !!! silly girl dad caleb :P

“i’m gonna marry uncle zayne when i grow up.”

she—caleb’s sweet girl who just turned six—said it so casually. over breakfast, too. at seven in the morning, it’s the most important meal of the day and yet caleb feels like he already wants to wretch all that he’s eaten.

his heart breaks, spoon clattering to the table dramatically as he stares at his daughter, wide-eyed and jaw-dropped. his head turns toward you in disbelief—are you seeing this? are you hearing this?—feeling even more betrayed when he sees you laughing at his misery.

she didn’t even say she wants to marry zayne. instead, she worded it like she’s actually going to marry the man.

caleb clears his throat, trying to calm himself.

“marry…” he coughs once more. you hand him a glass of water. “uncle zayne? why him? i thought you said you wanted to marry daddy?”

“ugh,” she groans, as if it’s painful for her to even talk about it. “i was three, and you made me say that!”

"i did not! you said it because you meant it."

"no, i didn't!"

“i mean,” you quip, “zayne is a good man.” you grin at caleb, knowing damn well his mind is about to blow up. his two girls ganging up on him? this was not written in your vows.

“don’t encourage this, pip." he points a finger at you, his eyes narrowing. "you’re supposed to be on my side!”

you shrug with a teasing smile. “i don’t know, caleb. she has good taste.”

“good taste? he’s like—he’s so—” caleb gestures vaguely, trying to conjure up the perfect insult for zayne, but he’s got nothing. because even caleb, at his most bitter, has to admit zayne is a decent guy. irritatingly decent. frustratingly admirable. the worst kind of competition.

“he saves lives, daddy,” your daughter says in that small as a matter of fact voice. “you just press buttons and stare into space.”

“excuse me?!” caleb nearly sputters his coffee. “those buttons could change the course of interstellar flight and exploration for the next hundred years! i stare at space because i’m observing complex quantum variables in real-time—”

“boring,” she cuts him off, swinging her legs under the table and picking at her strawberries.

he gasps. greatly offended. hand on his chest and all.

you’re covering your mouth to hide your laugh now, barely holding it together as caleb collapses back into his chair like the tragedy of this morning has physically drained him.

“he’s too old for you, anyway,” he grumbles, defeated. “zayne’s like... over thirty.”

“you’re only two years apart.”

he ignores your comment regarding his age—gentle implications that he, too, is in his thirties and has just called himself old.

“ancient. he’s got gray hairs and his back hurts every minute of every day.”

he once again ignores the teasing glances you direct at him.

she hums, unconcerned. “that’s okay. i’ll just marry his son.”

caleb goes still.

his soul leaves his body.

there and then, he blows up. explodes like dynamite thrown into the sea. erupts like an angry, raging volcano.

“no! baby, you can’t do that! he—he doesn’t even have a son!” he exclaims, in complete agony.

you stifle your laughter to place a hand on his back, like that can comfort him.

“he doesn’t even have a son!” he repeats, like that’s the final nail, or maybe his 13th reason. caleb doesn't know anymore.

your daughter just blinks innocently at him and pops a blueberry in her mouth. “yet.”

and caleb, poor caleb, lets out a long groan and slumps face-first into the table.

you pat his back gently as he mumbles something about betrayal in his own home, cursing zayne, how dare his daughter turn against him, cursing zayne again, how he will never allow her to marry until she’s fifty, and cursing zayne one last time.

“you’re still my number one pick,” you whisper in his ear before kissing his cheek as consolation.

“tell that to your traitor daughter,” he groans, voice muffled by his own arm.

and just like that, breakfast ends with caleb’s dignity shattered, your daughter planning a wedding that doesn’t exist, and you—well, you’re just having the best morning of your life. (and caleb sending zayne threatening emails for the next two weeks.)

masterlist here!

[simsdoll]

𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯

❥︎ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: brother's bsf!riki x afab reader

𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: Riki had always liked his best friend's little sister—sweet, innocent, and untouched by the world. But lately, something in him had shifted. The more he watched her—her shy smiles, the way she moved with such purity—the more he felt a dangerous urge to strip that innocence away. It wasn’t hatred that drove him, but something darker, more possessive. He wanted to be the one to ruin her, to break through the walls she didn’t even know she had.

𝘊𝘞: fingering, consensual sex, PinV, corruption, slight!age gap, brother's best friend, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys!!), dubcon at first (lmk if more)

it all started out 𝘴𝘰 innocent. Just politely saying hi to you when he came over to your house to hang out with your brother. Teasing you about your obsession with pink. Coming into your room and asking if you wanted some pizza too.

But late at night, he sat there on his bed, his hand wrapped around his hard member, slowly moving up and down. He was staring at a picture of you that you posted on your account once. You were dressed in your cute baby pink sweater, with your small white skirt underneath. Your hair up in a pretty ponytail, curled just right, with a small bow clipped on.

He groaned as he reached his high, hot ropes of cum spurting out of his now softening member. He grabbed a tissue to wipe the mess on his stomach off. The mess he made just for you.

You were innocent. An angel in human form. Always smiling, wearing pink, smelling like you just stepped out of a bath and body works store. You were so amazingly sweet, always helping others, and never fighting your brother, Sunghoon. Riki was obsessed with you. Pretty, perfect, angelic you.

You were sat on the couch when the doorbell rang. You didn't know about anyone coming over, since Sunghoon was out running some errands like your mom asked. You got up and walked into the hall, opening your front door, slightly surprised to see Riki standing there.

"Oh, hey Riki," you said, smiling politely. "Hey Y/n, is Hoon around?" He asked, dusting off his jacket. "No, he went out to get some groceries..." you chuckle, looking up at him. "He's been gone for a bit though, i think he'll be back soon. How about you come in and wait?" You asked, sweetness lacing your voice.

"Sure, that would be great." Riki said, stepping inside and following you to the living room. "What'cha watching?" He asked curiously, sitting down next to you. "Oh, just this movie i saw on tiktok. It seemed nice."

You could see Riki looking at you from the corner of your eye and paused the movie to look at him. Riki smiled slightly.

"Something wrong?" You asked, chuckling. "No, i was just looking. I like your shirt today." He said with a small grin. "Thanks." You said softly, turning back to the TV and continuing the movie.

That was until you felt Riki's hand on your knee. You decided to brush it off, thinking it was just a nice gesture. You could feel his hand inching closer to your thighs, slowly making its way up. "Riki...?" You said, looking at him. "Shhh, it's okay, just focus on the movie." He said softly. You decided to listen.

You could feel his hand slipping between your thighs, and stilling there. His hand was warm, comforting. You blushed slightly. He smiled to himself, his hand moving upwards and slowly making its way into your small shorts, slipping past your panties and brushing over your small clit.

You whimpered at the intimate action, gripping his wrist. "Riki..." you whispered. "It's okay, baby. I'm just trying to help you feel good. That's okay, right? I can do that?" He said softly, his tumb slowly moving up and down on your soft nub. You nodded, feeling too good to reject him.

He continued sliding his fingers up and down, eliciting small, quiet moans out of you. He grinned to himself, knowing you were enjoying it.

"R-riki.. Hoon might c-come home soon..." you said, your voice whiny. "I know sweetheart, i only need 10 minutes, okay?"

He went on with his teasing actions, seeing you fall apart slowly but surely. "I feel weird..." you said quietly. "Yeah? Just relax, and feel it. It's gonna feel really nice."

And then you felt it. Waves of pleasure crashing over your entire body, moans spilling out your mouth and your legs shaking. Riki smiled and slowed his movements, but still slowly working his hand up and down so you can ride out your orgasm.

Your head falls back against the couch, you breathing heavily. Riki smiles, looking down at the bulge in his pants. You look at him, noticing it too. "Wanna help me, sweetheart?" He asks, his voice soft. You nod, sitting up slowly.

Riki takes his jeans down a bit and reaches into his boxers, grabbing his hard member out of it. You gasp at the sight of it, scared it might not fit.

"Shh, it's okay. We'll make it work." He says, and you nod. He slowly reaches out and pulls you into his lap, making you straddle him with his dick underneath you. You bite your lip, looking at him.

"You ready? You sure you wanna do this?" He asks, and you nod again. He then grabs his member and aligns it with your small entrance. He starts with the tip, making you whimper. He kisses your jawline, distracting you from the stretch as he pushes in further.

You tear up slightly, not used to the stretch since it's your first time. He holds you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

When he bottoms out, you drop your head to his shoulder. "S-stay there for a second." You whisper softly, gripping his shoulders. After a minute, you look at him, nodding. He grabs your hips and slowly starts moving you. You moan quietly, scratching his back.

"R-riki..." you whimper, the pleasure overwhelming the pain. "Feels so nice..."

Riki smiles. "You feel so good around me, baby... you were made for this. Made for me." He praises, only making you wetter.

He hits your G-spot, making you moan loudly, your eyes rolling back. "Right there, fuck..." making him chuckle. "Language, baby." He keeps hitting your spot until you feel that familiar feeling of being close coming up again.

"Ki, i think 'm gonna.." you whimper, and he nods. "It's okay, baby. Come all over my cock, yeah?" He says, slipping a hand between you both and playing with your small puffy nub again.

And then you feel it again, the pleasure taking over your body. making you moan freely, your eyes rolling back. You keep moving on him until he comes too, hot liquid filling your insides. He keeps going, fucking the liquid deep inside you.

After a bit your body falls against his, breathing heavily, not fully comprehending what just happened. Riki chuckles, rubbing your back.

"How was that for your first time?" He asks with a smug smile. "How'd you- sweetheart, it was obvious." He cuts you off. "Now relax for a few minutes before you get dressed, okay?" He says, hugging your spent body close.

"Don't want your brother finding out i 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 you, hm?"

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: i really hope you guys enjoyed this, i'd really appreciate some requests. please lmk if i should add any content warnings!

[ninisdollie]

soft ink - nishimura riki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which Ni-ki goes to get his first tattoo, not expecting to fall for the pretty, soft girl who turns out being his tattoo artist”

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content:

fem! reader x ni-ki, fluff fluff fluff, short drabble, reader has tattoos, ni-ki is down bad

notes: in honor of riki (probably) having a tattoo, this came to my mind, kind of based in real life from when i got my first tattoo in the cutest studio ever

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The bell above the door chimed softly as Ni-ki stepped into the studio, the cool air brushing against his skin after the heat outside. He took a look around, black walls, neon signs, the faint buzzing of a tattoo machine coming from the back. It was what he expected: edgy, dark, kind of intimidating.

You looked up from behind the desk, ipad in hand, glossy lips parted in surprise like you hadn’t even noticed the door open. Your sweater was pale pink, oversized at the sleeves and cropped at the waist, showing a bit of soft skin above your white washed jeans. Your nails were perfectly done, glittery and shaped into gentle almonds. And your hair, half-up with a satin pink ribbon, looked so delicate and stylist.

Ni-ki blinked.

“Oh, hi,” you said sweetly, smiling a little as you set the ipad down. “Are you… Ni-ki?”

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

You stood, brushing invisible lint off your lap as you stepped towards him, radiating warmth and softness, Ni-ki smelled the soft vanilla scent coming out off you. Definitely not what he’d pictured when he booked the appointment. In your hands, small, tiny, fine lined tattoos. A little moon, a little heart, a couple of daisies that trailed up your wrist. You had tiny gold hoops in your ears, and a rose gold charm bracelet that jingled softly as you moved.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N, i’m gonna be doing your tattoo today,” you said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your voice was delicate, kind of shy, but confident in a quiet way. “You want to come back and get settled?”

Ni-ki nodded slowly, still processing.

“Wait—you’re the artist?”

You giggled, a sound so light and pretty it made his ears burn.

“Mhm. Surprised?”

He followed you down the hallway like he was hypnotized.

“A little, yeah. You don’t look like…”

“Like a tattoo artist?” You smiled back at him over your shoulder, biting back a grin. “I get that a lot.”

“No—I mean—” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing under his breath. “You’re just… not what I pictured.”

You didn’t answer, but the corners of your lips curled up in a way that made his stomach twist.

The room you led him into was cozy. Warm lighting, soft instrumental music playing faintly, a little pink lamp glowing in the corner. There was a shelf with Sanrio figurines and a candle that smelled like marshmallows. Even the tattooing chair was pink, you had a picture with who looked like your puppy on the shelve on a white frame. It felt like a sleepover, not a place to get ink stabbed into your skin.

“Okay,” you said softly, tapping on your ipad. “Oh wow, you chose a very big design, brave boy.” you smiled a bit teasing, and he chuckled.

He sat down carefully, his eyes still bouncing around the room like he couldn’t quite believe where he was.

“I don’t feel like i’m in a tattoo studio at all” he muttered, half-joking.

You laughed again, that soft, silvery sound that made his chest ache a little.

“Well, the needles are real,” you said sweetly, pulling on your gloves with a quiet snap. “So try not to pass out, tough guy.”

Ni-ki smirked.

“You calling me soft?”

You tilted your head, biting your lip like you were holding back a smile.

“No. Just saying I’ve seen guys twice your size faint at the first line.”

That made his pulse quicken.

You stepped closer, eyes skimming his side.

“You said ribs, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lifting his hoodie slowly, exposing smooth, tan skin and lean muscle. His abs flexed slightly under the low light. He didn’t mean to show off, but it was hard not to when your gaze dropped to his waist.

You blinked, clearing your throat quickly.

“Alright, I’m gonna clean the area first,” you said softly, reaching for a cloth soaked in disinfectant. “Let me know if anything feels uncomfy, okay?”

Ni-ki nodded, suddenly quiet again. And then your hands were on him, your touch was very gentle, soft and feather-light, almost like if you were scared to hurt him or touch him more than necessary. You wiped across his ribs with slow, practiced movements, fingers brushing his skin.

He had to force himself to breathe.

“So… is this your first tattoo?” you asked, your voice light and casual, trying not to notice the way he tensed under your touch.

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes fixed somewhere near your wrist. “Didn’t think it’d start like this.”

“Like what?”

“With you.” He looked at you then. “Didn’t expect the girl stabbing me with needles to be this pretty.”

Your cheeks went warm, but you kept your expression soft, lashes lowering as you smiled, cleaning the skin of his torso.

“Don’t flirt.”

Ni-ki smirked, but his pulse was going crazy now.

You moved closer, fingers now dabbing the stencil gently along his ribs. You were focused, precise, but your touch was still so soft it made his breath stutter. Then you leaned in, blowing gently across the ink to help it set, and the sudden breeze against his skin made his abs twitch.

“You’re already flinching and i haven’t even started,” you murmured with a teasing lilt, not looking up.

You stayed focused, swiping gently at his ribs with a cloth, adjusting the angle just a little, brushing hair out of your face with the back of your hand. Ni-ki smiled, it was starting to hit him that this wasn’t just a regular tattoo appointment.

“Okay” you breathed, moving back a little bit to prep the needle “Here’s the needle, new and clean” you opened the package in front of him, just protocole, and his eyes were fixated on your face.

You snapped the cartridge into place with a soft click, your gloved fingers moving smoothly, practiced. Everything you did was quiet, even the way you peeled off the sterile seal and adjusted your stool again beside him.

Ni-ki hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his stare like heat against your skin.

“You ready?” you asked softly, glancing up at him under your lashes.

His throat bobbed as he nodded.

“Okay,” you breathed, switching the machine on. The soft hum filled the room, vibrating low between you. “I’m gonna start with the outline. It’s not that bad. Just don’t hold your breath, alright?”

You leaned in.

His whole body tensed, but not from fear. From you. From your voice that felt like silk, from the way your perfume was soft and sweet and surrounded him until it was suffocating, from the look in your eyes as you focused so carefully on him.

And then the needle touched his skin.

A sharp sting, fast and thin, dragged carefully along his ribs. His jaw tightened, muscles flexing under your hand but you didn’t pause.

“Breathe,” you reminded gently, the corners of your mouth lifting just slightly. “You’re doing great.”

He exhaled, finally, the tension in his chest deflating just a little.

You worked in slow, steady strokes, one hand holding the skin taut, the other guiding the needle with precision. Every now and then you dabbed at the line with a soft cloth, and each time your hand skimmed his waist, it left goosebumps in its wake.

Ni-ki bit the inside of his cheek.

He could handle the pain. He wasn’t worried about that. What he couldn’t handle was the way you touched him. The way your voice dipped softer every time he flinched, how you leaned in so close he could feel your breath when you checked your work.

“How’s that?” you murmured, glancing up again, a soft smile on your lips and your nose slightly scrunched, he though you looked adorable, “Too much?”

He shook his head, voice low and a bit shaky.

“No. It’s… good.”

“Perfect.” your smile was warm as you kept going, but his eyes kept drifting to your shoulder, where the wide neckline of your sweater had started to fall, baring smooth skin and the delicate strap of your bralette. You weren’t trying to be sexy, or anything at all, but the sight still made his breath hitch.

You were glowing under the soft pink lamp, lashes spreading shadows on your cheeks, hair tucked loosely behind your ears. You looked like you belonged in a pastel dreamscape, not hovering over him with a needle in your hand.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, still focused on the lines as your hand gently wiped his skin clean again.

“Beautiful,” he answered, not even realizing what he’d said until your eyes flicked up to meet his.

You blushed again, but your hands kept being steady on his skin. You kept working, trying not to get too shy with his heavy gaze over you.

The buzzing continued in the background, steady and low, but the atmosphere had shifted, warmer now. Your hand still moved carefully along his ribs, but your voice had softened, and his had too.

“So, what do you like to do usually, on your free time?” you asked, wiping the zone before starting again.

Ni-ki blinked like he hadn’t expected the question. Your tone was so gentle, almost like you were trying not to break whatever invisible thread had formed between you.

He cleared his throat softly.

“Mm… I’m kind of a homebody,” he said. “I watch a lot of movies. Sometimes I’ll just sit in my room messing with music stuff, i dance a lot too.”

You smiled as you dabbed at the ink again, your movements slow and careful.

“I could see that,” you murmured.

“See what?” he asked, glancing at you.

“That you’re a dancer,” you said softly, still focused on his skin. “You move like someone who knows his body.”

Ni-ki blinked, a little stunned by the way you said it, to him, it wasn’t just a compliment, but an observation that made his chest feel warm.

“…You’re kind of poetic,” he said, voice a little quieter now.

You laughed under your breath.

“I’m what some people would call “too dreamy, my friends tease me about it all the time.”

Ni-ki smiled at your words, something soft flickering behind his eyes.

“I can see that,” he said, voice low. “You kind of… feel like a dream.”

You blinked, caught off guard, a small laugh slipping from your lips as you reached for a clean wipe.

“I’ll start with the filling now, might hurt a bit more”

Ni-ki nodded, but the way he looked at you made it feel like he hadn’t even heard the warning.

He was still thinking about your laugh.

Still thinking about the way you said “too dreamy” like it was something to be ashamed of, when he’d never heard anything more perfect. You adjusted slightly, gloved hand bracing against the side of his torso again, and your other hand guided the buzzing machine back to his skin.

“This’ll feel deeper,” you murmured, more serious now, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

“Okay,” he said softly, but it came out closer to a whisper.

Then the needle touched down again, slower now, more pressure, and he felt it sink in differently. The pain was sharper, warmer, blooming right beneath your gentle touch. You felt him hiss through his teeth and flinch abit.

