#inside chases ask box | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kxsagi · 3 months ago

Note

Hihihi! I just stumbled upon your blog after taking a break from Tumblr, and I adore your writing!💕

I saw that your requests are open, so I thought I'd send one! I've never done this before, lmao, so sorry if I mess something up!

I was wondering if you could write something about arguing with the BL boys and then suddenly flashing them in the middle of it, asking them if they're still mad now?

I saw that you were fine with suggestive stuff in your rules, but feel free to ignore this if it's too much! I won't ask for specific characters other than maybe Chigiri? Thank you in advance for reading this! I hope you have an amazing day!💕

“𝐧𝐨, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰”

a/n: thank you girlie, you're so sweet, have an amazing day as well! 😚

title is a meddle about reference chase atlantic girls ily

suggestive content inside!

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, ness alexis, niko ikki, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae

itoshi rin

you’re squaring up with him in the kitchen, halfway into a dramatic rant about how he never wipes down the counter after making his protein shakes.

"do you know what cleaning is, rin? do you even see crumbs or is your brain like–"

you cut yourself off, suddenly gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it up with the speed of a magician doing a card trick.

just. flash. like it’s the most casual part of your sentence.

rin freezes. his jaw clenches, his whole body goes taut like he just got sniped from a rooftop.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink.

his eye twitches like his brain is trying to keep functioning but a giant red ERROR screen just popped up in his mind.

“… did you just… what is wrong with you,” he hisses, voice low and stunned.

“you still mad?”

he looks at you like you summoned the devil. “… you are so annoying. get over here.”

he says it like a threat, but he's already reaching for you with dangerous intent.

argument forgotten. you’ve created a new problem.

isagi yoichi

you two are in the living room, arms crossed, facing off like two lawyers in a petty court show.

"you NEVER close the cereal box. it gets stale, yoichi. stale. it’s like chewing cardboard."

he’s rolling his eyes, "it’s not that deep–"

you sigh like you’re done. then, without warning, you lift your shirt and flash him like you’re unveiling a secret treasure.

it takes him exactly 1.5 seconds to process what just happened.

he literally chokes on his own spit.

“WAIT?! wait, wait, wait–”

his voice jumps three octaves. his hands flail like he’s trying to rewind reality.

“did you just–?! are you crazy?! i was–i mean, we were fighting!”

you just smile innocently. “you still mad, though?”

he’s red from the neck up, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“i-i need a timeout. a breather. some water. i–”

spends the next 10 minutes pacing in the kitchen muttering, “i’m dating a menace” with a lovesick grin, replaying the image in his head like a perv.

nagi seishiro

he’s lying on the couch, playing games, while you rant about how he left his laundry in the washer again.

“it’s gonna get moldy, sei! do you even care?! i’m not your maid!”

he groans. “too loud. i can’t hear my game.”

and that’s it. you snap.

you walk over and lift your hoodie in one swift move, flashing him right as he scores a kill.

he literally drops the controller.

“woah.” eyes locked. mouth slightly open.

he just blinks and says, “that’s not fair. now i forgot what i was mad about.”

“you weren’t mad.”

“exactly. we’re even now.”

immediately lies down with his head in your lap, face smushed against your thighs like he’s done anything productive all day.

mutters into your skin, “flash me again? i need it for my health.”

chigiri hyoma

you’re in his room, arms crossed, glaring at him for bailing on a hangout to go to the gym again.

“you didn’t even text. i sat there alone for 40 minutes–”

he tries to cut in. “pretty, i told you i had–”

you ignore him. you step closer, grab the edge of your shirt with both hands, and–

flash.

his jaw drops. his soul leaves his body.

“what the hell?!”

his face explodes in red, like he got hit by a tomato.

“what was that? was that a power move?!”

“you still mad at me?”

he swallows. hard. “… i was gonna defend myself but now i wanna marry you so i win either way.”

immediately flops onto the bed and yells into a pillow.

refuses to look you in the eye for 10 minutes.

whispers later, “i love you, but i’m never winning another argument again, am i?”

mikage reo

he’s mid-speech about how you should “just let him spoil you,” and you’re mid-speech about how “you don’t need a $500 pair of slippers.”

the room is tense. luxurious. slightly dramatic.

you interrupt yourself mid-sentence by slipping off your oversized sweater with flair, flashing him like you’re presenting a damn exhibit.

reo’s reaction is instant.

his mouth slowly curves into the cockiest, hungriest smile you’ve ever seen.

his voice drops two octaves.

“oh? that’s how we’re playing now?”

“you still mad?”

“i wasn’t mad, but now i’m incredibly distracted.”

walks toward you like a man possessed.

says dumb flirty things like, “wanna be my sugarbaby and my therapist?”

spoiler: you never finish the argument.

he wires money to your account and takes off his own shirt just to match.

kaiser michael

he’s all smug and loud, spinning around in a designer chair like he owns the universe.

you’re arguing about his ego.

“you can’t call yourself ‘a gift from god’ in front of my parents.”

he smirks. “they agreed with me.”

you stare him down. then without breaking eye contact, you pull your shirt up and flash him with zero hesitation.

he blinks once. twice. then he smirks wider.

“… oh, liebe. that was dangerous.”

leans back in his chair, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to get feral too fast.

“are you still mad?”

“no. but you’ve signed yourself up for so much trouble.”

five seconds later: you’re on his lap.

he calls you a “cheater” while whispering unholy things in german.

you never win the argument, but now neither does he.

karasu tabito

he’s being an idiot. again.

said something sarcastic. you called him out. now it’s five minutes of dumb back-and-forth in the hallway.

you sigh. “you know what?”

you reach down, pull up your shirt, and flash him like you’re changing the subject on a powerpoint slide.

he gasps. no, squeaks.

stumbles backward into the wall like you just slapped him with a holy vision.

“MA’AM?!”

staring at you like you just performed a magic trick.

“you still mad?”

he shakes his head, stunned. “not mad. but i might need a moment to process this. maybe therapy.”

starts cracking jokes to cope. “was that a jumpscare or a proposal? because either way, i’m in love.”

never stops talking about it.

refers to it later as “the day he saw god.”

ness alexis

you were in the middle of a heated argument (probably about kaiser).

“why do you let him treat you like that? he’s not your boyfriend, alexis–”

“he’s not treating me badly! you just don’t understand him!”

and he’s got his hand on his chest, eyes glossy, one foot already stomping into a diva spiral.

you inhale slowly. then–

flash. shirt up. deadpan face.

he stops. dead silent. his hands freeze mid-gesture, trembling ever so slightly. eyes wide, lips parted like he just got slapped with a romance novel.

“... you’re weaponizing your chest.”

“you still mad?”

he blinks. gasps.

covers his face with both hands, voice cracking, “y-you can’t just DO THAT! i’m vulnerable!”

starts crying-laughing like a victorian wife who saw her husband naked for the first time.

he’s pacing. dramatically.

"i feel faint. lightheaded. i need to sit. or lie down. preferably on top of you. for stability."

somehow the fight ends with him in your lap.

whispers, "don’t tell kaiser. he’ll start using it against me."

niko ikki

you’re arguing about him spending 6 straight hours on his game, ignoring your texts.

“do you even remember you have a girlfriend, or is league your real soulmate?!”

he frowns, flustered. “i was in ranked! you always say you want me to do what i love–”

flash.

you just hit him with a quick shirt lift and stare him down.

his pupils dilate like he just activated his sharingan. his blue lens glasses slip down his nose. his mouth opens. closes.

he’s buffering like a video on 2G data.

“what the hell was that for?!”

“you still mad at me?”

he’s trying so hard not to look again.

“… i’m not mad, but i’m deeply concerned for my sanity right now.”

you smirk, turning away like the boss you are.

behind you, he silently clenches his fist and mutters, “i love her so much it’s ruining my life.”

texts you later from the next room: “you made me knock over my water.”

shidou ryusei

you’re in the middle of a heated argument, likely because shidou can’t take a hint.

“i’ve told you a thousand times to stop leaving your clothes everywhere!”

“i literally live here. where else am i supposed to put them?”

“on your damn body, for starters!”

he’s grinning like the chaotic gremlin he is, clearly trying to get under your skin.

you stare at him for a moment, silently deciding: this ends now.

flash.

you yank your shirt up, but keep your eyes locked on him. no warning. no hesitation.

his face goes from smirk to confusion to full-on shock in a matter of seconds.

his eyes widen, and he just... stops. his body visibly jerks back like he’s been hit by a truck.

“… what the hell?”

he snaps his head to the side like he’s trying to reset his brain, then dramatically blinks about 50 times.

“you still mad?”

his usual cocky, devil-may-care expression falls into full flustered chaos.

“… no. not anymore. but you just became my new favorite person. you wanna keep doing that, or should we keep fighting?”

he drops the argument completely and starts lowkey following you around for the rest of the day.

mutters to himself like a love-struck fool: “this is it. she’s my queen.”

proceeds to try to make you more mad for the rest of the week just to get another flash. it’s working.

itoshi sae

oh, it’s on now. sae is being sae. classic emotionally distant asshole.

you’ve been trying to get him to talk about his feelings, but he keeps brushing you off.

“stop acting like you’re some kind of unreachable god,” you snap.

“i’m not the problem here, you are,” he counters with that trademark smugness.

and just when you think you’re about to lose your mind, you don’t even flinch, you just flash him.

your shirt lifts slowly, not in a teasing way, just purely to make a point.

his whole world crashes for a split second. sae freezes mid-sentence. he blinks. his eyes widen slightly.

you watch the exact moment his composure starts cracking, the cool facade slipping just enough to reveal–

“did you just–?”

“you still mad?”

his breath catches in his throat, voice suddenly a little hoarse. “… i’m not mad, but i might be a little… distracted now.”

he clears his throat, trying to act like he’s in control, but it’s a losing battle.

“gosh, you’re insufferable,” he mutters, but there’s this shift in his tone, the way his hand instinctively reaches out toward you like he's trying to anchor himself.

you can tell he's so turned on, but he's also mad about it.

he stares at you like you’ve just opened the gates of heaven, and he's not sure if he wants to kiss you or run from you.

you’ve won. and he knows it.

754 notes · View notes

lalo0 · 2 months ago

Text

INSIDE AESPA EP. 7┃ The Calm That Isn’t

Male reader x Karina

Word count: 6.7k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, orgasm denial, breath play, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6

The morning was quiet.

Not the soft kind. The kind that makes your thoughts louder.

Karina wasn’t in bed when I woke up. No note. No sound. Just the dent in the mattress beside me, the scent of her still clinging to the pillow.

I sat up slowly. My body ached in places I hadn’t realized I’d used. My jaw felt tight from clenching. My wrists still held the memory of her grip. The kind of soreness you earn, not regret.

I told myself I was fine.

Then sat on the edge of the bed for five minutes pretending I believed it.

The house felt different today.

Not changed—just... rearranged.

Like someone had come in while we were sleeping and moved everything an inch to the left.

Winter was in the living room, legs folded under her, scrolling through something on her phone. She didn’t look up when I passed.

Ningning was in the kitchen with a spoon halfway to her mouth and a box of cereal cradled in one arm like a newborn. She glanced at me once—just enough to register I existed—then went back to her bowl.

“Morning,” she said around a mouthful.

“Hey.”

She swallowed. “Karina let you sleep in?”

I raised an eyebrow.

She smirked. “No reason. Just surprised you’re walking straight.”

I didn’t answer.

I found Karina in a small room with only a couch and a window. Not on her phone. Not reading. Just sitting—one leg crossed over the other, staring out the window like she was calculating something she wasn’t going to say out loud.

She didn’t look over when I entered.

“Morning,” I said.

A beat. Then: “Hey.”

No tension. No edge. Just... calm.

Like something had shifted between us, and for once, neither of us was trying to wrestle it back.

I sat beside her. Not close. Just within reach if either of us decided to bridge the gap.

She leaned her head back against the wall. Closed her eyes for a second.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure.”

Another pause. No eye contact. Just the window and her own thoughts.

“How do you stop acting like you're fine all the time?”

I didn’t say anything.

She opened her eyes again, slow. Met mine, but only for a second.

“I mean—like—I’ve been holding it together so long, I don’t know how to not.”

I let it hang there.

She glanced away. “Forget it.”

“I won’t.”

That got the smallest breath of a laugh. Just air through her nose.

Then, quieter: “I’m tired, Mylo.”

The words sat between us for a second. No drama. No weight behind them. Just truth.

I nodded slowly. “I know.”

She looked at me again. Really looked. Like she was trying to figure out how much I meant that. If I said it because I understood, or because I wanted her to think I did.

“I don’t want to be in charge all the time,” she said quietly. “Not just here. With everything. My parents. My label. The girls. You.”

That last word came slower.

I didn’t flinch. “I never asked you to be in charge of me.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I should.”

We sat in that for a minute.

The room didn’t feel heavy.

It felt clean. Like something unspoken had been scraped out of the air.

Karina sighed. Shifted. Her shoulder brushed mine.

“I don’t even know what this is,” she said. “But when I told you not to make me chase you…”

I looked over.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Just said, clear and quiet:

“I meant it. Don’t disappear.”

It was dark when I left. I didn’t run. I walked. Slow. Careful. Not looking back. The streetlights buzzed like they were about to die. Every time a car passed, I stopped breathing. It didn’t matter if the driver saw me. Didn’t matter if they didn’t. I didn’t have a bag. Just a hoodie and twenty-three dollars in ones. No plan. No destination. Just away. Away from the envelope. From the way he looked at me like he already owned the next few weeks of my life. From my mother’s silence when I told her I didn’t like him. From her not asking why. And from what I overheard the night before.

His voice on the phone, low and too casual: “Yeah, he’s quiet. Doesn’t fight. Should be easy.” I didn’t need to know who he was talking to. I knew what he meant. The couch where he used to sit still had the imprint of his keys in the cushion. I noticed that as I passed. I didn’t cry. Not because I was brave—just because I already knew what it would feel like.

I stared ahead for a long moment.

Then I said it.

“I won’t.”

She held my eyes for another second. Then nodded—barely—and turned. The door shut softly behind her. No dramatic exit, just quiet certainty.

It wasn’t the kind of silence you fight. It was the kind that invites you to sit in it, let it wrap around your ribs, and wait to see if you flinch.

Eventually, I moved. Pushed off the wall. Wandered the loop of the house once—bedroom to hallway to kitchen and back—just to keep from being still too long.

The others came back home before sundown.

It wasn’t loud. Just footsteps, murmurs, the thud of a bag dropped too hard. The kind of noise that means the outside world is back.

Ningning walked in first. Her phone lit her face in a pale wash, and her lips moved like she was mouthing lyrics only she could hear. She looked tired in a way she wouldn’t say out loud.

Winter trailed her. Hoodie zipped to the throat. One earbud still in, the other dangling like she forgot it. Her eyes passed over me and kept going.

Neither said anything.

They didn’t have to.

The air between them was stretched thin—tight with something I didn’t understand yet. Like a conversation had started in the car and ended too early.

