#i bet you're so glad you asked

[pekoposting]

don't ask me what is going on in the rp server

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

paperd's ask reminded me that i am married to your fem lust and i am so happy <33

-juni (@jun1per-t33th wow i actually realized that since i cant send asks through my acc i can just. tag myself. woah. im so smart ahaha)

so happy indeed HHGGSHG<3333

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) unintentionally riding them ! ୨୧ 一 엔시티드림 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ unintentionally riding nct dream on a rideヾ

boyfriend!엔시티드림・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ nudes , allusions to sex wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ click to library

request. hear me out…… what about nct dream going with yn to that ride disco pang pang and you end up on top of them (idk if you’ve seen a video that’s been going around where a girl is literally riding other girl😭)

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 those rides are scary as hell i couldn't imagine falling into a strangers lap like the video.

﹙ 𐙚 : mark﹚ .ᐟ

he knows you mean no harm; the ride was quite literally tossing you both around , and you just happened to land on him — but it didn't stop his cock from growing inside is jeans. he's stressed , he knows you feel it. “fu-fuck im so sorry.” he said , your face is hot , cheeks are rosy as you feel him beneath you , he's embarrassed , but so turned on , he was gonna cum . “but fuck you feel good , im sorry , im so sorry .” he's just wishing the damn ride would end.

“fuck im sorry but im about to cum.”

﹙ 𐙚 : renjun﹚ .ᐟ

he's embarrassed as hell; but his ass is not about to let you know that. “re-renjun are you hard?” he scoffed , rolling his eyes. “you're straddling me , and this ride is bouncing you on my dick , of course I'm hard , wouldn't you be hard if you were in my position? i know you're probably turned on right now , don't make it seem like it's only me.” he stressed , he's about to cum in his pants and he wasn't about to give you leverage to further tease him. “oh fuck will this ride ever fucking end.”

“we're leaving this fucking amusement park arter this.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jeno﹚ .ᐟ

his hands immediately come to your waist to hold you from falling when the ride tossed you into his lap. “hi.” he tries to smile it off — even though the ride is practically bouncing you on his dick. you're actually the one profusely apologizing , but he pretends that it doesn't even bother him , even though he's hard a fucking rock and you're riding him unintentionally in front of all these people and he has to force himself not to moan. “i don't think i can get up after this.” he said. “it's already embarrassing with you on top of me.”

“i don't want these people to see my dick hard.”

﹙ 𐙚 : haechan﹚ .ᐟ

shameless motherfucker; you would've thought he was already hard before the ride tossed you into the boys lap. “haechan are you serious?” he smirking holding you close by your waist. “you're grinding on top of me and you're confused as to why im hard.” he scoffed , your eyes widened at his sudden brazen attitude , you knew he was a wild card but even this was too much for you. you only come back when he groans , he doesn't even care.

“fuck if this ride doesn't stop soon i’m gonna cum.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jaemin﹚ .ᐟ

with the smirk on his face , you would've thought he orgistrated the entire thing himself , his hands on your waist , meanwhile you're the one who's embarrassed as hell. “why are you so embarrassed?” he knew you could feel his hard on , he could feel you as well. “im-im glad you're having a good time.” you on the other hand , your body was on fire. “I am baby i am.” the ride still tossing you around but he made sure to hold you still.

“but i'm more excited about the time we're about to have when we get off this ride.”

﹙ 𐙚 : chenle﹚ .ᐟ

completely turns it on you; yeah he's the one thats hard , but you're the one on top of him and you're the one who caused it in his eyes , not the ride. “if you wanted to ride me you should've just asked , not force me on this nauseating ride so you can do it shamelessly.” you wanted to slap him so bad , but you were too busy grabbing the bar to keep yourself from flying off. “sh-shut up.” your face hot from embarrassment as you straddled him. “im not gonna cum in my pants like a teenager.”

“but all bets are off when we get off this ride.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jisung﹚ .ᐟ

he wants to kill himself to moment he feels you on top of him; his face is red , he wanted to die — but it felt good and that's what made him feel like a pervert , because it wasn't sexual , but his stupid cock didn't seem to get the message. he swore the person who managed the ride had something against him because the ride was never ending and no matter how many times you tried to get up , the ride was plopping you back into his lap. “ji-jisung.” your hands holding his shoulders , he stops you before you can finish.

“please don't say anything , im sorry , so fucking sorry.”

©LUVYENI

[spacebugarts]

I'm doing to Mike and Martin from V what the OG Star Trek girlies did to Kirk and Spock <3

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[icarusredwings]

Wade finally getting to meet most of the X men at the mansion: Wow this is great!

Wade: *turns to the wall* No wonder Logan was a whore, am I right? I mean look at all of them! Gyah! I bet storm could throw me back to Canada in one go! That would be so cool!

Logan: *not phased*

Ororo: .... Logan Im glad you're making new friends but uhm... Does he always do that?

Logan: Yeah, just give him a second.. think of it like a vlog.

Negasonic: How do you know what a vlog is? Aren't you like.. a million?

Logan: ... I'll kick a child.

Ororo: He will.

Negasonic: Heh. I like you.

Yukio: Hi Wade!

Wade, mid vlog: Omg Hi Yukio! Guys you remember yukio right? GOD its so cool here. Anyway where's that hairy blue guy? I wanna go ask him inappropriate things.

Yukio: which one?

Wade: *GASPS* You guys have TWO furries!? And they're both blue!? Im like NEVER leaving!!

[connorsui]

Sylus x reader - imagine

"A Month Without You"

You lay beside him, tracing the veins on his arm, feeling the gentle pulse beneath your finger tips as you hit his wrist.

"One ...two... three," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus shifted sliently, his red eyes watching you with mild curiosity. "What are you doing?" He asked, voice deep and smooth, like a dark melody.

"Shh! Stay still," you replied. Barely glancing up at him. "One...Two...three" you traced further down his arm, eyes focused on the way the veins looked under your touch.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Sweetheart," He began, amusement dancing in his voice. "When you said you wanted to spend time with me, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

You smirked but didn't stop tracing. "Oh, calling you to come to bed with me half naked with the blinds closed and the room dark and Netflix being on the tv is supposed to say something?"

Sylus laughed, the sound low and rich, causing a flutter in your chest. "Cmon, don't do this to me... you know I've been gone too long. Being without you has caused me to lose myself every night"

You bluffed. Rolling your eyes playfully. "I doubt it. I bet you liked being without me for awhile---some alone time to yourself, hmm?"

He sighted dramatically, catching your hand and holding it still. "Every night ..when I was stuck inside that colorless room filled with nothing but luxury, chandeliers and a colder bed …I swore to myself ..is this what hell feels like?"

You let out a soft laugh, leaning in closer to your head against his chest. "Yeah, well..." You murmured, your voice softening. "I'm glad you're back, I missed you after all"

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him until you were pressed firmly against his chest. "Being without you for a month is something I do not want to do again" l. His voice was quiet now, a rare softness in his tone as he pulled you fully to him. His hands resting on your back. "But I'll admit," he continued. "Those videos you sent me late at night? They were the highlight of my day"

Your face flushed at the countless memories; you lifted your head to look at him in disbelief. "Don't tell me you saved those!?"

His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't worry darling ..I didn't" he teased, his fingers brushing along your back in lazy circles. "But I couldn't help myself ...I watched them over and over again. Just to imagine you losing yourself to my fingers instead"

"Sylus!" You gasped. Your face heating up even more. Before you could protest, he pulled you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. His grin only deepened as he gazed upon you, his hands resting firmly on your hips.

"Now," he said. Voice dripping to a low, dark whisper. "I want to recreate every last video you sent me." He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "So, first thing first, can you turn around for me?"

[coolemmasulivan2]

The Woman Next Door

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After winning the Dutch Grand Prix, Lando returns home to Monaco, eager to prove his genuine feelings to his neighbor, especially after their bet.

Word Count: 4181

You're my downfall, you're my muse My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues I can't stop singing It's ringing in my head for you

Lando had been your neighbour for nearly two years, a friendly presence in the building. But with you, his charm seemed to intensify. He flirted casually, his eyes sparkling with a playful passion. "You're my type!" He'd always say. Yet, your heart remained unmoved. The women he brought home were a strong contrast to you: tall figures in designer heels, showing their immense beauty. You, however, were a simple person who preferred simplicity over expensive clothing and felt most comfortable in jeans and sneakers.

Lately, his flirtations had intensified. He always ensured you knew he was single and was waiting for you. His promises of making you happy and treating you right were sweet, but you weren't fooled. Deep down, you couldn't deny a flicker of attraction, but you kept it hidden. Lando was a handsome man, but you'd seen enough to know he was more than just a pretty face.

"How was your family?" Emily asked, turning to you as she drove. She'd picked you up from the airport in Nice.

You smiled. "They're fine! It was great to be back home. I missed them."

"You know who else missed you?" Emily teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Who?" You asked, confused.

"Your hot neighbour! I ran into him yesterday at the supermarket and he asked about you."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Did he?"

"Yeah! He said, 'How's Y/n? I haven't seen her for a while. The building seems quite boring without her.'"

You crossed your arms. "He didn't say that!"

"I'm serious! I told him you were coming back today, so maybe he'll be waiting by your door, ready to confess his feelings. And then... BANG! Happily ever after."

You couldn't help but wince at Emily's over-the-top dramatic gestures. Despite her tendency to go overboard, you couldn't help but love her for it.

"You've been watching too many films."

"You're going to end up together. Mark my words." She replied and you made a gagging sound that made her laugh.

As she dropped you off at your apartment building, you grabbed your luggage and thanked her with a tight hug. You entered the building and pressed the lift button.

As the liftdoors opened, you stepped inside, dragging your luggage behind you. You were admiring your reflection in the mirror when a hand stopped the doors, causing them to reopen.

You turned to see Lando, dressed in a McLaren white vintage t-shirt and black jeans. His curls were perfectly coiffed, and a smirk played on his lips. Like always.

"Look who's back!" Lando's voice filled the cramped lift. "Good to see you."

"Hi, Lando." You replied.

The two of you lived on the top floor, making the lift feel even smaller and slower. "How were the holidays?"

"Fine! Too short." You admitted, the tension palpable. "What about you?"

Lando studied you from head to toe, his gaze lingering on your face. "They were good. Family, friends, good weather. But I'm glad to be back to work." The lift seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. "And happy to see you again."

"Here we go!"

Lando chuckled. "What?"

"You know what! You know that flirting with me isn't going to work. I'm not interested."

"But I am!" He said. You quickly looked away, praying for the elevator doors to open. "I'm very much interested."

"To how many girls have you said that?" You asked, your voice laced with scepticism.

"None, believe it or not." Lando replied, his tone sincere.

As the lift doors opened, you stepped out and fumbled for your keys. Lando leaned against the wall beside you. "What can I do to convince you to go on a date with me?"

You took a deep breath, finally finding your keys. He was starting to make you nervous. "I don't think your fans would like to see you having dinner with a woman."

"That's not a problem for me." He said confidently. "I'll have dinner with whoever I want." As you unlocked your apartment door, he continued, "But if that's the issue, we can have dinner at my place, eat McDonald's in my car, anything to make you comfortable."

You pushed your luggage inside and faced him. "Lando…" You began, your voice soft but firm. "I'm not looking for a one-night stand. I want a relationship. A public relationship. I want to go out with my partner, have dinner, eat ice cream, have meaningful conversations on the balcony. I want trust, and I don't want to worry about being cheated on. I want kids and I don't want to wait until my thirties. Marriage isn't essential, but I want this person to be my last. If you want me to go on a date with you, prove to me that you're that person." Lando listened intently, his expression serious. "Bye, Lando!"

You started to close the door, but Lando's hand quickly stopped it.

"Uh, when was the last time you saw me bring a woman home?"

You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure. "What?"

"I haven't brought anyone home since I told you I liked you. Four months ago! I never told you I was looking for a one-night stand. I've always been open about my past relationships and I've never cheated on anyone. I also want to have a family and I'll convince you to change your mind about marriage." You stared at him, speechless. "But if I have to prove myself, I'm up for the challenge!" He said, winking as stepped away. "Bye, Y/n."

You closed and locked your door, your heart pounding in your chest. Your cheeks were flushed. For the first time, he had left you speechless. You'd always dismissed his flirting as a joke, but now you realized that maybe it was more than that.

Later that night, you invited your friends Maria and Lisa over for dinner and a movie night. You didn't want to be alone with Lando next door, and you needed to talk about it.

"He's so into you!" Lisa exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's the classic boy-next-door story."

You set the popcorn and wine on the coffee table. Maria, already a bit tipsy from dinner, was making the most confident comments you'd ever heard from her.

"Just go on a date with him. He's handsome, rich, and lives next door. What more do you want?"

"I want stability, honesty, and someone who makes me happy and laughs with me." You replied.

"He already does that!" Maria insisted. "He was honest with you, you laugh with him, and I'm sure he'd make you happy, if you know what I mean." She chuckled, and Lisa joined in.

"You're drunk!" You teased.

"I am, but I'm still the wiser one." She retorted. "Why don't you just sleep with him? See how that makes you feel."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You know I'm not like that. When I'm with someone, it's because I like them."

"But you do like him." Lisa argued.

You rolled your eyes and stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Lando was engrossed in a game with Max when the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock, surprised by the late hour. He wasn't expecting anyone and it was unusual for someone to just walk into the building and ring his bell.

"Someone's at the door." He told Max, removing his headphones. The doorbell rang again. "Give me a second."

He was taken aback to see your friend, Maria, standing there. Her cheeks flushed and the scent of alcohol was strong.

"Lando, hi!" She slurred.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused. One of your other friends was watching from your apartment door.

"Hi, Maria! What can I do for you?" Lando asked, his tone polite but curious.

"Quick!" Lisa whispered to Maria.

"Look, I'm going to the point. Y/n wants to go on a date with you, but she's afraid you only want to get in her pants." Maria blurted out.

Lando crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Is that so? Does she know you're doing this?"

You were nowhere to be seen, and he couldn't believe you'd ask your friends to do something like that.

"Of course not! But we're her friends and we know she really likes you. She doesn't show it, but she does." Maria insisted.

You dried your hands and glanced in the mirror, adjusting your hair before opening the bathroom door.

To your surprise, the girls were gone from the living room, but you heard giggles coming from the door. As you approached, you realized what was happening.

"So, about the date…" You pushed past Lisa, finding Maria deep in conversation with Lando.

You quickly stepped out and grabbed Maria's hand. "What are you doing?" You were panicking.

"I'm helping you!" She whispered, but everyone could still hear her.

"You're not. Come on!" You started walking her back to your apartment, but Lando stopped you by gently grabbing Maria's wrist.

"You can't take her now. She was about to tell me what I need to do to convince you to go on a date with me." He said, smirking. You resisted the urge to slap the smirk off his face.

"She's drunk. She doesn't know what she's talking about." You argued.

"She clearly does." Lando insisted.

Maria nodded in agreement. "Yes, I do. Lando, you just have to win."

You and Lando looked at her, each holding one of her wrists.

"What?" You asked.

"She'll go on a date with you if you win the next race." Maria announced.

Lando smirked and looked at you. You opened your mouth to protest, but he was quicker. "We have a deal!"

"No, we don't!" You said, but no one seemed to be listening.

Maria extended her hand for Lando to shake. "Deal! You better win, because I won't be able to help you again." She winked and went inside your apartment.

You looked at Lando, your arms crossed. "That's not going to happen, you know that right?"

"Why? Are you afraid I'll win?" He challenged.

"No!" You replied.

"So, let's do it. If I win, you go on a date with me--"

"And if you lose, you'll stop asking me to go on a date with me!" You added. Lando stood still, considering. "What? Are you afraid you'll lose?"

After a moment, Lando extended his hand. "Fine!" You grabbed his hand and shook it.

The weekend arrived sooner than you'd expected. Lando had qualified P1, making you question your decision to agree to the bet. You were a Mercedes fan, but deep down, were you rooting for McLaren? It was great to see him win again, but was this really the best time to root for him?

You sat on Emily's sofa between Lisa and her dog, Zeus, watching the race. You wore your Mercedes cap, while Lisa and Maria sported their Ferrari t-shirt. Neither of your friends was a McLaren fan, but today they couldn't stop shouting the name of the British driver.

"Oh my god, he's going to win!" Lisa exclaimed.

"Don't jinx it." Emily replied, slapping her arm.

You slumped on the sofa, unable to say anything. Only when the race ended did you let out a sigh you didn't realize you were holding. He had won the Dutch Grand Prix. He had actually won.

Your friends jumped in the air, celebrating his victory. You ran your hands through your hair.

"Guess who's going on a date with a hot British driver!" Lisa mocked, pulling you up from the sofa.

"You are!" Emily repeated, jumping around you.

An hour later, you were walking home alone. The Monaco weather was pleasant, and the streets were bustling with people.

As you arrived at the building, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to see a message from Lando.

Lando: Hope you're free tomorrow night! I can't wait for our date.

Fuck, you mumbled to yourself.

On Monday, you left the apartment earlier than usual. The night before, Lando had knocked on your door, hoping to talk to you, but you couldn't bring yourself to answer. The next day, you woke up an hour earlier and left for work, hoping to avoid him on your way out. But the universe had other plans.

As you were leaving the building, you bumped into Lando, who had been out for a run.

He chuckled. "Leaving earlier to ignore me?"

You cleared your throat. "No, I just have a big project going on… and have to go earlier."

"Okay." He said, clearly not believing you. "So, I hope you're excited for tonight."

"I don't-- I don't think I have time tonight." You stammered.

"Well, I already reserved our table, and I don't think you'd back out of a bet. So, I'll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something orange if you have it." He whispered in your ear before walking away.

You'd been thinking about Lando all day, your mind racing with anticipation and nerves.

Upon returning home, you immediately took a long shower and emptied your closet to find the perfect outfit. A nice orange summer dress caught your eye. You couldn't remember the last time you'd worn it, but you recalled how flattering it was with your tan.

When you put it on, it looked even better than you remembered. However, doubts crept into your mind. What if he just wanted to get in your pants? What if this was all a joke to him?

Lando knocked on your door at 7 pm sharp, and a few seconds later, you opened it. Lando struggled to contain his astonishment at your appearance.

You were wearing a cute red dress and heels. Your long hair was wavy and you looked stunning. You always looked amazing, but tonight there was a special glow about you. It was a shame you weren't wearing orange.

"Wow!" He said, taking in your appearance. "You look... beautiful."

You blushed and looked away, trying to hide it. "Thank you." You whispered.

You closed your apartment door, and Lando called for the lift. The ride to the garage was silent, surprising you that Lando hadn't said anything flirty or teased you.

He guided you towards his Lamborghini Urus, and you muttered a silent thank-you that he chose the Urus. Of all his cars, it was the most "normal" on the streets of Monaco.

As you left the garage, you broke the silence. "Where are we going?" You asked over the soft music of the radio.

Lando glanced at you. He looked good in his black pants and white shirt. You loved a man in a white shirt.

"It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises!" You said.

Lando laughed. "You hate surprises or you hate my surprises?"

You looked away. "Look at the road, Lando."

After a minute or two, Lando spoke again. "You look really beautiful."

Once again, you blushed. Thankfully, it was starting to get dark. "You already said that."