“Breathe,” you reminded him again, glancing up with a soft smile. “Nice and easy.”

He tried. But your voice was way more effective than any deep breath.

The hum of the machine was steady, your movements fluid and focused. But even in your concentration, he noticed how your bottom lip curled slightly when you were deep in thought. How you kept adjusting the angle of your wrist so you wouldn’t press too hard against him. Every tiny detail about you felt overwhelming.

“You okay?” you asked softly after a few minutes.

He nodded, exhaling a bit shakily.

“Y-Yeah.”

Ni-ki smiled, jaw tightening as another sting hit, but he didn’t even care anymore. The pain was background noise now, everything in him was focused on the way you touched him, talked to him, made the room feel like it had shrunk into just the two of you.

“You’re really good at this,” he said.

You blinked, fingers pausing just briefly.

“tattooing?”

He looked at you again, eyes softer now.

“No. This, all of this.”

After a couple of hours, the buzzing finally stopped.

You leaned back slowly, stretching your shoulders with a soft sigh, fingers brushing his side one last time as you wiped away the excess ink. The room had gone quiet again, quiet that hums after something intimate. The glow of the pink lamp wrapped around you both like a curtain.

“Okay,” you said, breathless but proud, pulling your gloves off with a snap. “You survived.”

Ni-ki blinked, still a little dazed. His ribs ached and his body felt heavy, but he wasn’t thinking about the tattoo.

He was thinking about you.

You smiled gently, standing up and gesturing toward the mirror across the room.

“Go take a look,” you said. “Tell me if you like it.”

He stood slowly, running a hand through his hair, and padded over to the mirror, still shirtless, the air cool against his skin, the fresh ink burning in the best way.

His eyes found the reflection.

It was beautiful.

Bold but clean, intricate lines and soft shading. He traced his eyes over the curves of it, appreciating the way it fit his frame perfectly. But only for a second. Because the next thing he did was look behind him in the mirror, at you.

You were still over by your station, carefully wrapping up supplies, your expression relaxed now, your mouth tucked into a soft smile like you were happy with what you’d made, not even realising the effect you were having on him.

He turned back around, crossing the room again.

“Well?” you asked, lifting your eyes to meet his.

He paused in front of you, eyes flicking from your face to your lips and back again.

“I love it,” he said honestly. “Thank you.”

You smiled proudly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you picked up a pink memo card from the little ceramic tray beside you. With neat handwriting, you started writing out the aftercare instructions while he watched you quietly, still not quite over the fact that you were real.

“No tight clothes around the area for the next few days,” you said softly, scribbling the last line. “And keep it clean. Gently wash it, pat dry, no rubbing, no sunlight, and definitely no swimming.”

He nodded, lips tugging into a faint smile as he watched the way your brows furrowed a little in focus. You were back in “professional mode,” but your voice was still soft. Still dreamy.

“Use this ointment twice a day,” you added, placing a small packet next to the card. “And don’t pick at it when it starts to peel, no matter how itchy it gets.”

“You’re really sweet.”

Your eyes softened again. And for a second, neither of you said anything. Just the hum of the room. The faint smell of marshmallow-scented candle smoke. The way he was looking at you like the tattoo was just an excuse to be near you this whole time.

You cleared your throat lightly, sliding the pink card towards him on the counter.

“There you go. All the info’s there.”

His fingers brushed yours as he picked it up.

He looked down at the card. Then back up at you.

“…Is your number on here?” he asked, tone innocent, but his smile wasn’t.

You blinked, caught a little off guard, lips parting slightly.

“Mmm… no.”

Ni-ki tilted his head.

“Can it be?”

The question hung in the air, bold and warm and filled with butterflies. You smiled slowly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear again as you reached for a pen.

“Turn it over,” you whispered.

He obeyed, and your handwriting followed, digits carefully written with a tiny heart next to your name. You slid it back to him and met his eyes, pulse thrumming.

“Don’t text me dumb questions,” you warned, teasing.

“I won’t,” he said, slipping the card into his pocket. “I’ll text you to say I miss your touch.”

You blinked, your breath shaking just slightly, but you didn’t look away. Ni-ki said goodbye, he left happily with a new tattoo but something better, he just met the cutest, prettiest girl ever, and he had to make you his.

That’s why later that night, when you were lying in bed, fresh out of the shower with your hair still damp, scrolling aimlessly, you smiled when you saw the message pop up from an unknown number.

[Unknown Number]:

hey… i didn’t get a rash yet so i think that means you’re good at your job 😅

You smiled instantly, sinking deeper under your covers.

You:

glad to hear you’re not dying

Three dots appeared right away. He was already typing.

Ni-ki:

lowkey tho

is it normal to miss your tattoo artist?? asking for a friend

You giggled, hiding your face in your pillow.

You:

depends

did the artist tease you the whole time or was that just me?

Ni-ki:

definitely just you

but like… i didn’t hate it

You could practically hear his voice through the screen, shy but trying, his boyish charm bleeding through every message.

You:

tell your friend that it’s not weird

especially if the artist kinda misses him too

he didn’t respond for like five whole minutes.

Ni-ki:

don’t say that

i’m already smiling like an idiot

You covered your mouth, blushing way too hard for someone who spent the entire day being professional and calm.

You:

just being honest…

Ni-ki:

can i be honest too?

You:

yeah

Ni-ki:

i haven’t stopped thinking about your voice

and your hands

and your cute little marshmallow-scented studio

you’re kinda stuck in my head now

Your heart did something dramatic. Like actually tripped over itself. Your cheeks burned, fingers hovering above the keyboard for longer than they should have.

You:

that’s not fair

you’re making it hard to focus on anything else tonight

Ni-ki:

oh no

am i distracting the dreamy tattoo artist?

You laughed quietly to yourself, pillow hugged to your chest.

You:

a little bit

but it’s okay

i kinda like it

Three dots.

Ni-ki:

you looked so pretty today

you know that?

You froze, smile tugging at your lips before you could stop it.

You:

you didn’t even look at the tattoo first

Ni-ki:

yeah

but i looked at you the whole time

You buried your face in the pillow, fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as you kicked your feet once, hard.

You:

stop

you’re gonna make me blush again

Ni-ki:

good

i think you’re really cute when you blush

You covered your face with your phone for a second, then peeked at the screen like it was too much.

Then another message came.

Ni-ki:

can i see you again?

You blinked, heart leaping straight into your throat.

You:

yeah

i’d like that

Ni-ki:

soon?

You:

soon :)

And just like that, the whole night felt warmer.

You tucked your phone against your chest, smile slow and quiet as you whispered into the dark:

“He’s so cute.”

A few months later…

Jake’s apartment was very loud. The music was playing from a Bluetooth speaker that had been dropped twice already, and it smelled vaguely like takeout and boy.

But you and Ni-ki were tucked into the corner of the couch, completely unfazed.

You were half on his lap, your legs curled under you as he lazily traced shapes into your arm with his fingertip. His voice was soft against your ear, lower than the noise around you, like everything he said was meant just for you.

“You look so pretty tonight,” he murmured, thumb brushing over the hem of your sleeve.

You smiled, turning your head slightly so your nose bumped against his.

“I told you I’d survive meeting your friends.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek.

“I didn’t doubt you. I just… like showing you off.”

You blushed, leaning into his chest, completely absorbed in the moment, even with chaos erupting around you.

Then:

“YO,” Jake yelled from the kitchen, over the sound of chips being ripped open. “How the hell did you two even meet?”

Ni-ki looked up, blinked once, then smiled like he’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“Ohhh,” he grinned, adjusting so you were facing him just a little more. “This story.”

You groaned, already hiding your face in his hoodie.

“Ni-ki don’t start—”

“No, I have to,” he said, eyes sparkling. “So I walk into this tattoo shop, right? Totally normal day. I’m just expecting some bald tatted guy to show up, but then, behind the desk, this girl stands up.”

He looked at you, smile softening.

“She’s in this oversized pink sweater, hair all soft, tiny tattoos on her hands. She looked like a marshmallow. And then she goes, ‘Hi, I’m Y/N, I’ll be doing your tattoo today,’ and I’m like—nope. I’m in love.”

The guys howled, but he kept going, completely sincere.

“She was so sweet. Kept checking on me, touching my ribs like I’d break, her voice was all quiet and warm. And then, when she finished…” He reached into his wallet, already pulling something out. “She gave me this.”

He held up a slightly folded pink memo card, that you gave him. Your careful handwriting, aftercare instructions, a little heart under your name.

Sunghoon almost choked on his soda.

“Bro.”

“You kept it?” Jay yelled.

“Obviously,” Ni-ki said, completely unfazed. “ I literally stared at this all night like a loser.”

You were dying, pressing your face to his shoulder, laughing into his hoodie.

“And then I texted her,” he finished, slipping the card safely back into his wallet. “And now she’s here. Sitting on my lap. Looking like that. So yeah. Best appointment of my life.”

The guys groaned and teased and threw popcorn at him.

But Ni-ki didn’t care.

He just looked down at you again and whispered, “Best tattoo ever”

[wonniemylovee]

જ⁀➴ A BOY WHOS JACKED AND KIND

(In which the enha members take off their jackets just to show off some muscle)

LEE HEESEUNG

- heeeung mentally noted that you didn't have a jacket on when he picked you up.

- so as soon you folded your arms around your self Heeseung's jacket was already off one shoulder.

- You didn't even say you were cold he just assumed you were.

- his back arched just slightly, neck exposed. Sleeves riding up his forearms, the lines of muscle shifting as he let out a casual sigh like he wasn't trying to make you collapse on the sidewalk.

- omg you were drooling

- "You okay? Want my jacket?"

- Nodding, you shift your gaze from his face, and he wraps it around your shoulders like you were fragile or something.

- It was warm from his body heat, lined with the smell of his cologne, and so oversized on you that the sleeves dangled past your hands.

- Then, like it was nothing, Heeseung tilted your chin up with two fingers.

- "You can stare it's all yours anyway."

- Heeseung then bit his lip trying to contain a smirk "you want me to warm you up a little more?"

- what?

- before he could do anything you push his chest and walked away, you could hear him laughing behind you

PARK JONGSEONG

- you invited him to your family's cookout and instead of hanging around your family you guys were in the parking lot by his car.

- you guys were flirting and touching.

- He leaned his hip against the car next to you both, his fingers brushing yours like it was a habit, like he couldn't not touch you.

- He shifted his weight suddenly, and then shrugged off his sleek black jacket in one smooth, practiced motion. The twist of his shoulders pulled the cotton tight across his arms, and for a moment you forgot everything else.

- Literally forgot.

- Your brain malfunctioned.

- Because Gosh veins. His forearms flexed just right as he slipped one arm out, then the other, and held the jacket out to you with both hands.

- "Can't have you freezing, babe. But you do look good doing it."

- You just... stared.

- At his absurdly defined arms now on full display in the black T-shirt he wore underneath, which was tragically tight in all the right places.

- You blinked once again. "You planned that."

"Planned what?"

- "showing off a little muscle in front of me?"

- He took a slow step forward and draped the jacket around your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck as he did. "Would it be bad if I was?"

- you rolled your eyes

- Jay pulled back slightly, his voice low and smug. "Still cold?"

"No."

SIM JAEYUN

- You and Jake were at the fall festival for a cute date.

- You guys had been walking through almost every booth and sipping all the cider you could.

- But then the wind picked up and you rubbed your arms, goosebumps rising.

- Jake noticed instantly. He grinned and leaned against the wooden fence beside you.

- "Want my hoodie?"

- he said it so casually, but then he pulled it over his head with a full shoulder roll.

- He pulled it over his head with a shoulder roll that deserved to be illegal in public. You watched in real time as the cotton of his hoodie stretched across his back and arms, the fabric tightening slightly as he dragged it up and over

- And that's when it happened.

- Just a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans and the hint of toned abs underneath.

- You weren't breathing properly

- He gently draped it over you and gave you the most boyish smile ever.

- "Australian warmth. Guaranteed."

- Your face burned. "I think you just like showing off."

- "Would you blame me if I did?" he teased, leaning into your space just a little. "I mean, your face when I took it off..."

- "I wasn't staring,"

- "Baby, your soul left your body."

- "I hate you."

- Jake rolled his eyes and quickly pecked your lips.

- "no you don't."

PARK SUNGHOON

- You were both sitting on a bench, you were watching Sunghoon untying your skates, and the freezing air inside the rink had stuck to your bones. You kept blowing into your hands.

- Sunghoon noticed and sighed like a drama lead annoyed that his love interest didn't dress properly.

- Without saying a word, he reached up, tugged off his zip-up jacket with painfully slow ease.

- It was that sleek black zip-up you always stole because it was the softest thing in his closet.

- He dragged it off his shoulders slowly, like he knew what he was doing.

- The sleeves stretched tight around his arms showing the definition in his biceps, his jaw tightening just slightly from the cold.

- His black undershirt clung to him in all the right places, and your brain short-circuited for a full three seconds.

- oh my gosh you just wanted him to suffocate you with those arms

- He leaned forward, resting it around your shoulders before pulling it closed in front of you.

- "I should've brought you gloves too."

- "You're acting like you're not literally the reason I can't think straight."

- He looked devastatingly perfect in this lighting flushed cheeks from the cold, sharp jaw, soft lashes. And now, jacketless, standing there like some prince in a k-drama finale, radiating both boyfriend energy and muscle definition.

- he smirked and you frowned. "You're not getting your jacket back."

- "Wasn't planning on it."

KIM SUNOO

- The sun was going down and you were sitting outside on the patio with Sunoo, drinking iced coffees.

- You shivered once, and he immediately whipped his head toward you.

- "Okay, nope. Not on my watch."

- He stood up, Reached up with both hands and tugged his hoodie off in the most unnecessarily smooth move possible.

- And maybe it was the angle, or the golden hour light, but when his shirt lifted along with it you definitely saw the soft line of his abs.

- he smirked when he saw you looking

- "Here. You'll look better in it anyway."

- oh hes such a brat, you smirked

- and blinked at him. "That was... dramatic." Sunoo winked. "So is being cold and cute."

- you smiled and kissed his nose.

- When you pulled back, he still held you close, trying to hold his smile in.

- "You're keeping that hoodie, by the way," he whispered.

YANG JUNGWON

- You and jungwon were out on a date.

- when you guys left the house it wasn't that cold so you didn't grab a jacket.

- When you guys walk out the movie theater you're instantly hit with the cold air.

- You're shivering and Jungwon notices.

- Instead of just handing you his hoodie like a normal person, he reaches behind his neck with both arms, dragging it off very slowly.

- His shirt lifted just enough for you to see the hem of his toned stomach, and as he bent his arms back to tug the hoodie over his head, the fabric stretched across his chest and shoulders in a way that had no business being so unfair.

-His biceps flexed, veins just barely popping, and your brain forgot how to process basic temperature complaints.

- what the fuck?

- He smirks when he catches your eyes lingering.

- "It's just a hoodie, baby. Not a strip show."

- You grab it, flustered, pushing him away.

"Then stop looking like a gym ad." Jungwon bites his lip and bumps your shoulder with his.

- "only for you baby."

NISHIMURA RIKI 

- you were watching Riki dance

- you were in the corner of the studio on the floor scrolling on your phone.

- someone had left the door cracked open, letting the late fall air slither in. You shivered.

- Riki glanced up mid-stretch.

- "Hey," he said, standing up and walking over.

- You blinked up at him. "Yeah?"

- "You cold?"

- "No," you lied immediately, teeth chattering a little.

- He raised a brow, then without saying another word he unzipped his black performance jacket. His shirt underneath clung to his chest, reveling the outline of his abs and the sleeves tight around his arms.

- you almost let out a moan. "Ni-ki, I'm fine—"

- He ignored you and draped the jacket over your shoulders anyway.

- "it's obvious that your not." You pouted wrapping yourself tightly in his jacket

- "and it's obvious you're trying to show off "

- Riki smirked "you know what else is obvious?" You look up at him to see a smirk plastered on his face.

- "how good you look in my jacket and how I really wanna kiss you right now."

- you tried to hide your smile by closing your eyes turning away from him but Riki still leaned in and kissed you. Warm and slow.

- His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw. When he finally pulled away, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

- "still cold?"

- "not at all"

First Post!! (Not edited)

[xxundeadfanboixx]

Price, Gaz, Soap, Extra

 Like everything else that comes from Ghost, the nickname for you is something far more teasing in nature. Usually said with a smirk on his lips that you can’t see cause of his balaclava but you swear you can hear it in his voice. There’s a pride to his words, and it feels like an inside joke between you two whenever he says it. The first time he used it though it was far more insulting and degrading. Not to you. Never to you. No, it was insulting and degrading for the rookie that you had pinned beneath you, throat between your teeth, during training. 

    He was one of those green bastards. Fresh enough that he still had both his pride and ego intact when he had been grouped off with some other rookies to train under Ghost’s hand. The worst part was that he had some merit behind this inflated ego of his. He was capable, and from what Ghost had read over in his file, he was a damn good soldier too. The kind of soldier that could climb the ranks quickly despite the relatively short time that he’s been enlisted. Bastard got too big, thought he was atop of the food chain, he forgot that he still could have predators. Forgot that he still can be hunted and slaughtered. Ghost will say that he was doing the bloke a blessing. Saving his life even by reminding him that he can still be touched. 

   “You take this one.” Ghost tells you in that usual way that he does when telling you anything. In the way of an order that he’s respecting you to follow without question. Just like all the other dogs he’s got trained. “You ain’t no show dog, here to just sit pretty like. So get your ass on that mat.” You aren’t a part of this round of hand-to-hand combat training. You look over Ghost’s shoulder to eye the soldier stepping onto the mat with a confident, cocky grin on his lips. You’re not muzzled. If you were here for actual training, instead of just watching Ghost, you’d be muzzled, you’re not allowed to participate in physical combat training of any kind without being properly muzzled first. It’s in your contract, you’d get in serious trouble if you were to ignore it. Ghost knows this. His gloved hand lands on the back of your neck. And he leans in to whisper in your ear, “No restraints this time. Don’t hold back.” And like a dog, you follow the orders of the person holding your leash.

   It takes minutes, and Ghost has to give him some credit, he wasn’t expecting him to last as long as he did. It doesn’t amount to anything in the end. Not when you’ve got the soldier pinned down to the mat, and your teeth in his throat. You can taste his blood on your tongue, thin rivets of it running down the sides of his neck while you wait for the order. Restrained just enough to hold yourself back from jerking your head to the side and ripping his juggler out. He’s not moving. He’s smart, you don’t know if you’d be able to hold your restraint if he was the squirmy type. “Sir! Do something!” You hear another soldier shout at Ghost from behind you. You hear the hiccuped sob from the guy between your teeth as you bite down harder. “Why should I?” Ghost crosses his arms over his chest, pride and amusement in his tone. “They’re just playing. Puppies need to teeth, and all of that other bullshit.” 