I waited a beat. Then moved to the kitchen to give them space.

Ningning’s voice broke the quiet later, from the living room.

“You think she’s okay?”

She didn’t say who.

Winter didn’t answer right away.

“She’s fine,” she said eventually. “Just overthinks everything.”

Ningning didn’t push.

I didn’t ask.

Karina came out last.

She changed. Clean hoodie, leggings, towel-dried hair pulled up like she didn’t care how it dried. Her face was bare—no makeup.

She moved like someone who was used to motion. Someone who didn’t stop unless she meant to.

Her eyes met mine just once. That was all.

I nodded.

She didn’t.

But she didn’t look away either.

Giselle didn’t come out at all.

Her door stayed shut. No music. No voice. No presence.

Like she’d vanished into her corner of the house, and everyone had quietly agreed not to disturb the boundary she’d drawn.

I almost knocked once. Just to break that boundary.

But I didn’t.

Dinner happened in fragments.

Ningning reheated leftovers and ate them standing up. Winter poured a glass of juice and forgot about it. Karina opened the fridge, looked for something for a full thirty seconds, then left without taking anything.

I stood in the hallway and watched it all like I wasn’t really part of it.

Maybe I wasn’t.

Maybe they weren’t either.

They were all in the same house, breathing the same air, carrying different weights they wouldn’t name.

Later, I passed by the bathroom and heard Winter’s voice through the door.

Not talking. Singing.

Soft. Something slow. Not Korean. Not a song I knew.

It only lasted a minute. Then the water shut off.

And the silence returned.

I ended up in the kitchen again.

Leaning against the counter. Cup of water untouched beside me. Hands still. Mind not.

Karina appeared again without warning. No footsteps. Just there.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

She stood across from me, fingers curled loosely around the hem of her hoodie. Her eyes scanned the room—then settled on me like I was something she’d already decided to reach for.

“Come with me,” she said.

Her voice wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t soft either.

It was certain.

I followed her.

She didn’t lead me far—just to the back door. Slipped her shoes on without speaking, unlocked the latch with a twist, and stepped outside.

I paused at the doorframe, then pushed it open and joined her.

The air was cooler out here. Still, like the house was holding its breath behind us.

Karina walked a few paces ahead, then slowed by the fence. She didn’t sit. Just stood there, facing away, her shoulders rising with a breath she didn’t let out all at once.

She spoke without turning around.

“That thing I said earlier—about not wanting to carry everything…”

I said nothing.

She looked over her shoulder. “This is part of that.”

Then she turned to face me fully, hoodie sleeves bunched at her wrists.

“I’ve been watching the others,” she said. “Winter, Ningning… Giselle. They’re not saying it, but something’s off.”

I nodded slowly. “I heard them earlier.”

“Yeah.” Her jaw worked a little. “They were talking about Giselle.”

She finally sat down on the edge of the low bench near the back fence. I followed, sitting beside her with a few inches of space between us.

“She’s been pulling away,” Karina said. “Not just from you. From all of us.”

I didn’t respond.

“She seemed fine this morning. A little quiet, but that’s normal after a long day.” Karina ran a hand through her hair. “Then something happened while they were out. Winter wouldn’t talk about it, and Ningning… she said too much already.”

“What did Giselle do?”

Karina shook her head. “Nothing dramatic. No yelling. Just—she shut down. Didn’t say anything the whole way home. Got out of the car, went straight to her room.”

“Is that normal for her?”

“Kind of,” Karina said. “But usually, she doesn’t vanish unless she’s trying to avoid herself.”

She looked down at her hands. Twisted her fingers once. “I think she felt something today. And it scared her.”

A breeze moved across the yard, soft and dry. It carried the faintest sound from the street—a car door, maybe. Then silence again.

“She asked them something,” Karina said. “Ningning just said it was about being wanted.”

I didn’t move.

“She asked if she was being kept around for the fantasy of her.”

That sat in the air for a while.

Karina didn’t look at me when she said it.

“She didn’t mean aespa,” I said.

“No.”

That was all either of us needed to say.

Karina leaned back a little. Her hands were tucked into her sleeves again.

“She's the kind of person who’s always been wanted for the wrong reasons. Looks. Fame. Money.”

“And then she let someone get too close to the real thing,” I said.

Karina looked at me now.

“And when it got quiet,” I added, “she panicked.”

“She’s not the only one,” Karina said.

I raised an eyebrow.

Karina gave a thin smile. “You think I’m like this for fun?”

That got half a breath of a laugh out of me.

She turned her face toward the fence again. “The whole point of being strong all the time is pretending you don’t notice how tired you are.”

She didn’t say it for pity.

Just a fact.

“And now?” I asked.

She was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Now I notice.”

We sat like that for a while. Not touching. Not rushing.

Karina’s voice came softer the next time.

“I’m glad you didn’t disappear.”

“Yet.”

She smirked. “Don’t make me punch you.”

Then, with a glance that cut sharper than it should’ve:

“You’ve been holding it together a little too well,” she said “Sometimes that’s the loudest red flag there is."

I glanced at her. “You think everything’s a red flag.”

“Only when it is.”

I gave a small smile, just enough to pass for unbothered. “Maybe I’m just good at handling shit.”

Karina rolled her eyes. “That’s what people say right before they crash.”

I looked away. “I’m not crashing.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “Just said you’re holding a lot.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Who isn’t?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

She sighed, but didn’t push harder. Just leaned back against the bench and stared at the fence like it might answer something.

“I don’t need the whole story,” she said after a while. “I just… want to know you’re not white-knuckling everything alone.”

“I’m fine.”

Karina didn’t argue with me. She didn’t nod either. She just sat there. Watching me with the kind of quiet that didn’t feel like pressure—it felt like understanding trying to be patient.

I looked down at my hands. They were steady. Still.

“I’m used to this,” I said. “Being the one who stays calm.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I figured.”

“Good at not making it anyone else’s problem.”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “Sometimes that just means you stopped expecting anyone to care.”

That stung more than I wanted it to.

But I shrugged, like it hadn’t.

“Look,” I said. “I get it. You’re worried. You want to check in. And I appreciate it.”

“That’s not what this is.”

I looked over.

Karina met my eyes, firm but quiet. “I’m not checking in. I’m here. With you. That’s it.”

I didn’t respond.

But I didn’t look away either.

We sat in silence for a while.

Karina pulled her legs up onto the bench, hugging her knees. Her face looked softer in the dark. Less controlled. Less carved.

“I’m not trying to read you,” she said eventually.

“You are.”

She smiled. “Bad habit.”

I leaned back, elbows on the top of the bench. “You’re not wrong.”

“But you’re not gonna tell me anything.”

I looked at the sky. “Not tonight.”

“That’s fair.”

She let her head rest against the back of the bench, close enough that our shoulders brushed again.

“I used to think staying quiet was strength,” she said. “That being composed meant I was handling it.”

“And now?”

“I think sometimes it just means you’re scared of falling apart in front of the wrong person.”

I looked over. “You think I’m the wrong person?”

“No,” she said. “I think you don’t know if I’m the right one.”

That shut me up for a second.

Karina shifted, stretched her legs back out, one foot brushing mine as she moved.

She wasn’t looking at me anymore. Just out across the yard, the way people do when they’ve said too much and don’t want to see the reaction.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t touch her.

But I stayed.

Not as an answer.

Just as proof I hadn’t disappeared.

The silence between us had changed.

It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t thick with something unsaid.

It was waiting.

Karina’s foot still rested lightly against mine. Her head tilted back, eyes on the stretch of sky above the fence line. I didn’t need to look at her to know she was still thinking—still holding the weight of the things she hadn’t said.

And then she shifted.

Turned.

Her voice low, but clear.

“You coming back with me?”

I looked over at her.

She wasn’t smirking.

She wasn’t teasing.

She just… meant it.

No game. No pose.

Just want.

I didn’t answer. Not with words. I stood up first, waited for her to do the same.

She did.

She didn’t lead this time. Just walked beside me. Our steps soft across the grass. Through the back door, past the low light of the hallway, down the quiet corridor toward her room.

No one saw us.

Or if they did, no one said anything.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Left it half open behind her.

I closed it.

The room was still. Dim.

She turned toward me and pulled her hoodie off in one slow motion. Her t-shirt clung underneath—thin, worn-in, more sleepwear than outfit. She tossed the hoodie onto a chair, then stepped forward, close enough that I could feel the heat off her skin.

But she didn’t touch me.

Not yet.

She just looked.

“I meant it,” she said.

I didn’t ask what.

But she told me anyway.

“When I said I didn’t want to be in control of everything.”

My chest tightened—but only a little.

Still manageable.

Still quiet.

“Okay,” I said.

Then, softer: “What do you want instead?”

She stepped in, fingers finding the hem of my shirt.

“I want you.”

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t loud.

It was steady. Certain.

Like she’d waited long enough to say it clearly.

I let her lift my shirt. Tossed it aside. She kissed me once—quick, focused—then again, slower this time. And this time, it deepened fast. Her hands were on my back, gripping hard like she didn’t want to fall.

But there was no rush.

She didn’t push.

She just pressed closer.

And when she pulled back, breath slightly uneven, she looked at me like she was daring herself to go quiet again—but didn’t.

“Don’t make me tell you what to do,” she said, voice almost a whisper.

I stepped forward.

“Get on the bed,” I murmured.

She exhaled.

Relieved.

Then she moved—no words, no hesitation. Just turned, stepped backward, and climbed onto the mattress. She didn’t pose. Didn’t sprawl. Just sat on her knees in the center, watching me like she needed to see how far I was going to take it.

Her breath hitched once when I stopped at the edge of the bed.

“Lie back.”

She did.

Flat. Head tilted slightly, hair spilling over the pillow.

I climbed over her, slow and deliberate, one knee between hers, the other caging her leg. My hands pressed down on either side of her ribs, just enough weight to let her feel I was everywhere now.

“You’re not in control,” I said quietly.

Karina nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’m not in control.”

My hand came up, fingers sliding gently along her jaw. Then I let my thumb rest just under her chin, tilting her face toward mine.

“And you don’t want to be,” I added.

“I don’t,” she whispered.

Her eyes searched mine. Not afraid. Just wide, focused. Like she wanted to feel what it was like to be looked at without armor.

“You’re going to take what I give you,” I said. “And nothing else.”

“Yes.”

“No begging.”

A slow breath. “Okay.”

“No hiding.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

I kissed her—deep this time, all breath and heat and no space left between. Her legs wrapped around me instantly, hips shifting like her body already knew where it was going. But I didn’t move faster.

I slowed it.

My hand slid under her shirt, skimming her stomach, then up—slow enough to make her arch, barely enough to be cruel.

When I finally pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, she was already panting.

But she didn’t reach for me.

She waited.

Exactly how I wanted her.

I kissed her neck next. Bit lightly. Then dragged my mouth to her collarbone, pressing a hand flat to her chest just to feel her pulse jump under it.

Then I moved that hand higher.

To her throat.

Not choking. Not even tight.

Just resting there.

My thumb brushed the side of her neck, steady pressure.

Her mouth opened.

But she didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

Her eyes said it all—yes, please, don’t stop.

I applied a little more pressure—not enough to cut breath, just enough to remind her she’d given it up.

Then I kissed her again, holding her there, body under mine, voice caught somewhere in her chest.

She moaned into my mouth.

It was quiet, choked, honest.

When I pulled back, I kept my hand at her throat.

“Good girl,” I said.

Her whole body reacted.

Her nails dug into the sheets. Her knees squeezed around my hips.

I kissed her temple, then her jaw, then whispered against her ear:

“You’re going to come for me like this.”

She nodded—desperate, silent.

But I wasn’t done.

I shifted lower. Trailed kisses down her chest. Took one nipple into my mouth and sucked, slow and deep, while my other hand slid between her legs.

She gasped.

My fingers found her soaked.

I groaned softly, more for her than for me.

“You were waiting for this.”

She whimpered.

“Say it.”

“Yes—fuck—I was—”

I slid two fingers in, slow and deep.

Her back arched.

I tightened my grip around her throat—still gentle, still measured.

“Stay right there,” I said. “Don’t move.”

Her hips trembled.

But she stayed.

Exactly where I wanted her.

Every breath she took came in pieces—tight, shuddering. Her hips kept rising, chasing my hand like she couldn’t stop herself. I let my fingers stay inside her, slow, deep, curling just right to make her toes flex against the sheets.

My other hand rested at her throat again—gentle pressure, firm enough to remind her.

Her eyes were wide, lips parted, chest rising fast. Her breasts moved with every breath, soft and flushed and begging to be touched again.

I leaned down, brushed my mouth just over hers without kissing her.

“You want to lose it,” I murmured. “Don’t you?”

She gave a small nod.

“That’s not good enough.”

“I—yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I want—fuck—I want to—please—”

My fingers didn’t stop. They moved slower now. Crueler. Keeping her trapped in that ache that sits right before everything breaks.

She squirmed beneath me. Back arching. Nails clawing at the sheets like she needed something to hold on to.

“I’m right there—Mylo—please—”

“No,” I said.

Her moan cracked in the middle. Desperate. Wordless.

“I didn’t say you could.”

She tried to nod, to obey, but her thighs were trembling and her chest was flushed all the way up to her collarbones.

I leaned in again and kissed just beneath her jaw—slow and open-mouthed—then dragged my tongue along her throat where my hand rested.

“You’re doing so fucking well,” I whispered.

She whimpered like praise itself made her wetter.

“But you don’t get to finish until I say you can.”

I bit her collarbone—not hard, just enough to leave a mark.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” she choked. “I swear—I’ll wait—just—”

I cut her off with a kiss, then pulled my fingers from her slowly. She gasped—almost sobbed—at the loss, trying to grind against nothing.

But I wasn’t done.

I brought my hand to her mouth.

“Taste what I got from you.”

She wrapped her lips around my fingers without hesitation, moaning low as her tongue circled them.

“You're mine,” I said. “You get to come when I say you can. Not a second sooner.”

She nodded fast, eyes glassy with need, cheeks flushed and wet where her hair clung to them.

I pushed my hips forward, dragging the length of my cock against her folds—just enough friction, just enough slick—and then pulled back.

She cried out.

“You ready for me?”

“Please,” she breathed.

I pressed forward again—slow, grinding the head of my cock along her clit, teasing her with it, but not giving her more.

She writhed under me.

“Fuck—you’re cruel—”

“No,” I said. “Just patient.”

Then I grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head, and drove into her with one deep, solid thrust.

Her whole body arched.

A strangled sound came from her throat—half cry, half sob.

“Jesus—”

I didn’t give her a chance to recover. I pulled out, slow, then slammed back in. Again. Again. A pace she couldn’t match, only feel.

Her tits bounced with every thrust, full and soft and flushed. Her legs locked around me.

“You were made for this,” I muttered against her ear. “Weren’t you?”

“Yes—yes, I was—”

Her voice cracked again.

I tightened my grip on her wrists. Pinned her harder.

“Let go,” I said.

