#is from that one day when I stayed up and was thinking A LOT

[norristrii]

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT.

You didn’t plan to move in with your friend. But when you mentioned your Monaco apartment search, Lando offered his spare room—just until you found your own place. Living together was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to change everything.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. 8,5k words, friends to lovers, roommate! lando, idiots in love, domestic fluff, one misogynistic joke, pining, implied timeskips, reader ruins the moment a lot, teasing, pet names (darling, princess), jealous! lando.

IT ALL HAPPENED SO QUICKLY, you didn’t even have time to really think it through.

One day, you were sitting around your living room in England, surrounded by your friends. The air was full of laughter, stories, and the comfort that only familiar people can bring. You were happy—but also tired. The kind of tired that sneaks up on you after too many airport gates, too many suitcases, too much time spent in between two places.

Almost without thinking, you mentioned that you were looking for an apartment in Monaco. It wasn’t meant to be a big announcement. Just something you said in passing while everyone was chatting. You were rich enough to make it happen, and most of your friends already lived there, including Lando. It made sense. You were flying back and forth all the time, and it had started to wear you down.

You hadn’t expected anyone to say much. It was just something you said—one of those in-between moments that usually gets forgotten by the end of the night.

But this one didn’t.

Quietly, without making a big deal of it, Lando stepped forward. He offered you a place to stay—his spare room in Monaco, just while you looked for something of your own. At first, it didn’t feel real. You even laughed, thinking he was just being polite, maybe teasing you like he always did. But when you looked at him, really looked, you saw that he meant it.

And somehow, without making a big thing out of it, you agreed.

Days passed. Then you were packing bags, booking a one-way ticket, and suddenly your life in England was on pause. You didn’t feel nervous—just ready. Like this was the next step, even if you hadn’t expected it.

───

You hadn’t been at Lando’s place very long—just a few hours—but things were already starting to feel familiar. Your things were neatly unpacked in the spare room, each item finding its place without much thought. The room felt like yours now, even if you'd only planned to stay for a short while. You moved around the apartment with ease, already knowing where things were and how they worked. You figured some of that out quicker than Lando probably ever had himself.

Now you were curled up comfortably on the living room sofa. The cushions were soft, the air was quiet, and it was easy to pretend you’d been doing this for days. Across the kitchen, Lando was digging through one of the overhead cabinets, muttering quietly to himself as he searched through snacks. Boxes rustled, a few things toppled out. You heard a little satisfied sound from him right before he turned around with a smile and held up a pack of Kinder chocolate.

“You want some?” he asked, lifting the chocolate like he’d struck gold.

You nodded, and without a second thought, he walked over and sat down next to you, handing you two bars. You opened one slowly, letting your shoulders relax a little more now that you were settled in for the evening.

“I swear, this is just temporary,” you said softly, your voice calm but honest. “Just until I find something.”

Lando leaned back on the couch, stretching out and shrugging like it didn’t matter. “It’s not a big deal,” he said simply. “Stay as long as you need.”

That made you smile. His words were casual, but they carried the kind of comfort that was hard to ignore. It was nice to hear that someone was okay with you being there—maybe more than okay.

Then he smirked, turning his head toward you just slightly. “I finally have someone to wash the dishes.”

Your smile dropped for a moment, eyes narrowing as you stared at him. But before you could even try to look annoyed, a laugh slipped out. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, shaking your head as you took another bite of chocolate. “You literally have a dishwasher.”

Lando laughed, eyes bright as he leaned back against the cushions. “And you think I know how to use it?”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “The dishwasher? Lando, it’s three buttons.”

He shrugged, looking far too proud of himself. “Yeah, and none of them say ‘Start.’ Suspicious.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “How do you survive alone?”

“I don’t,” he said with a smirk. “I survive with takeout and charm.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for another bite of chocolate, letting the sweet melt slowly on your tongue. The room was cozy—soft light from the hallway spilling in, the hum of the city outside barely audible through thick windows. The air between you felt easy, full of warmth and unspoken comfort.

He nudged your leg gently with his foot. “I bet you already figured out how everything works around here.”

“Obviously,” you said, glancing at him. “I’m smarter than you.”

───

The mirror was foggy from your earlier shower, but you didn’t mind. You stood in front of it, toothbrush in hand, moving through your usual routine like you’d done it a thousand times before. The bathroom door was wide open, letting in the soft, morning light from the hallway. The apartment was quiet except for the gentle sound of running water and the rhythmic swish of bristles against your teeth.

Then, without warning, Lando appeared in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t pause. Just walked in like he had every right to be there—shirt rumpled, hair slightly messy, toothpaste already smeared on his brush. He stood next to you, leaned over the sink, and started brushing as if this had always been part of the plan.

You glanced sideways at him, toothpaste foam around your mouth, and had to choke back a laugh. He brushed in this chaotic, zigzag sort of way—like he was racing the clock or battling the toothbrush itself. You shook your head, letting a quiet snort escape you, the corners of your mouth twitching.

He caught your expression in the mirror. “What?” he asked, mouth full of foam.

You spat and rinsed, still grinning. “You brush your teeth like a six-year-old fighting for his life.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pretending to be offended. “Excuse you. This is top-tier oral hygiene.”

You were still smiling as you turned toward your bedroom, his words echoing after you down the hall—muffled by foam, but somehow still crystal clear.

“Also, Y/n, we should go shop some groceries,” he’d said, mouth full of toothpaste, like it was the most obvious next step in your not-so-temporary arrangement.

“Okay, I’ll go get ready,” you called back, already closing the door behind you.

You moved quickly, pulling your hair back, slipping into something soft and simple. Nothing fancy. Just enough to feel put together. When you reemerged, Lando was waiting at the door, one hand spinning his car keys in slow loops, the other holding his phone like he was in the middle of something—and knowing him, it was probably memes.

He didn’t look up as you approached. “Going only for essentials,” he said, sliding the phone into his back pocket.

You lifted an eyebrow, walking past him toward the elevator. “Such as?”

“Kinder Eggs,” he replied without hesitation, throwing you a grin.

You gave him a look as the elevator doors closed between you, but your laugh came anyway—quiet, helpless, warm. Essentials, indeed.

You stepped into the store with Lando right behind you, the automatic doors swooshing shut as a blast of cold air hit your face. Without missing a beat, he grabbed a cart and started pushing it with an alarming sense of purpose.

“So… do we actually have a list or are we just winging it?” you asked, half expecting him to shrug like he usually did.

Instead, he handed you his phone. A full list was already typed out—categories, quantities, even little emojis next to some items. You blinked at it, then looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Well, look at you,” you said with a smirk. “Man of the house.”

He gave a smug little nod, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s me.”

You laughed, scrolling through the list. “You also listed ‘more chocolate’ twice.”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a pack off the shelf as you passed. “That wasn’t a mistake.”

The cart creaked a little as you pushed it along the polished floor, wheels squeaking under the weight of your not-so-essentials. The air inside the store was cool, crisp with that oddly comforting scent of freshly misted produce and cardboard packaging. It was bright, a little too bright, and made everything feel strangely alive—like even the cereal boxes were watching the two of you argue in the middle of aisle seven.

You laughed again as you tucked your favorite snack into the cart, right on top of a box of pasta Lando had chosen purely because it “looked fancy.” He was already walking ahead, checking off items from his mental list with a swagger that had no business being in a grocery store. You caught up, still smiling, fingers brushing the cart handle where his had just been.

“I’m impressed you actually made a list,” you said, holding up his phone, still open to the Notes app.

Lando turned slightly to glance at you over his shoulder, his grin smug and a little too proud. “What can I say? Living with a roommate now. Gotta keep standards high.”

You snorted. “Is that what I am? A roommate?”

“Roommate, best friend, snack consultant. You are a lot of things.”

You shook your head, amused, but that quiet flutter in your chest didn’t go unnoticed. It was in the way he said we, in the way he navigated this afternoon like it was normal. Like having you here—beside him in the frozen foods section—was just another part of his day.

As you turned into the next aisle, he slowed his pace without saying anything, just so you stayed side by side. You noticed it. He didn’t acknowledge it.

He reached for another pack of pasta—wrong kind again—and you let him take it without correcting him this time. Instead, you watched his fingers as they grazed the shelf, the casual way he moved, like none of this felt new to him anymore. Maybe it didn’t.

“This’ll probably last us a week,” he said, glancing at the half-full cart.

You hummed. “If we don’t eat everything by Thursday.”

He looked over with a teasing smile. “You say we, but I’ve seen you with those snacks.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “Says the man who put four packs of cinnamon cereal in the cart.”

He held up two fingers. “Three.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, four. But it was on sale.”

You wandered over to the fridge lined with rows of brightly colored energy drinks, fingers tracing the cool glass as you scanned for your go-to. Before you could reach for it, Lando stepped in beside you and—without even glancing—grabbed the exact one you were looking for.

“That’s my favorite,” you said, eyeing him curiously. “How’d you know?”

He didn’t even pause, just dropped three into the cart and gave a casual shrug. “I know,” he said, flashing that familiar smirk. “You always grab them at gas stations. Thought I wasn’t paying attention?”

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary, the corner of your mouth tugging into a smile. Of course he noticed.

He always did.

───

The floor of your room looked like a war zone—drawers left half open, clothes scattered, and you perched cross-legged in front of your closet, muttering under your breath as you tore through what little was left.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you grumbled, tossing aside a crumpled sweater as if it had personally offended you. Not a single clean t-shirt in sight. They were all likely marinating in your dirty laundry basket, which was definitely judging you from the corner.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Not that you were exactly panicking over Lando seeing you in less-than-full attire. He’d seen worse. But still—not ideal.

“Everything okay in here?” his voice called from just outside the door.

You looked up to find him standing there, sleepy-eyed, hair a mess, wearing gray sweatpants and a loose tee that definitely wasn't helping the situation. His brows raised slightly as he took in the chaos.

“My shirts have vanished,” you said dramatically. “Like, actually disappeared. It’s a t-shirt graveyard in here.”

Lando leaned against the doorframe, unfazed. “You want one of mine?”

Your cheeks warmed before you could stop it. The offer was innocent, easy, but something about it sent a quiet shiver across your skin.

Still, you nodded. “Yeah. Please.”

Without a word, he stepped forward and reached out a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up from the floor in one smooth motion. His touch was warm, familiar, just enough to make your heart stutter for half a second.

He smiled. “Come on. Let’s see what I have.”

His room was exactly what you expected: comfortably chaotic. Clothes scattered across the floor, a pile of team merch half spilling out of a drawer, and more tissues than one human should logically need—because of course, he had a runny nose and refused to admit it was anything more.

You stood beside him at the closet, watching as he rifled through it with the same level of chaos you'd just demonstrated in your own room. He was oddly focused, like there was a method to the madness—though you'd yet to see it.

After a minute, he pulled out two t-shirts and a hoodie, handing them over without looking up.

You glanced down at the pile in your hands, then back at him, eyebrows raised. “You're giving me all this?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Spare clothes,” he said, like that explained everything.

You stared at him for another beat, a soft laugh slipping out. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Efficient,” he corrected, turning back to the closet like he was going to find something else useful. Though judging by the look of it, probably not.

He tossed the t-shirt into your hands with that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Try it on,” he said casually, but you knew that tone way too well. That wasn't a simple suggestion—it was pure Lando mischief.