   Eventually Ghost does scruff you and forces you to release the soldier, before sending him off to medical with a joke about rabies. It’s after this that Ghost starts using the nickname ‘puppy teeth’ more often. You growl at him for getting too close to Gaz while you’re in one of your protective moods? “Look at little puppy teeth trying to act all scary.” You -somehow- accidentally end up biting Ghost? “Hmm? Does puppy teeth need a chew toy to help with their teething?” You’re actually eating around the team cause you’re starving after a mission? Ghost is leaning over the table, “Need someone to cut that up for you? Wouldn’t want you struggling with those small little baby teeth you have.” and is promptly jumped by you. Always said with a grin in his voice. 

   It’s the worst during post-mission reports. Ghost will be explaining the events of the mission completely professionally, when all of a sudden, “Puppy teeth over here managed to get to one of the bastards’ throats again. Always playing too rough with their toys.” He sighs like an exhausted pet owner, shaking his head. “It was a real mess. Blood just all over the place. Capt’ is actually brushing their teeth and trying to clean them up from the filth right now, that’s why he can’t be here.”

[concretejunglefm]

thot confession ˚˖ ࣪

I cannot get the thot of Noah (wolfcut!noah to be exact!!) being your piercer, hear me out - going to get both your nipples done and being nervous and he’s all sweet talking and flirty and constantly dancing around the line of professionalism, maybe you need to be talked through an orgasm to calm down for the piercing? 😌 and afterwards he cannot get enough of how good they look ??? idk sorry this is my brainrot and I didn’t know where to share it, I just need wolfcut Noah to slut me out 😩

Hi, anon, do you have any idea how much I love this? It has completely taken over my brain!!!

Honestly, you needed your friends to hype you up and talk you into it, because maybe you were just a teeny bit nervous, especially with how sensitive your nipples already are. Plus, you’d heard about the possibility of losing sensitivity and all that.

When you showed up, the last person you expected to see was this young guy. Not only did he have this playfully charming smile, but he was so flirty that it definitely helped put you at ease a little.

CW: fingering, light nipple play, praising, use of ‘good girl’, semi-public, kinda dirty talk(?).

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

“Come, take a seat right here.” He gestures you over, a tattooed hand patting the padded table. Surprisingly, your legs feel like jelly as you approach, nerves starting to creep back in. “First time?” he asks, brow slightly cocked.

You nod slowly. “Uh… yeah.”

“Ah, a virgin.” He grins, something cheeky in his tone, and for a second, you almost want to be offended by the remark, until he adds, “My favorite.” There’s a flicker in the way he says it that suggests he doesn’t just mean it in relation to piercings.

When you hop up onto the table and make yourself comfortable, he instructs, “Shirt off.”

You manage to find your voice, and a flicker of confidence, as you quickly quip, “What? You’re not going to help?”

That catches his attention. His gaze locks onto yours, and a faint heat rises to your cheeks. Not regret, exactly, just a hint of skepticism about whether you should’ve said that.

To your surprise, he approaches you, large hands settling on the bed on either side of your thighs. Even with the height difference, his frame manages to crowd you, keeping him just that little bit above you.

“If you think it’ll help you relax…” he murmurs, raising a brow again. There’s a small tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, and then you feel the daring brush of his hands—fingers grazing your thighs, then your hips, curling into the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you let out a breathless, “Yes.”

His fingers slide higher, grazing along your sides as he lifts your shirt slowly over your head.

“Your bra,” he says, gesturing. You nod, silently inviting him to help with that, too, and he does, his hands slipping behind you, stepping in even closer so you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

You’re tempted to reach out and touch him, especially as your eyes follow the ink trailing up his arms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt and peeking from the V at his collar. It makes you wonder how far the tattoos go.

“Now lie down for me,” he orders, and you comply without hesitation.

His hand brushes along your sternum as he continues upward, pausing at the valley between your breasts. “I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.”

“Do you make that promise to all your clients?” you ask, your tone soft and teasing.

“Only the really pretty ones.” He winks down at you, and a wave of heat stirs low in your stomach, especially as his hand hasn’t moved.

“Are you sensitive?” he asks.

You hum in response, just as his hand slides over one breast, thumb brushing faintly across your already hardened nipple. The light contact draws out the faintest moan—unintentional, but impossible to hold back.

“Oh, very sensitive,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, though the sly smirk at his lips makes it clear he’s enjoying every second. “You know,” he adds, “if you need help relaxing… I may have another solution.”

You turn your head, brow raised in silent question.

“I hear an orgasm really helps,” he says thoughtfully, his fingers still toying with your nipple—twisting, tugging gently before moving to the other, offering it the same soft attention. “I can talk you through it. Just enough to help you unwind.”

As his hand begins to lower again, gliding down your stomach and over the front of your jeans, your legs part instinctively, welcoming the idea.

“Please…?” you whisper softly, batting your lashes up at him.

You hear the soft jingle of your zipper as he tugs your jeans down. Your hips arch, wriggling just enough for him to slip his hand into the front of your panties. The moment his fingers brush over your slit, your hips buck—desperately craving the contact.

“Just tell me where it feels good,” he says, catching your gaze. His free hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading beneath your hair to hold you close as he dips a finger between your folds.

Instantly, you push against him, gasping when he finds your clit and begins to draw slow, smooth circles. The slickness gathering between your thighs makes every stroke more intense, your body already responding.

When he moves a little deeper, your breath catches. “Right there.”

The full connection against your clit sends a ripple of pleasure through you.

“Here?” he asks, pressing more firmly. You nod, biting down on your lower lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise soft and low. Your hands reach up, grasping at his arm for grounding. “Are you gonna… oh, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Just grind yourself against my fingers. Make yourself feel good.”

His voice shifts, thick with heat, as he watches you begin to roll your hips—grinding into his hand. You feel the addition of a second finger pressing to your clit, both working in tandem, coaxing you closer and closer as the tension builds low in your stomach.

You know it shouldn’t be turning you on this much, being touched like this by a complete stranger, but you can’t help it. Every part of this moment is overwhelmingly arousing. The thrill of potentially being caught. The way he charmed his way into your space, into your body. The way his eyes stay locked on you, hungry.

When you glance up at him, you catch that look of lust. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he watches you, like he wants nothing more than to devour you right then and there.

“Let me hear your moans, baby,” he urges gently.

You start to whimper, holding back with a harsh bite to your lip—hard enough to taste copper on your tongue.

“That’s it—let go for me. You know you want to cum.”

His voice is coaxing, low and encouraging as he listens to the sound of your growing moans, and god, you do. You can feel the wave rising, building higher with every second. Your hips buck faster as his fingers press harder, rubbing relentless, perfect circles.

Your nails dig into his arm, scratching along the skin as you ride his fingers to your climax. You hold on tight, shuddering around him when you finally careen over the edge. The pleasure crashes through you, overwhelming and all consuming.

He doesn’t let go. One hand strokes your scalp gently, keeping you grounded, and you barely catch the sound of his murmured praise through the buzzing in your ears.

When he finally pulls away, his fingers slip from your panties, and you watch as he brings them up to his lips. Your cum coats them, glistening. His eyes are slightly hooded as he runs his tongue along one long, slender finger, humming approvingly at the taste of you.

“You should feel nice and relaxed now,” he says with a smirk.

And he’s right. You do. You feel blissful—floaty, even, as you lie back on the bed, practically seeing hearts in your eyes and already craving more of him.

[brklynbxby]

Jayden let out a low chuckle, completely unbothered by her words—if anything, he looked amused. “You wound me, Monica,” he said with an easy grin, leaning back slightly as if her jab had rolled right off his shoulders. “Here I was thinking you’d been circling me like a hawk all night because you were intrigued, not because I was the last guy standing.” He glanced over to where Sam stood, chatting with someone by the drinks table, and lifted a hand to wave him over. “Sam!” he called, smirking. “You’re being summoned. Apparently, Monica here thinks she settled by flirting with me. Think you may have been her first option.” Then, dropping his voice just enough for her to hear, he added with a smirk, “Though I’ll warn you—he’s a good-looking boy, yeah, but I doubt he kisses half as well.” He turned his attention back to her, eyes locked on hers without flinching. “And for the record,” he said, voice low and steady, “I don’t generally make a habit of kissing strangers. Just the really attractive ones.”

Nate chuckled, his thumb gently brushing her arm as she leaned into him. That little smile of hers made his chest loosen, like some quiet part of him could finally breathe again. “I think that sounds like the perfect idea,” he said softly, then stood and reached down, offering his hand with a warm grin. “I’m curious about that surprise now though.” As he helped Harmony to her feet, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, eyes flicking over her face like he was making sure she was really okay. That mischief in her tone—he lived for it. Just then, Rhett’s voice rang out from beside them, loud and full of that usual teasing energy.“Oh, hell yes, I was born ready for karaoke,” Rhett said, already rising from his seat with a mock stretch like he was preparing for a full performance. “I’ll start warming up for ‘I Want It That Way’ now then.”

Monica rolled her eyes, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up her face as she leaned in closer, her voice low and laced with playful challenge. “Don’t flatter yourself…” she purred, the smirk tugging at her lips betraying her amusement. “Maybe I just didn’t have anyone better to flirt with today, especially considering everyone’s already paired off. And your charming friend?” She arched a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “Pretty sure he started mentally planning his wedding to Sara the second she looked his way. So that ship’s sailed.” She settled beside Jayden like she belonged there, all easy confidence wrapped in teasing nonchalance. “What about you?” she asked, head tilting slightly as her eyes locked with his. “Do you make a habit of kissing strangers, or am I just breaking some very exclusive tradition?”

Harmony felt the warmth of Nate’s arm curl around her, and she instinctively leaned into it, the quiet comfort of his presence washing over her like a balm. Her eyes were still misty, but her lips curved into a gentle smile as she nodded. “Yeah…” she murmured, wiping away the last of her tears before turning to look up at him. “It meant a lot. I know that couldn’t have been easy for her. But she tried. And that counts.” She gave a soft laugh, the kind that came from the release of tension. “Also… the group chat idea? Might be the thing that keeps me sane. Definitely could use it.” Her gaze wandered over the room, the people chatting, laughing, music humming in the background. She inhaled deeply, soaking in the moment, then looked back at Nate, a spark returning to her eyes. “You think it’s time to liven things up a little?” she asked, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “Let’s head inside. I say it’s karaoke time.” She stood slowly, brushing her hands together as if shaking off the heaviness from before. Then, with a playful tilt of her head, she added softly “And… I have a surprise for you.”

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧

Parings → Nathan Drake x Reader

Warnings → angst, fluff, teasing

Summary → Nate unexpectedly reunites with Sully's daughter, whom he previously hurt on a date, causing tension before a new adventure begins.

Nathan Drake slipped silently into Sully’s apartment, the door creaking faintly as it closed behind him. The place was dimly lit, a little dusty, full of old maps, trinkets, and the scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey.

His eyes scanned the room with one purpose: Retrieve the bracelet, but his attention veered as he spotted something familiar: the map. The one he and his brother had dreamed about since they were kids. His fingers itched to trace the lines, to dive into the puzzle of it.

“Hey, I see patience ain’t your virtue,” Sully’s gruff voice called from behind.

Nate turned around, a crooked smirk already forming on his face. “Surprised to see me?”

“Not even slightly.” Sully stood with his hands in his pockets, effortlessly casual. “Made you a drink.”

Nate raised an eyebrow as his gaze landed on the glass Sully nodded toward. A Shirley Temple. The absurdity tugged a chuckle from his chest. “Shirley Temple. That’s hilarious. And the bracelet?”

Sully gestured toward his desk like it wasn’t even worth the energy. “It's in the first drawer there on my desk, if you want it. But I think you're here because you got bigger fish to fry.”

“Nah,” Nate replied with a casual shrug. “I'm just here for the bracelet.”

He strode across the room like he owned it, opened the drawer, and plucked out the bracelet with a swift flick of his fingers. The cool metal curled into his palm like a prize.

“You done?”

“No.”

He stuffed the bracelet in his pocket, but something else gleamed nearby. A lion-shaped emerald trinket. He let out a low whistle, picked it up, turned it over thoughtfully in his hand.

“Oof, this looks valuable,” he muttered, slipping it into his bag like it was his birthright. “Now I’m done.”

But before Sully could toss some sarcastic comment his way, the sound of footsteps hit the air, light, soft. Then came a voice that hadn’t crossed Nate’s path in months.

“Dad, what are we getting for di—”

You stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs. Your eyes locked on Nate like you’d seen a ghost… or something worse.

Nate’s entire face shifted. His smirk disappeared.

“Oh… my god,” he breathed, stunned. His shoulders tensed as he straightened up instinctively.

Your jaw dropped, and then your expression hardened like steel. Arms folded. Eyebrows arched.

“What are you doing here?!” The fire in your voice made him flinch, just slightly.

“I—um—” He sounded nothing like the confident guy from seconds ago.

Sully’s eyes darted between you both like he’d just stumbled into the middle of a soap opera.

“Wait, wait… you two know each other?”

Your glare sharpened, and your voice was like ice wrapped in gasoline.

“Yeah, Dad. Remember that date I went on a few months ago? The one that went horrible?”

Sully’s brows shot up, connecting the dots faster than you could stop him.

“That was him?! ”

“Yep.”

The disgust in your tone could have curdled milk. You didn’t even bother to look at Nate again.

---

Flashback – A Few Months Ago

The first time you walked into that bar, you didn’t expect to keep coming back. But there was something about the bartender with the boyish grin and soft brown eyes that made it hard to stay away. Nathan Drake had this effortless magnetism—he was charming, funny, confident in that annoyingly hot way, and every time he caught your eye across the counter, it felt like the air shifted.

You started going once a week. Then twice. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, pretending you just liked the drinks when really, it was all about him.

You were quiet, more reserved—the kind of girl who watched the room rather than commanded it. But once you had a drink in you, the edges of your nerves softened, and the flirty back-and-forth with Nate became addicting. He’d tease you, call you “mystery girl,” and flash that grin like he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

Then, one night, he leaned on the bar with his elbow and said, “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you always come here just to see me.”

You’d blushed, laughed then shrugged, “maybe I do.”

“How about you prove it, then?” Nate smirked.

“How?”

“Go on a date with me.”

You nearly dropped your glass.

You said yes, of course. And for the rest of that week, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment over and over again. The possibilities swirled in your chest like butterflies—romantic, chaotic, hopeful.

✧･ﾟ: *✧ The Date ✧･ﾟ: *✧

The reality was… less dreamy.

No music. No dim bar lights. No cocktails to help you flirt back effortlessly. Just the two of you, seated at a small café table, a single flickering candle between you, and a silence that stretched just a little too long.

You sat with your hands in your lap, trying not to wring your fingers into knots. The words in your head felt scrambled, like you couldn’t quite reach for the right ones fast enough. Your voice sounded small. Meek.

Nate, on the other hand, looked... unimpressed. He leaned back in his chair like he was watching the clock tick, his foot tapping against the floor, fingers lightly drumming on the tabletop. He hadn’t made eye contact in a while.

You forced a smile. “So… uh, you ever came here before?” God, that’s what you went with? Basic small talk? You immediately wanted to melt into the floor.

“Nah,” Nate replied absently, barely glancing at you. “Not really my scene.”

You nodded, laughing weakly, then fell back into silence. You could feel it—that heavy, suffocating awkwardness setting in like fog. Every second without conversation made your heart pound faster.

You picked up your water, sipping to stall, trying to think of something clever, something flirty. But nothing came. He wasn’t giving you much to work with.

He checked his phone.

You looked down at your napkin, tracing the edge with your nail. “Is everything okay?” You asked softly.

“Hm?” He looked up, startled, like he hadn’t realized you were still there. “You seem… distracted.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… you’re just not really the girl I thought you were.”

The sentence landed like a gut punch. Your stomach dropped, and your lips parted before you could even think of what to say. “What… what do you mean?”

“I thought you were like me—y’know, fun. Flirty, wild.” He shrugged, casual as ever, like he was commenting on the weather. “But this? The whole quiet, shy thing? It’s not really my type.”

You blinked, hard. It felt like the table had just dropped out from under you. “I-I’m sorry if I—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s just not working. No hard feelings, okay?”

No hard feelings. Like he hadn’t just pulled the rug out from under a version of yourself you’d been building up the courage to show him.

You nodded, slow and mechanical. “Yeah… sure,” you said, even though your voice trembled and your throat felt tight.

“Thanks for being honest,” you managed to say, voice trembling as you stood up on stiff legs, already pulling some cash from your purse, fumbling to leave enough to cover your untouched coffee. Your vision blurred at the edges, tears threatening to spill, but you blinked them back with everything you had.

You weren’t going to cry in front of him. You wouldn’t give him that.

He didn’t even flinch as you turned and walked away. No protest. No “wait.” Not even a glance.

And that was the part that stung the most.

✧･ﾟ: *✧ Present ✧･ﾟ: *✧

“You’re the fucker who broke my daughter’s heart?!” Sully’s voice could’ve cracked a wall. His glare practically burned through Nate’s soul.

Nate’s hands flew up defensively, but his voice stayed annoyingly smug. “Look, I was just being honest. I didn’t want to waste her time. But, hey, if I knew she was your daughter, maybe I’d have thought twice. She’s probably got some fire in her, huh?”

Your eyes flared like a warning signal. “Don’t you dare flirt with me!”

Nate shrugged, a smirk creeping back onto his face. “Just saying, sweetheart.”

The audacity in that smile. You wanted to slap it off his face.

“What the hell is he doing here, Dad?” You spun to Sully, your patience fully gone. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Sully sighed like he’d aged ten years in ten seconds. “That’s Sam’s little brother, Nathan Drake.”

You blinked. “He’s Sam’s brother?”

Nate gave a cocky little wave, like it was an honor to be in his presence. “Yeah, baby. Surprised?”

You groaned, threw your hands up like the universe itself was playing a joke on you. “Great. Just great. I’m not going anywhere with him, Dad.”

“Come on, honey,” Sully pleaded, voice gentler now. “I need you on this one. I can’t do this without you.”

You held Nate’s gaze for a moment, fire in your eyes. Then Sully’s. Back and forth. Trapped.

“Fine,” you hissed through gritted teeth, stomping toward the stairs.

“But I’m not happy about it.”

“I’ll see you later, baby,” Nate called after you, voice soaked in smugness.

Sully looked like he was five seconds from throttling him. “Stop flirting with my daughter. She already hates you.”

Nate leaned against the wall with a self-satisfied smirk. “We’ll see how long she can keep hating me.”

Sully muttered something dark under his breath as he walked away, probably cursing the day those two ever crossed paths.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Tags: @sir-this-is-a-wendys @words-to-accomplish-something @ptergwen @lightgreysoul @moniffazictress11

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Why You So Obsessed with Me? p9

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Carlos x reader based on the song: Obsessed– Mariah Carey, if you haven't read part 8 here it is:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You weren’t sure what woke you first, the sunlight pouring in through the hotel window, or the soft knock against the connecting door.

You blinked blearily at the sound. Another knock, light and careful.

You rolled out of bed, hair a mess, his t-shirt now hanging off your frame, because somewhere in the night you’d swapped your towel for it. You didn’t even remember doing it.

Barefoot and still sleepy, you opened the connecting door.

Carlos stood there.

In nothing but a pair of soft grey sweats slung low on his hips and the biggest, most over-the-top breakfast tray you’d ever seen in your life.