He stopped at a red light, gazing intensely at you. "And if you allow me, I would say that to you every single day." For a moment, his intense gaze made your legs feel like jelly.

The tension was broken only by a car honking behind you. Lando raised his hand in apology and pulled away. Three minutes later, he pulled up at the marina.

"I agreed to a date with you, not to run off." He said, getting out of the car.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and Lando opened your door. He gently placed his hand on your back, barely touching it, and guided you towards a large yacht named Aurora.

"It's from a friend of mine." Lando said as he pulled you towards the yacht deck. "He named it after his baby daughter. He let me borrow it for a few hours." Your mouth gaped open in surprise at the sight of the table for two, beautifully set with roses and candles. "I thought you'd be more comfortable alone." He explained. "Without the prying eyes of strangers or paparazzi."

Once again, he'd left you speechless. The candlelight, the city view, the soft music, and the sound of the water hitting the yacht created breathtaking scenery.

"I didn't picture you as the romantic type." You said.

Lando put his hands in his pockets and looked at you. "I can be romantic… when I have to." You didn't respond, just stared at him. He had two buttons undone, revealing the tan of his chest and the necklace he wore. "Let's sit?" He suggested and you nodded.

He pulled out your chair, demonstrating his gentlemanly side. He sat down opposite you, and a moment later, a man in a black suit approached with a bottle of wine.

The man poured the wine for the two of you. You could tell it was a very expensive wine just by looking at the bottle.

"Cheers!" Lando said, raising his glass. You clinked your glass with his and took a sip. It was delicious. "Do you like it?"

You nodded. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

Lando chuckled. "Far from it. I want you to stay sober and experience firsthand how great of a date I can create for you."

"You're really taking this seriously!"

"When I like someone, I always take things seriously." He said, his face turning serious. "I fight for what I want. And it's no lie that I want you."

You swallowed hard, trying to hide your emotions. Before you could respond, the food arrived. It was a pepperoni pizza for you and a prosciutto one for Lando.

"How-- how did you know--?"

Lando smiled. "You order a lot of pizzas. Like… a lot. So one day, I stopped the delivery guy and asked him what you had ordered. He said you always ordered the same one."

You tried to suppress a laugh at his silliness. "Not creepy at all." You said sarcastically.

Lando laughed. "I know, I know. But I wanted to do something nice for you."

You kept on talking and eating, and you both laughed a lot. You had to admit that you had never felt so comfortable with someone before. After you finished eating, Lando and you walked to the car.

"I'll take you home." he said. He turned on the car but paused. "Unless you don't want to go home yet." For a moment, he seemed shy, which was unlike him, at least around you.

You thought for a moment. "I don't know..." It surprised you that you were considering spending more time with him than necessary. "I'm not going home with you if that's what you're thinking."

Lando laughed. "Well, I guess I'll have to call you an Uber if you're not going home with me. Like, to the same building." You blushed and let out a sigh. He loved teasing you. "Do you trust me?"

You gave him a side look. "No!"

"Wow, that was brutal. Let me rephrase the question: Can I take you somewhere, please?"

You hesitated, but eventually nodded your head.

Lando drove to the top of the hill, a spot he liked to visit when everything felt overwhelming. The view was breathtaking. Monaco looked beautiful during the day, but it was at night when the city truly took your breath away. He parked the car, and you both stepped out.

"This is beautiful." You said, looking at the view.

"It is. But it's not as beautiful as you," Lando replied. You blushed and looked away. You'd never blushed so much in your life.

You sat down on the bench and Lando joined you. "What do you really want from me?" You asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"What do you mean?" He replied.

"I'm not stupid, Lando. You're an F1 driver. You're young and handsome. You could have anyone you wanted."

"But I want you!" He smiled. "You're smart, funny, and incredibly beautiful. And you're different from the women I've dated in the past. You're genuine. Like I've already told you, I like you. A lot."

You looked at him, your heart filled with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "I don't know, Lando."

He squeezed your hand gently. "I understand that I'm not the easiest guy to be in a relationship with, but I'm willing to take things slowly. I just want you to know how I feel." The two of you sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other's company. "Do you want to go back?" Lando asked after a while.

You nodded. "I think it's time."

As you drove back down the hill, you couldn't shake the feeling that something special was happening between you and Lando. You were excited, but also a little nervous.

When you arrived at your apartment building, Lando parked the car in the garage, but neither of you made a move to step out. "Thank you for tonight. I really enjoyed it." You said.

He smiled. "I'm glad you agreed."

"Well, I had no choice, remember?"

"Yeah. Remember me to thank Maria for the bet." He laughed, and you joined him.

"Yeah, yeah." After a while, you leaned in and kissed his cheek. It was a sweet kiss, and Lando closed his eyes as he felt your lips against his face.

As you pulled away, Lando hesitated, but after a second, he cupped your face and gently kissed you on the lips. Your heart raced, and you closed your eyes, quickly kissing him back and tangling your hand in his hair. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours. His touch was gentle, and you felt a warmth spread through you.

When you pulled away, you were both breathless. You looked at each other, your eyes filled with love and desire. "I've been wanting to do that, for a very long time." He said.

You looked into his eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. "To how many girls have you said that?" You teased him.

He looked at your lips. "None. And if you let me, you're going to be the only one." He said and he couldn't help but smile.

You smiled back. You couldn't help but think that your life had just taken a turn for the better. And so did Lando. Finally, he got the girl. The woman next door.

[nichuuu]

Paper Houses

Cho Miyeon x M reader

(1st instalment of The View Between Villages)

Word Count: 18k+ Special thanks to @defmaybe for helping to draw out the best version of this fic.

(All the details? Really? Oh wow. Okay…)

(I’m gonna dissociate myself from this so… “you” is gonna appear a lot. Don’t sweat it cupcake—you’re not actually the one in this mess. 

It’s just a bad habit of mine, that’s all.)

--

(You’re lucky. You get the sweet start to it all. For what it’s worth: sweetness is a fucking deceiving concept when you have rose-tinted lenses.)

“You know: out of all the men I’ve dated, you cook the best.”

You raise an eyebrow as you flip the grilled cheese in your skillet. Frankly, there’s nothing to be impressed about over grilled cheese and tomato soup. Cheese sandwiched between two evenly buttered slices of bread, grilled till golden brown and served with a side of hot tomato juice in a bowl. Literally everything has been prepared for you and packed neatly into some package in a grocery store. All you did was heat it up and add a few of your own ingredients.

“Is that a compliment or a flex?” you ask, turning your gaze away from your skillet momentarily to look at Miyeon as she replies. Her face isn’t gonna add value to her answer, but you just like looking at her. She is hot after all. 

She scoffs and takes a sip of her coffee. “Jeez… Can’t a woman compliment her boyfriend in peace?”

You’ve had this conversation before, but you like to entertain her.

“This woman can’t,” you tell her, making sure she can see the smirk on your face as you turn back to the sandwich. You wave your spatula in the air as you speak, almost like you’re referring to PowerPoint slides. “She’s too weird about everything. Never take her seriously.”

“Oh, so we’re just gonna call me weird and neglect the fact you keep your butter in that?” she exclaims, pointing at the butter bell on top of your fridge. It was a Christmas gift from your mom last year, and even though you did think it was weird at first, you have not gone back to keeping your butter in blocks. 

“You keep my fucking butter bell out of this,” you warn, and it’s half joking and half serious. 

(No one fucks with your butter bell.)

Miyeon chortles. You don’t need to look at her to know that she’s raising her hands in the air when she says, “jeez man. Didn’t know you guys were tight like that…”

And it’s stupid exchanges like this that make you appreciate her company by bounds. It’s lonely in the apartment when she’s out being famous; really nice to have her around for the holidays, albeit for a short time. It’s been a while since she’s been back. There’s much to catch up on over an 11 am brunch. You don’t know why she’s up so damn early today, cause normally you guys sleep till the late afternoon, then go figure out what to eat for dinner before lazing around in the apartment.

So with cheese falling from the corner of her lip, she gives you the latest developments in her life. Then it’s your turn, and you're glad to say that nothing’s really of interest in either of your updates. That’s usually for the better: sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your lives are pretty bland.

“You know,” she says as she wipes her mouth. “I might just keep dating you for your food,” she tosses her tissue onto the dining table and lets out a sigh. “Fucking delicious.”

You scoff and sip on your coffee. “Bet you told that to all the guys,” you reply wryly. “Probably gets them real excited, huh?”

She grins. It’s cheeky, mischievous, maybe even a little naughty. “Not telling.”

“You don’t tell me a lot of things,” you chuckle, and you’re low-key unsurprised to hear a little bit of unintended bitterness in your voice. “Not that it matters or anything… I just value communication.”

Oh, you’re petty. So fucking petty that it makes your skin crawl a little.

Miyeon’s unfazed. 

“Don’t get your tits in a tussle, pretty boy,” she muses. She folds her arms and leans into the table. “You’ll know more when I trust you more. For now: I’ll give you information as I please.”

And you kick yourself because you forget she can be a bit of a handful herself.

“Ugh, what will I ever do with this mysterious woman?” you smirk, resting your elbow against the table as you lean in as well. To be perfectly clear: you’re not mad at her. Her secrecy just bugs you out a little, and she knows it. “Such little knowledge on such a hardened beauty… must be tough to really crack her open and figure her out.”

You love her eyes, and you love to make them roll (in multiple contexts). They kinda gleam as she tilts her head. “Fine… I’ll give you something since you’re so damn desperate,” she drums her fingers against her cheek while her chin nestles itself into her palm. “What I’m about to give you is gonna change your life in so many ways. It’ll probably redefine your whole damn existence.”

You express your interest by leaning in a little more. Miyeon checks her six—like she isn’t in the comfort of her own home—before leaning in. She’s all clandestine. You have no idea what for. 

“You ready?” she checks. And you know she isn’t expecting an answer, but you nod nonetheless. She checks her left and right for good measure. You never know: maybe your lamp is listening.

“I’m aching for cock right now.”

And you guys don’t even make it to the couch.

It’s on the floor next to your table where she has your face in her hands, and she’s kissing you aggressively. She’s properly kissing you, and it makes you knock the back of your head against the floor a little, but it’s really not too big of a deal. 

She lifts her lips off yours and smirks. “For the record: it’s your fault that we aren’t fucking on the couch.”

“Yeah, and I actually paid rent early for once,” you shoot back sarcastically. “And would you mind helping me clean the yacht I most definitely own on my luxurious salary? Thanks a bunch, honey.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She knows you’re full of shit, but she’s full of the same shit as you. Form a shit pile or something, maybe even a shit mountain if you feel like it. You could really go on for a while about how you two can talk for hours, but that’s not the main event.

The real deal comes when she has her hand beneath the waistband of your pants, slithering down to the very thing she aches for. She has that smile on her face, the one that kinda says “Oh I’m gonna love this” or “you’re gonna love this” or maybe even both. There are ways to distinguish the messages by looking at her eyes, but you’re a little too lazy to go figure it out right now. And before someone calls you a bum, you can’t help it: she has her hand on your cock and a piercing gaze trained on you. How about you try and focus on discerning implicit messages when there's a hot woman touching you in the right places?

“How are you hard already?” she asks, a hint of a giggle in her tone as she presses your shaft against your body. There’s barely any space down there, yet she makes it work so easily. “I didn’t even, like, do anything yet.”

“Well,” you hum, just as she starts to squeeze your member, appling that toe-curling pressure to your tip and smiling as you strain a little. “I can kinda see your tits through your shirt.”

Miyeon raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t even look at her shirt. “Oh?” and she starts to pump. “I didn’t notice that…”

“Totally,” you grunt. “Like how you don’t notice that your shorts are barely shorts?” you continue, but there’s something more bugging you. “And at least pull my pants down if you’re gonna jack me off, would you?”

Miyeon snorts, but compiles nonetheless. She gets your pants and boxers off with ease. It’s one swift motion (it’s practiced grace really), and she gets back to the task at hand before she was so rudely interrupted. 

“What does seeing my tits have anything to do with you?” Her motions are languid and fluid, steady and flowing like a stream. She doesn’t need to look. She doesn't need to guess. She knows you like the back of her hand. “Does it turn you on? Excite you?”

You have it in you to roll your eyes before they shut. “Stop asking these fucking ridiculous questions.”

“It's a basic inquiry.” She laughs in this aloof tone that you know is paired with the most devious of smiles. “So you won’t let me compliment you and you won’t let me ask questions? Tsk. Chivalry is dead.”

Miyeon goes a little faster, adds a twist of her wrist. This is just her hand, mind you, and it’s already ruining you in a way that only she is capable of. The tender touch of Cho Miyeon is something no woman you’ve met could ever replicate, and it takes you to places that you can only visit with her. Those fingers are magic, that mouth is magic—hell, everything about her is magic. 

“Please,” you manage to quip past the jolts of magic being sent through your system. “We both know that you have the answers to all the questions you just asked.”

She giggles—playfully, you might add. This is all a part of the game you play with her; this is the way Miyeon’s cookie crumbles. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who cares?”

You care: not a lot, but enough to make this as humorous as you want it to be. You kinda only give two shits because it lets you be kinda petty with her, but not that you externalise it or anything. You just have it pent up in you for the fun of it.

“Anyway,” she muses, halting the strokes of her hand to your cock. “Have I told you about how much I wanted you to fill me while I was filming?”

You take a moment to breathe. “No… But do tell.”

And gets to that, but not before ridding herself of her shirt first. By technicality, it’s your shirt, but it shrunk in the dryer at some point, so it just became hers. She gets into the details, the nitty gritty; tells you exactly what she’s imagining during the filming of her Music Video all while you kind just sit there and ogle at her chest. She takes her time, covers the stuff that you don’t really need to know but it’s kinda hot to know — things like “ugh, I needed you to bend me over the hood of that car and just fuck me at that point…” — because you admittedly get off knowing that she ever thinks about you that way and… God, you’re rambling aren’t you? Still pretty fitting though: it’s the way Miyeon talks when she’s thinking nonsense.

“Ugh. Now I’m wet,” she mutters. She speaks as if it’s your fault that she went on rambling about her fantasies with you. “You know you make me like, really horny right?”

“Oh no… Whatever will I do?” you’re really just rolling with it. Not because you want to, but because you want to get this bit where you tease each other over and done with. It’s kinda like marinating meat in the way it makes the sex a little hotter. Truthfully: you’re aching for her. Really: you want nothing more than to just get her pinned beneath you and writhing on your wooden floor. 

And frankly? You could do all of that right now.

So it’s with a bit of grace (and some dexterity) that you flip the positions: now you’re kneeling over her while she is the one that lies on the floor, if that makes any sense. Miyeon isn’t shocked by your sudden movements, more so delighted by the fact that you finally gave in to your carnal urges and just went for it. She smiles, knowing full well that she’s done something that's gonna give her that fuel she needs for the week. You know: sex that’s the opposite of soft; some shit that fulfills some wild thoughts. 

“Gotta say, you’re quicker than usual,” she has that cocky smirk on her face. You wanna wipe it right off her face, and you know just how. “Normally you’re all talk, no– Oh…”

You like that it really only takes a finger pressed against her panties to shut her up. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make her shut her eyes and shut up for a moment. The spot you press on is damp, soaked in that sweet slick. Gently, you trace the outline of those swollen folds. “You were saying?”

She has it in her to laugh—a breathy chortle. “Fuck you.”

“I’m working on that,” you fire back. Your cock twitches a little when you see her jolt in response to your touch. Your finger pressed down on that one spot that makes her weak, and it really works wonders: an airy gasp slips past those thin, luscious lips. The number of times you’ve kissed those lips swollen is not a number countable with 10 fingers.

Miyeon sighs, and it’s a mix of pleasure and frustration in her breath that humors you. She relaxes into the floorboards, her hips rock, her cunt rubs against your fingers. She's searching for some friction — sweet release in lewd movements. You let her move for a bit, watch her shake like the bough of a willow tree as she pleases herself against your fingers. 

“Enjoying yourself?” you quip. 

“Yeah..” she hums. “Passing time while you’re still not taking these shorts off me.”

Of course… How could you be so forgetful?

You stop for a moment to help her wriggle out of her clothing. It isn’t one of her most graceful moments, but it quickly passes. The shorts join your pants on the floor. Her panties are pink — not that subtle shade of pink or even like a darker version of pink. It’s Barbie fucking Pink.

“So we’re feeling loud today, huh?” you ask, letting your finger trail the lacy parts of the fabric. Miyeon smiles.

“Sana gave them to me,” she explains, not the least bit sheepish that her damp spot is visibly darker than the rest of her underwear. “Hope this doesn’t affect you in your work or anything…”

You feel the corner of your lip turn up. “No, no… Of course not,” you assure her, all while you let your hand slip between the fabric and her skin. You can feel her shudder, then you feel the heat of her cunt at the tip of your fingers. “You caught me on the right day actually… Pink’s in my rotation of favourite colours this fine morning.”

“Right,” her voice has a lilt. It’s shuddering a little too. “I knew that… Definitely had that in mind.”

You laugh. Your index fingers slip between her folds. She moans. 

You lower yourself, capture a swollen, taut nipple in your mouth. The sweet suction you deliver makes her gasp. Her hand finds itself in your head.

It’s all quite rhythmical, almost like a routine for the two of you. The way your bodies react to each other feels so natural that you think it might just be second nature at this point. You know her body: you’ve memorised the dips and curves and tender spots; the hot spots, the warm parts and the best parts. She knows you—the way you think, the way you talk; the way you play with her and the things you want to do with her. It would be safe to say that you guys practically have PhDs in the subject of each other, but that’s not a fair statement because you’re both a little more complicated than you let on. That keeps the sex exciting; it makes you crave each other a little more than last time. 

“One or two?” you whisper, letting your finger dip in and out of her lips and getting it all wet in her slickness. She takes a moment to think, or maybe she’s taking a moment to really soak in the teasing. Either way: she takes some time to reply. 

“Two,” she shifts herself a little lower, her clit pressing into the base of your middle finger. It makes her sigh — a low, kinda sonorous escape of air through her lips. “I hope you trimmed your nails this time.”

“That last time was a minor mishap,” you admit. You kinda want to pull your hands out to double-check, but you’re too mired in the moment to assuage your worries. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control.”

She beams like the damn sun. “Good. I like it when you’ve got the reins.”

And that makes you suck in some air through your teeth. 

(God, does she know how to try you on.)

Your digits push themselves inside of her. They’re wrapped in her tight warmth, snug as a bug in a rug or whatever. You love the way her abs kinda flex as your fingers introduce themselves to her insides. It makes the best parts of her pop. Her chest rises a little more than the last time, her breaths becoming a little longer and more drawn out as your fingers explore her like always. The way she jolts when you get to that one spot at the roof of her pussy tells you that she has been primed and ready for this moment, loaded up like a shotgun and the trigger is really just any part of you that makes her cum. It could be your fingers, your tongue, your dick, your thigh—any part of you that can get her to that sweet high. Of course: you’re more than happy to assist. And so your mouth latches itself back onto her breast, tongue licking and swishing and flicking the swollen nipple atop her small yet generously sized breast. You relish the way it feels in your hand as you cup it—not too firmly and not too gently—and give it a squeeze, enjoying how the flesh spills out a little between your fingers but still fits in the palm of your hand.