You narrowed your eyes at him, clutching the t-shirt like a shield. “Turn around.”

He groaned, dragging out your name with dramatic flair. “Y/nnnnn…”

You crossed your arms. “Nope. Eyes away. You’re not getting a front-row seat for this.”

He turned halfway, still peeking over his shoulder. “But it’s my t-shirt! I deserve visual rights.”

You gave him the look—the raised brows, the unimpressed stare, the silent warning. And finally, with an exaggerated groan and a dramatic eyeroll, he turned around, hands thrown up like a hostage surrender.

You rolled your eyes right back at him, fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. You pulled it over your head in one smooth motion, reaching for his t-shirt without hesitation. But even with his back technically turned, you could feel it—the shift. The way his posture changed, the way his head tilted just slightly. He was watching.

You paused, halfway into the hoodie, heart thudding just a little louder than before.

“Lando,” you said quietly.

He cleared his throat. “Not watching,” he said too quickly.

You chuckled, pulling the t-shirt down fully and smoothing it over your sides. “You’re terrible at turning around.” You shook your head, but the blush creeping up your neck gave you away. And from the way he was looking at you now—slightly amused, maybe a little stunned—you knew he noticed that too.

You finally turned around, tugging at the loose hem of the oversized t-shirt, eyes meeting his. “Okay. You can look now.”

Lando’s gaze landed on you immediately. He didn’t say anything at first, but the way his eyes moved—slow, deliberate, taking in every detail—said more than words could. The shirt hung off your frame in that way only borrowed clothes did, sleeves slipping low, fabric soft and familiar against your skin.

You tilted your head. “Happy now?”

He blinked once, like trying to reset his brain, then laughed under his breath. “Yeah… you look—” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly at a loss. “You should wear my clothes more often. Like… exclusively, honestly.”

You felt the warmth rise in your chest, creeping quietly up your neck. And judging by the way he stood there, watching you like the ground had tilted just slightly, you knew it hit him too.

Lando was still looking at you—openly now, without the half-teasing grin he usually wore when he flirted. His eyes lingered longer than they should’ve, like he was taking mental snapshots he wouldn’t admit to keeping.

───

The kitchen smelled vaguely like garlic and something you might have burned five minutes ago. It was definitely too late to be cooking, but somehow, that made it more fun. The playlist Lando had queued up was bouncing between high-energy ABBA tracks and whatever random throwback songs he'd tossed in, like the universe had handed you your own chaotic soundtrack. Both of you were dancing around the tiny space like it was a stage, shouting lyrics way too loud and pretending you knew how to multitask while making dinner.

You were standing by the stove, stirring a pot of something with questionable consistency, when the music suddenly changed. No warning—just a slow, syrupy transition into Stand By Me. The energy dropped instantly, not in a bad way, just… different. Everything felt quieter, softer. Even the overhead lights seemed warmer somehow.

You turned your head toward Lando, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? This song?”

He didn’t look up from where he was pretending to plate something. “What?” he said casually. “I listen to this before races.”

You laughed, the image playing in your mind—Lando in his race suit, earphones in, listening to slow love songs while preparing to risk his life at full speed. “You’re kidding.”

He looked up then. “I’m not,” he said, a little defensive, but still smiling. “It helps me chill out.”

Before you could tease him more, he stepped forward and gently reached for your wrist. There was nothing exaggerated about it, no loud joke or silly line—just a quiet motion, smooth and easy. He pulled you toward him slowly, like the idea had been there the whole time, waiting for the song to arrive.

You laughed, caught somewhere between surprise and curiosity. “What are you doing?”

But he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he placed one hand lightly on your waist and guided your other hand to his shoulder. You barely had time to think before you were swaying together—slowly, quietly, like you’d danced like this a thousand times before even though you hadn’t.

He didn’t say anything else. Just held you gently and moved with you in the soft rhythm of the music, humming along as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

And somehow, in that moment, it was.

You shifted your weight, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing. The heat from the stove wasn’t helping, and the way his fingers were wrapped around yours made everything feel ten times louder in your chest.

“I like this,” Lando said softly. “Us. Just... being together.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. You weren’t used to him being serious. Playful? Always. But this—this was different. Real.

Before you could stop yourself, a nervous laugh slipped out. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes and instantly regretted it.

He didn’t let go. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, trying to ease the knot in your stomach. “You’re just—being all serious while the kitchen almost burned down.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t erase the softness in his eyes. “So? Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

You looked down at your hands, still holding on like he didn’t want to risk you slipping away. “I guess I wasn’t expecting it. We joke around so much and now you’re being—” you gestured vaguely, “you know… sincere.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, voice quiet. “Having you here just… feels right.”

You swallowed hard. Your brain was spinning, trying to latch onto something clever to say, something that would make the moment less vulnerable. But nothing came. Just the sound of your own pulse thudding somewhere in your ears.

So you held onto his hand a little tighter—and hoped that said enough.

─── few hours later

You woke with a start, though you couldn’t say why. The apartment was quiet, wrapped in that heavy stillness that only comes deep in the night. For a moment, you stayed completely still, blinking up at the ceiling as your heart raced for no clear reason, the kind of waking where something feels wrong even if you can’t quite name it. The soft glow of the TV screen flickered across the room, shadows stretching and shrinking over the furniture, the walls. You took in the scene through a haze of sleep — the low hum of the speakers, the faint rustle of the curtains stirred by the breeze slipping in through a half opened window.

You shifted just slightly, enough to glance down at the coffee table in front of you. The dinner you’d made was still there, half-eaten, plates and glasses left where you’d abandoned them hours ago. The smell of it lingered faintly in the air — something warm, something comforting, now gone cold. The movie you’d picked out played on, though you couldn’t even remember what it was anymore. The dialogue had dropped to a whisper, just another part of the night’s quiet soundtrack.

And then you felt it.

Him. Lando.

His body curved along yours, so close you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back. His arm had slipped around your waist at some point — loose, unthinking, his hand resting warm and solid just above your hip. His breath was soft against the nape of your neck, steady and slow, completely at ease. His legs tangled lightly with yours, his hips pressed to yours in a way that made your breath catch, even as every part of you told yourself not to read too much into it.

You weren’t sure how it had happened — how the two of you had ended up like this. One moment you’d been watching a movie, laughing at some dumb line he’d thrown out, stealing bites of each other’s food, arguing about who got the last piece of garlic bread. And now… now you were here. Close enough to feel his heartbeat if you let yourself. Close enough that it would take nothing at all to turn and look at him.

But you didn’t.

Because as surprising as it was to wake up like this, you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to break whatever fragile, quiet thing existed between you in that moment. The world outside felt far away. And here, wrapped up in him, you felt — safe. Anchored. Like maybe this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

So you let your eyelids drift shut again, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. And without meaning to, without even thinking about it, you shifted back, just a little, curling closer into him. His arm tightened slightly in his sleep, as if even unconscious, he wasn’t ready to let go.

And for now — neither were you.

─── FOUR DAYS LATER

You hadn’t spoken a word about waking up tangled next to him on the couch. Neither had he. There was a quiet, awkward truce around it—like acknowledging it would make everything too real, too fast. So you both pretended like it was no big deal. Just two people who accidentally ended up sleeping back-to-back like puzzle pieces. Totally normal.

But Lando was more than happy to distract you with something far worse than late-night vulnerability: his absolutely cursed enthusiasm for making you suffer by forcing you to go for run with him.

You had made your feelings crystal clear from the start. Running? You hated it. Pointless, painful, energy-draining. Every step felt like betrayal. And yet somehow—after a whirlwind of failed protests and a half-hearted “fine, but I’m not going far”—you found yourself in front of your mirror, tugging at the waistband of running shorts and attempting to convince your hair to behave.

Behind you, Lando was stretched out on your bed, already laced up and smug, head propped on his hand as he watched you like this was his favorite part of the day.

“Lando, do we really need to go? It looks like it’s going to rain in any second!” you whined, turning slightly toward him in hopes your dramatic tone might save you from having to step outside. You were grasping at weather-related straws now.

He rolled onto his side with zero urgency, his head half-buried in your pillow like he was planning to stay there forever. That grin hadn’t left his face, completely unfazed by the dramatic whining you’d been serving since he first suggested the run. He didn’t take a single word of it seriously—instead, he just kept watching you like you were the morning’s entertainment, all messy hair and reluctant stretching.

Meanwhile, you were standing at the mirror, still adjusting your top, still debating your life choices. Why did you agree to this? Maybe because he looked so stupidly happy about it. Maybe because saying no would have meant admitting you cared a little too much about disappointing him.

“Y/n, a ten-minute run won’t kill you,” he said eventually, pushing himself up from your bed with the slow confidence of someone who definitely wasn’t about to suffer through cardio.

You met his eyes in the mirror, eyebrows raised as you pulled your hoodie over your head. “What if it does?” you asked, sighing heavily like it was a genuine possibility. He was standing behind you now, tall and smug, and annoyingly full of energy while you were still arguing with gravity.

“I’ll carry you home, princess,” he replied without missing a beat—then gave you a quick slap on an ass, grinning as he turned away.

“Hey!” you shouted, startled, spinning around as he jogged toward the door like this was already the warm-up.

You rushed down the stairs with zero grace, practically tripping over your own feet. Each step felt like a personal attack, and you were already regretting every life decision that led you to this exact moment. Your lungs hadn’t even caught up yet, and your legs were already threatening betrayal.

Outside, the air was still and heavy—the kind of quiet that creeps in right before a storm rolls through. The sky hung low, dark clouds gathering like gossip, and the wind carried a sharp chill that made your hoodie feel suddenly useless.

You didn’t even get a chance to scan your surroundings before you spotted him.

Lando was already halfway down the street, jogging like he didn’t just drag you into this on a whim. You blinked, squinted, swore under your breath, and then—

“Lando!” you whined, voice cracking with panic and betrayal as you sprinted after him.

He didn’t slow down.

Of course he didn’t.

You charged ahead, feet hitting the pavement with chaotic determination, already questioning your sanity. Your breathing was uneven, your hoodie was bouncing with every step, and your legs felt like they’d missed their warm-up memo. The street was quiet—too quiet, the kind that gives off “a storm is coming” vibes. The air felt heavy and thick, like it was holding its breath.

“Lando!” you called out again, voice high and dramatic, pure betrayal pouring into every syllable.

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t even glance back. Just threw a hand up in the air like your suffering was part of the entertainment.

You forced yourself to keep going, legs moving even though your soul begged for mercy. You hated this. You hated him. You kind of loved him. Not that you were about to admit that part—especially not while wheezing like you’d sprinted up a mountain instead of, you know, jogging on a flat street.

The sky above you growled with a low roll of thunder, and you looked up with a scowl. Seriously? Nature was literally turning against you now?

Up ahead, Lando finally slowed down enough for you to catch up, still grinning like he hadn’t just abandoned you to fate.

“You’re doing great,” he said, clearly lying.

“I’m dying,” you replied, clearly telling the truth.

You slowed to a shaky jog as Lando finally stopped, turning around to catch sight of you struggling several steps behind him. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood still on the pavement as the wind picked up and the sky grew heavier. Gray clouds were rolling fast overhead, ready to break at any second.