“I—”

“I’ve got you. Let go.”

And that’s when she broke.

She came hard.

Not with grace. Not with control. She shattered like she’d been holding it in for days—hips jerking up, breath caught, thighs trembling around my waist.

And I didn’t stop.

I kept thrusting, deep and slow, letting her ride the edge of it while she gasped through the aftershocks. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth slack, hands twitching where I still held her wrists.

“Too much,” she whispered.

I didn’t slow down.

I leaned in instead. Let my mouth brush her ear.

“That’s the point.”

She moaned—half pain, half bliss—and I kissed her temple, then her neck, while my hips kept the same pace, stretching her open again while her body pulsed around me.

She clawed at the sheets with one hand when I let go, then pulled me closer with the other like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to get away or be ruined again.

“Fuck—fuck—Mylo—”

Her voice cracked beautifully.

“I can’t—”

“You already did.”

She arched again. Full-body. Her breasts bounced with the movement, soft and flushed and still sensitive. I caught one in my hand, squeezed just right, then bent down to take it into my mouth.

She cried out.

Bit down on her own knuckle.

“Fuck—please—just slow down—”

“No.”

I kissed lower. Across her ribs. Down her stomach. Then pulled out with a wet sound that made her whimper from the emptiness.

And just when she started to breathe again, I flipped her.

Fast.

She let out a startled sound as her chest hit the bed, hands braced near the pillow, hair falling across her face. I pushed her knees apart, then leaned over her back, chest flush to her spine.

“I’m not done.”

“Fuck,” she whispered.

My cock dragged against her ass—wet, slick with her, still pulsing. I didn’t thrust in. Not yet. I just ground forward—slow and heavy— humping the curve of her body like I was building tension on purpose.

She buckled back.

I pushed her down.

“Stay.”

She went still.

My hips rolled against her again, lazy, deliberate. The fabric of the sheets rasped against her breasts. My cock pressed between her cheeks without entering, grinding slow over her soaked pussy until she was writhing again.

“You’re not in control,” I growled into her ear.

“I know.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

I kept humping her like that. Slow. Cruel. Denying both of us what we needed.

“You want to beg again?”

“No,” she whispered. “I want to be used.”

I watched her hips twitch, legs still spread wide on the bed. Her breath came in sharp gasps, thighs glistening and trembling, her ass raised slightly like her body was trying to stay open even when I denied it.

Then I sat back and said, voice low, calm, brutal:

“Show me how badly you want it.”

She looked over her shoulder, hair in her eyes, completely wrecked.

“What—?”

“You want to come?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Then work for it.”

I leaned back on my heels, grabbed her hips, and pulled her on her back—not into me, just onto my thigh. She moaned, a high breathless sound, then realized what I was doing.

Her face flushed deep.

She was still trembling when I spoke again.

“Ride my leg.”

She hesitated.

And that pause—that pause—told me everything.

She was embarrassed.

Turned on enough to be shaking, but embarrassed.

And I loved that.

“I want to watch you hump like a needy little slut,” I said. “Since that’s what you are right now.”

She let out a broken sound.

Then slowly—shakily—began to move.

Her thighs flexed as she started grinding herself against me. Not graceful. Not practiced. Just raw. Desperate. The drag of her soaked pussy against my thigh slick and hot.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “Keep going.”

She moaned, biting her bottom lip, hands clutching at my knee for leverage. Her hips rolled hard, rubbing herself fast along my thigh. Each motion left her gasping.

“Faster.”

She obeyed.

Her tits bounced wildly, sweat glistening between them, her face burning with shame and pleasure as she humped me.

“Look at you,” I said, brushing her hair back roughly. “Humping like you’ll die if you don’t come.”

“I—f-fuck—please—”

“Please what?”

“I—ahhh—I want to—please—I’m gonna—”

“No you’re not.”

She whined—loud, desperate—and kept grinding harder.

“Even if I beg?” she panted.

“Especially if you beg.”

I grabbed her jaw, pulled her face up to mine.

“You’ll come when I make you come. Not a second before.”

She nodded, legs trembling beneath her.

“I want to see you ruin yourself trying.”

That pushed her over the edge—not into orgasm, but into need. Her whole body started shaking. She moaned uncontrollably, thighs clenching around mine, mouth open in a silent cry as her clit dragged across my thigh in desperate, slick circles.

She was a mess. Humiliated. Completely under my control.

And loving it.

Her hands reached out like she needed something to cling to.

I gave her nothing.

Just my leg.

Just my voice.

“Keep humping,” I said. “And don’t you fucking come.”

She kept going.

Not because she wanted to impress me.

Not because she had something to prove.

Because she was past the point of reason—driven by the need to come, to be allowed, to be owned in the only way that would break her clean.

Her body shook against mine, thighs slick and trembling, hips grinding frantically against my leg. Her eyes were glassy, lips swollen, flushed skin glowing with sweat and need. She looked wrecked—and still she moved.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “Mylo—fuck—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” I said, gripping her ass to keep her pressed against me. “You will.”

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not.”

She sobbed—high, trembling, desperate. It wasn’t just begging anymore. It was pleading from someplace deep. Her face crumpled as her hips twitched harder.

“I’m trying,” she cried.

“I know.”

“I want to be good for you—fuck—I’ll do anything—”

“You already are,” I whispered. “But you don’t come until I say so.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, breath breaking apart into short, choking gasps.

Her rhythm faltered.

She was right there. Teetering.

I let her grind again—once, twice, hard enough to make her whole body convulse—then I grabbed her hips and lifted her off me.

She screamed.

Wordless. Raw.

Her head dropped to my shoulder. Her whole body shook.

“Why—why—”

I kissed her jaw, her temple.

“Because I’m not done with you yet.”

She was crying now—quiet tears, barely a sound—but her body didn’t pull away. It curled in tighter. Hands gripping my arms like she needed them to stay grounded.

“I can’t take much more,” she whispered.

I held her still.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “You can.”

I laid her back gently onto the bed, and climbed over her again. Her legs parted instantly, involuntarily.

“I’m gonna fuck you now.”

She nodded—shaky, wrecked.

“I want it.”

“I know.”

I lined myself up, rubbed the head of my cock along her slit, then looked her in the eye.

“You're gonna be my good girl?”

She nodded quickly, too fast, eyes wide.

“Yes. Yes, I swear—please—”

“Then take it.”

I thrust in—slow but deep. Every inch.

She screamed again, but this time it wasn’t pain or desperation.

It was relief.

Pure, overwhelming, body-shattering relief.

Her walls clamped around me like she’d been made to hold me there. Her arms wrapped around my back. Her breath caught and broke again and again as I started to move—slow and brutal.

“You’re mine,” I whispered. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours, Mylo, I’m yours—”

And then I gave her what she needed.

I drove into her like I owned her.

Because in that moment—I did.

Her legs wrapped around me, ankles hooked behind my back, locking me in. Her hands tangled in the sheets like she didn’t trust herself not to fall straight through the mattress. She met every thrust like her body was done pretending to have boundaries—just open, raw, and wanting.

“Harder,” she begged, voice cracked.

I gave it to her.

The bed creaked under us. Her tits bounced with every movement, slick and swollen, flushed all the way to the tops of her shoulders. She was moaning without rhythm now, lost in it—gripping me, pulling me, dragging me in deeper every time.

“You gonna come?” I asked.

She nodded frantically. “Please—please—I’m so close—”

“Then come.”

She did—loud, full-body, completely broken. Her thighs clenched around my hips, her mouth open in a cry that barely sounded like her anymore. Her eyes squeezed shut as her whole body seized, shaking with every pulse.

But I didn’t stop.

Not right away.

I slowed down—let her feel it all the way through, hips still moving, slow and deep, just enough to overstimulate her, just enough to make her whimper.

“Can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

She sobbed. “I—”

I grabbed her jaw, leaned in, kissed her hard.

“You’re done when I say you are,” I said against her lips. “Not when you think you are.”

She moaned into my mouth, body twitching under mine, completely surrendered.

I fucked her through it—until she went still beneath me, body limp, trembling, breath ragged.

Then I pulled out.

She whimpered at the loss, at the emptiness.

But I was already moving.

I knelt beside her, gripped her hair gently, then guided her down.

She didn’t need direction.

She took me in her mouth like she was starving for it—lips wet, mouth open, eyes still teary and glassy as she sucked me deep. Her tongue curled around the head, her cheeks hollowing as she worked me over with messy, eager devotion.

“Just like that,” I groaned. “Don’t stop.”

Her moan vibrated against my cock.

I gripped her hair tighter, started thrusting into her mouth—slow at first, then faster, deeper. She took it all, drool spilling down her chin, eyes rolling up with each thrust, hands gripping my thighs for balance.

“You look so fucking good like this,” I growled. “On your knees for me. Wrecked. Obedient.”

She whimpered around me.

I held her in place.

“Swallow it.”

Then I came.

Deep in her mouth.

Hot and thick and heavy.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just took it—eyes half-lidded, lips wrapped around me, swallowing every drop.

I held her there until I was done.

Until I could breathe again.

Then I let go.

She pulled back slowly, licking her lips, face flushed, hair a mess, chest still rising fast.

I leaned down.

Brushed a thumb across her mouth.

“You did good.”

She gave the smallest smile.

And then she collapsed back onto the bed.

Quiet. Spent. Glowing.

And this time—I lay down beside her.

No orders. No pressure.

Just calm.

The kind of calm that meant something had changed.

Not finished.

Just shifted.

For both of us.

Karina hadn’t moved much.

She was still on her back, hair splayed out, one arm draped over her stomach like she wasn’t sure what to do with her body yet. Her eyes were half-open. Her chest rose slowly with each breath.

I stayed close.

Not touching.

Just there.

The silence between us had changed again—no longer tense or waiting. Just quiet. Tired. Real.

She turned her head a little toward me.

“I know I keep saying this, but I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured.

I didn’t ask which part.

She kept going.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her voice was softer now. No command. No challenge. Just a truth spoken carefully, like it could crack if pushed the wrong way.

I looked at her.

She was still flushed. Still wrecked. But something in her face had cleared—like letting go hadn’t weakened her, just peeled something away.

“I’ve never been good at saying stuff like this,” she continued. “But... some people can be trusted.”

Her gaze met mine.

“And maybe you’re not used to that. Maybe it’s easier not to believe it. But it doesn’t make it less true.”

I swallowed, jaw tight.

She didn’t say anything else. Just looked at me. Let me sit with it.

The air was drier that day. I remember that. I was sitting on a porch. Not mine. Not anyone’s I knew. Just a porch in a neighborhood I didn’t belong in, watching the light change as evening crept in. My bag was at my feet. My arms were wrapped around my knees. I hadn’t slept in days.

Then the door creaked open. “Hey.” The voice was older. A woman. Warm. “You’ve been out here a while.” I didn’t answer. She didn’t press. Just opened the door wider. “You want to come inside?” I looked up. She didn’t flinch when our eyes met. Didn’t pity me, either. “We’ve got food,” she said. “And a couch.”

I don’t remember walking in. I remember the smell, though—something like cinnamon and laundry. There was a fan running. The TV was on, low volume. Someone else was in the kitchen, talking to a dog like it was a person. I stood near the wall like I didn’t trust any of it. “Name?” “Mylo.” She smiled. “I’m Cara. That’s Bill. You can stay a night if you need to.” “Why?” Her smile didn’t change. “Because it looks like you’ve run out of places to go.”

Back in the room, Karina was still watching me.

I must’ve drifted longer than I thought, because her expression had changed—slightly more alert now, brow just starting to knit.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. A beat too slow.

“Yeah.”

Karina didn’t press.

But she didn’t look away either.

“Some people really can be trusted,” she said again. Quiet. Like she was repeating it for both of us.

And I almost believed her.

Almost.

Karina drifted off with her hand still barely touching mine.

She didn’t say anything before she closed her eyes. Just shifted slightly, murmured something half-formed, and exhaled. One deep, steady breath—and she was gone.

I stayed there for a while, eyes on the ceiling, heart quiet but alert. Her skin was warm beside me. Her scent still clung to the sheets. It should’ve felt comforting.

It didn’t.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a good way either.

Just… muted.

Like it had happened to someone else.

After a few more minutes, I slipped out of bed.

Softly. No rush. Careful not to wake her.

I gathered my clothes. Moved like I’d done it before. Like I’d learned how not to leave a trace when I walked away.

The door clicked shut behind me.

The hallway was still.

Quiet, but not heavy. Just late.

I walked barefoot across the floor, down to the end of the hall, then into the bathroom. The fan was humming softly behind the mirror light. There was a towel hanging over the edge of the sink, still damp.

I turned on the tap. Let cold water run over my hands. Splashed my face. Let it drip.

The reflection stared back.

My eyes looked tired.

Not in the usual way.

Not the kind that sleep could fix.

I toweled off and caught the smallest mark on my collarbone—faint, red, already fading. Karina’s nails. Or maybe her mouth. Something that should’ve felt intimate.

I touched it.

Felt nothing.

No shame. No heat. No tenderness.

Just skin.

I looked at myself longer than I should’ve.

Trying to find the version of me that belonged here.

The one they thought they were getting.

The one who was stable. Useful. Capable of being wanted without breaking.

The mirror didn’t offer anything back.

Eventually, I turned off the light.

But right before I did, I caught my own expression.

I was smiling.

Not wide. Not warm.

Just practiced.

Like it was something I’d taught myself to wear.

I dried my hands. Left the bathroom.

Didn’t check if anyone was awake.

Didn’t check the time.

Just walked slowly back to the guest room and sat on the edge of the bed. My bag was still at the foot of it, half-zipped. My phone on the nightstand. Still no new notifications.

I sat there a while.

Breathing.

Not thinking.

Not feeling.

Just... sitting.

And somewhere in the back of my head, I heard Karina’s voice again.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

I blinked.

And then I told myself—quietly, carefully:

If I keep this going, they won’t ask.

And I believed it.

Enough to keep breathing.

#karina smut #aespa #aespa smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader

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moonlightwritingf1 · 6 months ago

Text

The Sweet Surprise | LN4

⋆˚✿˖° summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds Y/N's sex toy

⋆˚✿˖° pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⋆˚✿˖° word count ━━━━━━━ 2.7k

⋆˚✿˖° warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

Based on this request.

It was a quiet Friday evening in London, the sky painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun began to set. Inside her apartment, Y/N was still at work, wrapped up in her typical 9-to-5 routine. The familiar hum of her laptop screen and the rustle of papers were the only sounds filling the space. But there was something different in the air today, something she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was the way the evening light seemed to make the room feel a little warmer, or maybe it was the anticipation of the surprise she knew was coming.

Lando had always been a bit unpredictable when it came to their time together. After weeks of gentle teasing and persistent gifts, she had finally agreed to go on a date with him—six dates, to be precise. Each one had brought them closer, the chemistry undeniable, the tension palpable. Yet, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was just playing with her. She wasn’t sure whether he was serious about her or simply enjoying the chase. And as much as she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t falling for him, she couldn’t ignore the fluttering in her stomach whenever she saw him.