“How do you only get better at this?” she hisses through her teeth. “I mean, I just saw you last week but… Oh god…”

You remove her nipple from your mouth. “Art is honed. This is art.”

She laughs, then throws her head back to let out a moan. “Well I’ll be damned,” her eyes close as she speaks, resting themselves for a bit so that she can enjoy the feel of your fingers in the best part of her slick. “Paint me like one of your French girls then.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

You can’t track the exact moments where she starts to blue screen on you, but you can guess it's somewhere between you pinching her nipple and when you slide a third finger into her. The pressure, the stretching—it’s, like, everything she wants as of right now. She lets out this choked-up cry that you like to hear, the supple curve of her back growing more defined as she arches just a little more. She doesn't hold back, she never does. When you’re making her feel good, you can bet some good money that she’ll let you know. She’ll find her own way to express herself, be it through sound or action or words—sometimes a combination of all three. 

The way she feels around your fingers—delicate squeezing and sweet pressure around your digits as they stretch her to new lengths—is nothing short of enthralling. You can feel her pulse around you, the dull throb of her heartbeat as it beats for the sole purpose of getting all that blood rushing into the right areas. Your hand is kinda messy, fingers coated down to your knuckles in the sweet substance from her heat. Miyeon starts to writhe, squirm. A whine leaves her mouth. It’s followed by another, and another, and another—keeps going till the whiny stream ends with a guttural moan. 

Her legs close around your wrist. Her throat bobs.

“Mmph… baby…” her hand flails a bit as she tries to search for you. She catches your shoulder and her nails dig in. “Your mouth… I want your mouth on me.”

You always loved how forthcoming she is. 

“Miyeon…” you drawl, and this next bit is really just for the fun of it. “What’s the magic word?”

She laughs softly through the pleasure, lets a smile grace your eyes. She doesn’t fight it; she wants it—wants you. She just wants you in any shape or form. Any version of you will do; she’ll take all the different sides of you in a heartbeat. All she needs is you. “Please.”

You’ve never found so much delight in hearing that word. Kinda makes you want to hear it again.

“I can’t hear you,” your thumb presses down onto her clit. Her thighs start to twitch. 

“Please!” she yells that magic word in the form of a shout this time. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you’re beaming.

You retract your fingers. They come up to your mouth so you can taste her off of them. She’s nothing short of delicious, and you can kinda tell that she knows it because she’s smirking as she watches you clean off yourself.

“How are we feeling about the samples?” she has that proud gleam in her eye. “Pineapple’s been in my diet as of late… Just wondering if anything’s different.”

You smack your lips. “Picking up on a little tang here… Can’t be sure though.”

Her hands slide down to her hips, thumbs hooking into the band of her panties and pulling them down her thighs. “No worries. There’s more where it came from.”

The gall of this girl is insane, you’re thinking, smirking as you assist the journey of her underwear down her slim, milky legs. Like all your other clothing, it’s tossed aside. 

Miyeon spreads thighs, bends her knees so that her feet are flat on the floor.  You get in position, let your palms slide down her body with careful consideration: run your hands over the sensitive parts of the stomach, skim that one portion of her inner thigh that makes her shiver. She watches—waiting and anticipating while failing to keep her excitement off her face. 

She is glistening, swollen and plump to your eyes, kinda far ahead considering that you just used your fingers. She’s eager, unashamed and more proud than embarrassed about her arousal. Her legs shift a bit. She looks at you, a fingernail between her teeth as she exhales sharply when your thumb traces the outline of her pussy, careful in its endeavor as you feel the muscles around her slick tense up in response. Oh she’s so damn impatient right now, but she lets you get away with all of this because it gets her off a little harder; the teasing is just part of the show and the climax will probably follow pretty soon, fast and hard

“You’ve been looking forward to this, huh?” you remark, watching as her eyelids flutter when you put a little pressure with the pad of your thumb. 

“Mhm…” she replies. It’s a low hum, one that resonates in her throat rather pleasantly. “You have no idea…”

You laugh. Your eyes roll towards the ceiling then set themselves back on her. “Please… We both know I have some idea,” you stop your thumb on her clit, and you begin to draw small circles around it. “You did tell me” —and you have to pause for a bit to use your other hand to press down on her pelvic area, stopping her from jolting her hips up to get that sweet sensation of your thumb rubbing her swollen nub. She whines a little, a soft plea following suit— “about all the things you wanted to do with me.”

She desperately tries to shift herself, press herself a little more against you. The smooth wooden floor hinders her, the lack of friction failing to aid her. Her brows furrow. She’s frustrated. “Yeah, well, if you know what I want so much, why aren’t you fucking getting to it?”

You wink. “Relax. I’m just letting the meat tenderise.”

“Oh shut it you fucking—  Mmmph!”

And the way you part her with your tongue, it’s like she’s butter and you’re a hot knife slicing her open. You're slow with it, and you don’t stop when Miyeon’s thigh stiffens against your palm, or when she squirms a little and almost got your tongue derailed from its track. You know what makes her tick, what makes her hit the octave and gets her nice and messy for you. If anything gets Miyeon going more than actually fucking—it’s definitely gotta be when you get your tongue on her folds. 

“You’re never gonna let me finish my sentences, are you?” she laughs breathily. You watch her abdomen as it rises and falls together with the quick breaths she takes.

“Dunno…” you nuzzle your face in her folds for a little, giving her time to say whatever she wants for a bit. “You did say that chivalry is dead.”

From your bottom up view of her, you can tell that she just rolled her eyes. “No comment. You won’t let my finish it any— oh my fucking god.”

Now it’s the flat of your tongue against her clit that stops her dead in her tracks. Her juices have begun to lather your tongue in their addictive taste, drawing you into her just a little more with each lap of your tongue. You suck on one of her folds, then your tongue is inside her, and she moans, her hand finding a spot on the back of your head that she can grip on to. She calls you crazy, calls you baby, runs her fingers through your hair. Your tongue dips in, circles, laps; your nose brushes against all the right spots of her skin and it draws out these almost sob-like, quiet sounds from her chest and she’s… Fuck, she’s amazing.

“I might take a while,” she whispers to you. You call malarkey, but play along nonetheless.

“Fuck yes,” your tongue swipes the entirety of her in a long, broad stroke. “Please, by all means princess. Take your time,” you don’t think you could ever sound as enthusiastic as you did right now. She pushes you down a little harder onto her slit, and you delight in how she squirms when you push your tongue a little deeper between her folds.

Her nails start to dig into your scalp a bit, and she starts pushing you down onto her cunt a little more.

“You know,” she speaks with this half-whisper-half-gasp, the type of tone that tells you that she’s fighting to stay in control of her own body. “I— mmph… Sometimes I lock myself in the changing room and just get off to the thought of you eating me.”

You suck on the other fold that you neglected earlier. “Oh yeah?” and you get a finger inside of her. She cries out, abdomen flexing deliciously as she turns pliant under the pressure of your finger getting a hold of that sweet spot. You can feel the heat—it feels like your skin is gonna melt. “Bet you get off real hard to it, maybe even harder than you will in like, two minutes.”

“Two?” she tries to sound a little defiant, but her voice is cracking and it’s really not working out in her favour. Your finger is barely pushing up by the way, yet it seems like she’s got thousands of pascals of pleasure weighing down on every part of her being. “Don’t put yourself on a fucking pedestal… I am nowhere close.”

You hum in reply, saving your energy to suck on her clit. And it’s almost like she’s spring-loaded in the way her thighs clamp around your ears immediately after. Her fingers eat into your scalp, a light, searing pain growing across your head as you kiss her right fold, then her left. You can tell that there’s liquid burning heat running through her body, spilling all over her. Miyeon tries to hold on, tries to prolong this for a little more by getting her nails deep in your scalp. But she’s falling apart, coming undone with each second.

“Baby.”

“One minute left,” you put your lips back around her clit. Her head thumps against the floorboards.

“I—can’t.”

“Ugh. Hate it when you lie.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just fucking cum.”

And she ruins herself. She loses sense of the world for a bit—convulsing and twitching on the floor while you continue to lick her. No cry leaves her mouth; a strained, choked up phonic gets caught in her throat and refuses to dislodge. Her back arches, her thighs flex. Her world fades for a bit. 

Give or take: she takes a minute or so. When she gasps for air, you know she’s come back down to earth. You welcome her with a kiss to her abdomen as you rise up. Her cheeks are rubicund—flushed and making her glow as she smiles at you. She softly captures your cheeks in her hands.

“Okay,” she huffs, taking deep breaths as she strokes your face with her thumb. “Out of all the men I’ve dated: you can cook and eat the best.”

“Twenty dollars says that you’ve said that to at least four guys,” you muse. “Maybe five if I’m generous.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. Inhales. Exhales.

“Hand on my heart,” she uses one hand to push some hair out of her face. “I’ve only said this to you.”

Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance.

You willfully let yourself be blissful because you can.

--

(Then fast forward a little. Maybe like, three hours? Or however long it takes for you to have a nap and a shower to get ready to go out.)

“Are you seriously going out in that?”

And you have to stop at the door. You know that tone all too well.

“What is it this time?” you grumble, turning around to face the bed so that she can get a full biopsy of your outfit. It isn’t a bad outfit in your honest opinion, and you’re no stranger to horrible (unintentional) attempts at making fashion statements. Colour-blindness is a hereditary curse; it’s not your fault that you can’t tell that this shade of blue doesn’t work with that shade of grey and whatnot. “I swear I wore this a week ago and you said nothing.”

Miyeon slips out from under the covers. In your T-shirt, she saunters with purpose and urgency as she makes her way over. She stops in front of you and takes your tie into her hands. “It’s either you lose this tie or do something else to this already god-forsaken outfit.”

You consider the options for a hot minute. You’re kinda proud of this outfit—it took a lot of time and vetting through Miyeon to get it planned out and everything. The tie was kind of a staple piece—as important as the shirt or trousers. To hear that (in essence) you looked like shit admittedly dealt a blow to your ego, but why be petty when you can be cavalier?

“Whatever,” you reply, making no effort to stop her from trailing a nail up your shirt. “I couldn’t really care less about how this woman perceives me tonight. Not even into her anyway.”

Miyeon chuckles. The finger on your chest wraps itself around the top of your tie. “That’s an option as well,” she adjusts the knot, though it doesn’t look like she’s doing it to make you look better. “But can I give you one more alternative?”

“By all means, princess.”

She tugs on your tie, pulls you close. Your lips are just centimetres away from hers. You get a whiff of her scent. She’s using the shampoo you bought her. 

“Stay home,” she makes sure that her voice is kinda breathy, tickles your face as she lets the phonics dissipate into warm air. “Skip the date. You have a smoking hot girlfriend to fuck anyway.”

Oh and it takes you just about everything to stop you from grabbing her by the face and just kissing her. It's so easy: reach forward, get her face (or waist) in your hands and just smash her lips against yours. You know she’s thinking the same thing; but she’s waiting on you, anticipating what you’re going to do next. It’s a sick little game the two of you play, but it’s fun as hell and really doesn’t get boring in the near future.

“You know what my mom would say…” you begin, and you know she’s gonna stop you.

“Say you're sick”—bingo motherfuckers. She owes you five bucks—“tell her that you got the cold and so you can’t show up.”

“Expended on that one… And the work emergency one too,” you regretfully inform her. “And no: I will not be telling them that we’re actually a thing—“

“Cause you want to protect me and blah blah…” she interjects yet again, her fingers moving up and down, closing against her thumb in mimicry of a mouth moving. It’s petty, kinda frustrating—but it’s Miyeon. She’s a handful to deal with at times, but at least she’s your handful to deal with. “Been running the same jig for a little too long, tiger. I know your game.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’m a one-trick Pony and my carrot is you. What’s new?”

She chortles at that, and you take that moment to really get a good look at her because by god is she beautiful. Head-turner, eye-widener, heart-racer — not to be a bore, but again: it’s Miyeon. There’s a lot more about her that you could synthesize into words, but you won’t (not because you don’t want to or anything; but it’s more about the fact that you probably don’t have enough time to get someone to understand her.)

Cause here’s the thing (about her, you and both of you): she’s just as human as anyone, and that means she’s just about as complicated as anyone. You’ve got a story, she’s got her’s, and the two cross somewhere to form a midpoint before they start running parallel to each other before meeting again and running together and… You get it, don’t you?

No? Fuck. 

Okay. She may or may not be able to hold down a relationship; and you may or may not have been able to secure a relationship. You kinda get drunk with her over this revelation one night and you may or may not have joked over the fact that maybe you should get together. And then you may or may not have had the hottest sex you’ve had in years before you may or may not have realised that she’s the best thing to happen to you. It’s all kinda hypothetical to you cause you’re still processing the fact that this is all real. Still wondering if it’s a fling cause it’s only been about 3 months since this started.

(Calm down cupcake, no one likes a party pooper who prods on details in the midst of a story. It’s just… Ugh. The story behind how the two of you know each other is so boring and complicated—full of unnecessary exposition like this whole bit really. It hurts to retell it, so here’s a summary: she used to date your roommate, roommate moved out after they broke up, she stayed and hanged around you, here you are now. Fuck the details, there’s no room for it really. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.)

“Save the charisma,” she tells you, really putting on some breath behind her words. “I prefer it when you use it in bed.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

The kiss kinda blurs the line between passionate and sweet (if there even was a line to begin with). It’s quite aggressive, a little tender but also a wee bit emotional. It makes you a little bitter, but don’t get it twisted: you love this girl with all your heart and you’d do anything to stay with her. It’s just that you’d love—more than anything—to lose the shirt and pants you’re wearing to make out with her, and then let things flow as they do. Unfortunately, your parents really want you to meet this girl, and you have to get going or you’ll probably get cut from the will or something.

She tries again. “Stay…”

“Miyeon—”

“I fucking need you… Please.”

It’s just so fucking tempting…. But there are only so many lines you can cross before you find yourself in trouble with border patrol. And if there's anything you hate more than lectures, it’s lectures from your mother.  

Her lips graze yours, hovering just millimeters away. She wants to kiss you—bite your lower lip and pull you into an undoubtedly sloppy lip lock. That will end with your hand somewhere on her body that gets the ball rolling (and we all know where that ball goes). She has it in her to do it; she has the right, the means and the fucking autonomy (and audacity). She’s just waiting on you, seeing what happens when she plants the seed of an idea in your head and waters it a little. 

Unfortunately for her, you’re too damn terrified of your parents to let that seed grow.

“I‘ll see you later,” you whisper, albeit a little reluctantly. “Call me if anything comes up.”

She understands that she’s lost. Doesn’t stop her from giving you that kiss though. “Don’t keep me waiting tonight… I love you.”

Ugh. She’s one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

--

So get this: this woman that your mother found for you is possibly the most boring person you’ll ever meet. She’s beautiful and all, but she has the personality that has just about the same amount of flavour as food in the west before spices.

She spends the meal talking about her job, and you kinda just fix her with a hundred yard stare and tune out. You couldn’t give a shit about computer security really—never was and never will be into that shit. It doesn’t help that your phone is kinda blowing up at the moment. It’s buzzing all over your thigh in your pocket. Pretty trippy, kinda makes you wonder if Miyeon had just slipped one of her vibrators into your pocket.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom at some point. You’re not sure how long she’s been yapping your ear off for, but it kinda doesn’t matter. All you’ve gotten from this meal is really just a handful of nonsense and a migraine. 

Anyway: it’s in the confines of the bathroom store that you check on the ruckus in your pocket. The screen lights up and you find that the spasming of your phone was caused by a combination of posts from a news outlet and from Miyeon. She takes precedence over the news.

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I swear to you I have no idea what’s going on 

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I’m getting this at the same time as you

Miyeon//8:02 pm: I don’t know what’s happening. Please come home.

And the way you open your news app almost instantly makes you feel like you’re all too familiar with this. It’s not a headline, but it might as well be from the way it makes your eyes widen and your breath stop for a second. 

You blink. You blink again. 

The words don’t change. 

Suddenly, you have a valid reason to get out of this dinner.

(How you get home is a little fuzzy, but that’s not really the important part. 

What? The headline? Oh you know it, don’t you cupcake? It was literally the only thing on people’s minds for some reason, as if an idol dating an actor is something unheard of.)

“What the fuck?” you ask when you step through your apartment door.

She sighs as you remove your coat and hang it behind your door. “Look… I’m just as confused as you are—”

“An actor?” you interject. You’ll admit that it’s a little rude, but you’re really just trying to make sense of this as fast as possible. “How long have you known this guy?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t,” she huffs. “I swear to you, hand on my heart and the other on the bible, I am not in love with that man.” She says. “I barely even know the fucker, never talked to him in my life.”

It’s a little hard to look at her right now. You have lots of things to say; lots of feelings and lots of thoughts. If you’re really gonna be honest with yourself: you’re scared, hurt and a little confused. Miyeon’s good at lying—a little too good for your liking. Pair that knowledge with your insecurities, and congrats: you’ve just given birth to multiple insecurities. They’re like little demons running amok in your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

You can’t do this with her now. Not when all this is all so fresh and new. 

But she catches your arm as you try to walk past her. Her grip is firm, pleading. 

“Please,” she utters, letting her hand slide down your arm to let her fingers wrap around your hand. “Trust me on this.”

You want to. You really want to. And so it hurts you to ask, “Am I just another fling?”

You can see it in her eyes when she realises the motivation behind the question. She doesn’t take long to come to the epiphany—just a little less than a second before her eyes soften and her lips part a little. Her expression scares you. You want to run from this all together and leave it to another day, but God knows that you won’t be getting any sleep with this weight in your head. It’s comical, almost hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that it’s your relationship with her on the line.

You like to think that she can’t express her answer into words, so she kisses you instead. You’ll never know why she chose to kiss you, but it's sweet and so powerful that you can kinda live with that gap in your knowledge. You may or may not have teared a little, and you may or may not have melted into her lips a little too quickly. What you can say for certain: when you find yourself back in those eyes, panting with your face between her hands—the words ‘I love you’ escape your mouth faster than you can think. You don’t say it for the sake of it; you say it cause you mean it. You want her to know that you’ll fight for this relationship, that you’ll fight for her.

And it makes her smile. 

“I’m like, in love with your goofy ass,” she mutters, thumb tracing a path along your cheek. “So don’t you ever think that I’d drop you for some slick-back fuck face.”

That’s more than enough for you. Her smile is contagious as you hold her waist. “Crude. I love you, Miyeon.”

“Yeah. I heard you the first tim—”

Of course: you don’t wait for a finished reply to kiss her. It’s a practice, almost a common tongue at this point.

Miyeon lets her hands fall, gets her arms around your neck while you reacquaint your lips with hers. She’s lovely, fucking divine and maybe even a little addictive—straight up dangerous if you’re to sum it up. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being manipulated, and it’s really only for a second because she’s got her teeth in your bottom lip and she’s dragging them towards her. She wants more—more of you and less of this need to prove her love. She touches your chest, palm flat against your flesh as she deepens the kiss. Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance. Kissing her deepens that ignorance, makes you all the more blissful.

“I need you,” you breathe, unashamed by your blatant desire to have her right now. Really: you can’t get enough of her smell right now. “Please Miyeon… Let me be the only one.”