You reached him breathless, hoodie clinging to your skin. “I seriously hate you,” you managed between gasps, your voice low and sharp, half-lost in the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Lando looked back at you with that same infuriating grin. “Sure you do,” he said easily, like your words were just background noise. “Keep lying to yourself, darling.”

And then—right on cue—the sky opened up.

Rain came suddenly, loud and unapologetic, pouring down in sheets and soaking everything in seconds. You flinched, raising your arms like they could shield you, water dripping from your hair as you stood there, blinking through it.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” you repeated, voice quieter this time, barely audible under the rush of rain and your own laughter threatening to slip through.

“I know,” Lando said, his smile softer now. Then he stepped forward and took both of your hands in his, his grip warm despite the cold drops rolling between your fingers. He pulled you close without hesitation, just enough that you felt the heat of him cut through the wet fabric.

No teasing, no jokes. Just the storm around you and the strange calm between your bodies.

The rain poured harder, wrapping around you like a curtain—thick drops running down your arms, soaking into your clothes, sticking your hoodie to your skin. You stood there, hands clasped in his, as Lando grinned like the storm was part of his plan all along.

He hadn’t let go, even when the water started dripping from your hair into your eyes. His fingers stayed curled around yours, firm and steady, grounding you in the chaos. And despite how cold the rain was... his hands were warm. Too warm. Unfairly warm.

The rain kept falling, soaking through your clothes until you couldn’t remember what dry felt like anymore. Your shoes squished with every step, the water clung to your arms, and the storm seemed to wrap itself around you both like it wanted to stay for a while. Lando was standing close, still holding your hands, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air. He hadn’t moved away—not even an inch—and somehow, that meant more than it should.

Then, through the sound of the rain and the steady thudding of your heartbeat, he spoke. His voice was soft, but clear. Not rushed, not dramatic. “I want to kiss you so bad,” he said. And the words landed inside you like thunder. Sudden and strong and impossible to ignore. Your chest tightened, not just from the run or the cold, but from the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this moment wasn’t just about teasing anymore.

You blinked, unsure if you’d imagined it. The way he said it felt real, and that scared you a little. Was it the adrenaline? The rain? Or had all of this been slowly building up from the moment you woke up next to him on the couch, tangled in silence and warmth?

He was leaning in now, slower than usual. Eyes softer, smile gentler, waiting to see what you’d do next.

But even with your heart racing and your body shivering, something stirred in you—a mix of panic and humor and everything in between. And instead of answering with a kiss, you found yourself leaning into the part of you that always coped through words, through distraction, through pretending it didn’t mean everything.

“If you didn’t force me to run,” you said with a breathless laugh, trying to mask your nerves, “maybe I’d kiss you too.”

Your voice cracked a little, somewhere between teasing and trembling, and you smiled because it was easier to laugh than to admit how badly you wanted him to close the distance.

He stood there for a moment, dripping wet and grinning like he hadn’t just dragged you through a cardio nightmare in the middle of a thunderstorm. Then, as if your latest comment truly tested his limits, Lando rolled his eyes—deeply, dramatically, like he was gathering strength to deal with you.

“God, you’re exhausting,” he muttered with a half-laugh, shaking his head.

Before you could fire back with another sarcastic retort, he stepped forward and scooped you up, bridal style, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You squealed instinctively, arms flying around his neck for balance.

“Lando!” you gasped. “Put me down! The pavement’s slippery!”

“Exactly,” he said, tightening his grip as he started walking. “Wouldn’t want you wiping out and blaming me for lifelong trauma. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

You blinked at him through dripping lashes. “Your reputation involves making me suffer.”

“And looking good while doing it,” he added with a wink.

The rain poured harder, bouncing off his shoulders, streaming down your arms. Yet somehow, with his arms around you and the storm closing in, your laughter came easy. Your heart thudded, your cheeks flushed—not from running, but from being this close. From wanting to be this close.

And in that ridiculous, soaked moment, you weren’t just surviving the rain. You were falling into something you weren’t sure you could laugh your way out of this time.

─── few hours later

The storm didn’t let up that night. Rain tapped steadily against the windows, wind rattling in soft bursts, like the whole world outside was unsettled. You lay in bed, unable to sleep, covers pulled up to your chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held answers you couldn’t reach. Every few minutes, you glanced at your phone, watching the numbers change. 2:03. 2:06. 2:09. Still awake. Still thinking.

Your thoughts kept circling back to the run. The wet pavement. Your soaked clothes clinging to your skin. His laugh, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you like he wasn’t pretending anymore. You felt the moment over and over again, like it hadn’t ended.

And then you thought about the thing that didn’t happen. The almost. The words that hung between you both, heavy and real. You could still feel the way he held your hands. The way he pulled you close. The way your heart thudded against your ribs, wondering what would happen if you closed the gap.

You didn’t. But you could have.

And now, lying there with the rain still falling and your thoughts louder than the wind, all you could think about was one simple, impossible question: what if you'd kissed him?

The wish sat heavy in your chest, curled up beneath your ribs like it had been there for hours. Maybe days. You wished you kissed him. You wished you hadn’t laughed it off, wished you hadn’t let the moment pass like it didn’t matter.

Because maybe it did.

You could still picture it clearly—his stupid grin that always showed up when you were being dramatic. His stupid eyes that somehow looked at you like he knew exactly what was going on inside your head even when you didn’t. It made your chest tighten and your heart stir in ways you weren’t ready to name.

The storm outside hadn’t stopped, still tapping against the glass with a steady rhythm like it was keeping time for your thoughts. You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come. Only the warmth of the what-if did.

Eventually, you shifted under the covers and sat up. You didn’t rush. You didn’t even think too hard about it. You just swung your legs off the bed, your feet hitting the floor like they were always meant to, and moved quietly toward the door.

The house was dark, the air still damp from the storm. Your steps were soft as you walked across the hallway, heart thudding in a strange mix of hope and nerves. There was only one room your feet could take you to. One place pulling at you without words.

You reached his door.

And you paused—just for a second. Then you reached for the handle.

You stepped quietly into the room, letting the door close softly behind you. The storm was still rolling outside, wind whispering against the windows as rain tapped steadily on the glass. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, like it was holding its breath right alongside you. The dim light cast soft shadows across the walls, and every step toward his bed felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the air and clung to your skin more stubbornly than the rain ever did.

“Lando?” you called softly, hesitating. No response.

Your voice dropped a little as you took another step, softer this time. “Lan?” It came out almost like a question—like you weren’t just asking if he was awake, but asking if he’d be okay with you being here.

For a moment, the silence held. Then, without warning, his voice cracked through the quiet—low, rough, half-asleep but unmistakably him. “Hmm?”

Just that sound made your breath catch. It wasn’t just the way his voice rasped through the dark, or how warm it felt despite everything around you being cold. It was that you didn’t know if he was really awake, or if he was drifting somewhere between dreams, responding to you out of instinct. And somehow, that possibility made it more intimate. More dangerous.

You stood there for a beat longer, wondering what you were even doing. You didn’t have a reason. You weren’t looking for comfort, exactly. And yet, you hadn’t slept. Your mind had been looping all night, replaying the run, the rain, the closeness, the moment that nearly happened and the silence that followed instead.

“I can’t sleep,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. Your voice barely broke the quiet. You didn’t really know what you wanted—maybe just not to be alone with your thoughts anymore.

Another pause filled the room, longer this time. Then you heard him move under the covers, the sound of sheets rustling and a faint thump as his hand patted the empty space beside him.

“C’mere,” he said in that same raspy voice, a little clearer now, a little more awake. It was an invitation, sure—but it felt like more than that. Like he knew why you were here, even if you didn’t fully understand it yourself.

You hesitated for just a second, standing at the edge of the bed, your heart tapping hard against your chest. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow slipping through the window, casting pale shadows across the floor. You couldn’t tell if it was the rain still hitting the glass or the silence between you two that felt heavier. Slowly, you lowered yourself down, the bed dipping gently beneath you. You hadn't even found a place to settle before you felt his arm slide around your waist with quiet certainty, pulling you toward him in one smooth motion. Your breath caught in your throat, your body still tense, your thoughts spinning far too fast.

His warmth pressed into your back, familiar and steady, and you didn’t fight it. You weren’t sure you could. You lay frozen for a moment, thoughts flickering between confusion and comfort. You hadn’t planned to be here. You hadn’t planned to need this. But something about the way he held you made you feel like maybe this wasn’t just something you wanted—it was something he did too.

Then you felt his face tuck gently into the curve of your neck, and his voice, deep and low and still thick with sleep, brushed against your skin like a secret. “Y/n… please stay,” he mumbled, the words soft but full. It wasn’t a demand. It was a request. And somehow that made it hit even harder.

Your stomach fluttered wildly. Not the nervous kind—not entirely. It was the kind that came with being wanted. With being seen. You closed your eyes for a second, letting the moment sink in, letting your walls lower just enough to feel it.

Then, quieter, but somehow even more certain, his voice came again. “Forever. I don’t want you to leave, please.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Your mind was too loud. You were thinking about how you never expected this—how a storm and a run and a ridiculous boy with messy hair and a teasing smile had somehow managed to pull you into something real. Something soft. Something you were scared to admit you wanted.

─── THREE DAYS LATER

The drive back had felt longer than usual—not because of traffic, but because of the thick silence that stretched between you and Lando like a fog. He hadn’t spoken since you all said your goodbyes at Max’s place. Not a joke, not a hum, not even one of those casual one-word replies he usually tossed your way when he was distracted.

His hands were glued to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, the tension in his knuckles obvious even in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. You watched the side of his face in flashes as the streetlights passed, trying to read what wasn’t being said, and the longer he stayed quiet, the louder your thoughts became.

Was he upset? Was he tired? Or was it something else? Something to do with Keegan, maybe. You’d laughed a lot tonight—genuinely, too, not just your usual polite chuckles to keep the peace. Keegan was funny, sure, and easy to talk to. But maybe you got a little too caught up in the moment. Maybe your smiles lingered longer than you meant. You didn't think you did anything wrong… but now, sitting in this silence, you could feel Lando stewing next to you, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

By the time you reached the apartment, you were already tense from the guessing game. And as you stepped inside, the sound of the door slamming behind you snapped the quiet like thunder. You turned sharply, eyes wide, not bothering to hide your frustration.

You turned to face him. “Okay—what’s going on with you? You’ve been silent since Max’s place and now you’re slamming doors?”

He didn’t turn to look at you. Just tossed his keys onto the counter a little too hard and shrugged out of his jacket with jerky movements.

“I’m good,” he said, clipped and cold.

But it wasn’t convincing—not even close. You knew him too well. That voice, that stiff posture, the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes… he was angry. And not just angry—hurt. Defensive. The kind of silence that came from feeling something you didn’t know how to talk about.

You weren’t about to drop it.

“You clearly aren’t,” you shot back, stepping closer now, arms folded. “Talk to me.”

He looked at you then, finally, eyes sharp but guarded, like he was debating how much to say. And then the words came out, quiet but edged.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, voice clipped, “you seemed pretty friendly with Keegan tonight.”

Your brows rose instinctively, caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “Friendly?” you echoed, the word stretching out as you tried to gauge whether this was jealousy or something deeper.

Lando gave a half-shrug, but it wasn’t relaxed—it was stiff, guarded. His gaze didn’t falter. “I mean, I’m not blind. You laughed at everything he said. You barely looked at me.”