Tonight, she had no idea what to expect. All she knew was that Lando was coming over, and he had promised her a surprise.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

She opened the door to find Lando standing there, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. In his hands was a box, carefully wrapped with a ribbon. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he said, his voice low, yet teasing. “I brought you something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, feeling a sudden wave of curiosity. “What’s this?”

Lando grinned mischievously. “You’ll see. Open it.”

Inside the box was a cake—no ordinary cake, but the one from her favorite bakery. The one she had mentioned in passing months ago, how she rarely got the chance to have it because it was always sold out. Lando had somehow managed to secure a special order, paying extra for the bakery to make it just for her.

“You actually got it?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise. “How did you even—”

“I have my ways,” he said with a wink. “But you deserve something special. I figured this would be the perfect treat.”

Her heart warmed at the gesture. She hadn’t expected something so thoughtful. “You really went all out.”

“I would do anything for you,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “I hope you like it.”

They sat down together, savoring the rich layers of the cake, the sweetness of the moment matching the sweetness of the dessert. The conversation flowed easily, the two of them slipping into a comfortable rhythm. The tension between them was undeniable, but they both danced around it—teasing, flirting, but never crossing the line.

After they finished their cake, Y/N stood up to put the remaining slices in the fridge. As she did, Lando leaned back in his chair, watching her with that familiar glint in his eyes.

“So,” Lando said casually, leaning against the kitchen counter as he watched her put away the leftover cake. His tone was smooth, almost too casual. “Do you have the book you promised me?”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, momentarily confused. “Book?”

“Yes, the one you said I absolutely have to read,” he replied, smirking. “You said it’s in your room.''

“Oh!” Y/N’s eyes widened as realization struck. “Right. That book.”

He chuckled softly, amused by how easily distracted she was. “Where is it?”

“It’s on my nightstand,” she said, closing the fridge door. “You can grab it. I think it’s on top of the stack.”

“Sure,” Lando said, pushing off the counter and heading toward her bedroom.

Y/N didn’t think twice about it. Why would she? The book was exactly where she said it was, and her room was relatively tidy—at least, she thought it was. She turned back to the counter, wiping it down absentmindedly as her mind wandered to the cake he had surprised her with.

Meanwhile, Lando stepped into her room, his gaze immediately falling on the nightstand. The book was there, just as she’d said, but his attention didn’t stay on it for long.

Because there, on the bed, lying in plain sight, was something far more attention-grabbing: her dildo.

He blinked, taken aback for a second, before a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. Of all the things he’d expected to find, this was certainly not one of them.

“Did you find it?” Y/n called out from the kitchen, her voice carrying a casual tone as she slid the remaining slice of cake into the fridge. The sweet aroma of vanilla and buttercream lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of Lando’s cologne that seemed to follow him everywhere.

Silence.

“Lando?” she tried again, this time tilting her head toward the hallway leading to her bedroom. Her heart began to thud softly in her chest, a nervous flutter she couldn’t quite explain. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and stepped into the hallway, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor.

When she reached her bedroom door, she froze.

Lando was standing by her bed, his back to her, shoulders tense. His gaze was fixed on something on the mattress, something Y/n had completely forgotten about until now. Her dildo.

Oh God. Her stomach dropped. Heat rushed to her cheeks, spreading down her neck and across her chest. How could I forget? Earlier that day, after a particularly steamy session in the shower, she’d left it there, too lost in her own thoughts to remember to put it away.

“Uh…” she started, her voice barely audible. “I can explain…”

Lando turned slowly, his blue/ green eyes darkening as they met hers. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it wasn’t mocking—it was hungry. “Explain what?” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off a spoon. “That you like to keep things… handy?”

Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, trying to will away the embarrassment. “It’s not what you think,” she muttered, though even she knew how weak that sounded.

Lando took a step closer, his fingers brushing against the edge of the bed. “Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper. Something raw. He picked up the toy, turning it over in his hands as if inspecting it. “Impressive size,” he added, his smirk widening. “Guess you don’t settle for less, huh?”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Could you not?”

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Why? Embarrassed?” He closed the distance between them, stopping just inches from her. His free hand reached out, gently tugging one of hers away from her face. “You shouldn’t be.”

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that made her breath catch. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, searching his for any hint of judgment. But all she found was… desire.

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers. “Do you really think I care about that?” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “If anything, it just makes me wonder… What else are you hiding behind that tough-girl act of yours?”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. This was dangerous. Too dangerous. She’d spent months keeping him at arm’s length, convincing herself he wasn’t serious, that he didn’t see her the way she secretly hoped he did. But now, with him so close, with his words unraveling her defenses, she wasn’t sure she could hold back anymore.

“I’m not hiding anything,” she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Bullshit,” he said bluntly, his tone firm yet gentle. “You’re always hiding, Y/n. Behind your sarcasm, your independence, your I-don’t-need-anyone attitude. But I see you. I always have.”

Her breath hitched. No one had ever talked to her like this, stripped her bare with just a few words. It terrified her. And yet…

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “And what if you don’t like what you see?”

He paused, his expression softening. Slowly, he set the toy down on the nightstand and cupped her face in his hands. His touch was so tender, so genuine, it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “I already do,” he said, his voice steady. “Every single part of you.”

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as she searched his face, looking for any sign of deceit. But there was none. Just honesty. And something else… something that made her knees weak.

“Lando…” she breathed, her resolve crumbling.

He didn’t wait for her to finish. His lips crashed onto hers, the kiss fierce and hungry, as if he’d been holding back for far too long. Y/n gasped into his mouth, her hands instinctively clutching the front of his shirt. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers, and she melted into him, every thought, every doubt, vanishing in an instant.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Lando rested his forehead against hers. “Stop running from me,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Let me in.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body trembling with the weight of his words. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But fear still lingered, clawing at the edges of her mind.

“What if I’m not enough for you?” she asked, her voice breaking.

He pulled back slightly, his hands still cradling her face. “You already are,” he said firmly. “You always have been.”

She searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity. For the first time in months, maybe even years, she let herself believe it.

“Okay,” she whispered.

His lips curved into a soft smile, and he kissed her again, this time slower, more tender. Their bodies pressed together, heat building between them, until neither of them could think straight.

“Bed,” Lando murmured against her lips, his voice husky.

She nodded, her heart racing as he guided her backward, their movements clumsy yet frantic. When the back of her knees hit the mattress, she fell onto it, pulling him down with her. He hovered above her, his eyes burning with desire as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you dare.”

Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a searing path of heat as his fingers gently traced the curve of her waist. Y/n’s breath hitched, her mind still reeling from the intensity of their kiss. She could feel the weight of him above her, the warmth of his body pressing into hers, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

His hand slid lower, brushing against her thigh, and she instinctively parted her legs, inviting him closer. But instead of continuing where she expected, Lando pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with mischief as he glanced toward the bed. Her cheeks flushed when she realized what—or rather, who—he was looking at.

The dildo. Still lying there, shamelessly exposed.

“So…” Lando drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Is this how you spend your Friday nights?”

Y/n groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my God, can we just forget about that?”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Why would I want to forget?” His fingers brushed over her wrist, prying her hands away from her face so he could look into her eyes. “I think it’s hot.”

Her heart raced at his words, and she bit her lip, unsure how to respond. Hot? The idea of him finding something like that attractive made her stomach flip in the most delicious way. But before she could say anything, Lando reached for the toy, holding it up between them with a smirk.

“You know,” he said, his tone dripping with playful confidence, “I could give you a much better experience than this.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as she processed his words. “W-what are you saying?”

Instead of answering, he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Let me show you.”

A wave of heat surged through her, pooling at her core. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, all she could do was nod weakly as Lando moved down her body, his hands trailing along her skin. He pushed her dress higher, exposing her thighs, and she tensed slightly, her nerves getting the better of her.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soothing despite the wicked grin on his face. “Just let me take care of you.”

She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears as she watched him position himself between her legs. His gaze locked with hers, and he held up the dildo, his expression daring her to stop him. With deliberate precision, he slid her panties to the side, exposing her to him fully. But she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. The anticipation was too intense, the desire too overwhelming.

When the cool silicone touched her bare skin, she gasped, her hips arching instinctively. Lando’s free hand pressed against her hip, holding her steady as he teased her with the toy, tracing slow, deliberate circles around her most sensitive spot.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough with need.

All she could manage was a whimper, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. The sensation was maddening, every touch sending jolts of pleasure through her body. And then, just as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he pressed the tip of the dildo against her entrance, slowly pushing it inside.

Her back arched off the bed, a moan escaping her lips as she felt herself stretching to accommodate it. Lando’s eyes never left her face, watching intently as he began to move it in and out, setting a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her head falling back against the pillow. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before—the coldness of the toy contrasting with the heat of his touch, the way he seemed to know exactly how to move to drive her wild.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Lando murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “Completely undone.”

She opened her eyes, locking gazes with him, and saw the raw desire in his expression. It sent a thrill through her, knowing that she was the one who had put that look on his face. Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him down for a bruising kiss.

Their lips clashed together, messy and desperate, as he continued to work the dildo inside her. The dual sensations were almost too much—the deep, filling pressure of the toy combined with the soft, insistent movements of Lando’s tongue against hers.

“More,” she begged against his mouth, her voice trembling with need.

He obliged without hesitation, increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts until she was writhing beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders. Every nerve in her body was alight, every inch of her skin on fire. She could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I-I’m close.”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his tone firm yet tender. “Let go.”

And just like that, she shattered. Pleasure exploded through her, white-hot and all-consuming, as her body convulsed around the toy. Lando held her through it, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she rode out the waves of ecstasy.

When she finally came down, her chest heaving and her limbs boneless, Lando set the dildo aside and shifted to lay beside her. He brushed her damp hair from her face, his eyes soft with affection.

“See?” he said, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. “Told you I’d do better.”

She laughed breathlessly, her cheeks flushing again. “Okay, fine. You win.”

“Good,” he replied, leaning in to capture her lips in another kiss. This one was slower, more tender, but no less passionate. When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with mischief once more.

“But don’t think for a second I’m done with you yet.”

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twijaxx · 2 months ago

Text

tw: period sex, breeding, occ kaiser, female reader, unprotected sex, begging(?) blood(obviously) smut

my requests are open btwww

It was supposed to be a normal day, you woke up all happy thinking about the date you are supposed to have with Kaiser later that day. But you were mistaken, your body had other plans for today, your period came.. and it was one of the strongest kind..

“Man fuck the word.”-you thought, scrunching up in bed. Your back is about to break, your uterus is straight up taking boxing classes on the rest of your organs in that area. With the rest of your strength you reached out for your phone and un locked it.

“Baby, i won’t be able to make it today… I’m so sorry, i’m bleeding out like a fountain and my tummy hurts. If you want u can come over and spend some time with me at home. i’m srs sorry”

“omw liebling”

Well.. that was quick, you thought Kaiser would be mad at you, after all he got a little temper but he doesn’t seem mad.. does he?? While you were thinking you heard keys ruffle besides the door to your apartment.

“Schatz, don’t worry it’s me!” -he said as he quickly entered your apartment and then your room. You still were in your bed holding your stomach like it was about to run away.

“Do you need something? painkillers? tea? food??? Wait don’t even answer, i will be right back.” oh?! this was kind new, kaiser never acted like this but you didn’t mind, it was nice.

After a while he came back with a cup of tea, painkillers and scrambled eggs (🤤) He reached out and handed u the painkillers and brought the cup of tea to your lips.

“Be careful, it’s hot” -he said. You swallowed the painkillers and slowly started to eat your food, as Kaiser just stared at you like he wanted to ask you smth, like you owed him something now.

“What is it?? you’re staring at me” - you asked him, unsure what he would respond but after all it couldn’t be that bad right??

“I- Can i fuck you?” What did he just say?!!?? “i heard that it can relieve some part of the pain. I don’t want u to be in pain”

You would never! thought Kaiser was into this kind of stuff.. but after all you’re laying on your bed with towels beneath you, as he rubs his tip against your lips in slow circular motions.

“Kaiser.. stop teasing.. please” -you said, your voice barely above a whisper because of how embarrassed you were. You didn’t have to ask him twice tho.. he lined up his tip with your hole and trusted forward entering you whole which caused you to moan out his name. You where so much hotter and much more sensitive then usually.

“Shit- you are so hot and tight, warum habe ich das nicht früher gemacht”

After he made sure you were comfortable he started moving. As he was slowly pulling out he saw his dick covered in your blood, god he could cum just from the sight of this and you realized that because he was twitching inside of you like a virgin.

“Scheiße, Engel, ich liebe dich. Ich liebe dich, ngh~ du ziehst mich so in deinen Bann, ich weiß nicht, wie lange ich durchhalten werde.” What was he talking about?? at this point Kaiser was completely! pussy drunk and it’s only been like 5 minutes since he putted it in.

His thrust grew sloppier and the grip on your hips tightened, you could feel similar knot forming in your clit as he abused your sweet spot.

“ich werde kommen! oh mein Gott, mghhh~~ are you gonna cu-m with me? please, please Komm mit mir!” Hearing him beg made you clench around him even tighter then usually. He never begs, he orders, he’s mean and he always control his emotions while you two have sex, but now? he’s too far gone to even think normally with how warm your insides are.

“Oh shit! Kaiser- ahh! ahh~ i’m gonna- cummingimcummingkaiserkaiseriloveyou!!” Your mind went blank for a moment, while he was still thrusting in you, chasing his own release. Overstimulating you in the same time with how fast he was going. Tears streamed down your cheeks while his grip on your waist bruised your porcelain skin.

Soon after, he splurged his seed deep inside of you thrusting his hips couple more times to get down down from his high. Once he pulled out he saw his cum mixed up with your blood creating this somehow pink substance.

“i’m gonna go grab a wet towel, wait here” U looked at his back as he walked out of your room, but what you didn’t see was that he was hard again.. after what he just witnessed.

Translation (sorry if it’s wrong i’m not german😭)

warum habe ich das nicht früher gemacht = why didn’t I do this sooner?

“Scheiße, Engel, ich liebe dich. Ich liebe dich, ngh~ du ziehst mich so in deinen Bann, ich weiß nicht, wie lange ich durchhalten werde.” = "Shit, angel, I love you. I love you, ngh~ you have me so under your spell, I don't know how long I'll last."

“ich werde kommen! oh mein Gott, mghhh~~ are you gonna cu-m with me? please, please Komm mit mir!” = "I'm going to cum! Oh my God, mghhh~~ Are you going to cum with me? Please, please, come with me!"

YALL MISSED ME, RIGHTTT???I MISSED YALL TOO i was gone for so long and im delivering this filthy work I HOPE YALL ENJOY THO. now im disappearing again!! byeeee!!

Tags: @iqxatlantic

#blue lock #bllk #michael kaiser fic #michael kaiser fanfic #kaiser michael #michael kaiser smut #kaiser smut #blue lock fic #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock smut #bllk smut #michael kaiser #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #reader x character #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser headcanons

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bassguitarinablackt-shirt · 1 year ago

Note

Uh I feel like you should know.