She smiles softly. She runs her fingers through your hair. “Baby, you already are.”

You press your forehead against hers. “I know. But can we just…”

You can’t really verbalise what you want out of this. You want Miyeon, but you don’t just want the idea and concept of her. You long for that connection with her, that union and that closure, not just some fleeting, superficial feelings. This woman is quite literally one of your dreams. It’s selfish to say this, but you want that security—something tangible to know that you’re really hers and she’s really yours, a piece of her that you can hold on to that helps rid your heart of those little demons. You hope she can understand this through your closed eyes.

And something about the way she fixes your hair tells you that she does.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, her other hand finding that one spot on your chest. It feels like it’s touching your heart directly, calming it. “I get it,” her fingers wrap around the knot of your tie, loosening it till it unravels completely. “You’re hurt and scared. Frankly, so am I.”

Miyeon wraps the tie up neatly in her fist. Her hands cross over each other as she reaches down to grab the hems of her shirt. It slips off her, a layer peeled away. Then the tie rolls down from her hand. 

“I want you to know”—she drapes the tie around her shoulders, the thin portion ever so slightly shorter than the broader portion as they hang on either side of those perky mounds—“I will do everything I can to protect you and us.”

She tosses the smaller end across her body, cloth flying over her left shoulder and dangling behind her arm. The broader end is wrapped around her neck—once, twice. 

Miyeon steps closer and takes your hand. The broad end of the tie gets slotted into your palm. 

“And even though I might have to be seen with him,” she coos, and she’s a little clumsy as she reaches for the thin end behind her, but she gets it on her second or third try. “Even though I might have to hold his hand in public,” she slips it between her skin and the loop she’s made, ties it off. “You should know: I am yours.”

She shocks you into silence as always. You know what she’s insinuating. You know that she knows what she’s insinuating. Your eyes search her for consent, and you find that it’s the only thing you can make out behind the veneer of a tender gaze. She checks the makeshift leash she’s made. It’s not coming off anytime soon.

You wrap some of the tie around your hand. Your fingers close around the silky fabric. 

(Just so we’re clear: the tie may look horrible on you, but she looks amazing in it.)

You pull.

And it’s just that. 

Clothes come off, lips meet, sighs fly through the room. Her hands explore you, grab you, pump you; your kisses find the best parts of her, the parts you love the most and the parts she loves attention at. The tie never leaves your hand, and you give it a tug or two when you get your digits in her on the couch. You’ll never forget the way she looks when her head is forced up just after it whips back, the glassy look in her eye as she begs for you, keens for you. Never in your life has anything this debauched been so intimate. You’ve never heard sighs out of you and her so luscious. 

“Princess,” you quite literally growl as you address her. It’s not necessary, but the squelching of your fingers in her slick brings out something in you—a part of you that’s wild and somewhat untamed. “I fucking love the way you moan.”

Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah? She husks, her eyes going half-lidded in pleasure when you get your fingers in the same, soft, tender spot on the roof of her pussy. “It’s all for you. Ngh— A-All yours…”

And you don’t know how you can not believe her at this point.

You pull at the tie. She almost straightens completely. You kiss her. Her moans send pleasant vibrations down your windpipe.

It’s all so perfect. And it somehow gets even more perfect when she cums—waves of heat burning through her system; eyes shut and mouth agape; hands around your neck and your name spilling from her lips in a mix of curses (that mostly contain the word ‘fuck’); body convulsing and twitching in ways that make a low grunt emerge from the depths of your chest as you watch her. She’s beautiful—your beautiful princess.

When it’s over, you let the tie go slack. She crashes against the couch, forcing air back into her lungs with deep breaths. There’s sweat on her face, her body. Your hand finds its place on her tummy as you place small kisses on the corner of her lip, her jaw. Her skin is moist and sticky.

“Have me,” and it’s more so of a demand than a request. “Take me. However you want, wherever you want,” she runs her hands through your hair, “You’re the only one I want.”

You let out a low hum. It lightly vibrates at the base of your throat as you catch her earlobe between your lips. 

“Has anyone told you how fucking beautiful you are?” you can’t help but ask. She searches your face or a minute, then she chortles.

“About half the world,” she replies. “But it means the most coming from you.”

(Oh… That line really means the fucking world to you.)

You kiss her, hard. It’s messy, sloppy, and at some point you guys are scrambling to get on top of each other. She wins at one point, and so she rides you—dropping and rising hard and fast on your cock like a lewd merry-go-round carriage. She’s relentless, letting your cock fill her while she blanks out and just lets herself cry and moan like you don’t have thin walls in your apartment. You let her please herself, throw herself down onto your cock again and again till you decide that it’s your turn to have some fun. The tie is your friend, and you use it to pull her real close to not too kindly hiss your instructions into her ear. 

You’d kill to see the look in her eyes again.

And so you have her against the nearest wall in less than a minute, her back flushed against it and one of her legs bent in the crook of your arm. She reaches between your bodies, grabs your throbbing shaft and rubs your tip against her slit. You feel the heat of her pussy—the desire and depravity that burn in her core. You can’t believe she’s yours.

“I’m gonna put this in me,” she narrates her course of action, all breathy and silky. “It’s gonna fill me, fuck me… Maybe even cum in me.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of ourselves here,” you whisper, your hand wrapping itself back in the fabric of the tie. “That last part? I dunno… Seems a little optimistic, don’t you think?”

She pushes your head in between her folds—not all the way, but enough to part them. “And why is that?”

You pop your hips, push yourself in a little more. She inhales sharply. 

“I only cum inside good girls.”

The smile that creeps its way onto her face is wicked.

“Trust me,” her hand finds purchase on your shoulder, pads of her fingers digging into the muscle. “I’ll be the best you ever get.”

She puts her weight onto the leg in your arm. You slide into her.

And you both take a moment to enjoy the unity—the feeling of the two of you being joined as one; your out of sync heartbeats that feel like pattering raindrops around your shaft. You want to say something witty, a quip that will get a nice chuckle out of her.

All you can really manage is, “Fuck.”

And in response: “Talk less. Fuck more.”

You draw back, push in. There’s the sopping sound of your shaft going in and out of her, wet pushing into warm flesh. You groan. She sighs. 

Tight, hot, wet, divine.

And it goes without saying: when you pick up the pace, she lets you know that she loves the feeling—the stretching, the filling, the push and pull. It comes to you in the form of pure filth: words that have very little consideration for propriety and no room for decency, something along the lines of “I can’t believe you feel this good. I can’t believe this cock is mine” or “That’s it. Keep filling me. Keep fucking— Oh” or maybe even a mix of both. You can’t be certain, because between you and her, you both know that the undulating of your cock into her tight, creamy heat and the almost torturous pressure around your dick is taking you under by the second. It’s not hard to lose yourself in her when she’s basically a little piece of you. 

Like always, she let her pleasure be known through desperate noises and choked up words. “Keep going, please, fuck—don't stop,” and it sounds like it hurts but you know it’s the other way around. Her pleasure coated tongue makes the lust in her words undeniable, her half-lidded eyes ruining the argument that she’s in any pain whatsoever. You yank on her tie, her body curves closer. You need a better look at that face.

(Trust me, it’s a face you don’t want to forget. 

For lack of a better word: it’s porny as fuck.)

It's a blissful dance – the rhythmic, almost metronomical give of her thighs as you slide yourself home again and again steadily and firmly. The smacking of sweaty and sticky skins colliding is almost evenly paced, sighs and grunts filling the spaces between slaps. She follows your lead, rocks her hips accordingly, angles herself and adjusts so that she can feel you in the deepest parts of her cunt. You lift her leg a little higher, spear yourself a little deeper. You listen to your body, she listens to hers. You give in to your desires.

You don’t mean to blurt it. You don’t mean to make the sex more complicated than it already is. But it happens—it fucking happens and you can’t stop it. 

“I love you,” your voice is nothing more than a rasp. She feels so fucking good around you — squeezing, pulsing and doing every little thing that makes your jaw tighten and you legs tense. “I fucking love you, Miyeon.”

She holds your gaze, then smiles, then nods. She nods vigorously, enthusiastically. “I know… It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Your hand on the tie releases it from your grasp. You catch a bouncing breast in your hand, squeeze the tight and taut nipple with your fingers. The tie shakes violently like a snake writhing, bouncing and swaying with each firm impact against Miyeon’s skin. She mewls, pulls you in, kisses you. She lets herself come undone with her chest flushed against you and your hearts aligned as she lets the cries transfer from your mouth to hers. You pump yourself faster, harder, faster, harder. Your finger digs into the flash near her knee. Your blood is boiling, molten metal spilling over and washing over you—gold rush, acid flux, saturating you in this bliss that numbs you out. You can’t tell where your thrusts start and end. They’re blurred by the heat washing over your eyes. You can’t get enough. The way you fuck her—it feels relentless, merciless, a fire that only burns brighter and can’t be put out, fuelled by the heat of Cho Miyeon flushed against you and the sublime squeeze of her slick heat. Everything about this is hot; everything about her is hot. 

“Don’t you ever let me go,” she hisses. “Fuck— don’t ever leave. This cock is mine. You are mine.”

“Princess, I’d never,” you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck, pepper her nicely with kisses. “You. Only you.”

“Yeah,” and her breath is hot on the nape of your neck. “Cause I can’t ever fucking imagine anyone else filling me this fucking good. No one has ever filled me this good.”

And her fricatives feel like acid: Aqua Regia—melting straight through solid gold just to get to you. It makes you burn a little hotter, fuck her a little harder. Your heart burns at the thought of her; your brain melts at the sight of her—glassy-eyed and mouth agape while cock pumps her full of pleasure and want. She finds a spot on your shoulder, whispers her proclamation of love— “I love you I love you I love you— Fuck—”—before she buries her face into your shoulder blade. Her love is an animal call, cutting through the darkness and bouncing off the walls, reaching a soft spot in your heart that you hold for her. Nothing in this world is gonna stop you from turning her into a messy little fucktoy. 

It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe. She’s become your world, the only thing you ever want to think about. Anything that isn’t her tight little pussy is irrelevant; what isn’t her thin lips pressed against your shoulder is invalid; no pair of eyes will ever match the glassy, lust-fogged ones that Cho Miyeon possesses. Your pulse is rushing, your head is reeling, your face is flushing. You want her—all of her. You suck hard on the milky skin you’ve caught between your lips, marking her, claiming her. She has no qualms nor worries; she tilts her neck to give you better access to that lovely patch of skin that becomes your canvas. She mewls, presses her forehead harder into your body, grounding herself in the sensation of her skin on yours. 

“I’m gonna fucking fill you, Miyeon,” you drawl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy and make a mess out of you,”

“Yeah, yes,” she’s barely holding it together at this point. “Please. Oh god please.”

Your hips move on their own now, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you pump yourself into Miyeon with the sole goal of piping her full of your hot seed. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into her in a mindless, fervent fashion, giving in to your desires and your depravity and fucking her like she’s a doll. You relish the feel of her skin in your palms; the feel of her hands pressed against your chest; the sheer, strained phonetic atrocities that rise from the depths of her throat. Your shaft glistens in the light of the room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her hot cunt, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weaker by the second. Miyeon cups your cheek, moans your name. You bury your nose deep in those silky locks of jet black hair. You need every last part of her to be close to you.

She's whimpering, eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; she’s a coiled up spring, a bundle of nerves waiting to be released. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, her throat bobs. She's coming undone, breaking a little more with each thrust of your cock. You know that she’s cumming before she announces it, and when you fuck her over the point of no return, it’s bliss.

Miyeon melts, head whips back and thumps against the wall, positively combusts on the spot and ceases to hold on to the last bits of herself. She lets herself fall through the pleasure, orgasm almost ripping through her system as she shakes in your grasp. She’s such a precious thing, yet she can look like lust itself when she’s busy cumming all over your cock and whining like her life depends on it. She’s tighter, wetter, even better to fuck. 

She really is the best you’ll ever have.

“Miyeon–”

“Just fucking cum.”

Your line; same effect. You fill her, make a creamy mess of her cunt because you can. You fuck her through it, push your load deeper with each thrust. Your cock pulses, spasms, shoots load after load after load into her pussy till you can’t take it anymore and jitter to a halt, and there’s nothing left but a filthy mess flowing out at the base of your cock where her lips are splayed the widest. It’s a sight for sure. 

(And there really isn’t a word for the moment that the two of you share in that wrinkle in time, that moment where it’s just all warm and fuzzy and you have your forehead pressed against hers.)

You cradle her in your arms, kiss her chest, her jaw, her lips. It’s tender, it’s gentle.

“We’ll figure this out,” she pants through closed eyes. “I promise you: you and me, we’re gonna figure this all out.”

Somehow, you don’t doubt it.

--

(Still here? Great. We’re getting to the good part. Get your special sock out or something.)

So the newest rage of the K-pop scene is the photo of Miyeon kissing him in a car.

It's a publicity stunt—the whole damn relationship. They are supposed to appear in love according to Miyeon, and it was his idea to kiss her. She never consented and he just did it. It’s a pretty lewd photo: up close and personal and all. You can see his lips on hers, his hand on her breast and they’re like, clearly getting it on in three. Pretty steamy if you do say so yourself,

(...)

Oh fucking hell. Who are you kidding describing this photo like you’re just viewing an artwork. It makes your blood boil, and speaking to her after seeing this photo feels like dancing to alarm bells when you feign ignorance and just talk with her like it’s a normal Wednesday. You’re gonna hurt yourself at this rate, but she really means too much.  

She told you that he forced his lips on hers, you believe her to the best of your ability. You kiss her, tell her it’s okay, that she’s doing what she has to do to protect the two of you. She says she’s sorry, that she feels like she’s failed you. You kiss her again—albeit a little half-hearted—and assure her once more that it’s okay. You want to nurse her pain, but you also have your own problems to deal with.

And as if this fucking actor hasn’t interfered enough with your relationship, he has the audacity to call during the make up sex.

Her phone starts to ring when she’s on her hands and knees on your bed, and you’re fucking her into the mattress like she’s some pliant plaything. There's a rage inside you that hasn’t been quenched, and you don’t realise that it’s bringing out that dark side of you till you spank her ass a little harder than you intended to. It doesn’t help that you kinda twitch when you hear her yelp, and it really doesn’t help when she tightens after the second spank. The phone only continues to vibrate next to her head.

“Baby,” she rasps. “My phone…”

“Pick it up,” you hiss. “Pick it up and let whoever the fuck it is hear how you’re being fucked like a slut.”

Degradation has never really been a kink of yours, but you know she’s kinda into it. Even so, you’re not calling her a slut because you consciously want to. You feel like an asshole for being angry, kinda hate yourself a little for not being able to accept that she’s doing what she needs to do. And then you kinda hate her for making you hate yourself and— Ugh. It just gets more complicated the more you try and rationalise it. You can’t stop the hot blood from coursing through your system, fuelling your firm strokes into her tight heat like you’re trying to inject all the hate in your body into her. 

Her hand that was once clawing at the sheets now reaches for her phone. You keep thrusting as she flips it over, keep thrusting as she shows you the caller ID, keep thrusting as she looks back at you with a gaze that says “are you sure?”. You hope she isn’t met by that dark look you often see when you look at yourself in the mirror after a new headline about them hits your screen. It’s funny how one person can flip the idea of make-up sex on its head—turn it from something so tender and beautiful to a spite-fuelled fuck fest that’s gonna make things more complicated. She hasn’t even picked up the fucking phone, but you can hear his sick voice in your head as you drive yourself deeper into her cunt, fuck her harder and faster than you knew you could. She’s in no state to answer the phone, yet her finger taps on the ‘accept call’ button. 

(She would’ve rejected it if she could, but she got into some deep shit the last time that happened. Must’ve been threatened or something for her to pick up the phone while she’s getting fucked.)

“Hello?” she does her best to steady her voice, and she’s doing pretty well considering how loud the smacking of skin against skin is. She presses the phone a little tighter against her left ear. You don’t intend on stopping. Let him hear her being owned by you for all you care. “T-This is a bad… a bad time.”

Damn straight it is. 

Your hand caresses the curve of her ass. You spank her again, making sure that it’s loud and it leaves a red patch on her smooth, creamy skin. She contacts around you, gasps a little as you bend down and pin her down with your weight on her back.

“W-What?”—and it feels like she’s talking to both of you. You hiss into her other ear. “I’m going to fuck you like this,” your voice is actually a snarl, a dark one. Your body is energized by the promise of taking and ravaging the helpless, prone woman beneath you, your words dripping with loathing and your thrusts brimming with spite. “I’m going to fuck you hard and rough, and you’re gonna keep him on the fucking line so he can hear it.”—“No I’m… Jogging.”

She’s terrible at lying. You let her know through each thrust—hard and deep, uncaring for her pleasure or her comfort or anything other than your need to bury yourself again and again inside her body. There’s the need to dominate her, the need to make her yours. You hope this guy can act like he doesn’t care that his supposed girlfriend is being prone-boned by another guy, act like he isn’t totally aware of the fact that Cho Miyeon’s body is never gonna belong to him at any point as long as you’re alive. 

(Keep this between us: but with the way you're going down on her, it feels like the message is being transferred to her and not him.)

You hear indistinct chatter. Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, undoubtedly holding back the stream of cries and sighs and lyrical monstrosities that threaten to burst forth. With her eyes she begs, challenges you to do more. You could be reading her wrong by like, a hundred percent. Doesn't matter, not when you can take every liberty with her body because you couldn’t give more of a shit. There’s more indistinct chatter on the other end of the phone; Miyeon says something along the lines of “no. Don’t buy the choker for me”. You give her a choker—raise yourself up and reach around her to wrap your fingers around her throat. Her whole body tenses when you apply pressure around her windpipe. In no universe does this guy not know what’s going on right now.

Cause she’s there—right there, all choked up and struggling to breathe while the fucker keeps yap-yap-yapping away like he’s some fucking guard dog. It irritates the hell out of you. At some point, he kinda has to hear a squelch or smack or two, maybe even a moan or a cry as well. But he stays on the phone, and not once does Miyeon ever have to address the question of whether she’s being fucked on the other end of the call or not. You thought you were ignorant, but this guy is a whole new fucking level of blissfully ignorant. It feels like his sole purpose is to drive a wedge between the two of you, to make you hate her because you hate him. Again: it’s kinda complicated to say exactly what it feels like to be in this situation. 

And you can imagine the moans she wants to let out. They’ll tumble out of her lips like water down a waterfall, and they’ll mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you lean back down to kiss her neck, stopping at one spot that you know will be good to mark her and sucking hard. It feels like getting back at her—doing all the things you want to do while she can't speak her mind freely (and you know how tortuous it is for her when she can’t moan while she’s being railed like this). You’re not sure why you would ever need to get back at her when she’s done nothing wrong, but I guess it helps to synthesise and dumb down the emotions you’re feeling at the moment.

“Tonight?” she asks. Then she buries her head into the sheets because she can’t hold back this moan that almost explodes from her chest. You’re not squeezing really hard around her throat, mind you—only enough to make her a little uncomfortable, like a tie has been wrapped around her neck. She's getting off on it though: her walls squeeze you a little tighter; her breaths become more ragged and short. Honestly, she's taking your cock so well, and you communicate this to her with a growl. It makes her shudder a hell lot. 