There was no sarcasm in his tone this time. No teasing. Just quiet frustration sitting beneath the surface, and the vulnerability he clearly hated letting show. And standing there across from him, you realized this wasn’t about one conversation or a few laughs—it was about how easily you affected him. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.

You didn’t want to assume—didn’t want to throw words around without knowing—but at this point? It was starting to feel way too obvious.

“Are you jealous?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. You tried to keep your voice light, but the truth clung to the air between you.

Lando scoffed, not even hesitating. “No.”

It was a lie. A bad one. You blinked at him, almost laughing, the sarcasm slipping out before you could stop it. “You are,” you said with a half-smirk, watching him carefully. But then your expression softened, lips tugging into something gentler. “You know it’s not like that with Keegan.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a quiet, flat “Yeah,” and looked away, shoulders tight.

That flick of indifference hit a nerve. You stepped forward, voice rising without meaning to. “Lando! What’s wrong with you?”

He finally looked at you, eyes filled with something sharp and bruised. “Maybe when I try—like an idiot—you always laugh it off. Never give me a real chance. But with him?” His voice cracked slightly. “It looked completely opposite.”

The words hung in the air between you, raw and rough, his frustration laid bare like something he hadn’t meant to admit out loud. He was still looking at you—eyes a little too open, voice still echoing, and you could see it clearly now. This wasn’t just about Keegan. This was about you. About all the times he tried and you didn’t let him in. About how badly he wanted to matter to you, and how scared he was that he didn’t.

And that was the moment something inside you snapped—not in anger, but in clarity. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You just moved.

Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie, and before either of you could speak again, you leaned in fast, fierce, and desperate. You crashed your lips into his, catching him mid-breath, mid-sentence, mid-everything. It was messy, urgent, and so completely overwhelming you forgot what you were even trying to say.

He froze for a beat, then kissed you back. Hard. His hands found your waist, gripping tightly like he’d been waiting for this. Like he needed it.

You stared at him, still catching your breath, the last few seconds feeling like a blur—your kiss, his arms around you, the rush of it all. But even with your heart racing, the frustration hadn’t completely faded. The things he said were still sitting heavy in your chest. The way he doubted you. The way he seemed hurt.

So before your nerves could stop you, you spoke, voice louder than you meant it to be. “I love you, you asshole.” It came out fast, almost clumsy, but there was no taking it back. You saw his eyes widen, surprised. You could feel the tension shift in the air around you.

You swallowed, your voice softer now. “I’m sorry for making fun of you. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know how to say it… how to say any of it without messing things up. So I laughed. I pushed it away because that’s just what I do. But you—you weren’t the one messing things up. I was.”

Lando didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if he’d heard you right. Like his whole mood had flipped in an instant, but he was too cautious to believe it.

Then his hands were back on your face, and he leaned in like he didn’t want even one more second to pass.

He kissed you again.

Not fast, not angry—this time, it was slow. It was warm. It was him saying, I believe you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks gently, and he kissed you like it mattered. Like he wanted to make sure you felt all of it. All the doubt, the longing, the care he’d buried underneath all his smart remarks and side glances.

And in that moment, you finally understood what it meant to stop pretending. What it felt like to be honest, and to be kissed like you’d just said everything that mattered most.

Your chest tightened at his words, his voice low, almost pleading. “Just please stay,” he said, eyes fixed on yours like he was afraid to blink. “Stop looking for apartments and stay here with me.”

You looked at him, standing there with that stubborn jaw and worried eyes, voice quieter than usual but packed with everything he hadn’t been saying. Just please stay. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a speech. But somehow, it hit you harder than all the arguments and teasing combined.

He thought you were still searching. Still planning your exit. He didn’t know that ever since you moved in, you hadn’t opened a single listing, hadn’t even typed "studio apartment near me" into a search bar. Not once. You hadn’t looked because deep down, you already knew—you were staying. You just hadn’t told him yet. Or maybe you were waiting for him to ask, really ask, like this.

You stepped closer, heart thudding, voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t looked. At all.”

His brows pulled in like he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

“Since the day I moved in,” you continued, “I haven’t checked a single place. I don’t want to. I want this. I want you.”

───

You woke up tangled in Lando’s sheets, light spilling across the mess of clothes on the floor and the chaos left behind from last night. The room looked like a storm had passed through—shirts hanging halfway off chairs, your jeans draped across the lamp, even one of his socks mysteriously clinging to the headboard. Everything was out of place, except you. You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You stretched slowly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the morning. His fingers were running lazily through your hair, and his breathing was steady, still half-asleep but very much there. It was quiet in the room, but soft. Comfortable.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, your voice low and honest.

“Hmm?” Lando mumbled, his hand not stopping, just shifting to tuck a loose strand behind your ear.

You hesitated, then asked seriously, “Are we, like... a thing? Or still just roommates?”

He didn’t answer at first, but you heard the laugh in his chest—short, warm, slightly amused. He turned his head, eyes cracking open just enough to meet yours.

“Very funny, darling,” he said, and you could hear the smile forming in his voice. Like it had been obvious to him for a long time.

Then he pulled you closer, turned you gently to face him, and kissed you—soft and slow and full of everything he couldn’t quite say with words alone.

When he pulled back, his smile had deepened, eyes now fully awake. “You’re mine. My girlfriend. My Y/n.”

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! It’s here guyss!! But i think i’m kinda stuck on some parts in lando ficss soo.. Max x pr! manager next👀 and all i can say is..it’s gonna be long and filthy.

[idoiising]

backstage with poly!sajaboys

theme : fluff / slight angst

contents : backstage waiting for your boys after a variety show appearance, reader is referred to as a girl at some points, there are no saja staff so you are the unofficial saja staff, reader almost finds out about their secret

you had made yourself comfortable in the green room of your city’s biggest broadcasting studio, your feet up on the leather sofa and a drink in hand that had been gifted to you by some of the staff.

on a small screen in the corner were your boys (boyfriends? friends with benefits? situationships? you weren’t sure). nothing was official but you had been hanging out with them pretty much every day since you’d met, and more than one of them had claimed you were ‘theirs’ so maybe you were together? who knows. who cares.

all you know is how you feel when you’re with them and it’s good; safe, wanted, and appreciated. you try not to think about what labels you should be putting on it, the situation is too odd to squeeze into a box.

they’re finishing up the show they were booked to feature on, performing their single in half seriousness. a few minutes ago the hosts had made them spin a wheel to find out what punishment they’d have to face for losing a game they played earlier, so now they’re all wearing animal onesies while they try to complete their choreography.

it was cute and the fans would love it, but you could feel the rage radiating through the screen from a couple of them.

you refresh twitter as you wait for them to finish up and say their thanks. you were right—the fans are going nuts.

you find yourself laughing out loud at some of the posts, the fans are so passionate it’s ridiculous. as their newly appointed social media manager you suppose it’s okay for you to stalk the fanbase as often as you do, but inside you know there’s more to it than just you helping the boys out.

you know them. you know them better than anyone else does, and you’re sure of that, but there’s something festering at the very back of your mind that tells you there’s something being kept from you; a piece of information that you and the fans aren’t aware of.

staying up to date with the fans thoughts and theories on the boys gives you a little comfort. they adore them so much and they wouldn’t if there was something bad going on; so obsessively checking the socials keeps you sane.

you’re very lucky to be in the position you’re in as well as being cursed with it; you’re sure most people would kill to have every move their partner makes be a live spectacle and to get 10,000 different opinions on it—it makes decision-making a lot easier.

on the other hand though, all 10,000 of those life advice councillors want to fuck your boyfriends. not so fun.

your scrolling time gets interrupted by a crowd of feet shuffling down the corridor towards the green room and the door swings open just in time for you to put your phone down.

jinu is first, followed by the rest of the boys who are following in single file—all slouched, and all sporting colourful oversized onesies.

your hand immediately flies to your mouth to stifle a giggle, your other one frantically reaching for your phone to take some behind the scenes photos for the fans, and yourself.

they all straighten up immediately at the sight of your camera and let you take a few photos before romance strides towards you and takes the phone out of your hands once he’s had enough.

“this is humiliating” he sighs, placing your phone on a table far enough away that you can’t reach it without getting up. jinu locks the door quietly before leaning against it and locking his gaze onto the carpet, defeated.

“well i thought you all did amazing.” you say, still trying to hold in your laughter. you couldn’t take their stress seriously when they looked like this; all cute and fluffy and disheveled.

romance shoots you a look like you’d just forsaken his bloodline, unicorn hood falling over his eyes and no doubt messing up his hair. you gesture for him to come towards you and start helping him out of the thing once he bends down to your level.

baby and mystery both look like they just need a nap, they’re talking amongst themselves about something while baby unzips himself from his onesie.

abby makes his way over to you and you throw an arm out in front of him before he can sit down.

“that thing is going to explode if you sit down in it and i don’t want us to owe the costume department any more money than we already do.” you say sternly, looking between him and jinu, expecting the latter to be the one worried about this. at this point they should just make you the manager manager.

abby only smirks at you, beginning to open his mouth for some smart-assed comment, no doubt.

“take it off” you say, fully prepared for the smugness that’ll come next from even uttering those words.

romance groans, reminding you that he’s bent over in front of you and you’ve gotten distracted. “sorry, love” you apologise, pulling his hair out of the outfit and tying it up loosely so that it’s far away from the zipper.

“take it off for me?” abby starts, winking at you. you look away from him the best you can while his huge frame is hovering so close to you.

“kind of preoccupied here, big boy, get in line.” you say, fiddling with the last of the zips and buttons on romance’s onesie. once it’s all done you pat him on the back gently, signalling for him to step out of it. he does so as mystery and baby make their way over to the sofa, mystery still donning his puppy onesie—he’s the only one that doesn’t seem bothered by it.

romance throws himself across you the moment he’s freed from his plush shackles, head laid across your lap like a sickly maiden. your hand finds his hair instinctively, brushing it out of the loose ponytail.

“hey, quit hogging her it’s my turn.” abby turns his attention to romance, still waiting for you to undress him for no reason other than to tease you.

romance doesn’t answer him, only turns around in your lap and buries his face into your stomach, trusting that you’ll be able to shut abby up—you always do.

you sigh and readjust carefully so that you’ll be able to reach over him without much hassle.

“okay come here” you say, reaching for abby. his face lights up and he gets as close to you as possible since you’re a bit trapped now.

“anyone else want help? line up” you say, half joking, half genuinely concerned for jinu now; he’s still just standing in the corner in his onsie, staring off. usually he’s straight into planning the next promotion, but he’s being weird today.

mystery places himself at your feet, curling his arms around your legs. he’s not making it any easier for you to deal with abby, but you don’t complain; he just wants to be close to you.

you unzip abby but quickly realise you can’t help him squeeze out of the suit since you’re now anchored to the sofa, but what’s new. those two are always glued to you.

he notices the helpless look in your eyes and defeatedly waddles over to jinu for some help. good, hopefully that snaps him out of it, you think.