Croissants. Sliced fruit. A stack of pancakes with Nutella melting over the sides. Coffee. Juice. Even little jars of honey and jam arranged neatly like he was presenting them to royalty.

“Buenos días, preciosa,” he said with a smirk that made your knees wobble. “Thought I’d spoil you a bit.” (Good morning, beautiful)

You blinked. “Did you raid the hotel buffet?”

He stepped past you into your room like he belonged there, which, to be honest, he kind of did now. “Nope. I ordered this all. Specifically. For you.”

He set the tray on the small table by the window and pulled out a chair for you, then kissed the top of your head like this was just… normal.

And what really got you? It was starting to feel that way.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, sitting down with a reluctant smile.

Carlos poured your coffee, added just the right amount of milk. “But adorable?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. A little.”

He grinned like you’d just declared undying love.

You took a bite of the pancakes, warm, soft, soaked in Nutella and strawberries, and you couldn’t stop the sound that slipped from your throat.

A soft, surprised moan.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled, covering your mouth. “These are so good.”

Carlos froze mid-sip of his espresso.

When you glanced up at him, you caught the exact moment his pupils darkened. His jaw tensed. His hand tightened ever so slightly around the cup.

He was staring at you like you’d just undone something vital inside him.

“They’re just pancakes,” you teased, not fully registering the shift in his gaze.

Carlos set down his espresso slowly and leaned back in his chair. “They’re hotel pancakes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Okay…?”

He tilted his head slightly, that lazy grin playing on his lips, but his eyes? Predatory. “Mine are better.”

You snorted. “What, are you a secret pancake chef too now?”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink. Just watched you intently, his voice dropping low as he said, “No. But I’d make them for you. Any day. Every morning.”

You paused, suddenly aware of the weight of his gaze.

Then he added — too casually — “And I’d make sure you sound like that every single time.”

Your fork clinked against the plate as your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know whether to blush, throw your napkin at him, or crawl into his lap.

Instead, you cleared your throat and mumbled, “Pervert.”

Carlos just smirked, eyes still locked on yours.

But what you didn’t know — what you couldn’t know — was what was happening behind that smooth exterior.

Carlos’ POV

The sound she made. That soft, involuntary moan.

He’d kill for it.

Forget trophies. Forget pole positions. He wanted that again.

Wanted to hear her voice like that in the morning, tangled in his sheets. Wanted to learn every sound she made — the quiet gasp when she liked something, the low sigh when she was full, the whimper when she couldn’t take any more—

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the fire rising in his chest.

She didn’t even realise what she was doing to him. That was the worst part.

But he’d fix that.

He’d take her out. Show her the places that made him him. Open himself in a way no one else had seen — and then, when she was ready, he’d make sure that moan wasn’t just about pancakes anymore.

And this time, she’d know what it did to him.

He could wait. He would wait.

But not forever.

Your POV

You ate together while the city outside stirred awake, car horns, distant chatter, and the low hum of life returning to normal after the race weekend chaos.

Carlos sat back in his chair, watching you eat your pancake with quiet satisfaction, his eyes soft but far too focused, like this was the part of the weekend he’d been waiting for.

“You’re staring again,” you said, cutting a strawberry.

“You’re beautiful,” he replied simply.

Your cheeks burned, but you looked down and let the smile stay.

After a few moments of silence, you asked, “So… what’s the plan for today? Are you free?”

Carlos leaned in, elbows on the table, lips curving like he knew something you didn’t. “I have the entire day off. No press. No briefings. Nothing.”

“So what do you want to do?”

He grinned, maddeningly smug. “It’s a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Carlos…”

He raised a brow. “Do you trust me?”

You hesitated, and he noticed. Of course he did.

But then… you nodded. “I think I’m starting to.”

That smile he gave you then wasn’t smug. It was quiet. Real. Like you’d just handed him the world and he didn’t know how to hold it without crushing it.

“Good,” he said softly, reaching over to brush his thumb over your knuckles. “Because I’ve been planning this for a while.”

You tilted your head. “Planning what, exactly?”

He stood and kissed the top of your head again before retreating to the door.

“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” he said. “Wear something comfortable. Something I’d like.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already disappearing through the door, and the only thing left behind was the scent of his cologne and your own heartbeat in your throat.

@sumbellling, @hhhs7, @omgsuperstarg, @as4ka, @iamdedsthingz, @urmomsgirlfriend1

[notyancionline]

Double exposure

You weren’t supposed to fall for him again.Luigi was always the one who got under your skin too calm, too quiet, too good at pretending he didn’t care.But when you fly out to L.A. and crash at his friend Vinnie’s place for a few weeks, everything spirals.Vinnie flirts. Luigi watches.The tension builds. The rules blur. And when they finally snap?You’re the one caught in the middle.This is a slow burn turned threesome turned possession.A little jealousy. A lot of obsession.One girl. Two boys. No regrets.And in the end, you don’t belong to both. You belong to him.

You met Luigi Mangione last July. It was supposed to be just one of those summer things. You were nineteen, in San Diego for an internship you didn’t even want, staying with your cousin, half-lost and pretending you had it all figured out. He was twenty-six, already out of school, already working—serious, smart, the kind of guy who held eye contact too long and made you forget what you were saying. He was the one they brought in to lead your coding workshop. You didn’t pay attention. Not at first. Not until he looked up at you in the middle of explaining Python syntax and said, “You good?” like he could already tell you weren’t. You flirted,he played dumb. You started showing up early just to sit near him. And one night, after everyone else left, he asked if you needed a ride home.

You said yes.

He said, “You sure?”

And then he kissed you in the front seat of his car with both hands gripping the steering wheel like if he let go, he’d lose control. That summer ended with you tangled in his sheets, breathless and half in love. You told yourself it was just a fling. You moved back east for school. He stayed in California but then he called and called again and by Thanksgiving, you were in his apartment for the weekend. By spring break, he was flying out to see you like it was nothing. It’s been a year. You’re twenty now. He’s still twenty-six. And nothing’s ever really been official. You’re not his girlfriend. He never asked. But he’s still the one who makes your stomach flip every time he texts. The one who calls you when your voice breaks. The one who tells you no one else gets to touch you—right before ghosting you for three days. You never talked about labels or expectations or how much it hurt when he pulled away without warning. You never told him about the night you cried after that missed FaceTime. Or the way you hated yourself for checking if he watched your story.

So when your cousin invited you out to LA for a few weeks this summer, you said yes. You needed a break. From school,From your mom, From him.You didn’t expect Luigi to be there. Apparently, he’d been planning to work remote for a while—just needed a couch to crash on. Said one of his old college friends lived out here. Someone he trusted. Someone chill. You didn’t know that friend was Vinnie Hacker until you stepped off the plane and saw them both waiting for you at baggage claim. Luigi was in his usual uniform—Adidas pullover, clean sneakers, slight curl to his dark hair, soft smirk that never fully reached his eyes. He looked tired.Vinnie looked… nothing like him. Tall, bleach-blond, tattooed fingers wrapped around a vape pen. He grinned when he saw you and said, “No way you’re the one Luigi’s been all weird about.”

Luigi didn’t laugh. He just picked up your bag and said, “You hungry?”

And that was that. The Airbnb is in West Hollywood. Expensive. Minimalist. Probably rented under Vinnie’s name. There’s a bedroom for you. One for them. A wide couch no one uses unless they’re hungover.

You’ve been here four days.Vinnie’s been flirting since day one. It’s never been subtle. He compliments your outfits. Teases your voice. Keeps asking if you’re “actually with Luigi or just playing him.” Luigi never says anything. Not to him. Not to you. You’ve caught him watching, though. His jaw clenched. That sharp shift in his eyes when Vinnie leans too close.Last night, Vinnie touched your waist in the kitchen. Just to move past you. Nothing serious But Luigi didn’t say a word to either of you the rest of the night.

Today, it’s hot. You’re sitting on the patio in a tank top, legs bare, trying to write out a caption for your latest photo. Luigi’s inside, working. Vinnie’s shirtless in the pool, laughing with someone on FaceTime. You’re pretending not to care and yet your stomach flips the second Luigi walks out. He’s holding a mug of tea, hair damp from a shower, jaw tight.

“You guys going out tonight?” he asks, eyes on your legs.

You shrug. “Maybe.”

Vinnie calls from the pool, “You should come, Mangione.”

Luigi doesn’t answer.You say, “You could at least pretend not to hate me.” That makes him look at you. Full-on. Eyes dark, voice low.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His mouth twitches like he wants to smile but doesn’t. “You think I don’t care?” he asks, quiet now, like Vinnie can’t hear.

You don’t answer.He sets the mug down beside you. Leans in, just enough for you to feel the heat of his body.

“I care too much,” he says. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Then he walks back inside.

You stay outside long after Luigi disappears into the house. The glass of lemonade is sweating into a ring on the table. Your phone buzzes twice in your lap—texts from Juliet asking what you’re wearing tonight, if the LA boys are hot, if Luigi’s still playing dumb. You don’t answer. Vinnie’s back in the pool, floating on his back, hair slicked to his forehead. His phone’s somewhere on the deck, still playing music. Something moody. Something slow.

“Everything good?” he asks, not even opening his eyes.

You nod. He hums like he doesn’t believe you. “Mangione’s been in a mood since you got here. You know that?”

You don’t respond. He flips onto his stomach, elbows up on the ledge. “You two used to date or something?”

“Something.”

He grins. “So complicated.”

You glance at him. “And you just love messy shit like that?”

“I’m just trying to figure out the rules,” he says, water dripping from his chin. “He gonna throw a punch if I touch you? Or is he into it?”

You roll your eyes, but your chest burns.

You don’t see Luigi for a few hours. He stays in his room with the door shut. You hear him pacing once, talking low over a Zoom call. You don’t knock. You don’t even get close.Instead, you shower. Shave. Curl your hair. You take your time with your makeup smudging brown liner along your lashes, making your lips glossy, your eyes wide. You pull on a tiny black dress. Not the one you brought for clubbing. One shorter,lower a little silkier. One that hugs your ass and slides when you move.

You don’t do it for Luigi.

You don’t,but when you step into the living room and catch him standing in the kitchen in a black tee and sweats, drinking tea from a mug you’ve seen him use a thousand times—he looks up and stares.

Not quickly. Not politely. He drags his eyes from your legs up to your collarbone, then to your mouth. He doesn’t say anything.

Neither do you.

Vinnie whistles low when you walk in. “Goddamn.”

You toss him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Luigi sets his mug down too hard.

Vinnie grins and turns to him. “You coming out?”

Luigi doesn’t look at him. “Nah.”

Vinnie shrugs. “Your loss.” And just like that, he’s grabbing his keys and sliding an arm around your waist like it means nothing. You freeze. Luigi still doesn’t look up.

You don’t say goodbye.

The club is loud. The drinks are watered down. The music’s too electronic. But you let yourself lean into it. You tilt your head back. You dance. You laugh. You feel his eyes before you even see him—Vinnie. Watching you from the bar, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

He doesn’t touch you all night.Not really,but he gets close. He whispers stupid shit in your ear. He watches the way your dress sticks to your thighs. He lets his fingers graze your spine when you lean forward to grab a drink,and maybe you’re tipsy. Maybe you’re just tired of feeling invisible.So when he slides into the booth beside you around 1AM and says, “We leaving or what?”—you don’t say no.

Back at the house, the lights are off in the kitchen. Luigi’s door is shut. Vinnie walks in like he owns the place, tossing his hoodie onto the counter.

You pause in the hallway.

“You good?” Vinnie asks, voice lower now.You nod,He steps closer. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want.”

You meet his eyes. They’re dark,messy,curious Then there’s a noise—a door opening. Luigi’s steps are soft. Slow. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask where you were or what happened. He just looks at you. Eyes sharp. Mouth tight. Then his gaze flicks to Vinnie. Then to your dress. Then back to your face. You can’t read it. You don’t even try. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but he’s already walking past you, straight to the fridge. He grabs a bottle of water, opens it, drinks half of it in one go.

And then he looks at you again. Not like he’s mad. Like he’s memorizing you. “Wear that for him?” he asks, finally.

You blink. “What?”

Luigi leans back against the counter, bottle in hand. “The dress. Was it for him?”

Your heart hammers. You don’t answer.

His jaw tenses. “Did he touch you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. “I didn’t let him,” you say, voice small.

Luigi nods slowly, like he’s filing it away. Like it’s some kind of calculation. Then he sets the bottle down. Walks toward you. Stops just close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to hold his gaze. He doesn’t touch you. He just says, quiet, deliberate— “If you’re gonna let him touch you… make sure I get to watch.” And then he walks back to his room.

You don’t sleep. You try—You wash your face. Brush your teeth. Lie flat on your back in the guest room with the covers pulled up to your collarbones and your phone face-down on the nightstand.

But you can feel him,even with two walls between you.You keep hearing it Over and over. “If you’re gonna let him touch you… make sure I get to watch.”You don’t know what the hell he meant. If it was a dare. If it was a threat. If it was just spite,but the way he looked at you—like he already had his hands on you in his mind—it left your thighs pressed tight together, your chest rising too fast, your fingers twitching where they curled against the sheets.

You shouldn’t have worn that dress.You shouldn’t have let Vinnie touch your back. You shouldn’t have looked at Luigi like you wanted him to stop it all.

But you did.

And now you’re wide awake at 2:13 AM, staring at the ceiling, mouth dry you sit up. Swing your legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cold beneath your feet. You grab the oversized hoodie hanging from the door—Luigi’s, you think. His scent still clings to the collar.You pull it on. Try to slow your breathing and then—without fully deciding to—you step into the hallway.

The house is dark. Quiet. Only the hum of the fridge downstairs and the faint rattle of Vinnie’s fan down the hall.Luigi’s door is cracked.Your heartbeat stutters

You don’t knock.You push it open slowly. Just enough to see. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out. A water bottle near his foot. His laptop closed beside him.

His head tilts up when he sees you.He doesn’t look surprised.

Just tired.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head.He nods, once, like he understands. You wait in the doorway. He doesn’t tell you to come in. He doesn’t tell you to leave either.So you step inside. Quiet. Slow. You sit down across from him, back against the opposite wall, knees pulled to your chest.

He watches you for a long time.

Then he says, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You don’t look away. “Why’d you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. Rubs the back of his neck. “I think about it,” he says eventually. “You. With him.”

Your chest tightens.

“I don’t want to,” he adds, voice rough. “But I do.”

You whisper, “So stop.”

“I can’t.”He finally looks at you—really looks at you. His voice dips lower.“You have no idea how hard it’s been trying not to want you.”

Your breath catches.“You didn’t have to try,” you say quietly.

He leans his head back against the wall. Eyes closed. “You think I didn’t?”

Silence

“I’m not with Vinnie,” you say.

He opens his eyes.

You repeat it, a little firmer. “I’m not gonna be.”

He stares at you. “Why not?”

You swallow. “Because he’s not you.”

Something flickers across his face. Want. Guilt. Something else you can’t name.He stands slowly. Crosses the space between you. Drops to his knees in front of you, still not touching, just close enough that your breath stumbles.

“I’m scared I’ll fuck this up,” he says.

“You already are.”

He winces.

You reach for his hand. Slowly. Fingers brushing his. Testing.He lets you—you whisper, “You don’t have to watch me with anyone, Luigi. You just have to choose me.”

His thumb runs over your knuckles.And for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls your hand to his mouth instead. Presses his lips to the back of it like he’s praying with it. Like it’s sacred. Then he rests his forehead against your knee. “I’m gonna ruin this,” he says. You say nothing.You just thread your fingers through his hair, and stay.

You wake up to the sound of birds outside the window. Your back hurts from falling asleep curled against the wall. At some point in the night, Luigi must’ve slid a blanket over you. His hoodie is still wrapped around your body—warm, stretched out from his shoulders, sleeves pushed over your knuckles.

You’re alone now.His room is empty. His laptop is gone. The water bottle is still there, half-full and sweating onto the hardwood.

You sit up slow. Blinking. Remembering.The way he held your hand.The way he pressed his mouth to your skin like he was afraid to kiss anywhere else. The way he said, “I’m gonna ruin this.”You still feel it in your chest. Tight and sore.You find him in the kitchen twenty minutes later. He’s barefoot, in gray sweatpants and a white tee, pouring almond milk into a bowl of cereal like it’s just another day. He glances up when you walk in, eyes dragging over your legs, your sleep shirt, the hoodie still hanging off your shoulders.

He doesn’t say good morning.He just asks, “You want coffee?”You shake your head. “You don’t drink coffee.”

He shrugs. “Thought you might.”

You don’t answer.

He slides the cereal box toward you. “Eat something.”

You take a banana off the counter instead. Peel it slow. Sit on the stool across from him like you didn’t fall asleep inches from his mouth last night. He doesn’t look at you while he eats. Not really. But he doesn’t look away either.

Something’s changed.And you’re not the only one who feels it. Vinnie stumbles into the kitchen ten minutes later, shirtless, hair a mess, yawning loud like he owns the house. He freezes when he sees you and Luigi at the counter.

Then he smirks“Morning, lovebirds.”

Luigi doesn’t flinch. Just keeps eating.

You say, “We’re not—”

“I know,” Vinnie cuts in, grabbing a bottle of juice. “You’re not anything. Just roommates. Right.”

You roll your eyes.But Vinnie’s still looking at you. Like he knows something’s shifted. Like he can smell it.

“You look tired,” he says.

You blink. “Okay?”

He grins. “Didn’t see you come back to your room last night.”

Luigi’s spoon clinks against his bowl.You feel it. That flicker of something dangerous under the surface.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you say, voice steady. “So I sat in the hallway.”

Vinnie hums. “Hallway, huh?”

Luigi stands up. Walks to the sink. Says nothing.You stare down at your banana.

The rest of the day is weird.Vinnie’s touchier than usual. Shoulder bumps. Hands grazing your waist. Comments you don’t know how to answer.

Luigi barely speaks. But when he does, it’s sharp.He corrects Vinnie’s tone. Snaps at him during a dumb joke. Doesn’t laugh when Vinnie suggests the three of you go out again.

By dinner, the tension is suffocating. You all sit around the kitchen island. Vinnie’s scrolling through his phone. Luigi’s drinking sparkling water. You’re pretending to look at takeout menus.Then Vinnie says, “You ever been with two guys at once?”

You choke.

Luigi stills. Vinnie doesn’t look up from his screen.

“I’m just saying,” he continues. “Lot of girls think about it. Doesn’t mean they actually do it.”

Luigi’s voice is low. Flat. “Why are you asking her that?”

Vinnie finally meets his eyes. Shrugs. “Just conversation.”

Luigi stands. Slow. Calm. Then he leans across the counter, real close to Vinnie, and says, without blinking—“She’s not your fucking conversation.”

Vinnie laughs. Like he thinks it’s funny. Like it doesn’t make his shoulders twitch.You sit frozen, mouth dry, thighs pressed tight.Luigi turns to you. His jaw is tight. Eyes unreadable.

“You good?”

You nod. Swallow. “Yeah.”He nods back. “Then go get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere.”

You don’t ask where you’re going.Luigi doesn’t offer. You just slip into the passenger seat of his car in the same hoodie you stole from his room two nights ago, shorts underneath, legs bare, heart beating too loud in your chest. He pulls out of the driveway without saying a word. One hand on the wheel. The other draped loose across his thigh, fingers tapping a pattern you don’t recognize.