Her other hand clutches the sheets, spasms. She’s pliant, she always is, but it feels like you can wrack her tiny body with so much more pleasure as you keep a hand around her throat and keep your dick pumping in and out of her. You wish you had a mirror to see that pretty face warping under the heat of her lust. You kinda forget that she’s still calling him when she speaks again, cause she follows up with, “I can’t— I can’t believe…”

And if that damn phone call wasn’t happening, she’d be saying something along the lines of “I can’t believe that you’re fucking me this good”.

“Sorry. I got cut off,” she pants. “Yeah… It’s harder to hear me when I’m running.”

Now she's talking to you. The reply is to him, but she’s addressing you. You take her up on it, and the slapping and squelching start to ricochet off the walls and ceiling. What you’re doing should be considered as a whole sin in itself. Technically, it’s adultery, but you’re not too sure if you can even classify this as something that simple. This is jealousy, hate and love mashed into one—a mix of things that kinda shouldn’t go together when you have a woman who’s quite literally like putty beneath you. It doesn’t help that she's this hot, this tight, this wet. She’s straining her moans, and it’s so cute that you want to choke her a little harder. You don’t do it (just clarifying some doubts here), but you almost do. 

“R-Really?”—you’re almost certain that what comes next is gonna be addressed to you. You can imagine her signing your name off on it—”wow… That must be so fucking good.”

Bingo. Gotta say: she’s kinda smooth with it.

“I’m fine. Out… Out of breath” you don’t know how she manages to keep her voice steady. “Y-yeah… I’m gonna come… Don’t worry.”

You hope that she can hold on.

You don’t know how long more you fuck her for while she’s on the phone. It’s a blur; you kinda only see red and you’re still choking her out even after she hangs up. It’s only when she goes, “Oh, fuck, daddy—!” with this breathless, perverse, pleading tone and a voice that’s so loud; her body unable to do anything other than gasp and moan and urge you to really give it to her, and when she says “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” like you’re not doing just that (and only that) at the moment that she’s hung up on him. Now she has every facility available to focus on the rock hard meat she’s receiving. You feel filthy, like you’re doing something wrong.

But hey: the sex is hot and Miyeon’s kinda into it, so you keep going. You keep fucking her into the bed—the same way you would if you were fucking her against the wall or in the shower or against any flat surface, really. It’s twisted, it’s dark, it’s hot; the angle her body is at lets you drive yourself deeper and faster and harder into her wet, tight and hot pussy like you never have before. You’re experiencing a novelty, a new chapter.

(Caveat: is it kinda messed up that you call her a cocksleeve? Not really? Huh.)

“God Miyeon…” you feel like the voice that comes from your throat is not your own. “You’re such a good fucking cocksleeve for me,” and you may or may not be tightening the grip around her throat as you speak. “So tight and wet for me. You’re such a good fuck.”

“Oh daddy, fuck you’re so big and deep in me,” she gasps. She has lots to say, even though air is like a fucking luxury for her. She rarely calls you Daddy, yet she’s using her precious air to do so now. “Fuck, fuck me as hard as you can, daddy! Do whatever you want with me! Own me! Take me!”

You barely recognise the woman she’s become: depraved, sordid and one hell of a hot mess. You love it. It’s fantastic. Fucking fantastic.

And she falls apart under you not long after, writhing and moaning and twitching as this beautiful mess of a woman you’ve made out of her. You want to cum in her, really own her; but your thoughts are fueled too much by the hate in your heart that they're wilder than anything she can ever imagine. 

You pull out of Miyeon, your shaft glistening in the dim light. You get off the bed, pull her away with you. Her mouth opens to say something. You kiss her—shut her up. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention.

“You’ve gotten enough loads inside your pussy,” you husk. “Get on your knees. I want your mouth.”

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You push down firmly on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Miyeon on her knees with her pretty little princess face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you paint her face in a messy spray of cum. 

And you know what? You’ll do just that.

Of course, Miyeon perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth, grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other. The pace she launches into is hard and fast; blurring her chocolate hair and your vision—taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with rapid urgency while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, the seal sublime; and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. She’s gorgeous, even more so when she’s got cock in her mouth.

Your hand finds a clump of her black, sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. You push her head down onto your cock, pop your hips and start thrusting with firm, slow strokes. She exceeds every expectation you ever had, adapting to you, changing to please you. Your eyes shut involuntarily. Your brain blocks out all sensations that aren’t the wet, hot cavern of Miyeon’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. The backstroke is somehow even better, that pretty little mouth endeavoring to suck you right back in when you draw yourself back out. It feels like time stands still, but Miyeon’s still in motion, and she’s the one making you feel like all the natural laws in the world are being defied.

A small part of you knows that you have to see it happening in order to truly believe it’s all real, so you force your eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Smoky eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you, watering, projecting perverse pleasure with a gaze; hollow cheeks and a seemingly unhinged jaw to accommodate your length; spit leaking from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

“Fuck I—” is all you manage to say (or maybe ‘grunt’ is a better word) before your orgasm takes the reins to your body. It overwhelms your senses, but you force your eyes open to watch as you pull Miyeon off your dick just in time. Thick, glistening cum erupts from your tip to land on Miyeon’s face, on her cheeks and nose, painting her smoky features with pearlescent, warm ropes. You paint her face with your hot white seed, and it’s far from an elegant piece of art. She doesn’t look anything like one of the French girls she wanted to be painted like, but the look of utter lust on her needy features is still breathtaking—mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed in delight and bliss.

Ugh, she's one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

And when it’s all over, she takes your cock in her hand and licks off the drops that she’d been deprived of. 

“If you ever do that again.” you love the raspy touch to her voice. The lilt in it is doing wonders too. “I’m gonna make sure that you’ll be calling your mom the next time I blow you.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Whatever you say, princess…”

The hate seems to fade. Your heartbeat slows.

Maybe this relationship is salvageable. Maybe you guys can last.

You talk to her about it afterwards and apologise sincerely. She says that she didn’t think much of it when it was happening. Then you guys are at peace again.

(What do you think? How long does the honeymoon last? A month more? 

Two?

Generous.

Try one. Fucking. Week.)

--

“Okay. Hands down: this is the best Jjamppong I’ve eaten.”

The growing pile of clam shells beside her bowl tells you that you did something right. It’s the first time you've made this dish, and there’s always that lingering worry that you fucked up somewhere along the way when you eat it for the first time. The soup seasoning is a little off in some places (you don’t know where exactly), but it’s nothing a dash of fish sauce and some chilli flakes can’t fix.

“I mean,” Miyeon continues, speaking between small yet generous mouthfuls of noodles. “You only get better and better at cooking. I don't know how you do it.”

You give a half-hearted smile. Your noodles have kinda gone cold by now: you’ve been stirring them around with your chopsticks for the past five minutes or so. Appetite has become a luxury for you these days, and it’s one of those days where a new article about him and her comes out, one of those days where you both agreed to put a pin on it and just enjoy life. “Well… It’s a lot of love and care, I guess.”

“You can say that again,” she smiles. “Thank you for making dinner. No one cooks like you.”

“Thank you for cutting scallions,” you say. “No one cuts them like you do.”

She laughs and waves it off, then takes another slurp of her noodles. “I honestly don’t know if I like your tomato soup over this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My tomato soups have always been the peak of my cooking prowess.”

“I really don’t know!” she tells you, grabbing another clam from the centre of the table. “This stuff is all smoky and tasty… It just feels like home and I—”

You drop your chopsticks into your bowl. Soup splashes onto the table.

“How do I keep living like this, Miyeon?” you ask. There are only so many pins in your possession and you feel like you’ve used all of them. “I’d love to sit here and talk to you about how I made this meal like everything’s okay, and this is just Thursday and maybe we’ll get ice cream later… But it’s not like that right now.”

Miyeon takes your hand in hers. 

“I can’t pretend like things are the same when everything’s… different,” you close your eyes, take a breath. “I love you, Miyeon. You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me and… I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You can hear her take a breath to start speaking. You really want to let her, but there’s too much on your chest. 

“I know you’re doing what you have to, for me, for us,” you want—oh so badly––to just bury your face in your hands right now. But once you do that, the tears will inevitably come and your ability to speak your mind will disappear faster than you can regain yourself. “But it hurts. It hurts to see you holding his hand, walking around and… and kissing him.”

Your heart stings when you see the tears welling in her eyes when you find it in you to look at her. The last thing you want is to see her in pain. This next bit hurts you even more to say, but you know that it’s better to tell her how you feel.

“I feel like I’m an open wound… and you're just pouring salt on me,” and you start to choke up a little. “I’m sorry to put it that way but—”

“No,” she interjects. “No. I get it… I-I understand.”

And for a moment, it feels like everything's okay for a bit.

Then she comes around the table to kiss you, and hell’s bells start ringing all over again. It hurts to kiss her, but it feels so right.

Miyeon leans into you. She kisses you. She pulls you close. She lets you run your hands across her body, down her back. You stand. Your tongue pokes into her mouth. One of you says I need you and you don’t know who it is.

And like when things were okay: you guys don’t make it to the couch.

You get naked. She gets naked. The sex isn’t about pleasure or thrill. It’s the aching within the both of you that drives your shaft into her cunt, rocks her hips as you fuck her. You quite literally make love with her, your strokes passionate and fervent; her cries are earnest and wanton, full of longing. For long moments when her chest is against yours, your hearts are aligned. You wish that you could fuse them together, take away the pain by making the two of you one singular person there on the floor. It feels possible when your dick is throbbing inside of her, pumping her slick with rock hard meat again and again and again.

But the thing that sucks the most is that you can’t do that. You’re two separate people with two separate problems that kinda overlap at the same point.

You have her bent over the counter, propped up on the kitchen sink—anywhere you could reach was a surface for you and her. And normally you’d be a bit of a party pooper about fucking on these surfaces, but today you really can’t give more of a shit. You want to feel like everything’s okay again, like you’re not fighting for your life to hold on to this relationship that’s being torn apart day by day, night by night.

And you may have pieces of each other deep within your souls, but they don’t seem to fit anymore.

When it’s all over and you’re panting against the dishwasher, reality hasn’t changed and you’re still torn. You have a wound that only you can heal through acceptance, yet you can’t find it in you to accept that this is the life you have to lead. You want to love her. You want it so bad. But you can’t find the will in you to love her when there’s another man in the picture, albeit that her love for him isn’t even minimally a concept. You can’t nurse her injuries either, and it hurts to know that as her delicate hands cradle your cheeks. Her touch is perfect, her breaths are soft on your skin. The two of you have tried so hard to make it work, yet you’ve only come so far. The solution to this problem is like thousands of hot fire pokers stabbing you simultaneously, and it only hurts because it’s the only way forward for the both of you. 

“Miyeon,” you can’t quite believe what you’re about to say. The tears streaming down your  cheeks aren’t making anything easier. “Let’s break up.”

(And this isn’t for pity: but you cry yourself to sleep after she leaves that night. Ain’t it fun being heartbroken? You would know how it feels, right cupcake?)

--

Three months, two weeks and one day (about 105 days if you really want to be fully accurate. Go write that down somewhere) pass uneventfully—and by that you mean, you never picked up any of the 138 calls that came from Miyeon. It would have been 140 calls if you hadn’t picked up two of them when you were drunk. But hey, she was drunk too. So it kinda cancels out… at least you like to think that it does. It does, doesn't it? Two negatives make a positive? 

(No?)

Ah well. Anyway,

(Okay, caveat, again: you’re thankful that she hadn’t showed up to the apartment once throughout this period. You’ve been stuck between your anger and a blame that you can’t face because you don’t know if you blame yourself or her or him. Drinking doesn’t help to lighten the ache in your chest, so you tried exercising: running, swimming, even pilates; you tried to pick up music—bought a guitar and everything. Your fingers still hurt when you play chords, and you’re considering giving up at some point; you tried to learn how to make those pain in the ass French desserts, and now you have a fire extinguisher permanently installed in your kitchen because you somehow managed to set fire to macarons; and you tried to write. That didn’t go well. 5 Wattpad users politely asked you to kill yourself. Not fun.

One way or another, your thoughts would end up drifting back to Miyeon, and you’d have to sit in place and kinda stare into the distance for a little. And yes, you did question your choice to end things with her many times if anyone is asking. You kinda hate yourself a little for not trying to make things work, and you also kinda hate her for not insisting on staying to make things work. 

It took two of the three months for you to realise that you were both kinda in the wrong. But it’s already too late by then.

You couldn’t get a grip of yourself and fight off your internal demons; she couldn’t stop doing what she thought was right to protect the two of you. Net-net: it’s a loss for the both of you in the business of love. Now you have to look for a way forward through this grey-area mess that you’ve made, learn to live with the fact that maybe you guys just weren't meant to be in the grand scheme of things.

The updates on Miyeon’s relationship with that damned actor kept coming, but it stopped as of late. But for a while, they were all the rage for gossip blogs. Every now and then, a shitty title like “Cho Miyeon stuns with her visuals on her date” would pop up, and you have to swipe away quickly before you accidentally tap on the notification and see her holding hands with him. You’ll admit that you opened some of the articles just to get a look at her face, then smile to yourself for a bit before you fight the urge to punch the spot next to her where Squid Game wannabe is smiling. You’ve succeeded so far.

You kept away from Jjampong and tomato soup with grilled cheese too. It’s hard to take your butter bell down from the fridge without tearing a little, and the fish sauce and chilli flake panacea for food doesn't apply to a broken heart by the way (it’s just really salty and spicy. You don’t know what you were thinking. Probably drunk. 0/10, please, please, please do not try). The two dishes are too homely; their tastes remind you of her.

Okay. Let’s ‘anyway’ for real this time.)

Yeah, so uh, remember how you said that sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your loves are pretty bland? Yep… Sad to say that the same confirmed hypothesis still stands, even when you guys are on day 106 of your break up.

This time the news comes in another headline—and you mean like front page, breaking news headline—on Tuesday night. Wonderwall isn’t treating you too well. You’re pretty sure that your finger tips might be turning purple. Your phone buzzes next to you like crazy, just like it did that night, and it’s like having an iPhone seizure. You don’t think too much when you put down the guitar and pick up your device. 

And you only read the first six words to give yourself a valid reason to reset your miscall streak with Miyeon.

Idol Cho Miyeon Slapped In Public…

(The title was a lot longer than that. You should know it since you’re here in the first place.)

It’s in moments like this when you kinda wish that speed dial was still a thing. (I mean there's siri and all, but do you really have time for that right now?) In a blur of great clumsiness, you open your contacts and experience no difficulty in locating her number again. She’s on the top of your miscall list, so it really takes no wizard to figure this out.

You hate that she’s letting it ring for so long. Every brr brr makes you tremble a little more in your seat. If your mum could see you now, you’d probably get an earful for your bad habit of biting your nails.

She finally picks up the phone. It’s good to hear her voice. “Hey…”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Now you realise that in your hurry to check on her, you’ve yet to rehearse what to say to her. The debate between your head and gut almost tears you in two. 

“You okay?” you finally manage to blurt after some struggle. “I saw the news… Just wanted to check if, you know, you’re still up and kicking…”

You hear that familiar scoff from the other side of the phone. “Please. You know that it takes more than that to take me down.”

If your ears don't deceive you, you can hear a bit of a strain in her voice. She hates it when you jump to conclusions though, so you leave it as it is for now. “That’s… That’s great.”

And it’s silent again. If you were in the business of losing her interest, you’d be making crazy profits right now. Okay, better end this fast.

“Well uh,” you begin, stopping for a second to swallow some saliva to soothe your semi parched throat. “I guess—”

“Can I come over?” 

Like she always does, she shocks you into silence. Your throat dries up. Your mouth is the Sahara. 

“I… I miss you… if my miss-calls weren't clear enough about that,” she chuckles. You swear you hear a sniffle. “I’d like to see you again,” and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, “for closure of course… and maybe tomato soup?”

Your heart joins the debate between your head and gut. It wins.

Minutes later, your butter bell is open, a knife scraping out the last bits of creamy butter out of it so that it can be used to evenly butter the other side of your bread. You’re moving on instinct, with glee and excitement. You’re not sure why you’re happy. You’re just happy—happy that you’re gonna see her; happy that you can prepare this dish again without the knowledge that you’re not gonna see her when you turn. It isn’t till the doorbell rings that the joy fades, and in its place comes that familiar tension of a two tonne weight wrapped around your chest. 

You aren’t sure why she rings the door when you haven’t changed the passcode to the lock. If she’s trying to be polite? You appreciate it. If she just forgot the pin? Well… you wouldn’t put that past her either, really. Your gut, head and heart agree you that it’s most likely the latter, and you kinda have to remind yourself as you open the door that she's just as forgetful as anyone else.

“Hi,” you catch yourself staring at her. You don’t mean to look at her dress first, but it’s the first thing your eyes are drawn to; it's been a while since you’ve seen her in anything other than a t-shirt and shorts. The white dress she’s wearing is bedazzled out, the light that’s reflected off of it catching you and making you a deer in headlights for a bit. Then you snap out of it. Your gaze travels up to her face and… “You look… Fucking terrible.”

You love her eyes and you love to watch them roll. “Thanks. You look not bad yourself. Gained some weight?”

You try not to stare. You fail—horribly you might add. 

But in your defence, it’s hard not to look at the purple spot on her milky skin. 

Miyeon covers her cheek. She looks down at your feet like there's something really interesting about them. “Are you, you know, letting me in? Or are we just gonna keep standing here?”

You blink. “R-Right.”

And soon she’s settled into her usual seat, nibbling on some grilled cheese while you ladle out her tomato soup into a bowl. It feels like nothing has changed, but you know that’s not true. Both of you know that everything’s different, that you can’t just give her tomato soup and peck her on the cheek.

“So you play guitar now?” she catches you off guard as the bowl makes a small thunk against the table. It’s in the same spot she always places it, and you know because a woodring has formed in that area. You follow her gaze and see that she’s spotted your Fender on the couch. 

“Sort of?” you reply, a little uncertain in how to rate your abilities. “Just basic stuff, you know?”

She smirks and picks up her spoon, starts chipping away at her soup “So you’re finally digging up the singer-songwriter in you… Good on you, man.”

Again, you find yourself staring at the bruise. It’s a deep shade of purple, splotchy and a sight for sore eyes. From the looks of it, he hit her hard. There’s a burning in your chest—a mix of grief, pity and anger as you watch her eat her food. You wish that you could’ve been there to stop it. You wished that you could’ve just dated her under different circumstances so that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve gotten that ending you wanted. You don’t know how she’s ever gonna cover that up when—

“If you’re gonna get something for this thing, go do it,” she mutters. “Chivalry hasn’t died completely, right?”

You nod and scuttle off. It’s easy to lose track of how long you’ve been staring when you’re lost in your thoughts. Is it scary how this feels like just another conversation between you two? 

The ice pack from when she bought that ice cream cake was still in the freezer, and it’s chilly in your hands as you grab it and return to the table. She has finished her soup—not a single scrap left inside the bowl. She must be starving.

Her grilled cheese is half eaten in her hand; she stares into the distance as she chews. 