“missed you” mystery mumbles, his face pressing against your leg. you ruffle his hair and push it away from his face; it’s a bit damp. they’re all sweaty after performing at the best of times but it must be like a sauna trying to dance in those things under the glaring spotlights in the studio.

you smile down at him, he’s definitely the clingiest of the boys. romance likes throwing himself at you whenever he can for the dramatics and because he likes you fussing over him, but mystery is a genuine cuddle bug through and through.

you feel his hand sliding up your trousers leg, as if he couldn’t get close enough to you. he would crawl inside your skin if he could, you’re sure.

baby’s sitting next to you now with romance’s legs laying over his lap. he’s watching something on his phone; volume blasting.

“how did you find it?” you ask him, reaching over to poke his shoulder. he glances up and you and just shrugs.

“what is with you guys?” you pout. all of them are acting like corpses; all mopey and exhausted. it’s out of character for them.

“you’re usually all bouncing off the walls after a promo.”

they all start looking around at each other, guilt hanging over their expressions. you look to jinu who’s finished wrangling abby out of his onesie and is now stepping out of his own.

he sighs.

“nothings wrong, we’re…just having to put extra effort into everything now—award season’s coming up, you know?” he says, but it seems like he’s leaving something out.

he pulls a chair over and sits across from your cuddle pile, legs crossed wide.

“you don’t have to rush! don’t overwork yourselves, i hate seeing you all like this, as nice as the quiet is for once. no one expects you to win all the awards, you’re only a couple months post debut. you have all the time in the world to succeed” you stress.

baby snickers beside you and you can tell it’s sarcastic. “no we don’t” he says, eyes still glued to his phone.

romance quickly raises his hand and slaps him on the arm, trying to shut him up.

you grow more and more confused as the conversation unfolds. what are they talking about and why are they keeping it from you? if you keep getting left in the dark like this you might scream—you’re supposed to be a team.

if they have their secrets, that’s fine, but you know it’ll only lead you down a paranoia spiral.

“i thought we weren’t supposed talk about it in front of y/n…” abby pipes up, looking just as confused as you. sometimes him being a little slow has its perks.

jinu looks like he could strangle them all. he’s pinching the bridge of his nose and you can see his shoulders rising and falling heavily.

“talk about what, jinu…” you ask quietly, looking around at all of them. the air is thick with tension, everyone knowing they’ve put their foot in it for real now. they’ve been able to skirt around the subject for months; some more okay with keeping the secret than others, but they’ve never been this close to cracking before.

mystery tightens his grip on your legs; fingers almost bruising. he and jinu are the ones most aversed to telling you until after everything’s over; they don’t want to risk you running away from them.

the silence continues as jinu desperately tries to think of what to tell you; what he can say now that’ll keep you satisfied for long enough. he only needs a little more time, just a week or so, and then he’ll tell you everything, he’ll have everything he wants then. including you.

“i can’t tell you” he says, head hung low in shame.

your chest immediately tightens, it feels like your lungs can’t expand enough, like something’s slowly, achingly, constricting your ribcage from the inside.

they’ve been your whole world for the past few months, you’ve put your whole life aside for them because you felt such a deep connection; something genuine and real, and now it feels like it’s all teetering on the edge of a cliff, like you’re about to hear a piece of information that’ll send it all hurtling over the edge.

you don’t even know what you would do if things ended badly with them. as much as you thought you were being chill about things, you absolutely were not; you had practically moved in with them and you left your job to come help them with their careers, as well as letting them be the basis of your whole self worth at the moment.

“why not,” you ask quietly. you have to ask; even if you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

another pause.

no one moves, it feels like it’s only you and jinu in the room now, all eyes on both of you.

“you just have to trust me—us” he says desperately, knowing he’s all out of excuses.

you look around at your boys, all of them staring at you now. they’re all on edge, eagerly waiting for your response as if it’ll let them breathe again.

mystery’s grip on your calf is almost becoming unbearable, you can’t tell anymore if it’s because he wants you to stay or he wants to hurt you. ten minutes ago you never would’ve doubted that, but this mindfuck has you questioning everything.

“are you ditching me?” you ask quietly, voice wobbling a bit. best to just ask outright, you think. you don’t want to drag it out any longer if they’re planning on leaving you.

the look of shock on jinus face would be funny in any other situation, but now it just makes you even more confused. he shoots up out of his seat.

“no! no, no, no, not that,”

a chorus erupts around you, all frantically shouting variations of the same statement.

“never” “what? no” “of course not” “noooooo”

you blink.

they all lunge for you. romance is up and at your side in a second, arms wrapped around your waist tightly. abby perches on the arm of the sofa and wraps an arm around your neck, and jinu and baby both crouch in front of you, taking a hand each.

“we’re not going anywhere, silly girl” abby mumbles into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“what do you mean then?” you’re still so lost.

“i promise we’ll tell you soon. all you need to know is that we need to win the idol awards. this year. after that we’ll tell you everything.” jinu explains the best he can, stroking his thumbs over the back of your hand, trying to affirm that he’s telling the truth.

baby looks to jinu briefly before nodding in agreement. he wanted to tell you as soon as possible—seeing it pointless to keep this from you. he knew he could win you over even if you did get scared and try to run from them, but not if they didn’t work as a team. they’d only gotten so far in all of the centuries they had known each other by doing things together, no matter how selfish the end goal was. so he agrees with jinu. you can wait.

you close your eyes for a moment, needing some time to get your head straight. if you trust them for just a little while longer and work your hardest to help them get that win, you’ll know what’s going on. if you don’t, you’re letting your paranoia get the better of you over what could be nothing, and risk losing these angels that were gifted to you.

you don’t have much choice.

“i trust you”

they all let out a collective sigh of relief.

“good” baby says, like he knew you would. he kisses your hand.

romance gives you a light squeeze, pulling you into him. “you can’t get away from us, angel”

you laugh, some part of you is still nervous about it all but if you know they’re going to be there with you, everything will be okay. you might just have to deal with them being grumpy every now and then.

“if you tried i would just catch you with these” abby jokes and you can feel him flexing his arm behind your head, looking smug again. his antics keep you sane a lot of the time, even though you roll your eyes at him, he’s like a breath of fresh air whenever you’re in your own head too much.

you laugh again, hitting him on the chest lightly. you know he’s joking. it would never come to that anyway for you to find out if he would drag you back kicking and screaming. you’re here for as long as they’ll have you. little do you know that’s a lot longer than your natural lifespan.

“i’m not going anywhere either” you say, smiling.

mystery makes a satisfied noise below you, hands still snaked around your legs, feeling your skin against his as if he’s never felt it before. he uses you as a fidget toy, you think; always reaching for you to occupy his restless hands with something.

“we know” baby says, fully confident. if there’s one person in the room that would hunt you down to get you back, it’s him. you’ve completely flipped his world upside down too; before he was stuck in a cycle of only living to appease gwi-ma. nothing else mattered to him, until you, and he’s not going to give that up for anything.

you all sit in pleasant silence for a moment, grateful for having each others trust, before jinu breaks it.

“let’s get ready for the next promotion then” he says, springing up from his seat.

romance groans dramatically, burying his face deeper into your clothes. you giggle.

you don’t mind dealing with their stress if they can handle yours too.

[eyes-onthehorizon]

hey loves, I’ve been reading through the comments and loads of people are asking how to not fall into this pattern because that’s all they know. so, here’s some advice from Auntie Pan who’s been in the trenches (stress-caused disabilities and chronic illnesses).

context: grew up in an abusive, controlling home, escaped to uni, had a prolonged mental breakdown, became a teacher and worked in a dysfunctional school with amazing kids and nightmare management for years. I did not realise I have adhd and autism for a long time. (You might even be able to scroll back through this blog to find the time around which I did realise lol.)

ANYWAY, things that have helped me because my body can no longer handle any kind of stress without flaring up:

If you’re doing anything that requires you to do a lot of prep before you begin the actual thing (e.g. cooking, deep cleaning a room, moving house), mise en place. That’s a fancy french way of saying get everything ready before you begin. So if I’m cooking idk spaghetti carbonara, that means fry and chop the bacon, separate the egg yolks from the whites, put water in the kettle, put dry spaghetti into a pan. Once everything’s ready, it reduces the mental load and means I can focus on the actual cooking and any clean up that I can do along the way. H/t to @ms-demeanor for this, you changed my life!

the Might As Well rule. This one works really well for me but you gotta be careful otherwise you’ll get sucked into the Vortex. Basically, let’s imagine you’re in the bathroom, brushing your teeth. You notice that the extra roll of toilet paper has been used. instead of thinking, “I’ll get to that later”, and then forgetting about it until you sit down on the bog (no judgement, we’ve all been there), you think “Might As Well put an extra roll while I’m here!” This tends to help with the little tasks that build up over time. This Does Not Work for big tasks.

Leading on from no.2, Do It Immediately/ASAP really helps me too. My current boss will email me on a Friday and say, ‘don’t reply to this now! Leave it til monday!’ But she and i both know that if i leave it til monday, I will forget and get stressed and this will make me Very Ill. So, instead, the moment i receive the email, I’ll either schedule in replying to it as soon as I’m done with my current thing, OR I’ll reply to it immediately.

Anything that can’t be actioned immediately, i mark as Unread. Anything Unread in my inbox is a future action, and i check those Unread emails/texts/whatevers Every. Day. To make sure whether today is the day i have the info to action it. (This also means i have to stay on top of my inbox. I read all my emails and then mark them accordingly. I’m also brutal with unsubscribing)

The House Always Wins. Both in a literal sense, because i am in a constant battle with keeping my house clean, and i know now that I’ll never get it as clean as i want it. It’s impossible, i no longer have the energy or stamina to vacuum and scrub everything. But also just in a life sense. I’m never going to achieve things to perfection, and perfect is the opposite of done. And getting things done is that much more important when you have limited energy and strength. Accept that you often have to half-arse life in order to Full-Arse the few things that really matter to you.

Have multiples of everything, everywhere. I wear support gloves, so i need to have handcream at every sink and everywhere i sit down in the house. I try to keep it unobtrusive, but it means i don’t have to trek upstairs just to moisturise my hands. Gum, phone chargers, pens and pencils, water bottles, hand sanitizer, whatever you need.

Work with people, even if it’s online. Body doubling actually works. Also I’ve found that if I’m working on assignments, taking myself to a library or study area that isn’t my bedroom helps so much.

Show off! Tell people on here or elsewhere in your life about the fact that you’ve just written 100 words! Or that you’ve cleaned the fridge and that’s a really big deal for you. Celebrate your wins, no matter how small.

Basically, you’re aiming to reduce the mental load as much as possible. Wear the same types of clothes all the time to minimise the amount of laundry. Eat the same three lunches so decision fatigue doesn’t take over.

All of this takes time to implement and it is cumulative, but i hope it helps. Reading the comments on this post, i finally understand why adhd is comorbid with so many other conditions. let’s take care of each other <3

There's a bunch of adhd advice out there that's like "people with adhd tend to work better under deadlines due to the anxiety so here are ways to artificially induce a stress response in order to get you to get work done" and it's like well what if I don't want to be stressed out all the time in order to function

[ssahotchnerr]

Obsessed with the Ellie-verse fic you just posted but what about that same concept but instead of family day, you and Aaron were supposed to get a night to yourselves with no kids or a weekend away or something and he is so exhausted but doesn’t want to disappoint you xx

just us tonight

🥺 stoppp cw; dad!aaron, reader is referred to as mom, a lot of domestic fluff with slight angst, 18+ very light smut at the end <3 wc; 1k

"Hey sleepyhead."