I counted my rp blogs and.

36 total.

You may boil me.

i don't even have the words to describe my disappointment in you.

#inside chases ask box #percys boiling pot

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slvbum · 7 days ago

Text

LITTLE CEO ♡ Rafe Cameron!

content WARNING: Rafe Cameron × Bunny!Reader marriage, Marie being just like her father.

Lately, she’d been on a mission.

Marie Thérèse, was growing fast, and Y/N wanted to keep her away from sugary, processed snacks. She’d spent weeks perfecting healthy recipes; chocolate oat cookies with creamy peanut butter filling, crispy cacao nib bites, and soft almond flour cookies, all naturally sweetened with mashed bananas or dates.

Y/N hummed softly, glancing at the garden where Marie played with Snowball. She smiled, but little did she know, her daughter had other plans for those cookies.

It was a quiet afternoon when Y/N noticed something odd. While tidying Marie’s room, she found a small, seashell-covered box tucked under the bed. Curious, she opened it and froze. Inside were a handful of coins; quarters, dimes, even a crumpled dollar bill. Y/N’s brow furrowed. Neither she nor Rafe gave Marie pocket money; she was only four, far too young for allowances.

Where had this come from?

“Marie, sweetheart?” She called, her voice soft as she stepped into the backyard. Marie was giggling, chasing Snowball through the lavender Y/N had planted. “Can you come here for a second?”

Marie bounded over, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, Mommy?”

Y/N knelt down, holding the shell box gently. “Where did you get these coins, baby?”

Marie shrugged, her tiny shoulders bouncing as she twirled a blade of grass. She didn’t look up, focused on her toys scattered nearby.

“I sell cookies,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N blinked, her smile faltering. “Sell cookies? What do you mean, Marie?”

Marie plopped onto the grass, grabbing her stuffed goose to cuddle. “My friends at school love your cookies, Mommy. I take some in my lunchbox, and they give me coins for ‘em. Emma gave me two quarters for a choc’late one yesterday!”

She beamed, proud as could be.

Y/N’s mouth parted. Her sweet daughter was running a cookie empire at preschool? She stifled a laugh, her cheeks flushing as she imagined Marie’s tiny hands exchanging cookies for coins.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured, brushing a curl from Marie’s face. “You’re selling Mommy’s cookies?”

“Uh-huh!” Marie nodded, already distracted by Snowball hopping nearby. “They say they’re the bestest.”

Y/N’s heart swelled, but her mind raced.

How had she not noticed Marie sneaking extra cookies?

That night, after Marie was tucked into bed with a story about a magic goose and castles, Y/N slipped into the bedroom she shared with Rafe. He was already in bed, scrolling through his phone. Her nerves fluttered as she sat beside him, her hands twisting in her lap.

“Rafe?” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not going to believe what Marie’s been up to.”

He set his phone down, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

“What’s our girl done now?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. He reached out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her cheek. “Spill, bunny.”

Y/N blushed at the nickname, her heart doing its usual flip.

She recounted the discovery of the shell box, the coins, and Marie’s casual confession about selling cookies at school. “She’s been taking the cookies I make and trading them for quarters! Her friends love them, apparently.”

Rafe’s head tilted back, and a deep, rumbling laugh filled the room.

“You’re kidding me,” he said. “Our baby’s out here hustling? Fuck—she’s a genius, just like her dad.” He leaned forward, grinning. “How much she make?”

“Rafe!” Y/N swatted his arm, her cheeks pink. “Don’t encourage her! She’s too little for this. I mean, I’m glad her friends like the cookies, but… selling them? I didn’t even know she was sneaking extras out of the jar.”

Rafe pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her waist.

“Come on, bunny, you gotta admit it’s impressive. She’s got my business sense and your persuasiveness. That’s a dangerous combo.” He chuckled, kissing her temple. “What’d she say when you asked her?”

“She just shrugged and kept playing,” she said, a fond smile creeping onto her face. “Said her friends think they’re the ‘bestest.’ I don’t know whether to be proud or mortified.”

“Proud,” Rafe declared. “She’s smart as hell. Bet she’s got a whole pricing strategy worked out in that little head of hers.” He paused, his grin softening. “Sounds like she’s got your charm, too. No one can resist those cookies—or you.” Her blush deepened, and she ducked her head, fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown.

“Stop it,” she mumbled, though her smile betrayed her. “I just… I wanted her to eat healthy, not start a black-market cookie ring.”

Rafe laughed again, pulling her onto his lap.

“She’s a Cameron. Can’t help it—big ideas run in the family.” His voice softened, his hand resting on her cheek. “You’re doing an amazing job. Those cookies are magic, and Marie knows it. She’s just… spreading the love.”

Y/N sighed, leaning into his touch. “I suppose. But we need to talk to her. She can’t keep selling things at school without us knowing.”

“Deal,” Rafe said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I’m buying her a piggy bank tomorrow. Gotta support my little CEO.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun — written with love.

#slvbun #MommyBunny!Reader #marie₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #outer banks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine

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mononijikayu · 15 days ago

Text

nanami kento had been thinking about this for a long time. perhaps longer than he’d ever admit aloud. the idea had crept in during late nights alone at his desk, when the office was silent and the city lights cast tired shadows across the floor.

it was foolish, he told himself. improper. but it stayed with him. you knew. of course, you did. that was the kind of intimacy marriage gifted you over time. it was not just knowing his routines or favorite tea, but the shape of his silence. the way his beautiful caramel eyes flickered toward the door when you visited.

the subtle tension in his jaw when your fingers brushed his shoulder as you leaned over his desk. you could read the thoughts he didn’t say, the ones he buried under duty and restraint.

so you suggested it to him in great detail. this morning. over breakfast. just after he kissed your temple and straightened his tie, resignation letter tucked into the inside pocket of his coat.

“if you’re really leaving, baby......” you said softly, to him. almost like a purr. “we should say goodbye to the place properly.”

he didn’t answer at first. he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. then something shifted in his expression. the faintest nod at you. so he waited for you at his office, over lunch. his last ever lunch delivery from you in this place.

now, in the hush of his office, the door clicking shut behind you, it feels like the air itself holds its breath. the lunch box was all but discarded in the corner of the room, abandoned. all his attention now was on you. he turns to you, eyes darker than usual. he was hungry for you.

“you sure about doing something like this?” he asked, his voice low.

you step toward him slowly, closing the space between you. “you’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

his jaw tightens. “i didn’t want to ask.”

you smile, hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. “you didn’t have to.”

in two strides, he’s in front of you, pulling you into his arms, kissing you like he’s making up for all the times he told himself he couldn’t. his mouth is warm, hungry. you melt into him, fingers gripping the front of his shirt as his hands slide down your back.

“you’re going to miss this place, aren't you?” you whisper between kisses.

he breathes a soft laugh against your lips. “only this moment. only you. everything else can burn.”

your back meets the edge of the desk as he presses you gently against it, lips trailing down to your neck. his hands are everywhere. it was all measured, reverent, yet maddened and desperate. all too urgent for the desire. like he’s chasing time.

“you’ve been patient with me, baby.” he murmurs, voice rough now. “more than i deserve.”

you run your fingers through his hair, guiding his face back to yours. “kento.”

he meets your gaze. he was steady. but he was truly losing himself in this. he was serious, now that you had given him the go to make love to you like this. yet it was like this means more than either of you can say. being together like this without a care for the world for the first time in a long time.

“let me have this, baby.” he whispers. “here. with you. before i let it all go.”

you nod, so readily and so willingly. you let out a hot breath. “it’s already yours. always and forever.”

and then he kisses you again, deeper this time. it was anchored in the ache of the many nights of parting. and now the relief of release, and the quiet fire that only lovers who’ve walked through years together can create.

he walked you backwards until your legs hit his desk, then lifted you onto it, stepping between your spread thighs. he broke the kiss, his hands sliding up your skirt, his fingers brushing against your core through your panties.

"you're already wet." he murmured, his voice husky with need. "were you thinking about this all day?"

he pressed a thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow circles, making you gasp. you nodded, almost too desperately as your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. he snickered at the sight of you.

"i was imagining you bending me over your desk for a while." you confessed, your cheeks flushed. "taking me right here, where anyone could walk in and see."

kento's sweet caramel eyes flashed with heat at your confession, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and rough.

"and what if someone did walk in?" he murmured. "would that turn you on? knowing they could see me fucking you, claiming you on my desk?"

his other hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt up around your waist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside. your husband slipped a finger inside you. then another. then more. until you were already too full of him to even understand what was going on.

you couldn't help but continue groaning at the feeling of your wetness enveloping him, eagerly blessing him with the same desire as his. you tried to push back, trying to meet his finger's thrusts. but with your husband's speed, it was deliciously impossible.

"fuck, you're so ready for me, aren’t you?" he breathed, pumping his fingers in and out.

he pushed deeper and deeper, preparing you for his cock. he kissed you again, hard and demanding, swallowing your moans as he fingered you faster. he broke the kiss suddenly, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his lips.

kento sucked your juices off his long fingers, his hunter's eyes never leaving yours. you tasted too sweet for him. and he just cannot get enough of it. he silenced you with a kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. when he pulled back, his eyes were dark, intense.

"answer me." he demanded, his grip on your hips tightening. "are you my good girl?"

you swallowed hard, your heart racing fast with lust and excitement. you knew what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. what pulls the strings. you nodded, your voice barely a whisper.

your flustered face was beautiful to him, as he watched you struggle to get the words out of your mouth as you moaned little by little, glistening sweat. your husband liked you like this, being a goddess letting him worship.

"yes, kento. ah, ah.....my love, my husband…..i'm your good girl."

he smiled at you, with a wicked, smile that sent shivers down your spine. you felt even more excited. and once more, wetter than you probably were before. desire burned the great furnace down.

"good."

he unbuckled his belt, unzipping his pants, freeing his hard cock. it sprang out, long and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your folds.

"if you make a sound, i'll stop." he whispered, his voice a cruel promise. "and we both know you don't want that, do you? everyone likes to take their lunch in their cubicles. you don't want them coming in to watch us, no?

you shook your head frantically, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation. your husband smirked down at you, knowing he had you right where he wanted you. here on his desk, laying beautiful for him.

"nod if you understand, baby." he commanded, his grip on your hips tightening.

you nodded, biting your lip to hold back a moan. satisfied, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. he paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his beautiful lustful eyes locked with yours.

"good girl, pretty." he groans against you. “you’re way too good.”

“ken….my love, oh my goddddd.......” you felt him in your throat, almost immediately. you felt so full of him. “y–you’re….fuckkkkk.”

kento began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. each thrust drove him deeper, hitting spots that made you see stars. it drove you to the edge of insanity, of all the pleasures known to man.

he leaned over you, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, caging you in full of him over and over again. you were choking up in moans with every in and out, busting the wind in your lungs into nothing.

you tried to keep up with him, but all it led to was crying and wailing with tears, letting the pleasure pouring out of your bitten lips in quiet moans and groans over and over again.

he kissed you fiercely, swallowing your cries of pleasure, his hips snapping forward with a force that shook the desk. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he growled against your lips, his pace becoming erratic, his control slipping. kento all but reached between you, his long fingers once again finding your clit, rubbing firm circles. faster than he had done earlier.

that was all it took to push you over the edge. you bit your lip hard, to the point it was feeling a little bit bruised by the end. you could feel your muffled your scream in your ears as your orgasm crashed over you.

your inner walls clamping down around him, hard. you were sure that you could almost taste paradise, you could clearly see the stars in the heaven that he just given you joyously. if this was the afterlife, it was shining with pleasure you were enjoying too well.

kento followed soon after, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside you with a guttural groan. he collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

you lay there, wrapped in his arms, your heart racing. you could feel your entire body trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm. he got you good this time too, you fear. he lifted his head, looking down at you, his eyes soft and satisfied.

"you did so well, my good girl." he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "so quiet, so obedient."

"only for you, my love." you promised him, giggling.

"well, i'm a mortal thanking his beloved goddess with all her love."

"hm, you better."

he laughs soundlessly as he pulled out of you slowly, his softening cock slipping free. he tucked himself back into his pants, then helped you sit up, straightening your skirt.

"are you sure you're okay?"

you nodded at him. "my legs feel like jelly but i can walk. i can rest at home, surely."

"hm, i'll massage your legs when we get home." he promises to you, as he kisses your jaw. "but wait, don't move. i have to help clean you. sit tight."

"thank you, my love."

"no thanking me, baby." he tells you, as he starts to get water from his mini fridge and then the tissue from his drawer. "i should always be taking care of you, no?"

"i love you so much."

he smiles back at you. "i love you too. now, let me take care of you."

that's what he does. kento makes sure you drink the water he got first while he grabbed some tissues and gently cleaned you up, his touch reverent and gentle.

he helped you off the desk soon after that, steadying you when your legs threatened to give out. he straightened your clothes, smoothing your hair, making sure you looked presentable. he grabbed your purse, handing it to you, his beautiful caramel eyes never leaving yours.

he took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, a small smile playing on his lips. he presses a small kiss on the corner of your mouth. you gave him a small smile.

"i love you so much." you whisper to your husband. "with all that i am."

"i love you too." he smiles, kissing your bruised lips. "very very much."

"hm, i like the sound of that."

"let's go home." he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "i don't wanna stay in this place anymore."

he led you out of the office, through the now empty halls, his hand never leaving yours. he stopped at the elevator, pressing the button, waiting for the doors to open. he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist, his lips brushing against your ear.

"can you....."

"if you want round two, i'm all in." you whisper to him, looking up at his precious caramel eyes. "but you have to carry me all around the house. my legs will be out of commission for a while."

"well since i'll be jobless for a while, the least this new house husband can do is be his wife's personal carrier." he says, kissing your neck causing you to giggle. "i'll do everything you want, baby."

"hm, i know."

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fandom-go-round · 2 years ago

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Realizing They're in Love: Reader x BG3

Warnings: Implied Internal Trauma, Personal Relationship Issues, Gross Stuff like Falling in Love

Astarion:

He argues with himself for a long time before love comes to mind. It’s bad enough that he’s starting to like you but love? That’s just going to make things even harder. Astarion feels like the more he tries to talk himself out of it, the worse it gets. You corner him after dinner one night and he smiles, turning up the charm. You ignore his nervousness, giving him a simple wooden box. He immediately fills with dread; you want something. Of course you do. He’s not expecting there to be a book inside, the next one in the series he’s reading. You assure him that you don’t want anything in return, giving him a gentle smile before heading to your own tent. His heart thunders in his chest, fingers trailing over the cover. He’s not in love, Astarion tells himself as he goes to start the book. He can’t be but… if he is, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. Not with you.