(And she’s as beautiful as she can ever be, by the way. A lot of people haven’t seen her the way you see her, and you’re kinda glad that you get to witness that tender part of her that she rarely shows to cameras. It’s… It’s hard to describe what it means to know that someone like her finds it this easy to be herself around you, but you know it’s an honour and a blessing.

But when you're looking at her with your rose-tinted lenses stripped away from you, the notions you hold towards vulnerability become contradictory, because on one hand you know that she’ll never hurt you the way she did, but on the other you know that she’s not the same person when she’s not around you. So at the end of the day, you’re just kinda left figuring out which side of her is the real her. Do you believe what the Cho Miyeon you know tells you? Or do you believe what the Cho Miyeon the world knows? It gets confusing, makes you wonder why she ever has to put up two fronts in the first place. 

Then again, it’s not exactly her fault: she does what she has to so she can stay afloat. No industry is free from dirt. Some are just filthier than others.

I guess what I’m getting at is that… she’s this contradiction in my mind. I want to believe her, but I can’t, yet I still love her like she’s just a regular human and our lives are just a little messy. I know there's this whole argument about the fact that idols are humans too and all, but I guess it’s kinda… undermined? Yeah—undermined by the fact that they can’t exactly lead ‘normal’ lives once they’re famous. Look at me, using these big words.

So I guess… I guess dating her was like the worst of all blessings and the best of all curses. Does that make sense?

…

Ugh. I’m blabbering. 

Sorry cupcake, I’ll get back to it.)

And maybe you forget that she isn’t your girlfriend anymore, or maybe you just kinda blank out in the moment, or maybe you just wanted to do it. For whatever reason: you call her name, and when she turns, the ice pack in your hand is gently applied against her face. You don’t think much of it for like, three or four seconds. But when her wide eyes finally register in your head, there’s a moment where your breath is caught in your throat. 

This is important, so you should know: the silence is fucking deafening. 

She swallows the bit of sandwich in her mouth. “I refused to sleep with him, and he hit me like a girl. Fucking embarrassing on his part,” and there’s that smile on her face as she speaks, the same one that she loves to flash your way when she told you that she loved you. “Barely felt it. Light work.”

You can’t resist—your other hand cradles her unblemished cheek. “Miyeon…”

She closes her eyes. She knows that tone you’re using, the one that’s like ‘don’t lie to me’ or ‘it’s okay, you can tell me’. “Look: when the man that loved you the way no one else loved you breaks up with you, nothing can be more painful than that,” she whispers. Her throat bobs a little. She furrows her brows as her eyes squeezed themselves shut themselves a little tighter. “And that man is you by the way…” her voice cracks, her eyes open, “don’t know if I was clear enough.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now. She always is.

The familiarity of her lips against yours almost makes you melt. The ice pack drops from your hand, your palm taking its place on her face. You kiss her like you used to. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her because you want nothing else but her. She’s home – Jjamppong and Grilled Cheese with Tomato soup — and you don’t ever want her to leave again.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, and you wipe the tear trailing down her cheek. “I should have never… We should have never—”

You shush her with your lips. She lets herself melt into you, her hands running through your hair the way she would sometimes when she called you crazy or baby. You don’t realise how much you’ve missed her touch till now.

“We were both wrong,” you tell her once you break away (rather reluctantly). “So how about we just call it a truce?”

She nods, and she does it enthusiastically. “If it’s cool with you…”

You scoff. “Why would it not be?” and your thumb gently caresses her bruise gently. You want to kill him, but you’ll save that for another time. “I’m the one who suggested it… Guess Chivalry is not all dead, huh?”

And it’s good to hear her laugh again.

“Come here you big idiot,” she giggles, and she kisses you again. 

Then you dive down to her collarbone when you can’t take it anymore. And the rest is history repeating itself.

You know: it feels like you’ve been picked up from the ground. Miyeon has come to get you… she's come to get you.

Maybe everything’s okay after all.

--

(And uh… The media covers the rest. What was it? Like, two weeks later? 

Ah whatever. You know what happens, don’t you? It’s pretty crazy, made headlines and all.

CUBE has some really good lawyers… And liars. Almost the same thing.)

--

“So that’s the story?” 

Nursing your third bottle of cider, you chuckle. You’d thought by fleshing out whole smuts in verbal form would have chased her away by now, yet here she is. Then again: she is an old friend of yours, so you guessed that she’d be rather adjusted to your bullshit. “Are you sure you’re an investigative journalist?” you question her, “I thought you’d ask something more along the lines of ‘what happens after?’.”

From across the booth seat, Chou Tzuyu shoots you a smirk. 

“The news covered it. Why should I pour salt into old wounds?” she admits. Her glass of wine swirls, manipulated expertly by her delicate fingers. “Anyway, I think I got… The main gist of it. Unless you have more information regarding the restraining order filed against you by CUBE, I have no further questions.”

You roll your eyes. No, you do not have any new information about why CUBE decided that you were a danger to Cho Miyeon, and you’ll never know if Miyeon knows either. She was out of town when it happened, and all she knows is what the news reported: you’re allegedly a stalker and hence a threat. You only know that she called and texted you frantically after, but…

You know what? Maybe you’ll think about this another time.

“You do know that, like, you're kinda bad at this right?” and you set your cider bottle aside, letting it join the almost empty whiskey bottle you bought yourself. You fold your hands and lean into the table. The world spins a little. “I don’t know why you’re prying, but I’m guessing that you heard something from the grapevine that you were itching to hear more about. Either that or you’re just… Could it be that you’re desperate to get something fresh, Miss Chou?”

She sips on her wine, leaves the question hanging in the air for a little as she swallows. 

“Keep this between us: I can’t trust Shuhua sometimes,” she muses. “If I’m gonna write about this, I’m gonna have to make sure that all the information I’ve gotten from her can be corroborated,” she pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. “And for the record: I am not bad. I do my research as thoroughly as anyone else would—enough to know that you are someone who tells the truth.”

“So you’re saying that you trust me as a source?” you can’t help but scoff. “Me, the very guy that got fucked over by CUBE? I could be bigoted and biased for all you know. Or even worse: I’m lying.”

She smiles knowingly. “Respectfully, you have too much… personal voice in this recount that I might as well write an autobiography on your behalf.”

And she stuns you into silence. It occurs to you that you're a little drunk, and you’re pretty sure that you called this woman ‘cupcake’ multiple times. You’re not too sure; you don’t even have half a mind to know what you’re doing or saying.

Tzuyu gulps down the rest of her wine before she rises from her seat. 

“I best be going,” she opens her purse and fishes something out of it. She hands you a card, an address and a phone number handwritten onto it in what looks like a felt pen. “If you want your story to be heard, give me a call… Or a text. Whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need a version of this that doesn’t include all the fucking and your drunk blabbering,” she shoulders her purse and smiles. “Can’t promise that I’ll buy you a drink to make you talk again, but I can treat you to some really good Chinese dumplings. Maybe we can catch up a little too. It’s been a while.”

You stare at the card, tracing the hooks and curves that form numbers and letters. Your eyes fix back on her. “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugs, and it’s not a “I dunno” type of shrug, but more like a “the proof’s in the pudding, open your fucking eyes” type of shrug. 

“I want to report the truth, and I know you well enough to know that you want that too.”

That's right. Another series. I know I'm doing everything but finishing up Beats Me, and you can go cry a river in my asks if you want. Just kidding, I love all of you, but I want to write what I want to write. Let me have my fun, would you? Also, for the record: I did not finish this 5 days after Beats Me 7. Beats Me 7 was finished before I vanished from tumblr for a bit. This has been brewing since December. You can thank long drives and Noah Kahnan for this.

Anyway, another big thank you to @defmaybe for being such a great sport and reading through the 39 page document that showed up in their discord DMs one fine day. This fic would have been full of typos and horrible grammatical errors if it weren't for them.

Stay safe, Nichu

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 1

kenji sato x reader

summary: you are professor sato's student and mina contacts you when kenji finds himself with an injured kaiju baby

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

author's note: turning this into a series (?) may not follow the movie's timeline completely. future smut, so minors DNI.

masterlist !

you stood beside professor sato in the tube lift as it descended to kenji's basement.

you fiddled with the ends of your shirt, anxiety beginning to spiral within you by the second.

being at kenji’ house was something you never imagined would happen, especially after your not-so-smart first date. 

like kenji, you also had a legacy to bear, with your father as an expert mechanic, he built a titanium-alloyed suit with sato to fight by his side. and with him gone, you had to take on the mantle and the responsibility of protecting the city.

kenji knew you as his father’s student, slightly bitter that his father was spending time with someone who was not him.

but he couldn’t deny, you were a sight for sore eyes.

he would throw his words at you now and then, relishing in your sarcasm and remarks, falling more and more for your fiery demeanour and silver tongue.

and with you both fighting kaiju attacks together, it only pulled you closer to each other.

the baseball player won a bet against you, asking for just one date with you. 

you were skeptical about it, not wanting to get tangled in his spider web of messy celebrity life. but you couldn’t back off from the bet. a deal was a deal.

the date went surprisingly well, with you and kenji bickering back and forth about the most mundane things, just to get a rise out of the other. but as time went by, the sexual tension was increasing between you two.

you couldn’t deny it, no matter how much he annoyed you with his bratty charm. he was hot. 

the date was supposed to end with him dropping you in your place, but instead, you found yourself in his arms in the back of his car- naked, needy, and moaning his name like a prayer.

after that, he took you into your apartment and fucked you good, mumbling praises and promises as he drilled into you. the next morning, he left before you woke up, leaving a note saying that last night was fun. 

no calls or messages after that. he merely acknowledged your presence after that.and you were thankful for it. a bit.

part of you wished he would reach out and check in on you after that night. but you knew he wouldn’t.

it made you feel used and unwanted. took you quite a while to get over it, but you eventually did. 

you only took care of the fights he didn’t pay mind to. like the kaiju attack he ditched when the kdf intervened.

and now with the doom of meeting him again, your nerves were on end.

“fret not, dear,” professor sato glanced at your tensed state, “it will be alright.”

"professor, um, you still haven't told me why we’re at your son’s place. or what we're gonna do. or why you needed me out of all people-”

"i just need you to trust me on this, dear. you're the only one i do at this moment. can you do that for me?"

"you know i'm big on trust, professor, " i commented, shaking my head.

the lift stopped, and professor smiled, "that i do," 

when the lift doors opened, ultramn’s face was right on, big glowing eyes.

you took a step back with a yelp, “what the-"

"oh my-" ultraman gasped, “y/n… hi,” he seemed to be dazed, breathless.

you nodded nervously, glaring at his metal head and glowing eyes, glad that you didn't have to look at his handsome face, “hi,”

“dad! what is she doing here?” kenji hollered, as if you were invisible.

you glared at him even harder, tilting your head to the side at his tone.

"i apologize for my son," professor told you, "kenji, this is my assistant and she knows best about kaiju infants,"

i added, "because i've studied about them.my entire life. what they eat, their life cycle, the metamorph-"

"okay, okay, got it yeah," he waved you off in a hurry, his voice laced with impatience and worry.

you were about to snap when a pained squeal rang out and you leaned past him to sneak a peak, but ultraman obscured your view.

“dad, i’m not asking for pain, complaints, guilt, or criticism. not right now. i just-” he paused, struggling, “i need your help. both of you,” his head turned to you.

when he moved out of the way, you saw it, a gasp escaping your lips .

a baby kaiju lying on its back in the middle of the room, its head resting on ultraman’s knees while he held it down, rubbing its head. a red beam blinked under its skin, signaling its distress.

"wow," you gaped at the kaiju baby, following after professor sato.

“she was hurt, dad. we were attacked, i don’t know what to do. she got loose. i-i should’ve been there,” kenji rambled, guilt evident as he beat him up for what happened.

professor sato examined her, running a hand over a scales, “incredible,”

i held out my fist, metal plates slipping over your fingers and crawling up your arm till your elbow. you held out a hand, shooting a scanning bean from your fist to examine.

“you brought your warsuit?” ultraman asked in wonder. he knew about your identity and was hoping he’d run into you in one of the fights.

“just in case,” you shrugged, eyes on the anatomy chart you had pulled up in front of you as the holograph blinked on the arm of the kaiju, indicating the site of injury.

meanwhile, professor sato ran a chem analysis of the tranquilizer that had hit her.

"oh, hello mina," you greeted the ai when it floated towards you, “it’s been a long time,”

"indeed," mina responded, "you look well,"

"thanks,"

the kaiju baby whined in pain, squirming. you rested your metal palm on its tummy, easing your way up and down on its body, "shh, hey, hey- it's okay, we're gonna help you, baby, mkay?” you cooed.

the kaiju baby seemed to somewhat calm down at your words, its body still trembling.

“is it a he or she?” you asked, tapping and prodding her arm juncture.

“a she,” mina responded.

"she's beautiful," you looked up at her in awe, “professor, i suppose she has fracture. there’s fluid build-up in her elbow. mina, can u confirm?,”

“yes, she had a mid-humeral fracture with associated hematoma,” mina added.

the kaiju baby cried out again.

“it’s okay, you’re okay,” professor sato uttered softly caressing her arm.

mina was filling in the professor about the analysis of the tranquilizer while you got a closer look at the baby, running your metal hand over her palm.

her fist closed around your hand, the kaiju baby cooing slightly. your heart melted at the action.

“poor thing. does it hurt too much?” you reached to touch her arm where she got hurt, only for her to squeal in alarm.

“it’s okay,” kenji soothed, “she’s-” he stammered, looking at you now fully and taking in your appearance and feeling somewhat flustered, “she’s not gonna hurt you,”

you spared a glance at him, turning away, your face turning red at the mere sound of his voice. pathetic, you scolded yourself.

“can you synthesize a 100 ccs?” professor sato asked mina. 

“yes, professor,”

“good we’ll need more,”

 “more?!” kenji snapped, “for what?”

“kenji,” “you may not agree with me on anything else, but right now, i’m the best chance she has. and with y/n, it will be easier. so please, please just let me help,”

kenji glanced at you, agreeing, “okay,”

professor sato held up a ragged bunny in the air. the kaiju baby beamed at it.

“dad,” kenjis sighed in nostalgia, “bunny?”

“it always worked on you,” he placed it on the baby’s arm. he notched his walking stick between her shouler and arm, making sure it was right. i nodded in approval.

i placed my hand on the kaju baby’s palm, “hold her tight, kenji,”

two mechanical arms appeared from the ground, grabbing onto the baby’s arms.

taking a deep breath, you mumbled along with the lullaby mina played in the back and pushed her dislocated bone into place. kenji turned his head away to the side, unable to watch while the kaiju baby screeched in pain.

you sat by the stairs of the containment unit as the kaiju baby slept in it, snuggling a half-crushed car.

you were watching the footage of the kaiju baby loose in the streets, observing its movement, behaviour—

“hey,”

you slapped your watch shut and looked up at kenji, blinking, “hi,”

your eyes locked for a moment longer adn you both looked away, feeling bashful and flustered. 

you felt him sit on the stair beside you and rest his elbows on his knees, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“so, uh, how are ya?” kenji turned to face you, his hair falling all over his forehead.

you bit back the urge to brush them back, “fine. so how’s life being a single mom with two jobs?” you teased, hoping to ease the tension.

kenji gave a small smile, his chest rumbling with a groan, “exhausting,”

“i can tell,” you noticed the fading dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue in the paleness of his skin.

“watching me that closely, sweetheart?” he tipped his head to the side, leaning forward a bit, his flirty tone showing up.

“you wish,” you rolled your eyes at him.

“it’s good to see you,” kenji spoke genuinely, “after the last time we met turned into-”

“oh dear god-” you sputtered, “don’t just don’t,”

“was it that bad?” he seemed offended that you were shutting out that incident so quickly, “was i that bad?”

“no, no, ken,” i laughed carelessly, missing the way a shy smile crept up kenji’s face at your sound, “its just that,” you tried to find the right words, “it was amazing, but the days after that, not so much. we-”

“-drifted apart,” kenji completed, understanding now.

"yeah,"

“i’ll just,” kenji jabbed his thumb to the couch area and walked towards it, muttering and scolding himself for being so clumsy and flustered around you.

you smiled at his back, watching him sit down. you turned back towards the containment unit, watching the kaiju baby snore away.

you crossed your legs, getting comfortable, "mina?"

"yes?" the ai floated towards you.

"give me everything you have on the kaiju baby. and you might wanna get filled in on the kaiju anatomy and life cycle info i have in my database," you held up your watch for her.

“sure thing,” a mechanical arm took it from you.

"and also, could i get a cup of coffee, with three-,"

a cup was thrust beside your face to hold. 

you looked up and saw kenji holding one for you, having one for himself, “three shots of espresso. just how you like it,”

surprised but touched, you accepted it with a kind nod, watching him walk back to his father.

he relaxed back, leaning into the couch and spreading his legs apart shamelessly, one arm resting on the head of the couch.

you lips parted at the sight.

kenji did a double take and caught you staring, a grin quirking his lips as he did so. it only widened as he saw how you fumbled and turned away from him, finding your reaction adorable.

he couldn't believe how captivating you were, and he knew he was in danger of losing himself to your charm. 

 the way your hair draped over your shoulder, only if he could wrap his fist around them and pull you flush against his back-

“pure thoughts, ken. pure thoughts,” he chided himself, his mind struggling to process the mental image it created.

he silently chastised himself for letting you slip through his fingers last time, but he knew that he couldn't ignore you any longer. 

as he looked at you, he felt his heart skip a beat and he couldn't help but sigh, "sweetheart..." knowing that you were too tempting for him to resist this time.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (31/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The promised back massage - and friends help each other.

Warnings: 18+ (thigh riding, inexperienced!reader)

Word Count: 3.6k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I'm so proud. Charlie won his home race! I'm still crying. feedback is appreciated!

"So?" asks Charles as you move further and further away from the beautiful house. "What do you think of them?"

You smile at him. "You have a really great family, Charles. Maybe a little wild, but it's obvious how much you love each other."

He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road ahead. "I love them more than anything. Ever since my father died, we've taken every opportunity to spend time together." He swallows briefly. "We appreciate each other. And that's worth a lot."

You carefully reach for his hand, which is resting on the shift stick, and turn it so that you can interlace your fingers with his. You place it on your lap and stroke the back of his hand in gentle circles with your thumb. "Thank you for taking me here. It means a lot to me."

"Actually, I didn't have any other choice. I think my mother would have kicked down our front door if I kept you from her." Charles has to grin. "I definitely wouldn't have survived that."

"So that's how it is," you grin and let go of his hand with mock outrage. "So you only took me with you out of pure self-protection."

Before you can cross your arms in front of your chest, he grabs your hand again and brings it up to his mouth so that he can tentatively blow a kiss on your knuckles. "Do you believe me when I tell you that it's incredibly important to me that you know my family? And that you like them?"

You feel the heat rush to your face as he brushes his lips over the thin skin of your fingers. You take a quick breath and stare at him before nervously - and slightly turned on - looking away from him. "Maybe." You try to sound as nonchalant as possible and hope that Charles doesn't notice the tremble in your voice. "I'm definitely glad Arthur didn't do anything to you. I bet he was a kid back then who just bit other children."

Charles has to laugh at that. Loudly and fervently, and you don't know if he does it on purpose, but he presses your hand firmly against his muscular chest and holds it there. You feel the vibration under your fingertips and air rushing through his lungs, and his laughter is so infectious that you can't help but join in.