"Hm?" Aaron's head came up slowly, slight confusion pulling onto his face. He must've dozed off; the last traces of sunlight had faded beyond the horizon. Dusk was falling, soft and steady.

"Kids are at JJ's." You plopped into bed beside him, your body immediately curling up against his. It took him a moment to reorient himself, but then he remembered: date night. 

"How'd it go?" He asked, referring to drop-off. His voice was heavy with sleep as you nestled your head into the crook of his neck.

"Eh. Could've gone better." You grimaced, tapping a few fingers against his chest in thought. "Jack, fine. I barely got a goodbye from him, he was already in the backyard shooting goals with Henry. Ellie on the other hand..."

"Rough time?" Aaron felt your nod.

"JJ just about had to pry her off me." You thought back - Ellie's arms locked tightly around your neck, protesting profusely as JJ attempted to untangle her from you, insisting what a fun evening laid ahead - games, movies, whatever she wanted to do. But despite the exciting promises and the assurance it was only for one night, she still cried for you to stay.

"I'm sorry." His hand found your back, rubbing the tension away with slow, steady circles. He was unfortunately used to the goodbyes - he had no choice but to be - but you were rarely apart from the kids.

And Ellie's reluctance to be apart from either you or Aaron, made it harder; leaving her when she was so upset at the idea shattered your heart. From the moment she was born, she always wanted to be held. Unbidden, an image of newborn Ellie – tucked against Aaron’s chest and sleeping soundly – came to mind, making it harder for you to bear the thought of her as you’d seen tonight.

A soft exhale escaped through your nose, pursing your lips together. "Hopefully it's a phase she grows out of soon. It's starting to worry me."

It felt as if the situation had been heightening, and at this rate, by no means was it getting any better. Ellie was growing clingier by the day and there seemed to be no end in sight.

Aaron nodded encouragingly, pressing his lips to your forehead, "and if not, we'll figure it out. She'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know." Your gaze tilted up to meet his. You offered him a weak smile, silent admiration for him sweeping through your body, before leaning in and kissing him gently.

His hand slid up and down your back a few more times, each movement smooth and practiced. After a moment, he lifted himself up - before he had the chance to doze off again - utterly comfortable with you so close, your breathing steadying his own.

"Hey," you grabbed his hand and pulled him back, causing him to fall beside you. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get ready? I don't think sweats and a t-shirt will suffice."

"For?"

Aaron's eyebrows lifted. "Aren't we going out?"

"We were," you propped yourself up by your elbows, and then straddled him, not allowing him the opportunity to move a muscle. "Now, we're staying here."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head against the pillow lightly. He knew what you were doing, "No."

"Yes." You quipped in the same tone, raising an eyebrow.

"I promised you we'd have a date night."

You playfully looked around the room, emphasizing your next point. "I don't see any kids around, do you?"

He looked up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. That's not what he meant, and you knew that, but you gave him a challenging look in return anyway. "No sweetheart. This is becoming a trend - I don't want to be the one continuously delaying our plans."

"Aaron," your voice amused, "you don't take naps. That's a sign in and of itself. I'd much rather stay here instead of having you numbly out and about just for the sake of it. What if in a sleep deprived state, you order something you don't like?"

"You'd knock some sense into me, I think."

You pinned his wrists down against the mattress, your voice now taking on a more earnest tone. "Honey, I don't care what we do, I'm happy to spend uninterrupted time with you. My amazing, hot, wonderfully sexy husband."

He laughed breathlessly at your words, despite the dull pain of uncertainty firm in his chest. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. Our marriage vows stated forever, didn't they? And as a result, we have plenty of nights to take advantage of in the future."

His brows furrowed. "But tonight, the kids are gone."

You waved his statement off. "Luckily for us, we have plenty of babysitters who are equally as obsessed with them and are more than willing to take them off our hands for a night. I receive a text from Penelope almost daily asking to see them."

"Maybe I'll have to take it a little easier on them, just for that," Aaron joked lightly, a hint of mischief flickering in his brown eyes.

"And with Ellie being so upset," your shoulders dropped and your hold on him released, suddenly sobering. "I don't know. I'd rather be readily available if needed. You'd be doing me a favor by staying home, really."

He nodded in understanding, his gaze softening. Although the comfort of Jack would help, or her sheer love for Auntie JJ and the boys, there was the chance Ellie would be inconsolable, needing to be picked up.

"You're an amazing mother, you know." Aaron reached up, bringing a hand to your cheek. "And wife. Thank you for continuously thinking of us."

You leaned into his touch, appreciating the sentiment. It didn't take long for a light smirk to return to your face.

"Besides, staying home also gives me the opportunity to take care of you." You ran your hands along his chest suggestively. Leaning down allowed you to whisper into his ear, "Really take care of you. You work too hard."

Quiet house, no kids, zero interruptions - sex was on the agenda tonight no matter what. Besides, it was something the both of you had been looking forward to - so why wait?

He hummed gently as your lips peppered kisses along his jaw, and then his neck. He nearly groaned - it felt so good. He did once your hand slipped underneath his waistband, palming him through his boxers. "It has been a while."

"Then let's not waste another moment."

[polyfirefly]

A Lesson In Cinema

When Evan asks Tommy for movie recommendations for pride month it turns into a lesson on 90s to 2000 gay movies and TV (And In Tommy Kinard) Content Warning: There is mention of a character's past sexual experience as a minor (age 17) that involves dubious consent. It is not described in detail, however I've placed a line of ** asterisks at the start and end of that portion of the story so you can skip it if you wish.

Read On AO3

Tommy's mid-shift on a slow day when his phone buzzes in his pocket. The notification says it's from Evan. They haven't talked in over a month, not since the funeral.

He hesitates, but only for a moment, because he knows that whatever it is, whether it's another impossible favor or a horny post-shift text, he's not going to be able to say no. He unlocks his phone and opens the text, his brows furrowing as he reads:

Evan: Did you ever watch Glee?

He certainly isn't expecting that. He types back a response.

Tommy: No, not really. Why?

There's a beat where he's watching bubbles dance on his screen, wondering where this is going.

Evan: Josh said you would have watched Glee.

What?

Tommy: What? Josh from dispatch?

Evan: Yes. He said Glee was important.

Tommy: Evan, what is this about?

He waits and then a wall of text pops up.

Evan: I was browsing Amazon Prime and I saw this show called Overcompensating and I started watching it (it's good. you should watch it) and it made me realize that pride month is about to start and I haven't watched a lot of queer media, not intentionally at least.

Evan: And that made me remember this thing that Josh said months ago. He said that Glee was important. Something about a pre-Glee and post-Glee world and how it changed things, made things easier for acceptance. I didn't really know what he meant at the time, and to be honest, I still don't, not really, anyways, I was thinking about that and now we're here.

Tommy blinks. He's not sure how to respond to this spiraling stream of thought. He has no idea what a "pre" or "post" Glee world is either. He knows that Glee was important to a lot of people when it came out. He's seen a few episodes back when it aired but it isn't really his thing.

Tommy: I was a little too old for Glee when it came out. It wasn't really formative for me

Buck: if you didn't watch Glee, what did you watch?

That's a loaded question. In the years since he's come out and started living as an openly gay man, Tommy has done a lot of work to educate himself on the media he'd missed out on while he was in the closet.

But, that was as an adult. His memories of formative media from his younger years, especially ones from his childhood, were limited. A lot of it was buried under layers of denial and shame that had taken years to dig himself out from under.

Tommy: When I was maybe 12 or 13 there was this show, My So Called Life. It played on MTV constantly, but my parents didn't want me watching it so I would stay up until 2 A.M. to sneak into the living room and watch reruns on the TV. while my parents were asleep. There was this character named Ricky, a teenager who’d come out as gay on the show. The way he felt like he didn’t belong anywhere, I felt that way, too.

Tommy also remembered how the show had ended. Ricky's family kicks him out, he bounces around for a while before going to live with his drama teacher, an older gay man, and his partner. 12 year old Tommy viewed that ending as a cautionary tale, but now, 40 year old Tommy thinks of it as a story about a kid surviving through community. He still thinks it deserved a better ending.

There's no response from Evan after that, and Tommy has to go when the alarm starts to go off. He pockets his phone and gets into gear, forgetting about being 12 years old and the lonely glow of the TV in the dark at 2 A.M.

Two days later, Tommy's on his day off, about to get to work harvesting his tomato garden with his sun hat and his gardening gloves on, when he gets another text from Evan.

Evan: I binged it. I can't believe it's only 19 episodes. I cried a few times. Also, I can't believe she picked Jordan Catalano!

Tommy chuckles a little at that last bit.

Tommy: If I'm being honest, I probably would have picked Jordan at 15 years old, too.

Evan: Jared Leto is a creep.

Tommy: He wasn't at the time.

He waits for the bubbles to pop up but they don’t. So Tommy puts his phone away and goes back to his tomatoes. A few hours later, Tommy's cutting up one of those tomatoes, intent on using it for a salad with his dinner that night, when his phone buzzes again.

Evan: U have any more recommendations?

Tommy chews on his bottom lip. Where is this going? He's not sure but he decides to play along anyway.

Tommy: How about movies?

Evan: I'm open to it.

Tommy runs through a mental list, thinking back through all of the gay TV shows and movies that he'd sneak watched as a teen and 20-something or binged in his early 30's when he was trying to play catch-up. He suspects that's what Evan is doing, trying to catch up on a whole new-to-him world that he's been missing out on.

Tommy types out a list of some of his favorite and not so favorite but essential material. Some things were just essential for the culture.

Evan: Jesus, I asked for recommendations, not a syllabus.

Tommy: U not up to the challenge?

Evan: I didn't say that. Challenge Accepted 🫡

Almost every day from that point on, Tommy gets what he comes to think of as progress reports from Evan. Most of them are off the cuff judgments of Evan's latest watch, but a few are quite insightful.

Evan: Why are so many of these sad? I just finished crying my eyes out after Brokeback Mountain.

Tommy: Google 'Bury your gays'

A few hours later.

Evan: I assumed you didn't mean the Chuck Tingle novel... That's...wow.

Tommy: Yup.

Evan: That sucks.

Tommy: Yup.

The next weekend he gets a text while grocery shopping.

Evan: Shelter was a breath of fresh air!

Tommy smiles down at his phone in the middle of the frozen foods section.

Tommy: That one's an understated favorite.

Another day, he's just finished a pickup game when he gets another text.

Evan: The mom from Latter Days was a little too close to home.

The next day, he wakes up at 1 A.M. to a text from Evan.

Evan: It burns! ☠️

Tommy snorts a laugh.

Tommy: Glad you’re enjoying Trick.

He rolls over, falling back to sleep.

The next night he gets a voice recording of Evan singing “Wig in a Box" from Hedwig and The Angry Inch. He sounds drunk and–is that Diaz singing along with him?

************************************************************************

The following weekend, Tommy’s just gotten out of the shower when his phone buzzes on the edge of his bed. His body's still a little sore from Muay Thai practice, but the hot water has loosened up his muscles and he’s relaxed. He lies down in bed, still in a towel, and swipes on his phone.

Evan: I tried watching Queer as Folk. Not continuing that. Justin was 17!

He doesn’t remember adding the TV show to the list, although he has seen it.

Tommy: Doing some extra credit?