The silence isn’t awkward.It’s heavy. Like both of you are waiting to exhale. The city lights blur past the windows. West Hollywood spills into hills. Houses shrink. The air cools. You glance at him. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on the road, jaw sharp in the glow of the dashboard.

“Luigi.”

He doesn’t look over.

“Where are we going?” He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. Taps the signal.

“Somewhere quiet.”

You don’t press. Not tonight. He parks near the top of a hill. Somewhere high enough that the city looks like a photo—unreal, far away, small. There’s no one around. Just you. Him. And a heat between you that hasn’t cooled down in weeks.

He kills the engine.Doesn’t move. Neither do you.The silence stretches.Then—“I didn’t like him touching you.”

You blink. Turn slowly. “Vinnie?”

He nods. Still staring straight ahead.Your throat tightens. “I didn’t let him.”

“I know.”

He runs a hand over his face. Sits back against the seat. “Doesn’t matter. I still saw it.”

You look at him.His hands. His shoulders. The way he’s leaning forward slightly, like his body wants to move before his mouth can explain it.

“You kissed me first,” you say.

That gets his attention. His eyes flick to yours, fast. You keep going. “Last summer. In your car. Remember?

He nods. “Yeah.”

“You touched me first. You took me home. You were the one who said we shouldn’t catch feelings—then made me fall for you anyway.”

“Don’t,” he says, jaw tight. “Don’t act like I didn’t feel it too.”

“Then why’d you leave it in limbo?”

“Because I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap. “You did.”He breathes hard. Drags a hand through his hair.

Then—quiet. Barely audible. “I didn’t know how to keep you without losing you.”

That one breaks something.You close your eyes. Let the ache settle in your chest.

“I would’ve stayed,” you whisper. He turns toward you fully now. Knees bent toward your side. Elbow braced against the door.

“I know,” he says. “And I didn’t want to make you stay just because I was scared of losing you to someone like him.” You look at him. “You mean someone who actually says how he feels?”

He flinches.

Good.

“I’m not his,” you say. “I’ve never been.”

His jaw tenses.

“But if you don’t say something, Luigi—if you don’t do something—he will.”

That’s it.

That’s the moment something breaks in him.nHe unbuckles his seatbelt. Leans across the console. Grabs the back of your neck, gentle but firm, eyes on your mouth.

“You think I’m gonna let you give that mouth to him?”

You swallow. “No.”

His voice drops. “You think I haven’t spent every night watching you walk around that house like you don’t know what you do to me?”

You exhale, shaky. “Then show me.”

And he does.

But not fully.Not yet. He doesn’t kiss you. Not on the lips.Not all at once.He presses his forehead to yours. Lets his thumb trace your jaw. Breathes you in like he’s been starving.

Then he whispers—“I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you.”

You gasp.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice dark. “You’re not ready for what I’ll do if you let me.”And then he pulls back,starts the car.And drives home in silence.You sit there with your fingers curled in the sleeves of his hoodie, heart pounding, thighs pressed together so tightly they ache. Every second stretches. Every glance from him feels like it’s peeling your skin back.

He doesn’t look at you again.Not when you pull into the driveway.Not when he kills the engine. Not when you both step into the quiet, dark house where Vinnie’s door is shut and the hallway is lit only by the blue glow of the kitchen nightlight.But then—right as you reach for your bedroom door—Luigi speaks.

“Don’t.”

You turn. Slowly. He’s standing at the end of the hall, jaw tense, hands fisted at his sides. He walks toward you without blinking. Step by step. Until you’re backed against the doorframe, chest rising too fast, your lips already parted.He’s so close you feel it before he touches you. That warmth. That tension. That thing that always lived in the space between your bodies, vibrating just under the surface.

His eyes are on your mouth. Still not touching.

You whisper, “Say it.”

He shakes his head once. “You already know.”

“Say it anyway.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “You’re mine.”You inhale sharp—but he doesn’t give you time to reply.His mouth crashes into yours like he’s been holding back for a year. No hesitation. No slow build. Just want. His hands slide into your hair, his fingers tugging, his body pressing into you like he’s trying to make you feel every second you spent apart. You gasp into him and he groans against your lips, pulling you closer.“You let him look at you like that,” he murmurs, biting gently at your bottom lip, “you wore that little fucking dress for him…”

You moan as his hand slides down your thigh. “Luigi—”

“I’m not mad,” he says, voice low, breathless. “Just means I have to remind you who gets you off.”

You whimper. His mouth drags down your neck, open and hot, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your knees buckle.He catches you. Presses his thigh between yours. Grinds your hips into it.

“You want me to stop?”

You shake your head. Desperate.His hand slides up under the hoodie. Finds bare skin. Waist. Hips.

“No panties?” he whispers. “Jesus Christ.”

You gasp again. “I wasn’t— I didn’t think—”He cuts you off with another kiss. Rougher now. His hand gripping your throat gently—not squeezing, just holding you still. Making you feel his breath. His body.

“Open your door,” he says.

You fumble for the handle. He follows you in. Kicks the door shut with his foot. You’re on the bed before you can think. His mouth back on yours. His hand sliding beneath your thigh, pulling it over his hip.

“You sure?” he asks, voice cracked, forehead pressed to yours.

You nod, whispering, “Please.”

He exhales hard. And then—Nothing.He pulls back. Stands. Runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down.

Your chest is heaving. Your mouth is wet. You don’t understand.

“Luigi—” He looks at you like he’s in pain. “If I fuck you right now,” he says, “I won’t stop.”

You sit up slowly. “Then don’t.”

His eyes flash. “No.”

“Why?”

He steps forward. Presses a hand to your chest. Right over your heart.

“Because you want more than this. And if I take you tonight, I won’t be able to give it to you the way you deserve.”

You stare at him. Speechless.

He leans down. Kisses your cheek.

“Let me fix it first,” he whispers. “Then you can have all of me.” And then he walks out.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you’re still in his hoodie.The second thing is that you’re still aching between your legs.You roll onto your back, blinking at the ceiling, replaying every second of last night like your body doesn’t know how to let it go.His mouth. His hands. The way he whispered mine like it was already true.And the way he left. Quiet. Controlled. Like you didn’t beg him to stay.

You touch your lips. They’re still swollen. Still tender.You don’t know what you expected to happen this morning. But it wasn’t this.The kitchen is quiet when you walk in.Luigi’s already there—hair damp, black tee stretched across his shoulders, eyes glued to the stove like scrambled eggs require intense focus. He doesn’t look at you.He doesn’t say a word.And that’s how you know last night meant something. Because the silence is loaded now. Different. Not casual. Not cold. Just… careful. You sit on the stool across from him. Pull your knees up. Tug the sleeves of his hoodie over your hands.He still doesn’t look. But his jaw tightens. His grip on the spatula shifts. And his voice, when he finally speaks, is too quiet.

“You sleep okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He nods too. Doesn’t ask anything else.You watch him plate the eggs. Slide one toward you without meeting your eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, barely above a whisper.

He just hums. Vinnie strolls in five minutes later. Hair messy. Shirtless. That same cocky grin.He pauses when he sees you sitting at the counter, legs bare, hoodie sliding off one shoulder.

His eyes flick to Luigi.

Then back to you.

He grins. “Well, well, well.”

Luigi doesn’t react.You glance at him. “Don’t start.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Vinnie’s smirk deepens. He grabs a banana from the counter and peels it slow. “You two seem tense. Have a little heart to heart last night?”

Luigi’s back stiffens. You speak before he can.

“Drop it, Vinnie.”

He holds up both hands, still smiling. “I’m just saying… energy’s weird today.”Then he leans in, eyes locked on yours.

“You ever need someone to talk to—y’know, like a real friend—I’m around.”

Luigi slams the spatula into the sink.

Everyone freezes.You turn toward him. But he doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t look at Vinnie. He just grabs his glass of water, swallows it in one go, and walks out.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

Vinnie whistles. “Touchy.” You shoot him a look. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He laughs once. “Oh, baby, I do.”

You find Luigi upstairs, sitting on the edge of his bed, phone face-down beside him, fingers steepled under his chin like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.He doesn’t look up when you walk in.You sit next to him. Quiet.

“Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he says finally.

You nod. “I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “He’s trying to push me.”

You glance at him. “Is it working?”

He laughs—bitter and quiet. “Yeah. It is.”

You wait.

Then—softly—“Do you regret last night?”

He turns to you. His voice is barely a whisper.

“I regret stopping.”

Your breath stutters. And then, quietly, almost afraid to believe it—“Are you gonna stop next time?”

He doesn’t answer.He just leans in, presses his lips to your temple, and breathes—

“No.”

“Then don’t make me wait.”

Luigi stares at you for a long second. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. His breathing shallow. Chest rising like he’s physically trying to hold himself back.Then his hand slides under your chin. Tilts your face up.“You sure?”

You nod.

“I need to hear it.”

“I want you,” you say, barely breathing. “I’ve always wanted you.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you. Not like before. Not controlled. Not careful. It’s rougher now. Messier. He pushes you back onto the bed, climbs over you, and kisses you like he’s already inside you. His tongue licks into your mouth and you moan, soft and surprised, thighs parting on instinct.“Jesus,” he groans, grinding against you through his sweats. “You make me fuckin’ crazy.”His hands slide under the hoodie, up your stomach, dragging fabric as he goes. He breaks the kiss just long enough to yank it off your body.

No bra. No panties.

He stares. His jaw flexes. Eyes roam over every inch of you like he’s memorizing it. “You came in here like this?” he asks, voice low. “Nothing underneath?”

“I didn’t plan it.”

He grabs your throat—not tight, just enough to hold you still.“Yes, you did,” he growls. “You fucking knew what you were doing.”You moan again. He dips down and kisses your neck. Bites. Sucks. Marks you. His hands are on your tits, squeezing gently, thumbing over your nipples until you’re squirming. “Been thinking about this every night,” he mutters, kissing down your chest. “What you sound like. What you taste like.”

When he gets lower, you gasp.

“Luigi—”

“I’m not stopping this time,” he warns, breath hot against your stomach. “So if you want me to stop, say it now.”

You don’t. So he doesn’t. He presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh and moans like he’s starving.“You’re soaked,” he whispers, lips brushing your pussy, “and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You squirm, already breathless.

“Please.”

“Say it again.”

“Please, Luigi—please, I want you.”

That’s it.He licks a stripe up your pussy, slow and deliberate, groaning into it. His tongue circles your clit, flicking gently before flattening and dragging again. You choke on your own breath, hips bucking into his face.His hands grip your thighs, holding you open. “Fucking stay still,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “I’ve waited too long for this.”He eats you like it’s his. Like it’s always been his. Tongue fucking you, sucking, groaning, spitting when you get too wet and licking it back up again like he needs it.And when you moan his name—when your hands grip his curls and your thighs start to shake—he growls, low and possessive.

“Cum for me.”

And you do.

Fast. Hard. Shaking under him, mouth open in a silent cry, vision blurring.He doesn’t stop. Not right away. He keeps licking through it, drawing it out, holding you open and twitching until you whimper enough.

Then he pulls back. Mouth wet. Eyes wild.“You’re not done,” he says.He pulls his shirt off. Shoves his sweats down. No boxers.

Your eyes widen.He’s hard. Thick. Veiny. Already leaking.

“Luigi—”

“I told you,” he says, crawling over you again, stroking himself once before lining up at your entrance, “I’m not stopping.”

And then he pushes in.

One inch

Two.

Your back arches. Your mouth opens in a gasp.“Oh my god—”

“Fuck,” he moans, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “You feel better than I ever let myself imagine.”He bottoms out slowly, every inch pressing deep, filling you until your eyes roll back. You’re so wet it’s obscene—the sound of him sliding in and out already echoing through the room. He starts to fuck you slow.

Deep.

Grinding his hips into yours like he wants you to feel it everywhere. You claw at his arms.He grabs your wrists. Pins them above your head. “I know you like it rough,” he growls. “But I’m gonna make it hurt to think about anyone else.”

You whimper. “Please.”

He fucks into you harder.

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop—don’t pull out—don’t ever let anyone else—”

He groans, kisses you hard. “You’re mine now,” he breathes into your mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”He fucks you like he owns you. Like he’s claiming you. Like Vinnie never even existed.And when he cums—deep, full, shaking above you—he doesn’t move.Just buries his face in your neck and whispers, “I’m not letting you go again.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been lying there.Back flat. Legs still open. Luigi’s body heavy on top of yours. His cock softening inside you, but he hasn’t moved. He’s still there. Still buried deep. Still holding your wrist like you’ll float away if he lets go.You’re both sweating. Breathing hard. Skin flushed and sticky and tangled.And neither of you says a word.Not right away.Not until Luigi finally lifts his head, looks down at you with blown pupils and damp curls sticking to his forehead, and whispers—“You okay?”

You nod, quiet. Your throat is raw. Your body’s aching. But yeah. You’re okay. You’re more than okay. He brushes your hair back. Kisses your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

Then—“I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “I’m not letting you go again.”

Your chest stutters.You touch his face, slow and soft. “Then don’t.”He exhales. Rests his forehead to yours. And for the first time in forever, he doesn’t pull away.

You fall asleep wrapped in him. Limbs tangled. His arm slung over your waist like it belongs there. He’s still hard again when he stirs hours later, pressing into the curve of your ass, but he doesn’t move. Just kisses your shoulder and falls back asleep.

You don’t dream.You don’t need to. By the time you sneak into the kitchen the next morning, the house is already awake. Vinnie’s sitting on the counter, shirtless again, drinking straight from the carton of orange juice. He glances up when he hears your steps.

Then he smirks.

“Morning, princess.”

You try to play it cool. Oversized tee. No makeup. Bite marks faint on your neck. You grab a mug and pour tea like your legs aren’t still shaking.

He hops down. Gets close. Too close.

“You sleep good?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He hums. Tilts his head.“You and Luigi finally work your shit out?”

You freeze.He grins. “Took you long enough.”

He grins. “Took you long enough.”You meet his eyes. Careful. “What are you talking about?”

Vinnie steps closer. Real close.“I heard you.”

Your stomach flips.“Could’ve joined, you know,” he adds, casual. “Wouldn’t have minded.”

You stare at him.And he just smirks, licks his bottom lip, and says—

“You moan real pretty when you’re getting fucked.”

You don’t tell Luigi what Vinnie said.You think about it.When he comes into the kitchen thirty minutes later, fresh out of the shower, shirt clinging to his chest, eyes soft and warm just for you—

You almost say it.But you don’t.Because you don’t know what it would do to him.Because you don’t know what it would do to you.

The day drags.

Luigi works from the couch. You try to read. Vinnie paces the kitchen shirtless, barefoot, chewing ice, watching you like a predator who hasn’t decided how he wants to kill you yet.Every time you cross your legs, he stares.Every time you shift your weight, he smirks.

You feel it.He knows.He knows what happened. He knows Luigi came inside you, fucked you hard enough to bruise your hips. And Vinnie? He’s not mad.He’s intrigued.

That night, Luigi takes a phone call on the balcony. It’s long. Serious. You can hear him pacing. Frustrated. You’re in the kitchen, wearing nothing but that damn hoodie again. Knees on the counter, reaching for a wine glass.You don’t hear Vinnie come in.

But you feel him.

He steps up behind you, real slow, palms braced on either side of the counter, caging you in without touching.You freeze.Then—soft, low, dangerous—“You ever thought about it?”

Your breath catches. “About what?”

He leans in. Close enough to smell the weed on his breath. His mouth at your ear.

“Two guys. At once.”

You don’t answer. He laughs. Dark and quiet. “C’mon. You’re not shy.”

Still, you say nothing.But your thighs clench.

And he sees it. “I’m not saying he’d be into it,” Vinnie murmurs. “But you? You’d look so good between us.”You turn your head—just a little. “What makes you think I’d let you touch me?”

His mouth brushes your cheek. “Because you didn’t tell him to stop me.”

You inhale sharp.And then—The balcony door slides open. Luigi steps inside. Sees you. Sees him.

And Vinnie? He doesn’t even move. Just looks over his shoulder and says, “We were just talking.”

Luigi’s jaw tics. “I bet,” he says, voice flat.

You slide off the counter. Smooth the hem of your hoodie.Luigi watches you closely. Watches your lips. Your hands. Your neck.Then he looks at Vinnie.

“Is this what you want?”

Vinnie shrugs. “I mean… you’re the one who said you liked to watch.”

Luigi steps forward. Closes the space. Stands between you and Vinnie, facing him, nose to nose and then—calm, low, dangerous—

“You touch her without me in the room again, I break your fucking jaw.”

Vinnie smiles. “So you’re not saying no?”

Luigi doesn’t smile but he doesn’t say no.

You should’ve said no.When Vinnie leaned in earlier, whispered about how good you’d look between them—You should’ve shoved him off, walked away, slammed a door, anything.

But you didn’t You let him get close.You let Luigi see it.And now the air in the living room feels thick with it—like the house is holding its breath.Luigi hasn’t touched you since he walked back inside. He’s sitting on the couch, legs spread, eyes tracking every single move you make. There’s a cold bottle of Topo Chico sweating in his hand, untouched.

Vinnie’s the one who moves first.

He walks over.Sits beside you.

Close.

Too close.

You glance up, nervous—but not pulling away. “Tell me to stop,” Vinnie says, voice low.

Luigi’s still watching. Still silent.You don’t say anything.Vinnie’s hand brushes your thigh.

Luigi’s jaw tenses.But still—he doesn’t move. Vinnie leans in closer.And then— “Luigi,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Say something.”

He stands.

Walks over slow. Doesn’t look at you. Just stares at Vinnie.

“Touch her without me watching,” he says, voice dark, quiet, dangerous, “and we’re done.”

Then he looks at you. And his voice softens just enough to undo you.

“But if you want it, I’ll stay.”

Your breath catches.And finally, finally, you nod.

“Stay.” Luigi’s hand slides into your hair.He kisses you Slow. Deep. Possessive and when he pulls back—Vinnie’s already behind you. You’re not sure how you ended up between them like this. Not emotionally. That’s been coming for weeks.

But physically? Right now? Luigi is sitting back on the couch—legs spread, thighs tensed, cock hard in his fist—watching you crawl into his lap, naked, flushed, already dripping. And behind you, Vinnie’s voice is warm against your ear. “You gonna take both of us, baby?” he murmurs, palming your ass. “Think you can handle it?”

You nod, breathless.Luigi smirks—low, slow, possessive.

“She’s about to find out.”

You’re in position before you realize how desperate you’ve gotten.

On all fours, knees pressed into the couch cushions, face hovering over Luigi’s cock, thighs spread wide. Vinnie’s hands are gripping your hips from behind, lining himself up.

Your body trembles.

Luigi’s voice is calm. Firm. Gentle in the way only he can be. “Open your mouth.”

You do.He slides the head of his cock across your tongue, groaning as he watches you take it slow, inch by inch, your lips stretching around the girth. “Atta girl,” he breathes, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Just like that.” Vinnie groans behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

“Jesus—she’s fucking soaked, bro.”

“Of course she is,” Luigi says, never taking his eyes off you. “She’s wanted this.”