Gale:

He’s not against falling in love per say, Gale just isn’t looking. Honestly he’s not. This is more social interaction than he’s had in years and he’s not trying to fuck it up, thank you very much. That doesn’t mean he can’t forget himself, especially when you start asking him questions about magic. Gale loves magic most of all and he only realizes he’s been ranting after twenty minutes. He winces, scolding himself mentally and turns to you. You’re both sitting on the floor of his tent, sipping tea in the early afternoon. He fully anticipates that you’re going to half awake, bored to tears and doing something else. Instead, you’re staring at him with rapt attention, eyes bright and small smile on your face. When he’s silent for too long you ask him to keep going, asking if he’ll keep explaining. Gale is more than happy to continue, something warm in his chest. He hopes that you’ll keep looking at him that way even after he stops talking. And you do.

Halsin:

Loud barks and hoots draw Halsin’s attention, the druid looking up from his papers. You’re a bit away from camp, Scratch and the owlbear cub playing with you. The three of you are chasing each other and wrestling, the cub slamming into the back of your knees. Halsin watches you go flying before laughing and grabbing the cub as best you can. You half swing him around, Scratch barking as you send his friend flying. The owlbear cub gives a roar, rolling through the grass and you laugh, chasing after the dog now. Halsin can’t help but smile; you’re so kind of everyone around you and he enjoys that you can relax. He hasn’t been ignorant to the feelings developing in his chest, just focusing on different things. The warmth he feels only grows as he watches you and he vows to talk about it. Halsin is sure he recognizes the looks you send him; he just needs to find the right time.

Karlach:

She realizes she’s in love after a tough fight. Her blood is still pumping and she wants more enemies to show up so she can have an excuse to go wild. You’re joking around with Wyll on the other side of the battlefield, the warlock turning to say something to you. You offer a smile and begin to hike up the slope and trip. Karlach watches in slow motion as you land hard on your ass, sliding down mud straight into the river. Wyll is frozen on the edge of the bank and she quickly makes he way over, worried that you’re injured. By the time she gets over there, you’re laughing loudly, head thrown all the way back. Her heart skips a beat; you’re covered in blood and mud and all sorts of gunk but all she can see is the right smile on your face. She’s in love.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel doesn’t call it love. It’s admiration, respect for your skills. There are very few people she would follow verses leading herself and she admits that you’re good at it. She also enjoys the sex and that’s always a bonus. The sun is just beginning to go down and you stop on the edge of a cliff to watch. Lae’zel turns to scold you (the group needs to get back to camp) but she’s struck by your figure. You look like a painting, noble and steadfast. Your face is determined but not tense, taking in the sunset. There’s something in your eyes, something softer than she expects and it takes her breath away. She swears to herself and turns away, missing the affectionate look you send her. She’s doesn’t call it love, even if deep, deep down she wishes she could.

Shadowheart:

Night has finally fallen on a long, long day. Shadowheart is thankful that you’re the one with her on first watch tonight; your silence isn’t looming as she prays and the sound of sharpening blades is soothing. There isn’t the need to fill the silence with noise and it feels calm in a way that’s unfamiliar. Usually she finds the night comfortable but cold, like an winter breeze. You’re like the night but warm, a balm on an open wound. She smiles as she watches you, not looking away when you meet her eyes. You smile and she’s filled with affection, even as her hand throbs. The pain is worth it; you make her feel truly seen.

Wyll:

You’re crouched by a small cave, voice low and arm outstretched. The group had just finished a fight, a camp overrun with bandits. Wyll scowled to himself, looking over the bodies strewed over the ground. The people had been innocent and he wished he had been faster. Movement catches the corner of his vision and he turns, watching as, slowly, a child comes out of the cave. They’re covered in dirt and blood but you smile and they take you hand. Wyll can’t the stop the soft look from coming onto his face as you begin the check for wounds. The world can be a dark place but you give him hope; it’s more than he deserves.

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dakusan · 28 days ago

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How They Court You (Vampire Seduction 101)

Vampire!SKZ OT8 x Reader | eight vampires. eight courtships. and every quiet, calculated way they make being chosen feel like fate.

🌹synopsis: Welcome to Vampire Seduction 101. This isn’t a love story. It’s a field guide for how they choose you, study you, orchestrate you. Not all vampires hunt with fangs. Some use flowers. Letters. Custom playlists. Some knock. Others already have your keys. Every profile begins with a courtship style. They don’t fall in love. They fall into you. And build the cage from inside your chest. You call it seduction. They call it already done.

💌a/n: okay. LISTEN. first of all—i’m sorry for the first version. i don’t know what spell i was under. i thought i was writing vampire seduction and somehow ended up with ✨vampires but make it porn✨. it didn’t fit. it didn’t breathe right. this version? better. because vampire courtship actually is not sex. not chaos. it is ritual. precision. obsession dressed in quiet affection. i wanted to make it NSFW originally but that’s not what this is. i really hope this version is much better and you enjoy it more. thank you for being patient. i hope it lives in your chest cavity the way it’s living in mine 💋🦇. p.s. if this one hit different—slower, sharper, deeper—reblog it. let me know the ritual worked. p.p.s. tell me your favorite vampire. i’m collecting data. for science. or stalking.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Paradise — EXO « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

🩸 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 // Abnormal | The Leader

Composed. Relentless. Devotion built like a fortress around you.

Courtship Style: Chan doesn’t flirt. He fortifies. He doesn’t chase. He chooses. And once you’re chosen—everything changes.

You don’t notice it at first. The second cup of coffee on your desk. The way your groceries never seem to run out. The warm hoodie folded on your couch that you swear you didn’t leave there.

You start dreaming of him before you ever see him. And when you do? It’s in passing. At night. Always near a streetlamp. Always watching.

He never says too much. Never touches. But his voice? Low. Measured. Gentle like a lullaby made of steel.

“Let me walk you home.” “You shouldn’t be out this late.” “I noticed your lights were off for three days. Were you sick?”

He calls it concern. You call it comfort. But it’s ownership, waiting to bloom. Chan learns you like a blueprint. He catalogues your sighs, notes your routines, tailors his presence to your loneliness. And when he finally touches you—just a brush of knuckles, a hand at your back—you lean in like you’ve been waiting your whole life.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t remember when it started. Maybe it was the day someone left orchids on your doorstep—your favourite, though you’d never told a soul. Maybe it was the night a man’s silhouette walked you home from the shadows—always just far enough to not be real.

Or maybe it was now. Now, when he stands in front of you, dressed in charcoal wool and midnight silence, placing a velvet box in your palm like it weighs less than his restraint.

“It reminded me of you,” he says.

Inside is a necklace—simple, but devastating. A dark garnet set in a delicate rose gold setting, the stone carved with your initials.

You’ve known him for three months now. Or rather, he’s let you know him. Bit by bit. Hour by hour. He speaks slowly. Moves gently. But you’ve never doubted the force beneath it. When he takes you out, it’s always somewhere quiet. expensive. safe. Private rooftops. After-hours galleries. Candlelit corners of museums you didn’t know opened at night.

“I booked the entire floor,” he said once, when you gaped at the empty hall of mirrored sculptures. “I wanted it to be just us.”

It should be too much. Too fast. Too intense. But he never touches you without asking. Never pushes. Never forces. Still, every time you wake up, there’s something new: — your favourite pastry waiting at your desk — your name whispered in a stranger’s dream — a tailored coat in your size, already broken in with your scent

You never see him do these things. But you know it’s him. Always him.

There’s something devastating about how deliberately he loves. He never hides that he wants you. He just refuses to take without invitation. He never kisses you first. But he watches your mouth like it’s a sacrament he’s not yet holy enough to touch.

He sends letters, sometimes—written in ink so rich you’re sure it was pressed from crushed roses and wine. Folded into parchment that smells faintly of smoke and sandalwood. Each one signed with his name.

On one of your dates, he brings you to a vineyard. Not a restaurant—the entire vineyard. It’s winter now, barren and beautiful, trellises skeletal under silver clouds.

He lights a fire. Pours wine he says is older than most empires. Then he tells you something no one else has.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” he says, voice low, eyes locked to yours. “Not your blood. Not your time. Not even a kiss.”

“Then why all this?” you ask.

He smiles. “Because if I’m to be damned by desire, I want it to be desire I earned.”

The silence between you shifts. Thicker now. Softer. You look at him. Really look. The broad shoulders draped in black wool. The hand curled around his glass—barely suppressing the tremble when your knee brushes his under the table.

He’s not pretending to be calm. He’s just choosing to be.

You realize, suddenly— He’s not waiting for you to fall in love. He’s waiting for you to realize he already has.

And when you kiss him that night—finally, breathlessly, fingers in his curls—he sighs like a man who’s been underwater for centuries, and just now remembered how to breathe.

Because Bang Chan courts like a vow. And you? You’re already his holy thing.

🩸 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 // Abnormal | The Prince of Teeth

Elegant. Ritualistic. Lethal devotion wrapped in silence.

Courtship Style: Minho doesn’t fall often. But when he does—he falls decidedly. No games. No glamours. No guessing. He won’t flood you with gifts or whisper pretty nothings just to hear himself speak. He won’t show up where you are by chance—he’ll ask to see you. And if you say yes, he shows up on time, dressed well, and holds the door open like he was born to. He doesn’t love loudly, but he loves deliberately. He watches what matters to you—and shows you that he saw. You like cats? He donates to a local shelter in your name. You’re learning to cook? He handwrites his family’s jjigae recipe and includes a box of the exact spices he uses. You wore a necklace once and never again? He asks why—and listens to the answer. He doesn’t flirt with words. He flirts with consistency.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t expect flowers from Lee Minho. But he brings them anyway. Not roses. Never anything cliché. Today it’s blue thistles and white tulips—sharp and quiet and unexpectedly lovely.

“They reminded me of you,” he says, handing them over with a half-shrug, like it’s no big deal. Like your heart didn’t just knock against your ribs.

Your second date is simple. Thoughtful.

A tucked-away gallery filled with black-and-white photographs. He barely speaks—just watches you wander, nodding occasionally when your eyes light up.

“You like architecture,” he says after. “You kept staring at the lines.”

You blink. “You were watching me?”

“Of course I was,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How else would I know what to give you next time?”

Your third date? A quiet, high-windowed café. A sketchpad set on your seat. You didn’t tell him you draw.

“I saw the graphite on your fingers,” he explains. “I figured you ran out of pages.”

Minho’s romance isn’t chaotic or grandiose. It’s intentional. He doesn’t drown you in affection. He builds a place for it. One you can trust. One you can return to. Again and again and again.

He never makes promises. He makes patterns.

Wakes you up with a morning message—dry, short, often sarcastic. But always sent at the same time. Asks how your day went every evening. Remembers the answer. Brings you lunch when you forget to eat. Doesn’t scold. Just puts it in front of you and says, “Try the soup.”

Minho is steady like a tide. Silent when you need it. Fiercely present when you don’t know you do. Not a whirlwind. Not a fantasy. He’s the man who waits outside your building with a paper umbrella when it rains and says, “Took the long way. Needed the walk.”

Your fourth date? He teaches you how to make dumplings.

The kitchen smells like sesame and steam. Your hands are messy with flour, your braid keeps slipping loose. He rolls his sleeves up, doesn’t complain once when you ruin his shirt with soy sauce.

You ask him why he’s doing all this.

His gaze is unreadable for a second. Then he says: “Because I like you. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t.”

“So this is… what? Wooing?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He leans against the counter, eyes sweeping your face. “I don’t want almost. I want you. Properly.”

No one’s ever said that to you so plainly before. No hunger hiding behind it. No game. Just truth, dressed in clean hands and sharp cheekbones.

That night, he walks you home without touching you once. Doesn’t kiss you at the door. Just looks at you for a long moment—like he’s memorizing the way the light hits your face.

“Tell me when,” he says.

You nod.

And the next morning, there’s a single white tulip waiting on your windowsill.

Because Lee Minho courts you like he means it. And when he loves, he does so with silence, surety, and the kind of care that turns staying into a sacred act.

🩸 𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 // Normal | The Enforcer

Fiercely Devoted. Tenderly Observant. Worships the ground you walk on.

Courtship Style: Changbin doesn’t flirt to impress you. He adores you from day one—and you know it. He’s the type to fumble his words when you smile too hard, then spend all night writing a letter that says what he really meant. He respects space like it’s sacred, but still makes sure you feel chosen. Every second. Every step. You mention you’re cold once? He shows up the next day with a custom hoodie embroidered with your initials. You say you’ve never been to a concert? He books VIP tickets. And gets a seat that faces the stage and lets you lean on his shoulder. He doesn’t overstep. He doesn’t assume. But he makes it clear—he wants you. Not for a night. Not for a thrill. For always. He listens better than anyone you’ve ever met. Recites your favourite quotes back to you when you forget how to believe in yourself. Cooks for you when you’re too tired. Asks permission before touching you, even just to brush your hair behind your ear.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t notice it at first. The extra protein bar in your locker. The umbrella left leaning by your door on a rainy night. The playlist you found on your phone one morning—filled with songs you’d mentioned once, offhand, at dinner.

But then there’s him. Seo Changbin. Big smile. Bigger heart. Eyes that track you like you’re gravity.

“You okay?” he asks, every time you look the tiniest bit off. “Need anything? Water? Snack? A nap and a forehead kiss?”

You laugh the first time. He doesn’t.

“I’m serious.”

He takes you to the gym on your second date—not for a workout, but because he wants to see what makes you strong. Between sets, he grins every time you beat your personal best. Offers his water bottle like it’s sacred. Wipes a bead of sweat from your temple with a reverent thumb.

“You’re amazing,” he says, voice low and proud. “Do you know that?”

Your third date is homemade bibimbap at his place, candles flickering, your favourite show queued up. He wears an apron. It says “Simpire Chef” in stitched red thread.

You ask if it’s a joke.

“Nope,” he says. “It’s a lifestyle.”

The fourth date is a quiet walk through a night market—he buys you a moonstone ring from a stall you barely glanced at. Later, when you ask how he knew your size, he only winks.

“I have good instincts. And maybe I borrowed one of your rings when you weren’t looking.”

You roll your eyes. But your chest is glowing.

It’s never about the money. It’s about how much he notices.

He remembers your deadlines. Sends silly voice notes when you’re stressed. Brings your favourite fruit to your apartment with your name carved into the peel like it’s a ritual.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he says once, when you pause before reaching for his hand. “You don’t have to rush anything. Just let me stay close.”

And you do.

Because Changbin courts like a man who believes love is a promise. Not a prize. Not a performance. Just a steady hand held out, palm up. Waiting. And when you take it—finally, fully—he laces your fingers together, brings them to his lips, and whispers against your knuckles: “I’d wait another lifetime just to do this right.”

🩸 𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 // Abnormal | The Siren

Romantic. Expressive. Devoted like a disciple.