Evan: It came up in my recommendations. I don’t think it’s for me.

Tommy: Fair. Although, I'd argue that unfortunately, while definitely dramatized for the show, it's not an uncommon experience for a lot of us when we were younger.

There's a noticeable lack of bubbling and Tommy thinks the conversation is over when Evan finally responds with a question.

Evan: How old were you? For your first time?

The question catches Tommy off guard. It's not the fact that Evan is asking it. It’s not an unusual question to ask someone that you've been intimate with. It's the realization that it had taken them this long to have this conversation in the first place.

Tommy: I was 16 my first time with a girl. A high school girlfriend. She was a cheerleader, I was a jock. I was trying to full a certain image at the time.

Julia was a beautiful, strawberry blonde. She was sweet, very understanding when he’d wanted to take things slow at first. Last he saw her on Facebook she was married with kids.

Tommy: My first time with a man was in basic, at 18. It's not exactly difficult to get laid when you're gay in basic. He was my Drill Sergeant. There was a little imbalance of power there. It wasn’t a great choice.

Sgt. Keys was older than Tommy at the time. He was in his early thirties and had dark hair, tan skin, and deep brown eyes that seemed to square Tommy out immediately. He remembers feeling incredibly overwhelmed but wanting it so bad all of the risk seemed worth it. His brain shut off and his body took over, propelled by the desire to finally put into action something he'd been dreaming about for years. It was quick and dirty, not at all as romantic as he'd wanted it to be. That, too, is common, he’s learned.

In the end, it’s the guilt and the fear of being found out that came afterwards that partly sours the memory for him. His phone buzzes again.

Evan: I was 17. I snuck into a college party with some friends. I got drunk and an older girl dared me to try and jump from the balcony into the pool. I did. I don’t know how I survived, honestly. Anyway, we hooked up afterwards. I don’t remember a lot of it. I was pretty drunk.

Tommy reads over the message twice. It's a Wednesday and he remembers Evan's schedule well enough to know that he's probably home alone right now, and Tommy wishes he was there with him.

Tommy: Thank you for trusting me with that, Evan.

20 minutes pass, which is enough time to make Tommy's thoughts start to wonder with ideas of what Evan could be doing. Then his phone buzzes.

Evan: Thank you, for giving me another first to remember.

************************************************************************

He’s in the middle of a terrible 48 hour shift, several of those hours have been spent up in the air assisting in the search and retrieval for a pair of lost hikers in Griffith Park. He’s sitting down to eat for the first time that day when the latest progress report from Evan comes in.

Evan: I’m watching Maurice in-between calls.

Tommy: Slow day?

Evan: Yeah, nothing too crazy. Mostly routine medical calls.

Evan: You?

Tommy: Had a close call. Lost hikers in Griffith. 1 with a broken ankle and another critically low on insulin. Wasn't sure if the diabetic was going to make it.

Evan: Oh Shit. Anything I can do to cheer you up?

Tommy: You can distract me. Tell me what you thought of the movie.

Evan: Okay, well, it’s kind of sad actually? I don’t know, I just realized how easy it’s been for me.

Tommy: That’s a good thing, Evan. It should be easy.

Evan: I know, but I guess I haven’t taken the time to think about it. I’ve been pretty lucky so far.

Evan: I haven’t told anyone outside of friends and family. The thought’s kind of scary. Does it stop being scary?

Tommy: It does over time. And then sometimes it’s worse. That’s just part of it.

Evan: What was it like for you, when you first came out?

Tommy thinks about his attempt at a clean slate by transferring over to the 217. It took him a month to come out at work and he’d felt dread with each passing day. Not particularly because he thought it would go badly, but at the idea that he’d failed himself. That he was stuck.

He finally came out during one of Captain Shaw's bi-weekly poker nights. They were talking about childhood crushed and he’d mentioned that he's always liked Brendan Fraser in George of The Jungle. Lucy commented on his excellent taste and the conversation carried on.

Tommy: Terrifying, but was mostly in my head. I didn’t know if anyone at Harbor would accept me. I didn't know if Captain Shaw was going to be another Gerard or not. He ended up being all right. He’s no Bobby, though.

Evan: I miss him.

Tommy: Did I ever tell you I was there when he met Athena for the first time?

Evan: I think you may have mentioned it?

Tommy: We had to apprehend a rampaging rooster, and you’ll never guess what the rooster’s name was!

Later that week, Tommy finally gets home from his shift and there's a package sitting on his porch, wrapped in cellophane and sealed in a plastic container. There’s a sticky note on top. He peels it off and reads it.

Watched Big Eden. Made me want to bake something again, and I thought you should get to taste it this time. It’s not spumoni, but I hope you like it anyway.

He doesn't know what Evan means by “again” or “this time.” He doesn't remember Evan being as much into baking as he was into cooking.

Inside the container is a slice of multi-layered cake with chocolate buttercream frosting and a sprinkle of nuts on top. It takes the walk from the front door to the kitchen for Tommy to decide that it’s okay if he breaks his diet, just this once. He makes a delighted hmmm noise as he tastes the first bite. The cake is rich and dense but not overpowering. It’s fucking delicious. He takes out his phone, snaps a picture of the half eaten slice of cake and sends it.

Tommy: You made this?

Evan: I did. I hope this means you like it?

Tommy: Evan, this is incredible! Since when do you bake?

Evan: Since last year. It’s a good distraction, keeps my hands and my thoughts busy. So I don’t have to think about things.

Tommy knows that “things” could mean a lot of, well, things, for Evan. Especially lately with Eddie moving away to El Paso then suddenly losing Bobby and Eddie moving back from El Paso, leaving Evan without a place of his own to call home until a little while ago. He’d heard about that last bit through the grapevine, i.e. a Facebook post from Eddie who, for some reason, still hadn’t unfriended him. If Tommy's honest, he thinks he knows what Evan means by “last year.”

He’s not sure what he has to say to that. He remembers the first few months, resisting the urge to reach out to Evan. A few nights in the beginning spent staring at their last conversation, typing something out and then quickly deleting it before getting the courage to press send. He’s even admitted to Evan’s face that he used to drive by Evan’s old loft more than once, hoping for…for something. He doesn’t know what exactly.

He stares at the open messages app. His mind flashes back to that disastrous morning after, to the last time he’d actually attempted to reach out. He's hit by a familiar wave of rejection, but at the same time he feels trapped, a kind of emotional paralysis. He closes the app, packs up the remains of the cake, puts it away in the fridge, and goes to bed still hungry.

He doesn’t expect to get any more texts but a few days later his phone buzzes in his pocket while he’s in his garage changing his truck’s engine oil. Once he’s finished, using a rag to wipe his hands clean, he pulls out his phone expecting anything else than what’s on the screen.

Evan: Some of this stuff is literally porn.

He doesn’t remember exactly what Evan could be referring to. There were a lot of movies on that list that could, to the uncultured eye, be considered porn.

Tommy: Can you elaborate?

Evan: Voodoo Academy. I thought it was an actual horror movie. A little warning would have been appreciated. I watched it with Chimney! Sat through a 5 minute naked massage scene before we realized what was going on.

Tommy’s holding in a belly laugh as he types.

Tommy: It’s not porn. Well, kind of. David DeCoteau is a rite of passage.

Evan: Just saying, I wish I’d been alone while watching that and not in the middle of Maddie and Chimney’s living room.

This time he does laugh. He’s glad he hadn’t included Dante’s Cove on that list. He doesn’t think he did at least.

Tommy: In that case, you should watch Eating Out alone if you haven’t already.

Evan: Noted. Thanks.

Then the next weekend, while he's running through a pre-flight inspection, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He's been trained not to be distracted once he's started an inspection, so he ignores it and finishes the inspection. When he's done he takes a quick look at his phone and reads the notification.

Evan: I’ve noticed something. There’s like, barely any bisexual characters in these.

There’s not enough time to respond so he puts his phone away, intent to come back to it later. Hours later, when he finally has some downtime, he looks at his phone again and is greeted by a string of texts.

Evan: Seriously, there’s like maybe 3 that I’ve seen, so far.

Evan: And some of those feel ambiguous at best.

Evan: Is it that hard to say ‘I’m bi.’?

Evan: I’m bi.

Evan: I just realized I’ve never actually said it before. I know you already knew. I just wanted to say it. I’m bisexual.

Evan: And oh, God, don't get me started on Moreen from RENT!

It’s dark in the bunk room and Tommy can’t sleep when his phone vibrates. He’s surprised to see a text from Evan because it’s Friday and if he remembers correctly, Friday is where their shifts would usually overlap.

He swipes the screen on his phone and turns down the brightness so he doesn’t disturb anyone who is actually trying to sleep and reads.

Evan: Dennis was wrong. He and Kevin could have stayed together.

Tommy blinks at his phone in confusion. He runs through the list of movies in his head then it clicks.

The Broken Hearts Club.

Tommy: Kevin had a lot of catching up to do.

Evan: That doesn't mean he has to do it alone, and It makes all of Kevin’s growth until then seem insignificant, like he can’t be trusted to know who is, or what he wants. People change and grow constantly, there's no rule that says you can’t do that with someone. They could have grown together.

The night of their break up echoes in Tommy’s head as he reads Evan’s words.

I’m your first, not your last.

Those can be the same thing

They usually aren’t.

Tommy: It wouldn’t have worked. They would have both gotten hurt. That’s just how it works.

Evan: Like how I hurt you after the hookup?

Tommy flinches inwardly at the memory of that morning after they’d hooked up.

Bubbles pop up, letting him know that Evan is typing.

Evan: I did, didn’t I? Made it seem like I’d used you for sex.

He knows it's not as simple as that.

Tommy: I hurt you first.

Evan: You did.

And there it is, confirmation. But he deserves it, doesn't he? He’d hurt Evan, too. He hurts anyone who gets close.

Tommy: I’m sorry.

Evan: I’m sorry, too, but you’re still wrong.

He doesn’t know what else to say. He puts his phone back in his pocket, content to just lie down in the dark, pretending to sleep.

His phone buzzes. He can’t imagine what else Evan has to say but he can’t help himself and pulls out his phone, still lying on his side.

Evan: I miss you.

Evan: There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you. I wish you could see me, all of me. I wish you could trust me, to see all of you, too.

He's suddenly aware of the rapid swishing sound of the blood running through his ears, of the drumming of his heartbeat. He doesn’t know how to respond, he’s too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of reaching out again and getting hurt, of hurting Evan even more than he already has.

So he shuts off his phone, puts it on the side table beside his bed, shuts his eyes and waits for the dark to overtake him.

There are no more texts from Evan. Tommy doesn’t respond to Evan’s last message either. June nears its end and they start the last week of pride month in the same place they’ve been for a year, not talking. He’s surprised at how much it hurts this time. Every time his phone vibrates his heart jumps. Every email, app notification, or text that's not from Evan has the sting of disappointment, of want, but there's nothing he can do except wait for those feelings to pass. He’s done it before, he can do it again.

Tending to his garden, going to the grocery store, going to the gym, and working on his truck, all of those things just remind him of Evan now.

Friday night he opens his fridge and sees the piece of cake still in the plastic container. It’s been a few weeks now and it’s probably stale, the frosting hard as a rock. He has the flicker of a thought, that he should eat it as some strange bit of punishment, that it would probably still taste good anyway because Evan was the one who made it.