Vinnie’s hips push forward.And just like that—he’s inside you. You cry out around Luigi’s cock, throat flexing as your body stretches to take Vinnie in. He fills you slow, a low, breathless groan punching out of him as he bottoms out.

“Fuck me,” Vinnie gasps. “She’s so tight I’m gonna lose it.”

Luigi strokes your hair gently, keeping you still as he rocks his hips forward. “You’re okay,” he whispers, voice low. “You can take both. I know you can.”

And you do.You take them. You take Luigi’s cock in your mouth while Vinnie starts fucking you slow and deep, the pressure of him making your moans vibrate around Luigi’s length.Every thrust pushes you forward—onto Luigi’s cock. Every time you gag, he moans.

“Look at me,” Luigi says, voice tight.

You do. Eyes glassy. Drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. “That’s it,” he murmurs, cock twitching between your lips. “Look how good you look getting fucked and filled at the same time.”

Vinnie grips your hips tighter. His rhythm stutters.“God, you’re unreal,” he grits out. “Can’t believe I’m even allowed to do this.”

Luigi chuckles low, resting a hand on your head.“She’s letting you now,” he says. “But don’t forget who she belongs to.”

You moan. Loud.Vinnie fucks you harder. Luigi starts to thrust up into your mouth, slow but deep, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every movement.

Tears burn in your eyes.You can barely breathe. You don’t want to stop. “Good girl,” Luigi groans, tightening his grip. “Take it. Fucking take it.” Vinnie’s hips are slapping against your ass now. Loud. Wet. Relentless. “She’s clenching,” he pants. “She’s gonna—”

You do. You cum with a choked cry around Luigi’s cock, body jerking, thighs shaking, mouth still full as your walls clamp down hard around Vinnie.

“Holy fuck,” Vinnie growls. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

He pulls out last second, cumming hot and messy across your ass and lower back, hand stroking himself through it with a loud moan. You gasp, body limp, mouth sliding off Luigi’s cock, strings of spit connecting you as you collapse into his lap.But Luigi’s not done. He grabs your face. Tilts your chin up. “You think I’m letting you stop there?” he murmurs. “Nah, baby. I haven’t even started.” He flips you onto your back, grabs your thighs, and thrusts into you in one smooth, brutal stroke.

You scream. “That’s my girl,” he growls. “Now let me show you what it feels like to be fucking owned.” Your back hits the cushions. Your legs fall open on instinct.

Luigi’s already pushing in. No teasing. No warning.Just one hard thrust—deep.mYou choke on a gasp, legs flying up to wrap around his waist as his hips press flush to yours. “Oh my god—Luigi—”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, but his voice is low and wrecked. “You can take it. Just like you took my cock in your mouth.” He sets a brutal pace immediately—deep and slow, grinding his hips into yours like he’s trying to make you feel every inch. And you do. You feel it in your spine, in your belly, in your throat.You can barely speak. Barely breathe.And then you hear it.

Vinnie.

Still behind you. Sitting on the floor now, fucked-out and shirtless, hand between his legs again, stroking himself slow as he watches Luigi fuck you into the couch.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “He’s fucking destroying you.”

Luigi doesn’t even glance at him,He leans down, grabs your jaw, presses his forehead to yours.

“She like this,” he growls. “Being full. Being watched.”

You whimper.His thrusts get rougher.mHe slips one arm behind your knee, lifting your leg higher to fuck even deeper. The angle is devastating.

“Tell him,” Luigi pants, lips brushing your mouth. “Tell him whose pussy this is.”

“Yours,” you moan. “Yours, Luigi—only yours—”

“Damn right.” You’re already close again. You can feel it building—tight, sharp, overwhelming.

Luigi sees it.

“Look at me,” he demands. “Don’t fucking blink.”You do. You stare up at him, eyes glossy, mouth open, moaning louder now.mHe fucks you harder. Fucks you through it.Vinnie is still watching, still stroking, groaning under his breath as you fall apart under Luigi’s weight.

“Fuck, bro—she’s creaming all over you.”

Luigi slams his hips once, twice more, then buries himself deep and stills.

He doesn’t pull out.He just stays there.Breathing hard. Hand cradling your face.He kisses you once. Gentle. Careful.

Then he looks over at Vinnie“You done?”

Vinnie blinks. Breathless. “Uh—yeah.”

“Then get out.”

You laugh, weak and fucked-out, still twitching underneath Luigi.Vinnie grins, dragging his pants up as he stumbles toward the hallway.

“Worth it,” he mutters, disappearing down the hall.

And then it’s quiet.Luigi kisses your cheek. Your neck. Your shoulder.Still inside you.

Still hard.

“You think I’m done with you?” he murmurs. “Nah, baby. You’re not going anywhere.” You don’t know how long you were out.

Your thighs ache. Your body’s warm and messy and used, still trembling from the way Luigi fucked you full and slow while Vinnie watched, ruined, silent.He didn’t leave right away. You remember that.You remember the way he stared at your face while Luigi pulled you into his lap and whispered mine against your throat You remember the way he backed out of the room without a word, hard again and still aching—like he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch you twice.

You remember everything

But most of all? You remember waking up to Luigi still inside you. Hard again. Bare. Breathing against your neck.

And then— That low, filthy voice right in your ear:

“Don’t move.”

You were already soaked again.He’s slow with it. His hands on your hips, one slipping between your legs to spread you open from behind. Your body melts into the mattress, legs parted, breath shaky, still leaking his cum down the inside of your thighs.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, dragging two fingers through the slick mess dripping out of you. “That’s all mine.”

You gasp. He presses the head of his cock against your entrance and slides in again—with no resistance.

You whimper, face buried in the pillow. “Luigi—”

“Shh. Just take it.”

He starts fucking you slow. Deep. His hips grinding against your ass with every stroke, pushing his cum deeper back inside you. You cry out with every thrust. It’s too much, too good, too intimate.

“You feel everything now, huh?” he breathes, hand in your hair. “Feel how full I made you?”

You nod, fucked-out already, mouth open and drooling onto the pillowcase. He leans down, chest flush to your back, cock dragging slow and wet inside you.

“You still sore from earlier?” he whispers against your ear.

You moan.

“Good,” he says. “You should be.”

He fucks you harder. Not fast—but heavy. The kind of thrusts that make your breath catch and your knees give. The kind that say I don’t care who else saw you—I’m the one who fucking owns you. His hand slides down again, fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit as his cock keeps splitting you open,You’re so wet it’s obscene. Loud. Messy. Your whole body feels like it’s unraveling.

“Luigi—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he growls. “Fucking cum on my cock again. I want you shaking.” And you do. You cum so hard you see white. Your back arches. Your thighs twitch. You scream into the sheets as he fucks you through it, groaning at the way you squeeze around him. He doesn’t stop.He grabs your waist and keeps going, pace snapping faster now.“You want more?” he pants, breath hot against your spine. “You want me to fill you again?”

You try to nod, but your body’s gone. “Say it.” “Yes—yes, fuck, please—inside—want it inside—”

That’s it. He grips your hips tight. Slams in one last time. And stays there. You feel it immediately—his cum flooding deep inside, thick and hot and overwhelming. He moans into your neck. Doesn’t pull out. Just holds you like that, panting, twitching, still grinding into you slow as you both come down. His hands smooth over your waist. Your ribs. Your thighs. “You’re mine,” he whispers, one last time. “Mine.” You don’t speak when he finally cleans you up. You just watch him—quiet, steady hands, washing between your legs with a warm towel, kissing your thighs when you flinch. He helps you into his hoodie again. Pulls you into his chest. Tucks the blanket around your body like you’re something precious.

Vinnie’s gone by morning. No note. No goodbye. No texts.

Just the front door left slightly open, like he wanted to make sure you knew exactly what this was. Luigi sees it first. Closes it without a word. Then comes back to bed. You’re still there—curled up, still warm from the night before. He slides in beside you, pulls you onto his chest, kisses your shoulder, and says— “Let them wonder what happened.” And that’s the last thing he ever says about it.

okay first of all… i’m so sorry this ended up being almost 18k words 😭 it was supposed to be a quick little threesome and then it turned into jealousy, obsession, spit, control issues, and luigi whispering “mine” for six chapters straight. if you made it to the end, just know i love you. like genuinely. i know i dragged it out and took forever to get to the filth but the ending??? the ending was for you. there’s no part 2 btw. luigi finished it. literally and emotionally.

Thank you for reading. You’re a whore in my heart forever. 🖤

[angel06babysworld]

canon!rafe x fem!reader

a/n: i’m so sorry for not posting!!!!!! i’m going to spam post my drafts today

Just Like That

Rafe Cameron didn’t want to be at the Renaissance fair. He didn’t want to park in a dusty grass field, didn’t want to walk through crowds of sweaty tourists, didn’t want to listen to Kelce yell “Huzzah!” every five minutes like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

But Topper had insisted. Kelce had bribed with beer. And now here he was, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched, glaring at a man in a full suit of armor riding a horse like this wasn’t a Kook hellscape circus.

“I swear to God,” Rafe muttered, “if Kelce drags me into one more booth with fake swords—”

“Relax,” Topper said, grabbing his sleeve. “This one’s not about swords. It’s about this girl.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but Kelce was already pointing. “You’re gonna thank us. Look.”

It was a small booth tucked between two larger ones, wooden and decorated with vines and velvet banners. A crowd had gathered. Some guys were doubled over laughing, others were filming with their phones. And right in the middle of it was a platform—above it, a girl in a corset and layered skirts, holding a wooden pitcher and smiling so wide Rafe almost forgot to be annoyed.

The sign read: “Mead Maiden’s Pouring Pit – Hands Behind Thy Back.”

Kelce slapped a token down on the counter. “One pour for my boy here.”

“No,” Rafe said immediately. “I’m not doing that.”

But then she turned.

She looked down from her platform, eyes landing right on him, lips glossed and curled in a playful little smile. “You look strong,” she teased, already gesturing for him to come closer. “Bet you can take it.”

Topper shoved him forward. Rafe stumbled up to the front of the booth before he could stop himself, and then it was too late.

The girl leaned forward on her elbows, tilting her head. “Step right up, handsome. Let me do the honors.”

The words were flirtatious, part of the bit—but her voice was smooth and sweet like honey, and it hit him like a drug.

He stared. She raised an eyebrow. He said nothing.

“You scared?” she asked, teasing.

“I’m not scared,” Rafe grumbled.

“Then kneel,” she said, smile widening.

He did.

She cuffed his wrists behind the wooden stockade with gentle fingers, then grabbed the pitcher with both hands and raised it high above his head.

“Open up for me.”

Rafe squinted up at her, heat prickling under his skin. “If you spill that on me, I swear—”

“Shhh,” she cooed, pressing a finger to his lips. “Be a good boy.”

The crowd howled. Rafe blinked.

Then the beer poured.

Cold, bitter, and straight from the pitcher into his open mouth. Some splashed against his chin, dripping down the collar of his shirt. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

She beamed.

“You’re taking it so well!” she praised, loud enough for the crowd. “Just like that—very good.”

The words were light, silly, rehearsed.

But something about the way she said very good hit different.

Something about her voice made his throat tighten.

When she released him, uncuffing his wrists and patting his shoulder with a wink, Rafe stood slowly. Topper was already laughing. Kelce shouted something about “shotgunning like a champ.”

But Rafe didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just turned his head slightly, watching the girl pour for the next guy, all praise and giggles and that same fluttery laugh she gave to everyone. He scowled.

She called the next guy a good boy, too.

He stayed.

He leaned against the nearest tree, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He watched her with sharp blue eyes as the line grew, as more guys knelt for her, grinning like idiots just to hear her laugh again. She didn’t notice at first—not really—but then she looked up between pours and saw him still standing there.

Lingering. Watching. She blinked. Surprised.

Did he want another round?

Apparently, he did—because by the time the next customer stepped up, Rafe was already behind him, standing close. Closer than necessary.

When her eyes met his again, she tilted her head. “Back so soon?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

“You missed a spot,” he said.

Her brow quirked. “What spot?”

Rafe tugged at his collar, revealing the beer-stained patch of his shirt. “Should probably clean that up. Since it was your fault.”

She smiled despite herself. “Oh, demanding now, are we?”

His voice lowered. “Only for you.”

The line behind him groaned. Someone muttered something about “dude, move.”

But she didn’t take her eyes off him.

And when she poured the second time, she slowed it down. Tilted the pitcher with more care, watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. He didn’t break eye contact once.

No cheering this time. No laughter. Just the sound of the liquid and the thick tension between them as the sun beat down and everything else blurred.

When he stood again, she didn’t say anything. But her smile was different.

So was his.

He didn’t leave until her shift ended.

And when she stepped down from the booth, unlacing her corset with flushed cheeks and tired arms, Rafe was waiting beside the stockade—beer-stained shirt, smug smirk, and a token between his fingers.

“Thought maybe,” he said, holding it up, “you could pour just for me this time.”

dividers: @/anitalenia

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby @rafesbabygirlx @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyyy @ellayahhs @lifeonawhim @usseraloo

[winterarchives]

Blood, Sweat and Tears part IV

Soulmate AU pairing - OT7 x reader , BTS x reader word count - 8.6k+ summary - You wake up the morning after smutmageddon next to a warm body warnings - cussing , smut , submissive!jimin , dom!hoseok , MDNI, early writing (literal years ago) pls go gentle on me part l - part ll - part lll

Warm. You’re incredibly warm.

Someone is lying in bed with you, their warm chest resting against your back. You go to turn onto your side, so you can see who the warmth belongs to, but most of the muscles in your body groan pleasantly in protest. A blush rises into your cheeks as recollection of the prior night’s activities runs through your mind. 

You, on your knees in front of Taehyung. Jimin’s voice leading you through it all. Jungkook raising his hips up and into yours while you pistoned yours down on him… Jimin’s hands on you, and you splayed out over the back of the couch underneath him; at his mercy. Just thinking about it sends a shiver up your spine.  

“You’re awake.” He whispers into your ear. 

Jimin. You smile against the fabric of his pillow, taking in his scent. 

“I’m awake.” You reply, “I would turn around, but I’m sore.” 

“Bad or good?” He asks, dominant bravado from last night long gone. 

“Good.” You murmur, finding his hand underneath the pillow and pulling it to your cheek. 

“I’ll text Kookie and have him bring a heating pad later. He always keeps a few on hand when we tour. Hobi loves to torture us with practices.” Jimin chuckles, and you hear his fingers tapping at his phone screen. 

“My muscles would appreciate that… How are you feeling?” You ask him.

“Sleepy,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your naked shoulder blade. “And amazing…” 

“Amazing?” You tease him.

“Amazing.” He answers in earnest, squeezing you to him. “Are you hungry?” 

“Not yet,” you tell him, “I could go for a shower or a bath, though.” 

“We have a shower and a bath, all in one.” Jimin smiles, “I could help you if you want.” 

The suggestive tone in his voice is endearing, to a limitless degree. 

“Lead the way.” You chuckle. 

“No, no, no. You’re sore. I’ll carry you.” 

“What, no-” 

“Too late,” he smirks, standing up from the mattress and scooping you into his arms, the bedsheet still wrapped around you. You’re rather surprised at first, but you remember the strength he’d exerted over you the night before, and that shock melts away. The band of his boxer-briefs tickles your bare hip, but Jimin’s sturdy grip on you distracts you from it. 

“You two are up early,” Jin smiles, stepping into the hallway as you and Jimin do. “Did Jiminie snore all night, YN?” 

“I did not-” Jimin starts. 

“Not that I noticed.” 

“Then why are you awake at 6 in the morning?” 

“I need a shower,” you sigh. “Probably should have taken one last night, but…” 

“I see.” Jin smiles, “Well, Jiminie will take good care of you, Jagiya. I’ll make you guys some breakfast.” 

“Thank you, Jin,” you smile back, watching as the broad-shouldered eldest member disappears down the hall.

Jimin’s arms tighten around your torso, keeping you close to him while he nudges open the bathroom door with his foot. “Do you want a shower, and then a bath?” He asks, setting you on the bathroom counter. Your sheet falls to the floor, and the typical embarrassment you’d feel from being naked in front of someone isn’t anywhere to be found; there’s just a pleasant high from being near Jimin. 

“That sounds amazing,” you tell him, watching him carefully prepare the shower stream. He uses his wrist to test the water, making sure it’s not too hot or cold for your skin. 

“The water pressure here is touchy, so call me if you need anything while you’re in there, okay?” His eyes are light on yours, crinkling into their typical half-moons when he grins widely.

“You’re not joining me?” You ask, surprised. You had thought that’s what he meant when he said he could help you earlier. 

Jimin’s blush rises rather quickly, and you hold in a giggle at the cute reaction. “I didn’t know- I mean, you’re okay with that?” He asks, twiddling with his fingers. 

“Of course I am,” you giggle, hopping down from the counter and looping your arms around his muscular neck. “You are my soulmate, you know. And we already got the sex thing out of the way last night…” 

“Sex thing?” He laughs.

“Oh, hush.” You quip, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek, “let’s get in before I freeze to death.” 

“We don’t want that,” Jimin winks, removing his underwear and stepping under the steady stream of water. “Mmmm, feels good. Get in here.” 

You smile at him, watching his silvery hair grow slick and wet, darkening under the influence of the water. “You’re really pretty, you know.” You tell him, stepping into the tub; Jimin gracefully moves out of your way, helping you position yourself under the shower head. 

“Thank you,” he blushes, thumbing some wayward water droplets off your lips. “You’re pretty, too.” 

“I’m also hogging the water,” you tell him, holding your arms out. 

He smiles at your antics, but walks into your arms, hugging you to him so that you’re both under the spray of warm water. His fingers trail your spine, sending slight shivers throughout your body. 

You jump slightly at the pleasant music that seems to play throughout the entirety of the suite. If you listen closely enough, you can nearly pinpoint where it plays from. The living room, perhaps, or the kitchen. 

“Jin likes to listen to music while he cooks,” Jimin explains, kissing your collarbone. “Helps him concentrate. Jungkook made him playlists and everything. This is the American playlist, I think,” he finishes, replacing his kiss with a gentle nip before he lightly smacks your butt. 

“Hey,” you laugh, pinching his shoulder. 

“Couldn’t help myself…” He sighs. “You’re just so cute.” 

“Kings of Leon,” you whisper, listening to the lilt of the music, “I used to listen to them when I was younger,” you smile. 

“Kings of Leon,” Jimin echoes you, testing the English name on his tongue. “I haven’t heard this before… It’s pretty.” 

“If I’m remembering correctly, this is Pyro…” you tell him, relaxing your head on his shoulder. 

“Pyro… Like someone obsessed with fire?” He asks you.

“Mhm.” 

“Yoongi did some research on pyromania when we were shooting the music video for Fake Love.” Jimin tells you, still tracing your spine absentmindedly. A minute later, the song changes, and Jimin peers into your eyes, “Do you know what one this is?” 

You listen, the familiar guitar riff filling your ears and drowning out the sound of running water. 

“Sex on Fire.” You tell him, grinning sheepishly, “I think.” 

“Hm, like us last night.” Jimin smiles. 

You swat at his shoulder, smiling when he erupts into laughter. 