Courtship Style: Hyunjin doesn’t date you. He paints you into his world. Everything becomes about you—from the brushstrokes on his canvas to the songs he hums when he thinks no one’s listening. He doesn’t just fall. He descends, feather by feather, like an angel surrendering to gravity. He brings you flowers, yes. But they’re always arranged by meaning. White gardenias for secret admiration; Purple hyacinths for deep sorrow you never told him about; A single red camellia when he’s ready to say “I love you” without speaking. He writes you letters. Not just love letters—devotional scrolls. He doodles your initials in the margins, signs them with wax seals, and never asks if you’ve read them. He leaves them tucked in books, under your pillow, slipped inside your coat pocket. His love doesn’t demand. It offers. He’ll take you to art museums and stand behind you, barely touching, whispering how the light catches on your hair. He’ll draw your silhouette a hundred times before ever daring to kiss you. Hyunjin courts you like you’re a divine secret.

Mini Ficlet:

You find the sketchbook before you find the courage to ask.

It’s filled with you—your eyes in the morning light, your smile caught mid-laugh, your hand reaching for something just out of frame. Each page is dated. Some are smudged. Some soaked at the corners, as if he wept while drawing you.

You’re not even dating.

Not yet.

Hyunjin walks you home every time you stay out too late. Buys your favorite pastries without asking. Sends you poems at 3AM with a “This reminded me of you. I hope you’re dreaming something soft.”

Once, you told him you liked the stars.

So he brought you to a hill just outside the city, wrapped you in blankets, and traced constellations onto your palm with his finger.

“This one,” he said, guiding your wrist, “I’ll name after your laugh.”

Another time, you cried in front of him—something small. Stupid, you said.

He didn’t speak. Just knelt in front of you, pressed his forehead to your knee like a knight surrendering, and whispered: “Nothing that hurts you is stupid.”

“I look awful,” you mumbled.

Hyunjin tilted his head, resting his cheek on your knee now, grinning up at you with that infuriating, heart-melting sparkle.

“You look real. I like real,” he said. “Also, your nose gets pink when you cry. Very cute. I might draw that next.”

You shoved his shoulder, half-laughing through your tears. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” he said immediately—then paused. “I mean. Hopefully. Someday. Pending approval. From HR. Which is... you.”

You broke into full laughter then, the kind that shook your shoulders and made your ribs ache. And Hyunjin—Hyunjin looked at you like he’d just witnessed a miracle. Like you’d cracked open a world he’d been painting blind, and now there was colour.

He never rushes you. Never asks for more than you’re ready to give. But he offers—daily, hourly, like a love letter folded into time.

On your birthday, he brings you a cake he baked himself. It's lopsided. Icing smudged. He’s got flour on his cheek and a candle stuck in crooked.

“Is this edible?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“No promises,” he grins. “But it’s made with love. And too much cinnamon. And possibly one egg too many. You like protein, right?”

You eat the whole thing. Together. Off paper plates, sitting on the floor, laughing so hard you forget what loneliness tastes like.

And when he kisses you again—weeks later, on a rainy morning under a café awning, fingers laced tight in yours—he does it laughing. Giddy. Like a boy who just found out magic is real and has your name.

“I loved you before I met you,” he murmurs after, pressing his forehead to yours. “But this? You choosing me back? This is my favorite version of fate.”

Because Hyunjin doesn’t just romance you. He reveres you. He cherishes you. He makes you feel like being loved by him is both sacred and silly—a sacred thing with jelly on its chin and glitter in its pockets.

🩸 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 // Normal | The Shadow Walker

Clingy. Chaotic. Loves you louder than anyone ever has.

Courtship Style: Jisung doesn’t court you in the traditional sense. He adopts you like a stray thought he can’t put down. One day you’re acquaintances, the next he’s texting you twenty memes a day and showing up with bubble tea “just in case you were sad or bored or hungry or slightly thirsty or missed me a little.” He doesn’t confess. He accumulates. Your Spotify wrapped suddenly has his favourite songs; Your fridge always has his weird snack combos; Your phone background mysteriously changes to a photo of you two (he swears it “just glitched”). He’s the loudest thing in your life—and the softest, too.

Mini Ficlet:

One day, Han Jisung was your loud, chaotic friend who kept showing up with a second sandwich. Now? He's asleep on your couch in a hoodie that smells like you, mumbling your name into a pillow like it's a prayer wrapped in drool.

You don't even fucking remember when you agreed to go on a date with him. But, here you are, him always in your space, on your couch napping and drooling.

“Did we… start dating?” you ask one day, halfway through a Netflix binge, your head on his shoulder.

He pauses. Blinks at you. “We’re not??”

You laugh. He doesn’t.

“No seriously, babe. I’ve been in a committed relationship with you for, like, seven months. I made you a playlist called ‘She Could Punch Me and I’d Say Thank You.’ That’s not something I do for friends.”

You do start dating officially after that. Or maybe you just start acknowledging it. Either way, nothing changes—and everything does. He still texts you in all caps. Still fake-cries if you don’t answer in five minutes. But now? He kisses your cheek when he drops off food. Holds your hand when you walk. Shouts “THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND” any time you do literally anything, including sneeze.

You tell him he’s embarrassing. He tells you you’re hot when you’re annoyed. You throw a pillow at him. He pretends to die.

But beneath all that chaos is something startlingly serious. Like when you’re stressed and he reads to you until you fall asleep. Or when he shows up at your workplace during a late shift, holding your favourite drink, eyes all soft and worried.

“I just wanted to see your face,” he says, quieter than usual. “It makes the noise in mine stop.”

And when he finally tells you he loves you, it’s not loud. Not a joke. Just whispered against your neck after a long day, arms around you like armor.

“I know I’m a lot,” he murmurs. “But I’ll love you right. Every version of you. Loud or quiet. Messy or magic. Just let me stay, okay?”

Because Han Jisung courts with friendship, laughter, and loyalty. You don’t fall in love with him. You trip—face first—and he’s already there at the bottom, holding out a juice box and saying: “Took you long enough, baby.”

🩸 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 // Abnormal | The Dreamer

Gentle voice. Corrupt touch. Dangerous devotion.

Courtship Style: Felix doesn’t ask for your attention. He radiates until you can’t help but turn toward him. He’s warmth incarnate—smiling like a sunrise, touching your arm just a second too long, laughing like the two of you already share a secret. He burns easy, but never recklessly. His affection is loud, his intentions louder, and his desire? Always hiding behind a wink. Or a lip bite. Or a murmured: “Tell me to stop flirting and I will. You won’t, though… will you?” Felix courts like he’s falling and loving it. He brings you coffee with your name written in hearts. He sends voice notes just to say he missed your voice. He insists on “sun days”—your private tradition of skipping responsibilities just to stay in bed with the curtains open.

Mini Ficlet:

You swear you’re not imagining it. The way his gaze lingers. The way he always finds you, no matter where you are. The way his hand always settles just above your knee under the table, like a promise he’s not quite ready to cash in.

He brings you sunflowers one day. Not roses. Not peonies. Sunflowers—loud, bright, unapologetic. Like him.

“They reminded me of your laugh,” he says, grinning as he sets the bouquet in your arms. “All sunshine and kind of… illegal. In a good way.”

Your cheeks burn.

“I should arrest you,” you mutter.

“Oh please do,” he purrs. “But be gentle. I bruise easy.”

You shove him. He laughs. But then—he looks at you. All warmth gone. What’s left is molten.

“I’m serious, you know,” he says softly. “About you.”

Later, he takes you on a date that isn’t a date (Except it is. He’s just waiting for you to call it that). Rooftop blanket. Takeout. Shared earbuds. His pinky hooked around yours like a pinky promise. The stars are out. So is the moon. So is his heart, apparently.

He leans in and murmurs, “Y’know… if you ever wanted to, we could just stay like this forever.”

You laugh. “What, on a roof?”

“No,” he says, smile curling. “On you.”

You roll your eyes. He doesn’t mind. You always roll them—and you always blush after.

He starts showing up more. With snacks. With games. With that stupid grin. You say you’re not in the mood to hang. He offers to just sit beside you, “for atmosphere.” Then somehow you’re tangled on the couch, your head on his chest while he scrolls for a movie you’ve already seen.

He insists you bake something together one night.

“I’m not a baker,” you warn.

“I am,” he says. “You just stand there and look cute.”

You throw flour at him. He retaliates with sugar. It escalates fast. You’re breathless, covered in powdered sweetness, half-laughing, half-melting when he pins you to the counter with dough-covered hands.

“You’ve got something on your face,” he whispers.

“You do too.”

He kisses you anyway.

You burn the cookies. He calls them love-blasted shortbread disasters. Eats six.

He writes notes. Sticky ones. Slips them into your jacket, your bag, your favourite book. One night, you find him humming in your kitchen—wearing your apron. Cooking something elaborate. With candles already lit.

You blink. “Did you break in?”

“I used the key you pretended not to give me.”

“…That’s not how pretending works.”

He grins. “Neither is love, apparently.”

He doesn’t ask to stay over. He just does. He doesn’t ask to hold you closer. He just fits. Like the spaces between your fingers were always waiting for his rings. Like your nights were always meant to end with him whispering: “You know I’m falling, right? Faster than I should. Not that I’m gonna stop.”

And maybe it’s the way he never lets you doubt it. Not in the way he kisses your temple after you’ve fallen asleep. Not in the way he carries you to bed when you refuse to move. Not in the way he holds your face like you’re the sun—and he’s the vampire stupid enough to burn for you (not that he'd burn, given he's an Abnormal, but go with it). Because Felix courts with warmth, with chaos, with craving— but above all, with clarity.

🩸 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 // Normal | The Beloved

Dry wit. Reluctant softness. Secretly yours before you even know it.

Courtship Style: Seungmin doesn’t court like a romantic. He courts like a realist who accidentally fell too hard and refuses to admit it. He won’t say he likes you. He’ll just roast your taste in music. Then send you a playlist. Labeled: “Fix your standards. Start here.” He won’t compliment your outfit. He’ll say, “You wore that? On purpose?” Then immediately take a photo when you’re not looking and make it his phone lockscreen. His flirting is all sharp edges and sidelong glances. If he calls you annoying, you’re already halfway to being his. And still—beneath the banter, Seungmin shows up. Remembers how you take your coffee. Waits until you’re home safe. Asks how your day was and actually listens. Buys your favourite gum. Takes you on dates disguised as “hangouts” and grumbles when you call it cute.

Mini Ficlet:

You’re fighting again.

Over something stupid. Probably the last donut or your tragic Spotify history. He’s smirking. You’re pouting. The usual.

“I honestly don’t know how someone with your taste functions in public,” Seungmin says, shaking his head like a disappointed tutor.

“Keep talking,” you shoot back, “and I’ll block you on everything.”

He blinks. Then grins. “Cute. Like you could go five hours without texting me.”

You go quiet.

Because, well. You can’t.

Later that night, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find—

A box of your favourite snacks. A hoodie you thought you lost. A note.

“Thought you’d be dramatic and sad. I’m not doing this because I care. I just don’t want you crying on my hoodie.”

You roll your eyes. Smile anyway.

He’s not big on grand gestures. But he shows up when it counts. You mention your favourite childhood show once? The next week, he has the full DVD set in his bag. “Stumbled across it. Don’t flatter yourself.” You say you’re too tired to go out? He drags you to the convenience store. Buys two drinks. Tosses a jacket over your shoulders without looking at you. “I needed air. You just happened to exist nearby.”

One day, you fall asleep on his couch. You wake up warm. Covered. Music low. The lights dimmed. He’s in the kitchen, quietly washing mugs.

You say nothing. Neither does he. But when he turns to glance at you—his eyes soften like he’s watching a sunrise he doesn’t want to end.

You catch him smiling. He scowls instantly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m soft.”

You laugh. “You are soft.”

He groans. “Ugh. I knew I should’ve let you freeze.”

You start noticing it everywhere. The way he always buys an extra snack, then pretends he “accidentally” got two. The way he adjusts his walking pace so your steps line up. The way his sarcasm slows down when you’re quiet—like he knows when to tease, and when to just… be there.

One night, he calls you without a reason.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You didn’t send me a meme today. Thought maybe you died.”

You snort. “Would you miss me?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’d just have to find someone else with horrible taste in music. Tragic.”

But the next day, your favourite drink shows up at your door. No note this time. Just a sticky tab on the bottle that says:

You better not be sad again. I’m busy this weekend and can’t deal with your feelings until Monday.

And then:

...Unless it’s serious. In which case, tell me now so I can cancel.

That’s how he does it. Quiet commitment. Unspoken loyalty. Sarcastic devotion. You’re not dating. Not officially. But you’ve already become a habit to him. You realize it the day he gets genuinely mad—not fake-annoyed, not teasing. Someone hurt your feelings. And when you tell him, he goes silent. Dead quiet. Then he asks, low and sharp: “What’s their name?”

You blink. “Why?”

“Just curious. No reason. Definitely not going to curse them.”

“…You’re not serious.”

He tilts his head. “You think I wouldn’t? For you?”

You freeze.

Because his voice doesn’t sound sarcastic anymore. It sounds deadly. And suddenly, it’s so clear: He’s been choosing you. Every day. In every way. Not with grand declarations. But in the spaces between arguments. In the silences after laughter. In the way he always remembers where you left your phone, what song calms you down, and when to stop joking—just to wrap you in the quietest kind of love.

So you lean against his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you stay there. All night. And when you wake up? There’s a note stuck to your forehead.

I like you. Don’t make it weird.

🩸 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 // Normal (Evolving Abnormal) | The Smile with Fangs

Soft charm. Hidden heat. A smile that sneaks under your skin.

Courtship Style: Jeongin courts like he’s been planning it forever—but wants you to think it’s spontaneous. A mix of Chan’s old-school romance and Felix’s sunshine flirtation, he leaves you laughing and breathless in the same moment. He’ll bring you flowers “because they looked lonely without you,” but hide a note inside that reads like a love letter. He buys matching rings, shrugs when you notice, then blushes when you wear yours. He’s all easy banter and eye contact that lasts a second too long. He doesn’t just listen—he memorizes. The way you sip your drink. The songs you hum. The one day you said you hated rain—and how he always shows up with an umbrella. With Jeongin, the courting is gentle until it isn’t. Until the teasing falls away and he’s looking at you like he already belongs to you. And he does.

Mini Ficlet:

It starts with a dare.

“I bet you won’t show up to our next hangout in something that isn’t tragic,” he says, eyeing your hoodie with mock disdain.

So you show up in a dress. And he chokes on his drink.

“You look—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “That’s… illegal.”

You raise a brow. “So I won?”

“No,” he grins, cheeks pink. “I did.”

Later, he tugs you by the wrist into a photo booth, insists on five different poses, and refuses to give you the strip. “Evidence of your crimes. It’s safer with me.”

You roll your eyes. But when you get home, the photos are in your bag. You have no idea when he managed to do that so quick, but he did.

He doesn’t mention it the next day. Just sends a text.

jeongin 🦊: u look better in those pics than me. rude.

you: you insisted on five poses.

jeongin 🦊: exactly. more chances to suffer.

You laugh. But your fingers linger on the photo strip anyway. Especially on the third one—where you're both laughing so hard his eyes are almost closed, and your head’s tilted toward his like it belongs there.