When he finally lets go of your hand, he wipes the tears from his face. He takes another deep breath before letting out one last laugh and then places his hand on your thigh like it's the most normal thing in the world. The warmth of his skin almost burns through the fabric of your clothes. You try not to let it show. "Believe me, mon amour. I should even have a scar from his teeth somewhere."

When you stop at a traffic light, Charles leans forward a little and pushes his back through. When you hear a few of his vertebrae crack, you grimace. "Does your back hurt?"

"A little." He leans back into the seat again, but stretches his neck to the side. "Not being able to lean back for hours is more uncomfortable than you think." When he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and smirks, you lightly punch his shoulder. 

"You idiot." Charles laughs in response. "You're just after a back massage!"

"You take what you can get." His hand squeezes your thigh. 

You roll your eyes. "You could have just asked for a massage, you know? I imagine the stool isn't the most comfortable piece of furniture."

Charles shrugs. "I didn't want it to be weird in any way."

Your gaze focuses on his slender fingers on your leg. "Do you mean because of this morning?" you ask meekly. 

"Actually -" Charles clears his throat. " Because of Arthur, actually. He was hinting at something and - I don't know." He steers the car onto the street where your apartment is. When he takes his hand off your thigh to change gear, you miss his touch. Without another word, he parks the Renault in the building's underground garage and without looking at you, you take the elevator to your apartment. 

The silence between you is a little awkward. The fact that you brought up the incident from this morning has somehow killed the mood and you'd like to slap yourself for it. You could have left it at that - after all, you had spoken to each other and agreed that everything was fine between you - but you had stupidly cast it in a different light.

You get ready for bed in separate rooms in silence. While Charles brushes his teeth in the bathroom, you change in the bedroom and slip into comfortable shorts and a shirt that you're not sure if it belongs to you or Charles. When you run into each other in the hallway, you don't look at each other, but pass each other with lowered eyes. 

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and are about to bang your forehead against the porcelain of the sink. Until just now, the day had been wonderful. You met his wonderful family, had a fun evening and although you had a little slip-up this morning, Charles and you got on really well. Your friendship hasn't been tarnished and apparently you've been so good to each other that the Leclerc family think you're a couple. 

That's another thing you need to sort out. Between the two of you and definitely with his family. Even though you've only got to know the Leclercs properly since today, you've already grown fond of them and it doesn't feel right to fib to everyone. Above all, it doesn't feel right to Pascale, who has invited you into her home and insists that you spend Christmas with them. Pascale, who has such a big heart and didn't hesitate for a moment to take you into the family. 

It's not fair to her - even if a small part of you wants to keep things the way they are. Even if it doesn't reflect reality, the word girlfriend doesn't ring false in your ears. The thought of it makes you feel warm and somehow the blood tingles in your veins. 

You blame it on the long day you've had and the fact that you're too emotionally exhausted to put one and one together. How crazy would it be if you were actually Charles' girlfriend?

You immediately push the thought aside when you return to the bedroom and see Charles lying on the bed. He continues to scroll through his phone without looking at you and doesn't even glance at you as you slip under the covers on your side of the bed. 

You want to press your face into the pillow and scream, but you can't do that because it definitely wouldn't ease the tension in the air. You could also cry quietly to yourself, but Charles would notice even that. But you could also -

"Am I still getting the back massage?" Confused, you look over at your friend, who puts his cell phone aside and looks at you. He shrugs and then runs his hand through his hair. "You said I should just ask. And I thought I'd try my luck." His hand wanders over the comforter and when he finds yours, he intertwines your fingers. 

"Charles -" you begin, but you don't know how to finish the sentence. You're relieved that he doesn't take offense at your comment and wants to ease the situation by pretending nothing happened. You would love to kiss him for it. The thought sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"Sorry," Charles apologizes as he mistakes your awkwardness for hesitation. "It was a stupid idea. I just thought -"

"It's okay," you interrupt him and squeeze his hand, whereupon he squeezes back twice. "Apparently the stool was super uncomfortable. And friends help each other, don't they?" 

The Monegasque returns your gentle smile. "Friends help each other," he repeats, his gaze flickering briefly from your eyes to your lips and back again. " 'Um - should I take my shirt off? I think that would be smarter, don't you?"

Before you can say anything back, his hand disengages from yours and in one elegant movement he pulls the garment over his head and throws it to the other end of the bed. You watch the muscles in his back flex as he slides down the bed a little and lies on his stomach without hesitation, as if he can't wait another second. 

You have to strain to tear your gaze away from him. "I think I still have some body lotion somewhere." You quickly run back to the bathroom, where you spot the cream on the shelf next to the door, and sprint back to Charles, who has put his head in his hands and is smiling at you. You stand uncertainly in front of the bed, swaying from one foot to the other. "Where - I mean - how -?"

"Just sit on my legs," he says gently and pulls the blanket off him so that you can sit on top of him. "I think that's easier than from the side. Isn't it?"

"I - I don't know," you reply quietly and stop in your tracks. Of course, it would make more sense to sit astride his legs, but then you would also be sitting on him. And you definitely don't want things to get weird between you again. 

"Just sit down, please. I won't bite." Charles reaches out and grabs your hand to pull you towards him. He doesn't let go until you swing your leg over his and get comfortable on the back of his thigh. "See? It's not so bad, is it?"

You're glad he can't see how hard you're swallowing. The fine hairs tickle the soft skin on the inside of your thighs and heat shoots into your face as you slide your butt around to find the best possible position. When you finally find it, you remove the cap from the body lotion. "Careful, it might be a bit cold."

"It's okay, it can't be that bad - oh fuck!" Charles exclaims as you pour the contents of the bottle onto his back. Goosebumps immediately spread across his back and arms and you have to stifle your laughter. "Don't you dare laugh at me. My goodness, you could have warmed up the cream in your hand!"

"Sorry," you grin and close the bottle again before placing it on the bed next to your knee. "I thought it would be easier this way."

"It's definitely meaner," Charles replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. "You owe me a longer massage for that. At least half an hour." 

"No problem," you smile. You hope he doesn't notice your hesitation, because it takes a few seconds before your head commands your hands to rest on his broad back and spread the cream. With your fingers spread apart, you glide over his spine, his shoulder blades to his neck, where you feel the first lump under your fingertips. Slowly, but firmly, you press your thumb over the spot. 

And Charles moans shamelessly. "Fuck, that feels good." He closes his eyes as you continue to work on his neck. "I think you've missed your profession."

"You think so?" you ask softly. Your fingers glide to his hairline, his muscular neck and back over his shoulders. "Maybe I wouldn't be unemployed right now."

"I'd hire you in a heartbeat." As you press the side of his left shoulder blade with your thumbs, he exhales audibly. "Yeah, right there."

Smiling, you look at him before returning to your task. "I think you're too old for that stool. I'll sit on it next time."

"You're only saying that because you're hoping for a massage too." Charles' voice sounds rough and deep, completely relaxed. With his eyes closed, he enjoys your touch and misses you biting your lower lip. 

Your mouth goes dry at the thought of feeling his hands on your bare skin. You'd be only too happy to repeat this morning's incident if it meant that nothing would change between you. That you would remain friends. 

Nervously, you slide around on his legs. "Maybe."

You don't receive an answer. In comfortable silence, you run your hands over his back, pressing certain points in his muscles that make the Monegasque hum and moan softly. It's nice to know that he can let himself go with you and that you seem to be doing him good. 

Your hands wander down to the hem of his shorts and before you can really think about it, your thumbs slide just underneath so that you can massage the marks the shorts leave on his skin too. Charles takes a gasping breath and for a moment you think you've gone a step too far, but Charles doesn't even open his eyes as he speaks. 

"I miss this."

You tilt your head, even though he's not looking at you. "What do you mean?"

"Being touched," he answers your question quietly.

You pull your fingers out from under the hem and let them glide over his spine. "We touch each other."

Charles lets out a sigh. "I know. But - I don't know." His mouth twists into a thin line. "That's something else."

"Explain it to me." 

"It's been months since I've touched anyone, or vice versa. And I'm not talking about friendly touching. What we do," he explains. You don't know why your heart tightens as if it has heard bad news. 

Your fingers trail over his shoulders and then down his arm. Goosebumps spread under your fingertips. "Okay."

"Not that I don't think it's nice," he tries to get his act together. "I love it when I hold your hand or when we cuddle in bed. That's not even up for debate." When your fingers reach his wrist, he grabs them and squeezes them twice. "I don't know how to describe it." 

"What exactly do you mean by 'touch'?" you try to draw him out. "I mean, apparently there must be a difference between what you mean and what we do."

Charles shrugs and lets go of your hand so you can continue. "I miss having my hair played with. Or having my legs rubbed." Lying down, he runs his hand through his hair once, "I don't know."

You chew the inside of your cheek. "Do you mean - I don't know - like more intimate touching?" When you hear yourself say that, you try to turn it around again. "I mean - I'm not talking about sex. But rather that emotional connection? That you feel close to someone and touching them, like playing with your fingers or rubbing your arms, feels different?"

Charles turns his head in your direction so he can look at you. "I miss being touched more intimately. I really crave it." He turns under you so that he is now lying on his back. He leans on his elbows. You don't know where to put your hands, which is why you hold them strangely in the air. You try to fix your gaze on his face, but it flickers briefly to his abs. Something that doesn't escape Charles' notice. "What about you?"

"What about me?" 

"My relationship went down the drain months ago. It's obvious I'm touch starved." He sits up straight and reaches for your hands, placing them tentatively and hesitantly on his chest. "I can't stop thinking about this morning."

You can feel his heart beating under your palm and there's a sparkle in his beautiful green eyes. "We're friends," you state the obvious. The one you agreed on. 

Charles nods. "And I don't want that to change either. I really don't." He exhales and you feel his warm breath on your face. "But don't you miss it? Being touched? Being touched intimately?"

As he licks his lips, your brain shuts down for a moment. "I've never - I don't - I -" you stumble over your words and heat rushes to your cheeks. You don't know why you're confiding in him. You don't know why your hands are wandering from his chest up to his shoulders. The only thing you can feel is Charles' arm around you, pulling you closer to him. His one leg slides between yours so that you're sitting on his bare thigh. You just hope he can't feel your arousal pooling in your shorts.

"Mon amour," he whispers and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear with his other hand. From there, his fingers glide along the soft skin of your neck, over your collarbone, along your arm, until your fingers intertwine again. "Your shorts are pretty thin." He leans forward slightly and lays a feather-light kiss on your neck. You blow all the fuses. "I can feel you dripping for me. Let me help you." His hand settles on your hip and gently he pushes you back a little on his leg, but only to pull you forward again. Electricity shoots through your veins as you moan shamelessly into his face. "Friends help each other. All you have to do is say yes."

Something primal flares in his eyes as he brings your hand to his mouth and places his lips on your knuckles. A gentle gesture that is in complete contrast to how you feel inside. Fire blazes under your skin, heat coursing through your whole body as he places your hand against his cheek, then presses a kiss to your palm. "Nothing changes," you murmur, to which Charles nods. 

"Nothing changes," he confirms. "We stay friends." His hands slowly slide under your bottom, under the hem of your shorts. You feel his hot skin on yours as he rocks you back and forth on his thigh. "I promise."

Your crotch rubs against his leg with such relish and when the hem of your shorts catches on your clit, you burn out all your fuses. "Yes."

Charles' lips find your neck as his hands cup your ass and guide you over his leg. With your mouth open and your eyebrows furrowed, you dig your fingers into his shoulder blades. Pleasure pulses through your body as his mouth moves over your neck, sucking lightly on the thin skin but not lingering long enough to leave a mark. Each kiss is gentle, the complete opposite to his grip on your ass and the way he rubs you over him. 

"Charles." Your voice is little more than a sigh and you think you can feel his raging boner against your leg, but the thought quickly fades as one of his hands pulls away from you. Instantly you miss his touch, his skin on yours, but before you can do anything, his fingers reach into your hair to gently pull your head back. 

"I'm here, mon amour," he breathes against the newly won space on your neck. Gently, he sucks where your pulse is, and you think you feel his teeth against your skin for a moment. "I'm here."

You don't know where to put your hands, so you just use them to press his face closer to you. You feel his tongue at the point where your neck meets your shoulder and arch towards him. "Please."

You don't know what you're asking for, but Charles knows all the better for it. He rocks you over his leg, which is wet and slippery from your arousal, and as your knee gently bumps against his cock, he moans into your ear. 

Absently, your hands disengage from his hair and scrape down his chest to the hem of his shorts, but before you can go an inch further, his thumb and forefinger curl around your wrists. "Mon amour, today is about you," he murmurs, kissing your cheek as he notices your disappointed look. "Don't pout. Otherwise we'll stop here and now." 

You move over his thigh on your own and, without taking the chance, you nudge his boner again with your knee. "But you said -" you begin, but Charles lets go of your hands, only to hold them behind your back. 

"Nuh-uh." His lips find their place against your collarbone. Apparently he notices that you close your eyes, because his free hand rests gently against your throat. "Look at me, mon amour." His voice is no more than a gasp as you open your eyes and look up at him pleadingly. You want him closer, want to feel his lips on yours, his cock splitting you in half. You want him to ruin you for any other men.

You approach the cliff, willing yourself to plunge down it, but when you close your eyes again, Charles merely presses your lap against his leg, preventing you from moving any further. You look at him in shock. "Charles."

"Fuck, I love it when you say my name." He holds you tight, chest to chest, and you try to move somehow, to rub against him. And he lets you. His hand loosens from your wrists while the other continues to rest on the column of your throat, but doesn't squeeze. "Look at me, mon amour," he repeats to himself, shamelessly sliding his hand inside your shorts so he can cup your ass. With one final movement, he pulls you forward, the hem of your shorts rubbing perfectly over your swollen bundle of nerves and white lightning flashes through your veins. "Look at me when you come for me."

And you do.

[willowsnook]

Concerned (LN) pt. 2

lando norris x neighbor!reader

pt. 1 here

-----------------------------------

“Hey superstar,” you call out to Lando as you see him heading in to your building.

“What’s up?” He asks with a smile, and you fall into step with him towards the elevator.

“Not a lot,” you said. “Just getting ready to get out of this country tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, where are you going?”

“Vegas.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you going to the Grand Prix?”

You nodded with an easy smile, “Yeah, heading out a little early to hang with some college friends, but then I’ll be there Saturday.”

“Vegas is far; I’m surprised you’re going,” he commented and you gave him a weird look.

“You know I’m from the US muppet,” you said, and he gave you an amused look.

“Did you just call me a muppet?” He teased. “That’s my word.”

“Yeah, I’ve been really getting into watching Twitch streams, guess I’m picking up on your lingo,” you said nonchalantly but with a mischievous look. Lando froze as you mentioned it, thinking back to the recent stream where he talked about you.

“Oh?” He laughed nervously and your smirk grew wider.

“Yeah, thanks for the shoutout by the way,” you said,his face instantly flushed. “I’ll see you in Vegas, babe.”

You left him in the elevator and walked back to your apartment, giggling. Torturing him was amusing and you didn’t feel that bad about it since you shared some of the thoughts he had about you.

———————————————————-

A week in Vegas was exactly what you needed, especially because of how much you missed your friends. After three days of clubbing, you were exhausted and running on fumes and RedBull to make it to the race. Only one of your friends could join you Saturday night, and you made it to the entrance a few hours before the race. A man scanned your tickets and turned to the sign, grabbing two special passes and handing them to you.

“What are these?” You asked and he gave you a weird look.

“VIP passes?” He asked and sighed as you still looked confused. “It looks like your tickets were upgraded, so you’ll have access to the paddock and paddock club.”

Your mind instantly thought about Lando and you smiled to yourself before pulling your friend along.

As you and your friend made your way through the bustling paddock, the excitement in the air was palpable. The roar of engines, the smell of fuel, and the buzz of anticipation filled your senses. You couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement, wondering if you'd run into Lando.

"This is insane," your friend whispered, wide-eyed as you passed by team garages and caught glimpses of drivers preparing for the race.

You nodded in agreement, still processing how you'd ended up with these VIP passes. As you rounded a corner, you nearly collided with a somewhat familiar face.

“Sorry!” The driver exclaimed, reaching out to steady you. He looked so familiar, but you couldn’t remember exactly who he was. “You are Lando’s friend.”

“Yeah, you’re his teammate, right?” You asked and he nodded, sticking out a hand.

“Oscar.”

“Y/n,” you replied smiling. “I’m surprised you recognized me since we’ve never met.”

“Let’s just say I’ve heard a lot about you,” Oscar said with a slight smirk and you laughed. Lando came into your line of sight, and you saw him look panicked as he watched Oscar talk to you.

"Oh, I bet you have," you said with a grin, glancing over at Lando, who was now making his way towards you with a mix of nervousness and excitement on his face.

"Hey, you made it!" Lando called out, trying to sound casual as he approached. "I see you've met Oscar."

"Yeah, we were just getting acquainted," you replied, enjoying the slight flush on Lando's cheeks. "Thanks for the upgrade, by the way. The paddock access is amazing."

Lando's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, uh, no problem. Glad you're enjoying it."

Oscar looked between the two of you with amusement. "Well, I should get going. Nice to meet you, Y/N. Enjoy the race!"

As Oscar walked away, you turned to Lando with a raised eyebrow. “Crazy how he knew who I was.”

“Crazy,” Lando mumbled and you laughed, grabbing his hand to pull him to meet your friend Maggie.

“Maggie is a big Ferrari fan,” you told him and he waved over to Carlos, who was walking by. Carlos came over, looking down at Lando’s hand still in yours and smirking at his friend. Lando introduced all of you, and Maggie started to talk Carlos’s ear off, much to your amusement.

You turned back to Lando, talking softly, “Ready for today?”

“I think so,” he said. “I don’t really think there’s a shot at the championship anymore based on how the car was last night.”

“I’m sorry Lan,” you said and he gave you a small smile. “It’s still pretty impressive though, everything you’ve done this season and coming in second.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply. “Also I’m happy you’re talking to me and not your favorite driver.”

"I think my rankings might have changed." A slow smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He pulled you into his embrace, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm and comforting hug. You took in the familiar scent of his cologne and rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“I have to go, but will I see you after the race?” He asked hopefully.

“You have my number,” you replied, and without thinking, you lifted your heels and pressed a short kiss on his cheek. “Good luck superstar.”

You watched the race from the hospitality suite, cheering with Maggie for the Ferrari drivers while being a little sad that Lando seemed to be having an okay race. Maggie left right after the race, having to drive back home that night, and you waited around the paddock while taking in the scene.

LN: still here?

Y/N: yeah, just wandering around.

LN: wander around to the McLaren garage?

Y/N: omw

Lando was out of his race suit and just in a pair of sweats and his team jacket. He looked tired but oddly enough, a little relieved. You hugged him when you saw him, congratulating him on a good race.

“You seem relieved,” you commented and he smiled down at you.

“I am a little, most of the pressure is off now,” he admitted.

“I’m happy for you then,” you declared.

“When are you heading back to Monaco?” He asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I’m definitely regretting not getting an earlier flight though. I just want to be back in my bed.”