“You can’t tell me it wasn’t good, Jagi.” He tells you, releasing you from his hold. “It was amazing for me.” 

“Oh, it was beyond amazing, Jimin.” You tell him, shaking your head shyly. “I don’t think it gets much better than last night.” 

“Really?” 

“Absolutely. I mean, two orgasms in a row…” You tell him breathlessly, remembering the feeling of his fingers on your clit. 

“You haven’t had two like that before?” Jimin asks, perplexed, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You haven’t been fucking the right people, Jagiya.” 

“You’re right.” You tell him, smirking. “I didn’t know I had seven soulmates waiting for me in South Korea.” 

Jimin bites down on his bottom lip, “Well, now you do. Let’s use some body wash before we get into the bath. I’ll wash your hair in the tub.” 

You nod, the two of you soaping each other up, occasionally letting contented sighs pass through parted lips. A few songs have passed before Jimin turns the shower head off and plugs the drain in the tub, turning the bath faucet on. The water pools at your feet, steadily gaining momentum and height.   

“You can sit first, Jagi. I’ll slide in behind you.” Jimin tells you, watching the curve of your ass as you settle into the tub below him. The water feels like Heaven against your sore muscles. 

Jimin’s careful and quiet as he settles himself behind you, legs parted so you can lean back against his chest. 

His right hand plays absentmindedly with wet strands of your hair, tugging softly before he returns his fingers to your scalp. His left hand snakes across your shoulder blade, tracing the curves of your chest before he lets it rest above your heart. 

“You should stay with us again tonight.” He yawns, twisting your hair around his pointer finger. 

“I’d need to get a few things from my hotel,” you tell him. 

“Jin could drive you. He wanted to spend tonight with you, anyway.” 

“He does?” You ask him, interest piqued. 

“Of course he does,” Jimin laughs, “why wouldn’t he want to spend time with you?” 

“Well, last night- I uh, I noticed the others didn’t really, you know…” You trail off, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll let Jin explain that to you.” Jimin chuckles. “It’s not what you think, though. Yoongi won’t do much for obvious reasons now. But the other three,” he tuts. “Anyways, yeah, Jin will want some time with you. We all want time with you.”  

“Okay.” 

“So, you’ll stay tonight?” 

You sigh affectionately, melting further into the man behind you, “I guess.” 

He squeezes you against him in response, his muscular chest and strong arms keeping you glued to him. You couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. 

That thought, however, reminds you of the position you’d taken in New York. If you could feel this sated, this content… this euphoric, why would you leave? Why would you leave? The familiar panic in your gut rises, your mind flooded with your heavy thoughts. 

“You okay?” Jimin asks, using articulate fingers to turn your chin upwards. His eyes are wide, worried, and searching yours for any explanation for your racing heart. “What’s wrong, baby?” He cooes, seeing the panic in your eyes. 

“I’m sorry-” you choke out, a small sob escaping your throat. 

“Hey, hey,” Jimin whispers, helping you to straddle his naked lap. “Why are you sorry?” 

“I’m leaving you guys at the end of the month…” You mumble. 

“Angel…” Jimin sighs, “You don’t have to apologize for that. Ever.” 

You rest your head into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his bare shoulders, tears falling from your chin onto his collarbone. 

“Listen, a lot is going through your mind right now. We know that, because we’ve been in your position before,” Jimin explains, rubbing your back. “It’s not just the job. You’re bonding with us, and not in a typical, mundane way. We’re your soulmates, that goes beyond just having feelings for us.” 

His voice blends perfectly with Coldplay’s Yellow playing in the background. You could honestly drift to sleep. 

“I care about you guys so much…” You tell him. “So much. I don’t quite understand it. Everything has happened so fast.” 

“I know, and that’s our fault.” Jimin mumbles. “We should be more patient with you. Last night was probably too much-” 

“No,” you rush out, scrambling to sit up so that he can see your face. “Last night was one of the best nights of my life, Jimin.” You tell him, meaning every single word. “I don’t regret it. I will never regret last night.” 

Jimin smiles shyly at your declaration, watching the way your chest rises and falls, water droplets cascading from your hair, to your breast, over your hardened nipples, and back into the tub below. 

“I want you all to know that I will never, ever, ever regret any of you. Don’t you guys see that?” You ask him, running the palm of your hand along his jaw. “I’m not worried that we’re moving fast, Jimin, I’m worried because I don’t know how I’ll be able to leave.” 

“I know that it doesn’t make sense right now, Jagi… But just two days ago, you were talking about needing some space to think, and I can’t speak in place of the others, but I think you should do that.” 

“But the tethering with Yoongi-” 

“We will figure that out. We can request a stay in New York after the tour and the few interviews we have here, that way, Yoongi won’t be too far away from you. You’ll be able to be with him within minutes if that’s what you want. All we want is for this to be easy for you, okay?” He promises, kissing your cheek.

“Thank you, Jimin…” You whisper, pressing a light kiss against his plump lips. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but we are here for you, YN. Always. Now, turn back around and let me wash your hair.” 

You listen, wordlessly, to his orders, not wanting to spoil the intimate moment between you and Jimin. The long sigh of a shampoo bottle signals for you to lean your head back, and then Jimin runs his skillful hands through your hair. His fingernails lightly scrape at your scalp, and you moan slightly, lips parting without your permission as the wanton sound slithers through them. 

“Does that feel good?” Jimin purrs, tugging at the sudsy strands of hair he holds in his hands. 

“Mhm,” you sigh, feeling his member harden against your back at your approval. “Feels good, Jimin…” you add, feeling him harden even further. 

“Almost ready to rinse,” he tells you, “lean your head back again?” 

You do, closing your eyes while he uses the bath water to rinse the soap from your hair. Another bottle sighs, and Jimin repeats his actions, lathering your wet hair with conditioner. His hands are sure, working the soap expertly against your scalp as they had before. 

“And lean back one more time, baby,” Jimin instructs, running water through your hair once more. “Good girl,” he smiles, tapping your shoulders, “now, we switch.” 

Jimin slides past you with ease and grace, turning his back to you in a swift motion. He leans back, looking at you upside down. “Clean me,” he smiles, sticking his soft pink tongue out at you.

“Alright,” you giggle, rinsing his hair before prepping a dollop of shampoo in your hands. 

Jimin’s hair is ridiculously soft, and his reaction to you working the soap into it is rendering you a soft mess. He practically melts into your touch, resting the weight of his head into your hands. If you crane your neck, you can see his Adam’s apple straining against his tanned skin, rising slightly with his laboured breathing as you tug at his hair. 

“Your hair is very soft,” you tell him, scraping your nails against his scalp. 

“Mmmm,” he sighs, sounding as desperate as you had earlier. “I like this…” 

“I did, too.” You smile, rinsing the soap out of his silver hair. “You have nice hands.” 

“Yah! Stop being so cute.” Jimin chirps, covering his face with his hands. 

You laugh at him in earnest, admiring his adorable behavior, and squeeze a dime-sized helping of conditioner into your hands. You mimic your actions, taking note of the tugs you administer that make Jimin twitch underneath you, the tugs that have his cock hardening under the pleasantly hot water as well. 

“You like it when I tug your hair,” you say, words coming out more like a statement than a question, as the familiar tune of Cold Desert plays from the kitchen. Jungkook must really appreciate Kings of Leon. Or he just selected random American artists and added their music to the rotation without a second thought.

“I do,” Jimin smirks. “So did you.” 

“Touché, Park.” 

Jimin chuckles a breathy chuckle, “It was sexy, watching you under me last night.”

You bite down on your lip, trying desperately to focus on rinsing the conditioner out of his silver hair. 

“And the way you took Tae into your mouth… he was a mess when you did that. His dick will probably be dry for weeks.”

Alright. Two could play at this game.

“You couldn’t keep your hands off me, though, could you, Jimin?” You ask him, voice wound tight with your desire. “You touched me when I was sucking Tae off, and you touched me when I was riding Jungkook,” you tell him, feeling him still against your chest. “Playing with my nipples and my clit while I was tending to your maknaes…” You tsk at him, tugging his hair harshly once more. 

“Mmm,” Jimin whines, muscles in his thighs and abdomen tightening at your dirty words. 

“You’re dominant, Park, I’ll give you that, but I can tell how much you would love being reassured. Loved. I can see how much you want your partners to show you that you’re enough.” You continue, releasing his hair from your grasp and running your hands, palms flat, against the thick muscles of his thighs, slightly scraping the taut skin. “Can’t you see how beautiful you are, Jimin? You mesmerize everyone, all of the time…” You coo, gripping his submerged length in your hand, listening to the strained hiss that escapes his parted lips from your touch.

“Please-” he stammers, his dick pulsing in your hand. “I need-” 

“I know,” you smile, gripping him with more pressure as you work your hand up and down his swollen and straining cock. “Do you want to come like this?” You ask him, still sliding your hand along his erection.

He doesn’t answer, too invested in the feeling of your smooth hands against the most intimate part of him. “Or do you want my mouth?” No answer, “Want me on top of you, baby?” You coo, the surge of your dominance going straight to Jimin’s cock. 

“On me, please…” Jimin huffs, crying out in relief when you readjust yourself to settle on his lap. 

The water ripples beneath your movements, and the air of the room cools the portion of your hips that had just been submerged. Jimin’s eyes are hot on yours, the brown ocher from earlier turning to hot, melted chocolate. The possessiveness from last night's nowhere to be seen. He’s completely pliant beneath you, receptive to your every move; never once drawing from your dominance. 

“Such a good boy,” you tell him, tracing his jaw with your warm and wet fingertips. 

His eyes, surprisingly, fill with tears at your praise; watching you on top of him, enchanted by your presence. 

“I love-” 

“I know. Me, too.” You tell him, tilting his chin up so that you can rest your hungry lips against his. If you told any of them- out loud- the feelings you knew were blooming within you, you’d never go back to New York. You knew that. So for now, they’d remain unspoken.

Jimin doesn’t seem bothered by your non-verbal response; instead, he pours his emotions into your mouth with his tongue, the taste giving you a heady high. You pull away from him, holding yourself up against his collarbone, watching his expression as you grab his length and position it below your heat. His breathing breaks as you finally sheath him inside of you, your warmth lighting him up from the inside, out. 

He watches you with bated breath, the light of the bathroom making you look like an angel above him. He wants to praise you, pray at the altar that is YN, but he knows that you’re in complete control, and he’s happy that you are. He’s happy to relinquish his control today, content in handing it over to you. Despite the brief nature of your relationship with Jimin and BTS so far, he trusts you wholeheartedly, and he knows the others do as well. 

His lips part in that sinful way that they do, small, harsh breaths spilling into the air between the two of you as you use the muscles of your thighs and calves to ride him, displacing the water beneath you. 

“You feel so good, baby,” you tell him, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, suckling at his flesh while you work yourself against him. “You’re so good, Jimin,” you whisper against him, grinning devilishly when he mewls against your breast, taking a nipple into his hot mouth. 

“Such a good boy,” you coo, rocking your hips harshly against his, crying out when he pistons his against yours; his cockhead rubbing against your sweet spot. “Fuck, Jimin,” you whine, scraping his shoulder blades and shivering against him. 

“I’m going to come,” he warns you, nipping at your chest. 

“Do it, baby,” you tell him.

“But you’re not close,” he whines. 

“It’s okay, this is all about you, Jimin.” You reassure him, clenching your cunt around him. 

“Fuck-” he gasps, “okay, alright.” 

His hips snap up again, meeting every thrust you send loudly, water splashing recklessly against the porcelain tub. 

“Shit-” he cries, his hands gripping your shoulders and pulling you down substantially harder against him. His dick spasms inside of you, warmth coating your walls in spurts. “Fuck…” he groans, biting the soft flesh of your breast not unpleasantly. 

You only slide off of him once you feel him softening inside of you, cleaning his excitement off of your cunt while he recovers from his orgasm. 

“Breakfast is ready,” Jin calls from the kitchen, as soon as you and Jimin are dressed. 

“Finally,” Jimin chirps, shooting up from his bed and setting off for the kitchen, “come on! Before Jungkook wakes up and inhales it all!” 

You roll your eyes at his childish antics, but follow him to the kitchen nonetheless, stomach growling as the smell of Jin’s breakfast banchan meets your nose. 

“That smells amazing.” You gape, watching as Jin prepares the plates at the large dining table. 

“Thank you,” the eldest member smiles, pointing to the head of the table, “that’s your seat.” 

You take your seat wordlessly, gawking openly at the mouth-watering food that Jin’s prepared. The potato stir-fry looks as if it could melt in your mouth, and the broth-simmered rice looks to die for. 

“Eat, Jagi,” Jimin smiles between mouthfuls of banchan across from you. “It’s delicious.” 

Jin smiles, bringing a mug and his plate to the seat on your right, sitting down gracefully. “I only get to make proper breakfast meals when we’re staying in a city for longer than a day,” he tells you, watching graciously as you use your chopsticks to get a mouthful of the stir-fry into your mouth.

“It’s amazing, Jin,” you praise him, digging back into the stir-fry. “Better than restaurants!” 

“They don’t call me Chef Handsome for nothing,” he tells you. 

“Yah! We don’t call you that, hyung.” Jimin whines. “Don’t lie to YN.” 

Jin laughs, leaning towards your ear. You lean over, giggling when he whispers into it. “He thinks I don’t hear them complimenting me, but they do.” He tells you. 

“Stop that!” Jimin groans, “You’re being a child, Jin.” 

“Eat your food, Jiminie,” Jin tells him, ignoring the maknae’s complaints. “I was wondering if you were going to stay here again tonight?” Jin asks you, looking into your eyes as he takes a sip from his mug. 

“If that’s what you guys want,” you smile, “I’d just need to get some stuff from my hotel.” 

“I could drive you later,” he tells you. “I was going to ask if you’d like to spend tonight with me. Feel free to say no,” he adds. 

“That’s more than fine with me, Jin.” You reassure him, “I’ll probably need to run a few things by Elle before I come back, though… Would you want to come up to our room? Or wait in the car?” 

“I can wait in the car, don’t want to risk you getting bombarded by paparazzi.” He tells you.

“Yah! Tae!” Jungkook yells, entering the dining area, “Jin made breakfast!” 

“Ah! It’s not all yours!” Jin complains, tossing a lone pebble of rice at Jungkook. “Why are you up so early, Jungkook?” 

“You didn’t hear Jimin and YN in the bathroom?” Jungkook giggles, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the two of you. “They were going at it.” 

“I was busy listening to music and making breakfast for you ungrateful brats,” Jin huffs. “I didn’t hear anything.” 

“It was nice to wake up to,” Taehyung smiles, sitting next to Jungkook. “Never thought I’d hear the day Jimin had to eat his words. He’s always so, listen to me or don’t tell me what to do or how to feel.” 

“Wha-” 

“Don’t start, Jimin,” Tae quips, cutting his elder off. “I heard the way she made you moan.” 

“Shut up, Taehyung,” Jimin growls, glaring at the chocolate-haired maknae sitting nearest to him.

“Testy,” Tae laughs, gripping some rice with his chopsticks. “I’m not dissing, Chim. It was nice to hear you switch up your pace for once.” 

“YN had you moaning last night, too, Taehyung.” Hoseok chuckles, entering the room with Namjoon and Yoongi on his heels. “You and Jungkook were practically drooling at the sight of her.” 

“We all were, Hobi.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, preparing plates for the three newcomers. 

“Will you be gracing us with your presence again tonight, Jagi?” Hoseok asks, stealing a bite of your rice.

You go to swat at his hand, but he grips your wrist tightly in a well-defined hand, dark eyes meeting yours reproachfully. “Mm, you don’t want to do that, Sweetheart.” He cooes, soft voice a shocking contrast to his angelic face that’s seemingly carved into a warning sign.

You swallow down the air in your mouth, your sexual frustration from lack of orgasm in the bathtub building slowly in your belly. The look Hoseok is giving you now… You can’t say you expected it. It’s definitely a 180 from his typical sunny disposition. You also can’t say you weren’t enjoying it. 

“You see, Sweetheart, Jimin last night? He’s got nothing on me.” Hoseok warns you, and you fully believe what he’s said. 

“Yah! Be gentle, Hoseok,” Jin warns, “you’re going to give poor YN a heart attack.” 

Hobi’s hold on your wrist softens, and soon he releases the grip entirely, a full-cheeked grin spreading across his face. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you, Jagi! I just have a very acquired taste.” He explains, resting a chaste kiss atop your head before taking a seat on the opposite side of the dining table. 

“It’s fine…” You breathe, regaining control over your jellified mind. “To answer your question, uh, yeah, I think I am staying over tonight as well. As long as that’s fine with all of you, of course.” 

“Of course it’s fine with us,” Namjoon tells you, sitting between Hoseok and Yoongi. “You’re always welcome to our hotel rooms and homes.” 

“But your management? Are they okay with me being here? I know that some of your rules are pretty set in stone. Especially after your reveal the other night.” 

“Ah, yeah, they’ll probably be upset with us for a while, but there’s not much in terms of our contracts that they can do about us having you over. It’s more or less public outings that they have control over. Which is why when we had you meet us at that restaurant, we had to take precautionary measures, like the security and the small staff team.” Joon replies.

“Will they be upset with you, though? I really don’t want to cause any issues.” You mumble, picking at your rice. 

“Jagi,” Jin says, resting his hand on yours so you stop fumbling with your food, “you’re our soulmate. We don’t care if they’re upset at us for being around you. All we want is to be with you.”

The sentiment was sweet. The way Jin keeps his unwavering focus on you is sweet. But there’s still a part of you, regardless of how much reassurance you get, that feels awful for taking the job in New York. 

“Not like they could control it, either.” Yoongi shrugs, “if we stay away from each other too long, it won’t feel good.” 

“I won’t be around much after this month…” You state sadly, looking from Jin’s warm eyes to your abandoned plate of food on the table. 

“You’re still worried about going back to Manhattan?” Hoseok asks. 

You don’t quite trust yourself to voice your confirmation, so you just nod, lamely watching steam rise off your rice. Jin standing up abruptly from his chair is the only thing that drags your attention off of your food. He moves around the table towards you, turning your chair to face him while he kneels between your legs. 

“We’ve considered disbanding,” Jin tells you. 

You gasp, looking around the room at the other members. Each remains unmoving, their faces cool and composed while they watch you and Jin. 

“But your fans… and you guys love your music. You guys are so talented, and you’ve got so much to offer! I’ve seen-” you start. 

“You want us to succeed in doing what we love, because you have seen how much we love what we do.” Jin summarizes. 

“Of course,” you tell him, nodding fervently. 

“We will miss you when you return to America, yes.” He nods, gripping your hands in his own. “But we want you to succeed, too. If that means we have to be patient for an extra year or so, then so be it. Count us in. This isn’t a typical relationship, Jagi. Millions of people end up with someone who isn’t their soulmate or soulmates simply because they can’t find each other. But we found you, and you found us; and we’re not giving you up just because you have a job in America.

“We will visit you in Manhattan as often as we possibly can. And we can get you plane tickets here whenever you want. You just have to call us, and we’ll get everything settled. Always. No time limit, no worries, no hesitation. All we ask is that you don’t find someone else in New York.” He finishes, looking at you with painfully vulnerable eyes. 