From then on, the courting becomes a quiet game. He sends you videos of cute animals with captions like “you when I look at you”. He wears that one cologne you complimented—then pretends not to notice when you lean in a little closer. He starts showing up to your classes, "coincidentally" holding your favourite drink. Leaves your favourite snack in your bag with a sticky note: “bribery. stay cute.” He draws hearts on the fogged-up café window and denies it. Blames the barista.

He randomly brings you keychains from vending machines. Ones that make no sense—tiny frogs, a plastic spoon, a lopsided heart. “This one’s you.” he says, handing you the spoon. You start collecting them on your bag.

He buys a small sketchbook and fills it with dumb little doodles: you as a cat. You as a villain. You as the reason he’s broke because “someone eats too many croissants.”

He doesn’t say I like you. But he wears the bracelet you made him from string and beads. Keeps the wrapper from the gum you shared in his wallet. Asks your friends what kind of earrings you’ve been looking at lately, then acts surprised when he “randomly found” them on sale.

One evening, he takes you to a rooftop arcade. You win every game—barely—and he pretends to be devastated.

“You’re cheating,” he accuses.

“Am not.”

“Then marry me,” he blurts.

You freeze. So does he.

“…That was a joke,” he says immediately.

It wasn’t.

The next week, he gives you a hoodie. Custom-made. Embroidered over the heart: fox boy’s favourite.

Jeongin’s courtship isn’t loud. It’s a slow-burn playlist. A silent “text me when you get home.” A bag of snacks he swears he didn’t buy for you—but somehow match your exact cravings. It’s teasing that feels like touch. Laughter that feels like safety. Looks that linger too long.

He courts you like a secret he doesn’t want to keep anymore.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #vampire!skz series #wreck me wednesday #skz fluff

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jaewritesfic · 11 months ago

Text

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid.

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving.

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously.

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride.

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible.

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer.

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

#dp x dc #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #duke thomas #signal dc #tim isnt just pissed about the bee movie script #hes pissed because there could be information hidden in it #so he knows hes going to have to READ the ENTIRE BEE MOVIE SCRIPT and read it closely #spoiler alert #there are no clues #its really just the bee movie script #danny accidentally got a job as an engineer for the bats #and is cackling away while he drives them nuts

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eyelessfaces · 2 months ago

Text

before dusk

bob reynolds x reader

summary: As big of a place the Watchtower was, living as a fresh couple surrounded by a whole team of trained soldiers still made it feel a little tight and was inevitably bound to strip you off any kind of intimacy – Ava’s fake gagging whenever you and Bob were up close when she entered a common area never failed to ruin the moment, and Alexei’s well-meant but clumsy reminders for you and Bob to use protection in front of the whole team during dinner made it everyone’s turn to fake gag. So when Bob brought up the subject of going away for a few and the idea of it started to bloom inside your mind, you knew there was no turning back – the prospect of having Bob all to yourself for a couple of days was too exhilarating to consider chasing it away.

or, you and bob take a proper break from new york.

tags: fluff, domestic fluff, getaway, established relationship, soft bob, he fell first and harder, implied smut, kissing, passenger princess bob, bob listens to 90s rock, love confessions

word count: 1.4k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

It’s a three hour drive from New York.

You would have had plenty of other options for nice places closer than that, but you want to admit the change of scenery is nice, and hey, Bob asked and went out of his way to organize that weekend, from picking the place you would rent down to the snacks you would put in the glove box.

As big of a place the Watchtower was, living as a fresh couple surrounded by a whole team of trained soldiers still made it feel a little tight between mission briefings, training sessions and strategy meeting, and was inevitably bound to strip you off any kind of intimacy – Ava’s fake gagging whenever you and Bob were up close when she entered a common area never failed to ruin the moment, and Alexei’s well-meant but clumsy reminders for you and Bob to use protection – “even for superheroes”, he’d say – in front of the whole team during dinner made it everyone’s turn to gag and groan in secondhand embarrassment.

So when Bob brought up the subject of going away for a few and the idea of it started to bloom inside your mind, you knew there was no turning back – the prospect of having Bob all to yourself for a couple of days was too exhilarating to consider chasing it away.

You figured it would be a battle to get Valentina to let you go, but Bob had pulled the sensitive strings and turned it to his advantage, insisting it would be good for his mental health to get some fresh air away from New York; Valentina had immediately agreed, probably too afraid to deny Bob anything and rub him off the wrong way ever since the incident – it was nice to have that kind of pressure over her, in some way.

Bob’s excitement easily shines through despite the depressing music pick (though you do dearly love Radiohead, Alice in Chains, and Jeff Buckley) and makes the three hour drive fly by. He’s a decent copilot when he’s not focused on watching and pointing out cow herds, and you can’t help but relish in how talkative and relaxed he is around you as he confidently talks about anything and everything that crosses his mind, compared to how nervous and fidgety he used to be the first few times you found yourselves alone and he could barely contain the big fat obvious crush he had on you.

The house seems small from the outside but more than enough for just the both of you, and you’re quick to understand that you’re mainly paying for the scenery rather than the house in itself; it’s in the middle of nowhere, overlooking the endless horizon of fields, and you know the landscape promises a lot once the sun will begin to set.

Bob insists on unloading the car trunk and carrying your luggage, arguing that you drove so he carries, and things are easier to lift ever since he got the serum.

He sets all bags down in the bedroom when you find it after a tour of the house and is quick to lunge onto the bed and persuade you to join him.

His arms wrap around your waist, bringing you close to him, face sinking and nose nudging into the crook of your neck, hot breath warming the sensitive skin there as he asks if driving didn’t tire you out completely.

His tone is half genuinely concerned, half tainted with an underlying suggestive intent before he lazily starts leaving trails of kisses where his face is buried, and you had been foolish not to expect it when you should have known he would get his mouth on you the moment you found yourselves alone – would get it everywhere – because this somehow was part of the whole point of that trip.

If you were fine before and driving didn’t properly wear you out, this should be it. You’re still pleasantly hazy and blanked out by the time Bob helps you clean yourself, or rather does it all by himself while you lay there from how boneless you feel, like your body is there but your mind isn’t or the opposite, you can’t really tell at this point.

The silence that settles afterward feels brand new and like no type of silence you could have experienced before in the Watchtower, as it in fact was never really fully silent. Your fingers absentmindedly card through Bob’s hair as he lies with his head against your stomach, lulled by the steady rise and fall of your breathing and the sounds of birds chirping outside. You could stay here like this for the whole weekend if it didn’t mean wasting that heavenly setting, and it indeed is a battle between you and your body to drag yourself out of that bed because you know you will miss the sunset if you don’t.

You take a quick shower while Bob prepares sandwiches for you to eat on the walk you planned, and once you’re all set, you lock the house and roam around the fields and trails. Bob’s hand is securely holding yours as you walk unbothered by where it could lead you, but you know once you find a spot over a hill that is high enough to overlook the whole landscape and that gives you a breathtaking view of the bucolic setting, you’re where you were meant to be all along.

You sit side by side cross-legged in the soft grass, a gentle breeze caressing your hair as the sky begins to change under your eyes, watching like you’re witnessing mother nature’s own show. It’s quiet in a way it never is in New York, never could be. You can hear the humming chirps of crickets, the birds singing, the occasional rustle of the wind in the grass, and the colors of the sky shift in a way you have never so intensely observed before as the sun starts to set.

“God, this is the best decision we made this year,” you mutter quietly, like it could somehow interrupt the show if you talked too loud, your eyes fixated on the horizon.

Bob doesn’t answer right away, not looking at the sunset anymore. He eventually hums his agreement, unable to help the grin over his face at the sight of you staring ahead, observing the pink clouded orange sky – and he doesn’t know if it’s the way the orange hues reflect over your skin, the glint in your eyes, the starstruck look and awed grin over your face, but he says it.

“I love you”

It falls out of his mouth like it’s the most natural thing that could ever be said at the moment even despite it being the very first time it happens. It’s been sitting on his tongue for a while now, and it feels relieving, somehow, like a weight is lifted off his shoulder, like a clogging breath taken off his chest.

That is until the silence fills in again when you don’t react and respond immediately and it all comes back right away; an overwhelming surge of anxiety blooming inside, the familiar feeling of realization when he figures he said something wrong, the mask of uncertainty slipping onto his face as he realizes he probably said it too soon and you probably don’t feel as intensely, the–

You see it happening, you have grown to know him too well not to; the way his mouth opens just slightly, gaze searching yours in creeping panic as he looks for an exit, anything to defuse the tension he thinks he has set. He’s about to talk again, you can feel it, he’s about to stumble on his words as he backtracks or apologizes or anything. Your hand comes to cover his mouth before he gets a word out. His eyes widen a little, then close when you let your hand go, leaning in and kissing him to chase the lingering doubts away. “I love you too”

All trace of uncertainty has disappeared off his face and has made room for a wide, bright smile. “That’s great,” he nods, the hint of a slight blush appearing over his face when you hold it.

You reciprocate his smile, do your best not to laugh. His habit of saying the most fortuitous things at the most random occurrences is endearing.

More than he knows.

—

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cameronsbabydoll · 4 months ago

Text

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER SEVEN

WARNINGS — rafe is again very much a jerk, crying, angst, kinda a happy ish ending.

You woke up to silence.

For a second, you thought maybe Rafe was still there. That you’d find him sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you with that unreadable look, waiting for you to apologize without saying a word.

But he was gone.

The only proof he had even been there was the weight of something new on her nightstand. A sleek black box, the kind that came from somewhere expensive, somewhere you would have been giddy to receive a gift from before.

Your stomach twisted as you reached for it. Inside was a bracelet, delicate and glittering—diamonds, of course. Rafe never did anything halfway.

It was beautiful, but it was thoughtless.

You shut the box with a snap and set it aside, curling back under the blankets.

—

You ignored his texts. Then his calls.

It wasn’t an active choice at first. You just… didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Hey, it’s okay that you let them talk about me like that. It’s okay that you laughed. It’s okay that I let you make me feel stupid.

Eventually, the silence became intentional. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d chase you, if he’d care.

He didn’t.

At least not in the way you wanted him to. No messages asking if you were okay. No showing up to make things right.

Just one text: Come over.

Like nothing had happened.

You didn’t respond.

—

“You’re spiraling.”

Your best friend eyed you over the rim of her coffee cup, unimpressed, unsympathetic.

“I’m not spiraling.”

You absolutely were.

You had spent the last twenty minutes picking at the sleeve of your sweater, barely able to look up as you recounted what happened at the dinner.

The way Rafe had smirked at his friends’ comments, the way he ordered for you like usual—but instead of it feeling safe and exciting, it just felt wrong.

The way you had snuck off to the bathroom, only to hear the women whispering about you, laughing about you, like you were some silly little girl playing house with a man too big for her world.

Your friend just raised an eyebrow. “So what, are you gonna end things?”

The words felt heavy, impossible.

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

“Babe.” A sigh. “You knew what this was.”

That stung the most.

Because you did know. You had known from the beginning that Rafe wasn’t soft, that his affection came with condescension, that every time he put his hands on you, it was more about control than love.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Your friend reached across the table, giving your hand a squeeze. “If you don’t like it, you need to leave.”

You swallowed hard, blinking down at your hands.

You could feel the words rising in your throat, the desperate, childish part of you that wanted to say, But I do like it. I just don’t like how it makes me feel.

—

You still didn’t respond to Rafe.

That night, you stayed in bed, scrolling mindlessly, half-waiting for another call, another text, something.

Instead, there was a knock at her door.

Your heart lurched. You knew who it was before you even checked the peephole.

Rafe.

Standing outside in slacks and a button-up, looking every bit the polished, untouchable man he was—so out of place against the softness of your apartment.

You hesitated before opening the door.

His eyes flicked over you, taking in your floral nightgown, the way your hair was still messy from sleep. He let out a quiet scoff, like you were something pathetic.

“Seriously?” His voice was low, unimpressed. “You’re still sulking?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Rafe just sighed, stepping inside without waiting for permission. His eyes dragged over your apartment—the pastel bedding, the stuffed animals, the Sonny Angels still neatly lined up on your dresser.

He smirked. “No wonder they think you’re a kid.”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away, hugging yourself. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You don’t want to do what?” Rafe scoffed.

“You’ve been ignoring me all day over that? I told you not to take it personally.”

You inhaled sharply, your throat tightening.

“I didn’t like it,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t like what they were saying.”

“They weren’t serious.” His voice was lazy, dismissive.

“You laughed.”

Rafe tensed for half a second, but it passed as quickly as it came. “Yeah? So what?”

That did it.

The tears hit all at once, spilling over before you could stop them. You clenched her fists, your breath coming short, your words tumbling out in choked little sobs.

“I don’t want to feel like this.” Your voice was small, breaking. “Like I’m stupid, or silly, or—”

“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, running a hand down his face.

You knew you sounded ridiculous, knew you probably looked even worse—barefoot, in your floral nightgown, crying over nothing.

But you couldn’t stop.

Rafe let out a sharp sigh before reaching for you.

You barely had time to react before he was pulling you in, dragging you into his chest, forcing you into his arms.

You hiccupped, your breath catching as he pressed your head against his shoulder.

“Enough,” he murmured, his voice a little softer now.

You shook your head against him, your fists weakly pushing against his chest.

“I mean it,” he said, shushing you as he slid a hand into your hair. “You’re being a baby.”

You felt like a baby. Sobbing into his chest, sniffling like a child while he held you in place.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

Even though he had caused this—this awful, twisting feeling in your chest—he was the only thing that made it go away.

Rafe pulled back just enough to wipe a tear off your cheek with his thumb, sighing like you were exhausting him.

You hiccupped, still curled into his chest, your fingers weakly gripping his shirt like you weren’t ready to let him go. Like, despite everything, despite knowing better, you still wanted him close.

Rafe’s hand moved to the back of your head, fingers threading lazily through your hair. “You done crying now?” His voice was quieter, almost resigned.

You sniffled, nodding against him.

“Good.” His palm slid down to your jaw, tilting your face up. “Then stop sulking and come here.”

You didn’t even think. You just let him pull you into his lap, your legs draping over his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you belonged there.

He leaned back against the pillows, one arm around your waist, the other resting lazily on his stomach. His grip was firm—possessive, almost. Like he was letting you cling to him, but it was still on his terms.

You chewed your lip, glancing up at him hesitantly. “Can we… can we watch a movie?”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, like you were impossible. “A movie?”

You nodded, already reaching for the remote.

He groaned but didn’t argue, just adjusted you against him as you scrolled through the options.

It didn’t take long for you to settle on something pastel and silly, something familiar, something that made your stomach twist with something childish and warm.

Rafe took one look at the screen and scoffed. “A princess movie? Jesus.”

You grinned, cuddling deeper into him. “It’s a classic.”

He didn’t fight you on it. Didn’t push you away, didn’t leave like he probably should have.

He just sighed, letting his fingers drag lazily up and down your spine as the opening credits rolled.

And you?

You let yourself pretend, just for a little while, that this was enough.

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