“Why don’t you just come with me? I’m going to fly out in a couple of hours,” he offered.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” you said and he shook his head.

“It’s decided then,” he said and you smiled. You worked out the details and told him you’d meet him outside your hotel shortly. After heading back you packed up your suitcase and headed downstairs, waiting outside for Lando.

He pulled up in a big SUV and the driver got out to help you put your stuff in the trunk before you joined Lando in the back. You had both changed in to sweats and comfy wear, ready to sleep on the plane.

You had never been on a private jet before and were amazed, walking on the tarmac towards the plane. Lando looked over at you and smiled to himself, admiring how you still managed to look good in the night lights, even though he knew you were exhausted. Following him up the stairs, he motioned for you to sit next to him in a reclining seat connected to his. He handed you a blanket and you wrapped yourself up, eager to take off.

“Have fun today?” He asked from next to you and you nodded.

“Tons, it was fun to see you in your element,” you said and he smiled.

The plane took off and you watched out the window briefly before deciding you needed to sleep. While his plane was nice, you had trouble getting comfortable, shifting around trying to find a good spot.

“Can’t sleep?” Lando asked, noticing your restlessness.

“Not really,” you replied, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

He lifted up his blanket, gesturing for you to scoot closer. You hesitated momentarily, but the promise of comfort and warmth was too tempting to resist. Slowly, you shifted closer to Lando, settling into the crook of his arm as he draped the blanket over both of you.

"Better?" he murmured, his breath warm against your hair.

"Much," you sighed contentedly, feeling your muscles relax as you nestled against him.

The gentle hum of the plane's engines and Lando's steady heartbeat soon lulled you into a peaceful sleep. You weren't sure how long you'd been out when you felt a gentle shake on your shoulder.

"Y/N," Lando's voice was soft. "We're about to land."

You blinked groggily, realizing you were still cuddled up to him. "Oh, sorry," you mumbled, starting to move away.

"Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you could sleep,” he said and your heart fluttered.

It was a bright morning in Monaco and knowing you needed to beat jet lag you suggested grabbing something to eat, which Lando happily agreed to. Sitting across from him you found yourself oddly nervous about the shift you felt between you.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Lando asked and you looked up from the menu.

“Nothing, why?”

“Will you come to Qatar?”

“You want me to come to the race?”

Lando shifted nervously in his seat before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m calmer when you’re around,” he confessed and a small smile graced your face.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Lando's words. "I'd love to come," you said softly. "But are you sure? I don't want to be a distraction."

Lando reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You're not a distraction. You're... you're my good luck charm," he said with a shy smile.

You laughed lightly, squeezing his hand. "Alright then, I guess I'm going to Qatar."

Finishing up breakfast, you finally made it back to your apartment, Lando lingering by the door as if he was deciding on what to say.

“I really like you,” he blurted out.

You felt your heart skip a beat at Lando's sudden confession. You stood there in stunned silence for a moment, taking in his earnest expression and the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I was wondering when you were going to say it," you finally replied, a smile spreading across your face. "I really like you too, Lando,"

Relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by a boyish grin. He took a step closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.

Instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was tender and sweet, with the promise of something more. When you finally pulled apart, you both wore matching smiles.

"I should probably go," Lando said reluctantly, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But maybe we could hang out more before this weekend?”

“I suppose so,” you said with a grin and he smirked, leaning in to give you one last kiss before he left.

tags: @sltwins @honeyhyunn @heli991113 @sarx164 @kissatelier @dying-inside-but-its-classy @daniellef89x

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

thinkin about polite gaz being... not so polite when he realizes you're attracted to him. 

not like you let it slip on purpose. he only catches on because he's teasing you and flirting with you and he gets playfully physical and pins you against a wall. he does not miss the way your breath catches in your throat or the way you flush. bit submissive, aren't you?

his attitude changes instantly. he bets you he could keep you pinned right there. hell, he bets he could pick you up, toss you over his shoulder if he wanted to. when you ask him (a bit too breathlessly) if he'd really do that, he smirks at you and says there are plenty of reasons he might have to pick you up. makes it easier to show you who's boss, yeah?

your face gets so hot you think you might actually pass out. you fucking bottom.

he leans in, getting closer this time so you can't shy away; you have no choice but to hear him clearly. "you think you could handle being thrown around?"

if it killed you, you would die happy.

"how about i just throw you into bed instead?"

please, you squeak out.

his eyes gleam and he chuckles. "say please again and it'll be the floor."

nsfw ↓

he's not kidding about being able to pick you up either. or throw you. the moment he has a chance, he's definitely getting you into bed. and he's definitely enjoying how you squirm.

can i ask a favor of you? he asks, so politely, like he's not literally on top of you, pinning you down.

literally anything. you would do literally anything he asks.

"say please again. for me."

you stutter.

"you asked quite nicely for me to throw you. so if i ask, would you beg nicely for me to do other things?"

oh god. oh god. you're glad you're laying down, because you're sure your knees would give out if you were standing up.

when your brain reboots, you stumble over yourself to say yes, absolutely, please kiss me, please tear my clothes off, please hold me down and have your way with me--

god, he really likes that look on your face. he is really going to enjoy you. 

"you really are an excitable little thing, aren't you?" he says, smirk widening as his hand traces along your hip.

is that bad? you ask him.

"it's really hot. almost makes me feel bad for everything i want to do to you."

no, please, don't feel bad, you tell him. you immediately shift, trying to press yourself up against his body. you want him to use you for everything he wants. everything.

"so eager. can't wait, can you?"

no, you can't. you'll die if you have to wait. you try and fail to reign yourself in and be so fucking needy. you fumble with the buttons on your shirt, undoing them one by one, impatient and frustrated. he just smirks at you, letting you get yourself all worked up. just leans back and watches you, enjoying the sight.

when your mind catches up with what your hands are doing, you stall out on the last button. then, finally, he gives in and reaches forward to unhook it himself. then he yanks the whole shirt out of the way.

"good girl. god, you're cute when you're so red like that. you're really into this, aren't you?" his voice is sultry as his caress moves down to the button on your jeans. really just takes his damn time, enjoying how the slower he goes, the more desperate for him you get. but the way your hips twitch when he lays his hands on them has him fighting demons.

"that's it. keep moving. keep squirming." his voice is low and slow--he's trying to keep himself under control as much as you are. he wants so badly to grab your hips and just fucking rail you into the mattress, but it's more rewarding to be patient. how's he going to hear more of those sounds, see more of your desperate ploys to get under him, if it's all over right away?

obviously you have no such reservation. the moment he has your jeans unbuttoned, you're wiggling out of them and flipping onto your stomach, pushing your ass up in the air and fucking presenting yourself to him. please, you beg him, losing your goddamn mind, you can't take it anymore. can't he just...?

gaz damn near short-circuits at the image of you with your ass in the air. he barely manages to stop himself and weigh whether he should deny you a little bit more to heighten the anticipation.

fuck it. he can torment you more after he's inside you. multitasking.

you squeak in delight when he plants his hands between your shoulder blades and pushes your top half into the mattress, dragging your hips up toward his. he pushes you down, fitting his body over yours and putting his mouth next to your ear. he whispers right in your ear. "say please again."

please, please, please, you'll do anything, you tell him, wiggling your hips at him.

and he plans to take you up on that offer.

he leans in close, his breath warm on your skin. "good girl, he tells you. obedient girl."

you've never wanted to be under someone so badly.

your easy submission has him grinning. "are you a good girl all the time or just for me?"

for you, you mumble, hot with shame.

he pulls himself back even more and puts a knee on each side of you, pushing your legs apart. it gives you a shot of dopamine so intense you almost can't keep your ass up. 

"are you being good right now?"

you could be better for him, you tell him, so much better.

he likes the sound of that. it's getting hard to think, having your legs open and right there and he's trying to hold himself back but who wouldn't fall for the temptation he's experiencing right now? "how much better?"

you tell him you could please him more if you knew what he liked, if you could focus on him, if you didn't need more right now, if you didn't need him inside you so bad. your hips twitch again as you ramble, almost mindless.

"i like it when you speak so earnestly," he tells you.

that approval sends another shot of dopamine through you, and your hips buck against nothing. he hasn't even touched you there and you feel like you could finish any moment just from his voice. you're gonna die if you can't have him right now.

he's breathing heavier now, eyes fixed on your opening. his voice almost wavers, heavy with implication. "how bad do you need me, darling?" 

you start to dissolve into begging again--god dammit, he said he wanted you to beg and he's not even doing what you want, what you're begging for--and he interrupts. "you're going to ask properly first."

of course he's gonna make you fucking say it.

you beg and plead in every way you know how, promising every debased act you can think of. when his fingers finally press up against your heat--a teasingly light brush at first, and then a firm press--you dissolve into a mess of broken cries and pleas for him to keep going.

obviously he keeps talking to you in that low, sultry voice, telling you what an impatient little thing you are. chastising you. just another way to flex a little more power over you, and you're so weak for it. and then for that, he praises you.

"such a good girl," he tells you. "you want more?"

you open your mouth to say yes, you want everything, but then he presses his fingers in just the slightest bit, fingertips splitting you the slightest bit, and all you can do is keen. you rock your hips back into him desperately, sliding his fingers into you, and something in you snaps. you tip over the edge. oxytocin floods through you, your legs lock up, and shameless sounds fall from your lips. gaz's breath catches as you finish. then he grins.

gaz pulls you up to him fully and lies down above you. kisses you on the mouth and then trails his mouth down your jaw to your ear. "that was perfect," he says, breathless, and unashamedly horny about the fact that you just came on the second knuckles of two fingers.

you stare at him in muted shock yourself. you can't believe you just... you really just came like that? what's wrong with you?

"how about this," he says in a low, smooth voice. "since you were good, why don't you lay back down and let me fuck you properly?" he lifts your legs off the bed and raises your hips toward him. "let me do everything i want to you."

you swallow and nod, not trusting yourself to speak without squeaking.

"good girl." this time there's no hint of teasing. his eyes are hungry. "let your man take care of you."

...

[part 1] / part 2

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[kyri45]

Not me abusing the asks to both share my love for the bioparents AU AND rant about the panels because none of my friends are in the LMK fandom and I'm suffering here so TAKE MY LOVE AND APPRECIATION ABOUT YOUR ART I guess x)

So first of all

I am a SUCKER for that kind of leaning in frames I'm going to print that and plaster it on my wall THEY ARE EVERYTHING /hj

I almost jumped of my chair when this one popped up YOU FED US GOOD its so worth the angst train incoming. Of course the panels before and after were equally as amazing but if I start going about every single panel we're still here in three days AT THE VERY LEAST LOL

Of course this one made me laugh like please their little faces

Using that to point out how much I love ALLLLLLL the silly faces you put in your comics I'm munching on them every single time they're crushy like chips or something just. Nom nom. Yummy.

Poor Nesha (Nesha? Nezha? Neja? I have no idea on how to write his name I already forgor LMAO) needs to be payed more. He tries to save MK and ends up dealing with two lovesick teenagers demons who have no concept of time/place/occasion apparently. Poor him. He gets a pat on the head for his troubles

And of course just the "NOPE I'M KEEPING HIM" mode and honestly we should have seen it coming- Red son was planning to courtnap him and didn't sleep in the past 5 days so he's not having any bullshit YOU'RE NOT TAKING HIS NOODLE BOY AWAY-

Could bet he spent so long thinking about the cournapping in the 5 past days his brain just cannot process that yeah maybe you need to let him down you're just going to drag him in more troubles- Either that or he's just going full protective mode. Both options are good anyways sooooo :)

We stan a protective boyfriend in this house.

---

And finally I'm SOOOOO hyped about whatever is coming next like I know that technically we're supposed to suffer but please I climbed up the angst train so many times now I'm just enjoying it by that point lol. It'll just make the following fluff even more worth it

Also I cannot wait to see MK's plan about the contract I'm so curious I'm dying I love you boys but I really want the plot to progress you can go back to kissing later lol

Finally, thank you for creating this AU. It's stumbling randomly upon it on my tik tok fyp that dragged me into watching Lego Monkie Kid and really THANK YOU FOR THAT. It's such an amazing show I CANNOT BELIEVE I didn't discovered it sooner so really thank for having created this comic because else I could have missed LMK and that would be just saaaad

Fun fact: since I had never interacted with LMK the first time I read your comic, I for some reason thought Macaque was a female (and I probably would have thought the same of Wukong if he wasn't called... well, Wukong because I randomly stumbled upon the myth's Wikipedia page at some point in my life XD). The shock I felt when I heard Macaque for the first time in the show because his voice was soooooo not what I expected x) I'm still laughing at myself to this day

So yeah, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, and I can't wait to see what you're going to pull next :D Wish you allllll the best <3

(I can totally wait, of course, it's just a figure of speech. Take your time, I could wait forever for the next chapter)

ahaha thank you for such a lovely comment!! Glad the scene gived "MINE" vibes as I was planning ahah.

Youu're welcome! It's an honor to serve this fandom. *bows*

[keferon]

Mecha headquarters is attacked. The building collapses. Blurr goes in and doesn't come back out. And Swindle's the one that's got to deal with the fallout. As far as nightmare scenarios go, this is pretty high up on Swindle's list.

----------------------------------

Swindle only pulls his phone out of his pocket when he reaches the shadows off to the side of where rescue crews are digging through the rubble of mecha headquarters.  Digging they only started because Blurr, the face of mecha, went into that building and didn't come out.  Digging they are only continuing because they believe they've found signs of life buried in the rock.  Which is why Swindle's phone has been buzzing nonstop for the past several minutes.

He looks at the names next to the missed calls.  Shockwave.  Shockwave again.  Pharma.  Unknown number. (Shockwave?)….  The list goes on.

Swindle doesn't know how Shockwave or Pharma knows already, but they must.  Swindle's first call since Blurr disappeared under that ton of rubble had been to emergency services.  Every call since has been to call in favors, pull strings – exert as much influence as he can to keep the details of what's going on out of the news.  To keep the potential damage this could do to a minimum.

Somehow, it hasn't been enough.  Which means this situation is fast heading towards something more than what Swindle can handle on his own.

Swindle pulls a second phone from his pocket and hits the number on speed dial.

"Hello?" A voice answers within one ring of Swindle dialing.  Onslaught.  He relaxes slightly.

"You watching the news?"  Swindle skips over customary greetings, security measures – there's no time for them now.  He knows it is Onslaught on the other end of the line.  Onslaught will recognize it is him by his voice.  That much, they still have to be able to trust.

What exactly will be on the news, Swindle doesn't know.  But, it's a safe bet that at least some of the basics of the mecha attack will be broadcast.  Beyond that, it all depends on how much Swindle's contacts came through.

"Yeah.  Mecha was attacked.  They're saying no casualties, so why are you calling me?"  Onslaught asks.

"That's all they're saying?" Swindle asks in return. "No casualties?"

"That's all.  No casualties," Onslaught confirms.  "Showed some footage of the fighting.  Pretty standard stuff.  Cut in some impressive footage of Blurr's mech.  What's going on? Not that I'm not glad to hear personal confirmation you're not dead, but this line is for emergencies."

"There is one.  Shockwave."  Swindle says the name as though there's no further justification needed for why he's calling on this line.  And really, there isn't.  They had agreed to that from the start of this venture.  "He's been calling me.  Non-stop."

Swindle thinks he hears a soft curse on the other end of the line then, "Why would he care?  What's his interest?"

"Blurr," Swindle says.  "That footage, of his mech – was the actual fight.  A fight he never should have been in.  But he did it anyways because there was no other option.  He went into the building and he never came out.  He's the reason they're still here digging – the reason I'm still here."

"And the reason Shockwave's calling," Onslaught fills in.

"Yes.  Him.  And Pharma." Swindle adds.

"Pharma is a medic, you know.  With ratchet going more or less of the grid and First Aid and Ambulon tied up with Vortex he's the highest ranked medic in mecha.  It would be his job to supervise pilot injuries."  Swindle can tell even over the line that Onslaught doesn't really believe his own words.  But they need to make sure they've covered everything if they're going to stay ahead of this.

"He shouldn't know though.  I called in favors to delay the news of Blurr's status until after excavation is complete and you said yourself the news only confirmed no casualties yet," Swindle points out. "I've sent no internal communications.  Pharma shouldn't know yet.  He's too close to Shockwave.  Neither of them should know.  But they've both been calling since the collapse – within minutes of each other."

Swindle definitely hears Onslaught swear at that.  "I don't know exactly what the connection is between Shockwave and Pharma – but I don't want Pharma – or Shockwave – anywhere near this, anywhere near Blurr," he finishes.

"Blurr's alive?"  The question is stated matter-of-factly, though Swindle wouldn't have blamed Onslaught for expressing a note of skepticism.  If the man is still alive, there's no way he's walking away from this without serious injuries.  Swindle would bet every dollar in his accounts on it.

"Possibly.  There are signs of life under the rubble.  We paid Blurr to be the part of a hero for the media.  Turns out when it mattered it wasn't entirely an act.  He saved a lot of lives today – including mine."  If Blurr is pulled from that rubble alive, Swindle will give every dollar it takes from his bank account to ensure it stays that way.  They need Blurr.  More than he knows.

"I never told Blurr the truth behind why it was so important that mecha hire him," Swindle's voice drops as he says the words.

"I am not repaying what he did today by letting him find out firsthand whatever it is Shockwave does in those labs of his.  We're not going to sit back and watch the creation of another Vortex.  It was bad enough when we didn't know.  Now…. Right now, I need you to distract Shockwave and Pharma."

"How long do you need?" As Swindle had at the beginning of their call, Onslaught skips the unnecessary validation and asks the question that gets at the point.  It has Swindle breathing a sigh of relief.

"A few hours, minimum.  But I'll take anything you can give me, just stall them as long as you can.  I've got to go."  Swindle hangs up without waiting for Onslaught's reply.  A stretcher is being carried out of the ruins towards a waiting helicopter.

Swindle manages to make it onboard just before take-off.  He rides all the way to the hospital with Blurr.  Handles all the forms.  Tells the receptionists to put the bills on his card.  He knows (hopes) Blurr could do it when the time came (the man certain has the money; Swindle's been writing his checks) – but he shouldn't have to.  All Blurr should have to focus on is his recovery, and what comes next.  Blurr should have friends, family, a partner – someone to support him in this. 

Swindle knows – has known since early on in working with Blurr – that that is not the case.  He's observed enough to see that Blurr asks for help if he truly needs it, but no one just offers it to him.  Because no one knows to.  In this case, Blurr cannot ask, so Swindle manages instead.

In an ideal world, someone would stay by Blurr's hospital bed, simply so the man didn't have to wake up alone in unfamiliar surroundings with no explanations.  But this is not an ideal world.  And Swindle is not that person.  His time runs out long before then. 

Fresh blood has been spilled.  The predators are circling.  Swindle has a show to put on.  The best he can do is leave his card on the bedside table as a reminder and hope Blurr actually calls if he needs anything. 

I. LOVE THIS. SO FUCKING MUCH YOU CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE

Absolutely in love with this conspiracy thing Onslaught and Swindle have going on. Because YES. OF COURSE. Gosh this is why I love Combaticons. They’re on their own side. Whatever system they are forced to be part of - it doesn’t have full control on them. They’re doing their own thing ehehehehhehe