“Wait, me find someone else?” You repeat him, completely taken aback. “Why would any of you be worried about me finding someone else when I have you guys?” 

“Oh, don’t be coy.” Jungkook laughs. 

“Wait, you’re serious?” Taehyung coughs, furrowing his brows when you don’t joke back with Jungkook. “Have you seen yourself, YN? You’re beautiful, smart, and funny; the question you should be asking is who wouldn’t want to be with you.” 

“I’m really not that spec-” 

You’re cut off by a warm hand covering your mouth. You crane your neck, turning from Taehyung to see Jin, whose hand is effectively acting as your face mask. 

“We’re not going to let you speak poorly of yourself, Jagiya.” He tells you, furrowing his brows as Taehyung had, “you are beautiful. You are smart. You are funny. There are no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. Worldwide Handsome only speaks truth.” 

You roll your eyes affectionately at the madnae, but nod your head nonetheless. 

“Promise you won’t speak poorly of yourself,” he orders, smiling nonchalantly at you. 

You mumble through his hand, his warm skin effectively muffling your promise. 

“Better keep your word,” he warns you, removing his hand. 

“Whatever you say,” you quip, taking another bite of your rice and stir fry. 

“You almost ready, YN? We have the hallways cleared out, so we’re good to go whenever you are.” Jin tells you, grabbing a pair of shiny keys from the granite countertop. “It looks like we might have a few tagalongs.” 

“Hm, who all is that going to be?” You ask him, hoisting your backpack over your shoulders. 

“Yoongi, Hobi and Jungkook.” Jin answers.

You turn, surprised when you take in Jin’s appearance. He looks comfortable, and breathtaking. Would you ever be able to not oggle the men the universe has given you? Not likely. 

His dark black jeans hug his hips deliciously, the slightly skin-tight denim clinging to the muscle of his thighs and shins. And over those sinful jeans, he wears a loose-fitting pastel pink hoodie, the black drawstring on it excessive in both length and size. The matching pink baseball cap he wears keeps his fading lavender tresses from invading his line of sight. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” you tell him, pointing towards the circular lenses positioned in front of his brown eyes. 

“Ah, all of us do.” He tells you, “Well, aside from Hobi. He  doesn’t need to wear them to improve his vision.” He explains once he sees your confused face. “We mostly use contact lenses. They’re easier to hide.” He smiles. 

“I guess that makes sense. They look really good on you,” you tell him. He blushes at your words, surprising for someone who refers to themselves as ‘Worldwide Handsome.’ 

“You’re sweet.” He smiles, hugging you to his side. 

“You guys coming?” Jungkook asks, popping his curly, black haired head into the doorway of the living room.

“Yah! You all need to learn the value of patience,” Seokjin scolds him, “but, yes, we’re coming.” 

“You hardly know the value of patience yourself, Jin.” Hobi teases from behind the hood of his graffiti-patterned hoodie; his faded blue jeans making him look especially appetizing. 

“I most definitely do!” Jin retorts, nudging Hobi out of the way. 

“Do not. It’s been proven time and time again.” Hobi rolls his eyes, “It’s not that big of a deal, Jin. Just admit that you’re not all that patient.” 

“I will not!” 

“You are so difficult.” Hobi whines. 

“Aish, stop arguing,” Jungkook grumbles, leading the throng of you out into the hallway of the hotel. His hair, nearly shoulder length, is mesmerizing as it shifts and moves with his long strides, resting right atop the neck of his crewneck sweater. And his jeans… damn. His thighs looked mouth-watering. “I got dibs on shotgun.” 

You’re pulled from your ass-centric reveries when a pair of arms wrap around the small of your waist; a warm chest pressed flush against your back.

“Miss me?” A low voice asks you, warm breath fanning across your exposed neck and ear. 

You giggle, leaning your head back against Yoongi’s shoulder and kissing his neck. “How’ve you been holding up?” 

“As well as I can be,” he shrugs. “I’ve just missed you a lot.” 

“I have been around, you know.” You laugh, coming to a standstill while Jungkook presses the button to call one of the two elevators. You feel Yoongi’s lips pout against your skin, “but I’ve missed you, too!” You add, squeezing his arms tightly around you. 

“Yoongi-ah… so needy.” Hobi teases, pinching Yoongi’s cheek from over your shoulder.

“You’re just as needy with Joon, Hobi.” Jin reminds the younger member, “I’d say we’re all pretty needy.” 

“An admission from Worldwide Handsome himself?” Jungkook gapes. “You’re a changed man, hyung.” 

“I’ve admitted to my faults before,” Jin argues, stepping into the elevator with the rest of you. “I’m just more… open to them now.” 

“YN is making you reasonable and soft!” Hoseok laughs. 

“She’s made all of us soft.” Jin retorts, chuckling.

“But Mr. Worldwide is openly accepting his softness,” Yoongi adds, “this day should go down in history.” 

“You are all ridiculous,” you chuckle. 

“Yah! Such harsh words from the woman who owns our hearts,” Hoseok gapes, looking to you with mock devastation. “We’ll have to get you back for that, Jagiya.” 

You blush lightly, murmuring a ‘sorry’ to the dominant man in front of you. 

“I’ll forgive you,” Jungkook tells you, resting his head against the shoulder Yoongi isn’t using as a pillow. “Hobi-hyung won’t be as forgiving, I’m afraid.” He whispers so low you almost don’t catch the words, but you do, and they send a shiver down your spine. 

“You guys do enjoy toying with her, don’t you?” Jin asks, leaning his back against the elevator wall. “She’s blushing like a tomato.” 

“She’s easily affected,” Hobi shrugs. “We’re not completely at fault.” 

“Hmph, whatever you say, Hoseok.” Jin shakes his head, chuckling to himself. 

“I don’t really mind it…” You whisper, watching the way Hoseok tenses across from you. 

“You might want to tread carefully, YN,” Yoongi whispers, squeezing you against him once more and pointing his chin in Hobi’s general direction, “he’s got a switch that is pretty easy to flip.” 

“Oh,” you gape, watching Hoseok’s stony expression. The only sign that you’ve affected him is the tightness of his jaw, and the storm clouds you’re sure are swirling behind his umber irises. 

You watch Hobi from your peripheral vision during the rest of the elevator ride, feeling Yoongi press lazy pecks against your shoulder, and listening to Jungkook and Jin bicker back and forth. Slowly but gradually, the tightness of Hoseok’s posture eases; the sunny personality that masks his dominant persona returns to his features. 

Hoseok steps out of the elevator in time with Jungkook and Jin, leaving you and Yoongi to slowly trail behind them. “You were staring,” Yoongi tells you, unwrapping himself from around you so he can walk beside you and speed up your pace. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black joggers, letting the loose flannel he wears flap lamely against his sides.

“I was?” You ask him, confused. 

“At Hoseok.” He replies, giggling. “While we were in the elevator.” 

“Oh,” you mumble. “I just-I don’t know.” You fail to find the words, focusing on the backs of the three men ahead of you. 

“He’s pretty intoxicating,” Yoongi nods, “I get it. He’s gotten under my skin quite a bit, too.” 

“Really?” You ask. 

“Yep,” he says. “He pretty much steals everyone’s attention. Wouldn’t be surprised if he also got under Tae, Jin, and Jungkook’s skin.” 

“Why would that be surprising?” You ask, confused by his choice of wording. “I thought you all were intimate with each other?” You whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“Oh, no.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I’ve never been with Jin or Jungkook. And I know for a fact Jin hasn’t been with Hobi or Jungkook.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhm. Not all of our relationships with each other involve, for lack of better wording, sex. Or any sexual intimacy, actually. But you’d have to ask the others about their sexual preferences,” he smirks. 

“That makes sense,” you nod your head, “I have met a few people who are simply platonic with their soulmate.” 

“So, are you suggesting we’re normal?” Yoongi asks you, pointedly staring at the marks on your arm before you both break out into a fit of laughter. 

“What are you two cackling about?” Jin turns, watching you and Yoongi catch your breath between bursts of giggles. 

“Nothing,” Yoongi reassures Jin, pulling you along with him and into the parking garage. “Which car are we taking this time, Jin?” 

“I was just going to take mine, seems easiest.” Jin shrugs. “If you’d prefer different, we can take something else.” 

“No, that works. Means I can sit with YN.” 

“So can I,” Hoseok smiles, voice bright.  “You’ll be part of a Sope sandwich,” He tells you, swinging an arm around your shoulders while they lead you towards Jin’s car. 

“Mind elaborating?” You ask, cocking your head towards the taller black haired hyung.

“It’s mine and Yoongi’s ship name!” Hobi smiles. “Sope! Suga and J-Hope, get it?” 

“Alright, that’s clever.” You tell him, thanking him when he opens the back door of the car for you. You slide into the middle seat. Yoongi’s already seated to your right and waiting to help buckle you (an action that makes your heart soar) while Hoseok slides into his seat to your left. 

“Thank you guys for taking me to get some stuff,” you tell them as Jin pulls out of the parking garage, Seoul coming into view beyond the glass window panes. 

If you strain your eyes enough, you can just barely make out the small crowd gathered in front of the hotel’s entrance. They truly never got a break. 

“You don’t have to thank us,” Jin tells you from the driver’s seat, meeting your eyes for a millisecond in the rearview mirror. “You’ll have to drop that habit with us eventually, you know.” 

“I beg to differ,” you argue, rolling your eyes. “Being polite is nothing to drop. You drop bad habits.” 

“She has a point, hyung.” Jungkook adds, watching the passing scenery out of his window, “although there truly isn’t a point in you thanking us, Jagi. We enjoy doing things for you.” 

“I just feel like a hassle sometimes,” you shrug, twiddling Yoongi’s fingers absentmindedly on your lap. 

“You’re not,” Hoseok tells you, resting his hand against your thigh, giving it a slight, reassuring squeeze that has your heart doing backflips. His hands are large and overwhelmingly warm, especially with your body still wound up from earlier with Jimin.

“You’re really not,” Yoongi adds, “I don’t understand why you’d think you are. You’ve done nothing wrong since we met. I’m the one who fucked up a bit.” 

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a fuck up,” you reply.

“I would.” Jin chuckles. 

“Yes, but you’re not the one he slept with, are you?” You quip, raising your eyebrows at Jin in the mirror. 

“She’s got you there,” Yoongi huffs. “Fine, I’ll accept what I did if you accept that you’re not a hassle and that we’re always going to be here for you.” 

“That seems like a bit of an uneven trade-off.” You tell him, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. 

“What?” Yoongi chuckles, “You need more incentive?” 

“Precisely.” 

“Name your price,” Yoongi orders, rubbing his thumb along the top of your hand. 

“I’m an expensive woman,” you tease, smiling devilishly at your hands. 

There were a few things you wanted off the top of your head, all equally needy and thirsty. Your libido had been exceptionally high since meeting your soulmates and your twin flame, which honestly wasn’t surprising given your lackluster sex life growing up. Sure, you’d had your fair share of orgasms in your days, but there was something about sex with your other half, and the 6 other men who completed you that left you starving for more. It’s like they’d introduced you to a hunger you never knew was there, and now that it’d been awakened, it was screaming for more and had no intentions of lessening its appetite anytime soon.

But you had to be realistic. You were in a car, on your way to your hotel, where you’d pack a bag and explain things to Elle. You couldn’t have sex with any of the men in your vicinity right now. But you could have something damn near as rewarding. 

“I’m sure we can, at the least, match your price,” Yoongi tells you, managing to keep the way he regards you similar to that of a salesman, though his hands are still unprofessionally intertwined with yours on your lap. 

“I want a kiss.” You shrug. 

“A kiss?” Yoongi repeats you, brows furrowed.

“From each of you.” You tell him. 

“I’m in the front seat!” Jungkook whines, turning to face you and looking sad. 

“You wanted shotgun, Jungkook,” Hoseok tells him. “You can kiss YN later.” 

“And I’m driving.” Jin sighs. 

“I’ll be sleeping in your room tonight, Jin. Or have you already forgotten?” 

Jin laughs his seagull laugh, “Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Jagiya.” He tells you, an unspoken promise on his tongue. 

“This deal doesn’t just apply to the four of you, though.” You tell them, blushing when they look at you, confused. “I’d like to kiss Jimin, Namjoon, and Taehyung as well.” 

“That’s easy. You’ve got a deal,” Yoongi smiles, placing a hand on your thigh as confirmation. Hoseok’s hand, warm as ever, still rests on the opposite thigh. 

Hoseok’s, though not as heavily veined as Yoongi’s, were beautiful; the softness of them contrasting with the thick muscles and tendons you could slightly make out from underneath his copper skin. They’d surely be the death of you. 

Yoongi, sensing your jumbled and giddy state of mind, slightly squeezes your thigh; feathery light but not completely without pressure. You begrudgingly stop ogling Hoseok’s hand and finally lift your chin to look at your twin flame.

 Your hand falls on top of his, giving it a small squeeze to let him know you were ready.  “You’re okay with just Hobi and me for now, though?” Yoongi asks.

“I’m more than okay with that,” you tell them, and look from Hoseok to Yoongi. 

“Alright, princess,” Hobi whispers into the shell of your ear, taking advantage of your focus on Yoongi. “You fine with me going first?” He cooes, and although it’s presented as a question, you can tell that he won’t be taking no for an answer. 

For some reason unknown to you, you can’t bring yourself to answer the man behind you or even turn to face him. The energy, raw and lustful, that you can feel radiating off of him from behind you is intimidating enough. Were you ready to face that? 

Your answer is caught in your throat when Hobi’s hand squeezes your thigh, tighter than he had earlier, the harsh pinch of it resonating in your lower belly.

“Answer me,” he orders you. The way both Jungkook and Yoongi seem to freeze up in their seats does not go unnoticed by you whatsoever. Apparently, Hoseok’s dominance didn’t only affect you. 

“Yes.” You breathe, letting a sigh escape your lips when Hobi’s grip on your thigh eases. The tingle feels… good. 

“Look at me,” he tells you, voice hot and heavy. 

You do, despite the millions of butterflies using their wings as battering rams against your stomach. You can’t decide whether your decision was the proper one. Simply glancing at him has turned you to gelatin. You’re pretty damn certain he’s inhuman. You’ve had your suspicions about immortality regarding the entirety of the group since you’d met them barely a week prior, but this just confirmed them. 

Hoseok was, to put it lightly, devastatingly sexy. The muscles of his legs are straining against the faded denim of his jeans while he sits next to you, causing your mouth to water. His jacket is unzipped and hangs bunched up around his elbows. 

“Good girl,” he praises you, the tense set of his jaw relaxing when you do as you’re told. You let out a harsh breath at his praise, the heat in your lower belly building at his compliment. 

He keeps his right hand on your thigh, his grip hardly noticeable save for the heat radiating from his palm; his left hand he uses to angle your chin up further, so that you have direct eye contact. You’re sure you’ll melt from the intensity of Hoseok’s gaze. Whereas Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung were flustered during your more intimate moments, and Jimin was a nice mix of both dominant and flustered, Hoseok was all heat… all dominance. The submissive side you’d sensed in Jimin is nowhere to be found beyond the eyes of Jung Hoseok. 

You can practically see the warning signs light up throughout your mind, pleading with you not to delve in deeply with the man ahead of you. You just simply don’t care. Hoseok is enticing, a flame you want to hone, and you’re not going to stop because of a slight fear of the unknown. 

“Kiss me, Princess,” Hoseok whispers, his lips hovering mere inches in front of your own. 

Your breath is already so labored, you could swear you’d already been kissing the man in front of you for hours. 

His lips curl into a knowing smile as he watches you flush with embarrassment in front of him. You were so sexy to him… Especially with the innocence lurking beyond your gaze. Hoseok could hardly contain himself when you looked up at him through your thick eyelashes, your hands raising to rest against his chest before you stopped them mid-air, peering at him to ask for permission. He can feel his heart palpitate at your actions, something he’s not very familiar with outside of being around Namjoon. 

“You can touch me, Princess.” He tells you, eyeing the way your lip quivers when he refers to you with the pet name. 

You finally rest your hands against his chest, slightly shocked when you feel how labored his breathing is as well. You weren’t aware that you’d been affecting him in a way similar to how he was affecting you. His chest, toned and heaving beneath your small hands, is warm, and you take a moment to let your hands roam the expanse of the strong pecs, feeling the planes of his pectorals from over his t-shirt. 

You almost get whiplash when his hands grip your wrists and stop them in their tracks, your pursuit of his chest long forgotten when you see the way he looks at you.

“Kiss me,” he repeats his earlier order, eyes shifting into a look that’s nearly threatening. 

You melt. You swear you do. You feel your excitement pool in your underwear as you lean forward and finally press your lips against the angelic curve of Hoseok’s. 

“Damn…” Jungkook whispers from the passenger seat. You can’t bring yourself to acknowledge the maknae’s words when Hoseok flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, surprising you.

You part your lips immediately, completely pliant against Hoseok’s eager mouth. His tongue, hot and fervent, collides with yours, using your momentary shock to invade your mouth and test your boundaries. Surprisingly, he finds none. You’re willing to give Hoseok whatever he wants, and that makes his heart flutter further. 

It’s when you finally move your tongue against his that he lets out a low moan, your body reacting without a second thought as you pull him against you by his jacket, deepening the kiss and biting at his bottom lip. 

Your eagerness surprises him, but he doesn’t complain. He simply lets you take the reins for now, following your lead as he mentally notes the things you love to do to him, and the things he’d love to do to you. 

“Please don’t fuck in my car,” Jin whines, causing Jungkook to erupt into a fit of giggles. 

“Fuck off,” Hoseok spits through your kisses. 

“He’s right, Hobi.” Yoongi chuckles. “You’re getting carried away.” 

You huff and pout when Hoseok disconnects his sinful lips from yours, your saliva glistening on the swollen skin. 

“I was not,” Hoseok chirps, “I was letting YN take the lead.” 

“What?” Yoongi gapes. “I’m sorry, I thought you said you were letting YN take the lead. But, clearly, I’ve been mistaken.” 

“You’re not.” Hobi shrugs, resting his right hand back atop your thigh. “I wanted her to show me what she likes.” 

“You don’t let anyone take the lead!” Yoongi whines, pouting next to you. 

“Yah! Quit your complaining back there.” Jin snaps. 

You smirk, giggling along with Jungkook at the antics within the car. 

“My turn,” Yoongi tells you, leaning his sleepy-eyed face in front of you and pressing a chaste kiss to your already kiss-swollen lips. 

“That’s all?” You whimper, looking at your twin flame in mock horror. 

“That’s all.” He smiles, looking proud of himself. 

“Seems unfair.” You pout. 

“Oh? Seems rather fair to me. You did say you just wanted a kiss from each of us.” 

“You’re cheeky.” You growl, leaning into Hobi to show Yoongi that you mean business. 

“Our connection is different, sweetheart. I can’t make out with you without wanting to do more. You’ll understand later on, I promise.” Yoongi explains, and despite your bitterness towards him for not literally sucking your soul out of your body via your mouth, you can hear the genuineness in his voice. 

So, rather than arguing, you take one of his hands and hold it in your own, using Hoseok as a body pillow as you watch Seoul pass by through the backseat windows. 

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