He’s about to take it out of the fridge, either to toss it in the trash or shove it into his mouth to torture himself, he’s not sure which, when his phone vibrates on the kitchen counter.

He leaves the cake in the fridge and goes for his phone, a less messy form of penance. It’s a text from Lucy.

Lucy: “Bunch of us are going to the last night of Pride event at The Pink Pistol Parlor. U coming?”

He hasn’t been out to a bar since the night of his hookup with Evan. After that the idea of meaningless fun with someone hasn’t felt appealing. It still isn't appealing now, but it could be exactly what he needs.

So he showers, changes, puts on his favorite citrus and vanilla cologne, and he gets in his truck.

The bar is crowded, which he expected for the last Friday night of pride. He finds Lucy, her girlfriend Mira, and some others that he recognizes from other firehouses in the surrounding area.

“Kinard, you actually made it out,” Lucy says.

“You’re surprised?” He asks.

“You’ve kind of been in your own little bubble lately. I was starting to get a little worried.”

She’s noticed that? He supposes he’s been pretty shit at hiding it.

Conversation picks up and they start to swap work stories but he can't think of anything he wants to share that he hasn't already told a hundred times before. So he nurses his beer and listens, laughs when he's supposed to laugh, and smiles when he's supposed to smile. After a while most of the others leave the table to go dance or find someone to take home for the night.

Then it's just Tommy, Lucy, and Mira. They talk for a while. They tell him about their new apartment. The noisy neighbors and the broken AC that the landlord has been promising to get repaired for a month now, but they're all smiles and laughs throughout the whole thing. They’ve been together for almost a year now, which as far as Tommy is aware, is the longest relationship Lucy’s been in since he’s known her.

She’s different. Mira’s presence grounds Lucy in a way that’s visibly noticeable. They're in the honeymoon phase, Tommy tells himself. It'll end, it always does. The conversation hits a lull and Mira excuses herself to go the restroom. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Lucy rounds in on him.

“You’ve been out of it since you got here, Kinard,” she says. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’ve just–it’s been rough ever since the funeral.” It’s not a total lie but it’s not the whole truth, not the root of what’s occupying his thoughts. Lucy squints at him like she can see underneath his bullshit.

“This is about Buckley, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.” he says, but she’s not having it.

“Jesus, Tommy, did he ask you to steal a helicopter, again?”

“No, he did not, and I didn’t steal the helicopter, technically I borrowed it.”

“Did you, you know?” She makes a lewd gesture with her hands and Tommy rolls his eyes.

“No, we did not hookup again,”

“So?”

“So–” he gives up on trying to pretend, “We were talking again and now we’re not, again.”

The look she gives him is sympathetic but there’s a chastising edge to her tone when she speaks.

“Which one of you blew it this time?”

We both did. I did, he thinks.

“Neither of us did anything. It just doesn’t work between us and I have to let it go.” He knows it’s the truth but just saying it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, or was that the cheap beer he’d been nursing for the last hour?

Why does she care? He’s never known Lucy to put much stock into relationships before, much less caring about other people’s. The having-a-girlfriend of it all must have changed things. He can feel the unsolicited advice coming when Mira returns. Tommy uses the shuffle as an excuse to leave the table, letting them know that he’s hitting the bar for something stronger than beer.

There's a crowd of people all vying for the bartender's attention, so he waits for the crowd to thin out.

The entire time he’s been here it feels like his phone has been burning a hole in his pocket. Now, surrounded by people, the overstimulating music and clamoring voices, and with no other person demanding his direct attention, it’s almost like the crowd could swallow him up whole if he lets it. That he’d cease to exist altogether.

He's brought back into his body by the sudden presence of someone beside him, tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. It’s one of the guys from the 128, Ramos, he remembers.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” He smiles and for the first time that night Tommy realizes he’s in a room full of handsome, available men all looking to have fun, and there’s one standing right in front of him.

“Oh, no, it’s my fault. I zoned out for a second there.”

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to–” he gestures to the dance floor. Ramos is classically handsome, like an old movie star. He’s got dark hair, light blue eyes, and a square jaw with a devilish smile to match. He’s maybe even a little older than Tommy. He’s perfect, Tommy thinks. Just what he needs right now.

So Tommy forgets the bar and the two hit the dance floor. Ramos pulls him in close and Tommy smells cedarwood and clean sweat on Ramos’ skin. His hands are on Tommy’s hips, they’re rough from years of being on the job, from experience.

On any other night it would be perfect. On any other night Ramos’ blue eyes wouldn’t remind him of someone else’s. He wouldn’t be wishing for the smell of someone else’ cologne. He wouldn’t be thinking of how he’d wished he’d taken Evan to a place like this on a night like this and how it’s probably his fault for never offering in the first place. Ramos’s mouth is on his neck and Tommy’s thinking about heated kisses in someone else’s bed in someone else’s place.

“Do you maybe want to go somewhere? Back to my place?” Ramos's breath is hot against Tommy’s ear. ‘

“Yes,” he says, because it’s what he’s supposed to say. He lets it happen, lets Ramos lead him through the crowd and towards the exit, but once they reach the outside something in his gut flinches. He pulls away, out of Ramos’ hold. “I–” he stammers, “I don’t think I’m ready for this,” he says, because it’s the truth. He’s not ready for this, because he doesn’t want to be ready for it at all. “I’m sorry.” He leaves Ramos standing stunned in the parking lot.

He starts walking. He has no idea where to, only that he’s too out of it to drive right now and his car is back in the direction of where he left Ramos and he doesn’t want to have that interaction if he can avoid it. He makes it about a block when he finds a bench and sits. For a moment all he does is bury his face in his hands, hunched forward wishing the situation was anything than what it undeniably is.

He reaches for his phone in his pocket, moving against every impulse telling him it’s a bad idea, that he’ll get hurt, and he opens the texts app.

Tommy: I miss you, too. I miss you all the fucking time.

He hits send and doesn’t expect a response.

Then he watches as bubbles start to pop up on the screen. He waits, his heart in his throat. Then the bubbles stop abruptly and his phone starts to vibrate with an incoming call.

Evan is calling him. For a hot second he’s frozen in disbelief then he’s fumbling with his phone, swiping up to accept the call.

“Hi,” he says, surprised by the raspiness of his own voice. His throat suddenly feels like sandpaper.

“Hi,” Evans' tone lacks its usual playfulness. Instead there’s caution.

For a moment neither of them says anything, until Evan clears his throat and continues, because Tommy can’t. “Can we talk?”

Tommy actually manages to chuckle.

“I thought that was what we were doing?” He can practically hear Evan’s grin in response.

“I mean in person. Face to face.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He’s about to suggest a day that he knows they most likely have off, maybe have lunch somewhere nice and public, but then Evan responds.

“Okay, how about right now?”

“I’m not at home right now. I could come to you or–”

“Turn around.” Tommy stills for a second then turns his head and makes eye contact with Evan who is walking towards him, phone to his ear. Evan smiles and waves at him and it makes Tommy’s chest feel warm and glowy as Evan closes the distance between them.

He’s close enough to reach out and touch, for Tommy to pull close and kiss if he wanted. But that’s not what Tommy needs, it’s not what either of them needs.

“How?” Tommy says, not displeased, just a bit confused. “Lucy didn’t tell you to come, did she?” The idea that Lucy would call Evan makes him wonder just deeply she’d been concerned for him.

“No, I heard about a Last Night of Pride event in the newsletter and I came to check it out. There was no onsite parking left by the time I got here, so I had to go a little ways out.”

“Newsletter?”

“The LAFD Pride Alliance newsletter.”

“Oh,” something about that feels a little ironic, because Tommy hasn’t even signed up for that newsletter. He pushes the thought aside and tries to speak but then Evan does as well and suddenly they’re talking over each other until Evan holds up his hand in a time out gesture. They both go quiet. Tommy nods, signaling for Evan to go first.

“I want to try again,”

“So do I.”

“But I think we need to clear the air first. Maybe come up with some ground rules?”

“I’m listening.”

“We have to talk more.”

“Like we’re doing now?”

“Like sharing things. I want to know more about you. This past month I feel like I got to know more about you through movies than I did the whole time we were together.” Tommy’s not sure what he means but, okay, he’ll bite.

“What did you learn about me, exactly?”

“I learned that you like terrible movies with eye candy.” He smirks, “and cheesy romance movies with subtle romantic gestures.” His expression softens, his gaze gentle as he continues his assessment.

“I learned Tommy Kinard was a lonely kid who felt he had to hide a big part of himself because he thought it was the only way to stay safe.” There’s no pity or judgement in Even’s voice, only kindness, but it doesn't stop Tommy from feeling like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs.

He’s not wrong.

“Those are some very astute observations, Evan.” His voice nearly wavers. “Anything else?”

“That I want to be a person that that kid can trust. Tell him that he can be safe with me, to be himself with me. If that’s something he wants?”

Tommy’s fighting back tears, rocking slightly on the heels of his feet to displace how exposed he feels right now.

“Okay,” he says, forcing himself to meet Evan’s eyes. “And I promise to listen. No more deflecting.” He diverts his eyes for a second because this one’s hard to admit, but he has to say it because he knows it’s true. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel small, like your experiences weren’t enough.”

“You don't need–”

“I do–I did. It’s important. You’re important to me.” He holds out his hand and Evan takes it. Evan’s are warm and when their fingers interlace it makes something inside Tommy settle.

“Thank you.”

They start to walk back toward the Pink Pistol Parlor.

“I think,” Evan says, "Once we actually start to get to know each other you’ll realize how much we actually have in common. It’s kinda scary, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah? Do you have any movie recommendations for me, so I can get a crash course in Evan Buckley.”

“Oh, I can think of a few,” That familiar playfulness is back in full force. “But in the meantime, I’ve started on a list that Hen gave me. Today I watched–” He makes a face, trying to remember, “The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls In Love. It’s a lot different from Another Gay Movie, that’s for sure.”

“Is that a dig at my recommendations? I’ll admit my list has some blindspots.”

“Oh yeah, it does.” They both laugh. “Don’t worry, we can catch up together.”

[lelevox]

18+ MDNI - comms sex

Simon Riley x female Operator!Reader

You ghosting Simon Riley and he’s reminded of it everyday back on ops. Ghost this, Ghost that. Talk about rubbing it in. He starts to hate his own call-sign.

Little does he know that you’ve always been in his ear guiding him on comms. You’d found his mask in the drawer of his bedside table, knowing exactly who is. A one night stand you vowed to keep at one. Seen that mask in the background of redacted evidence, staring at whoever took the picture.

Your particular role a voice to lift their spirits, humour to distract them from the fear burrowing beneath their flesh. Guidance to lead them to safety, to lessen the ache of their tense jaws. Affirming and denying, adapting a route or giving them a key piece of intel. A contact. You’re the bird above their heads, the one scanning satellites for movement beyond their vision. Long hours and unpredictable shifts.

“Oi, Finch.” His gravelly voice fills the speakers of your headphones and your heart drums against your chest. A high pitch whistle he normally uses to get your attention following not long after.

Finch, a songbird. A rank within your corp that sounds like music to soldiers ears. You’re all named after birds, thankfully yours isn’t too bad.

“Bravo 0-7.” You revert back to this, Ghost feels a little too personal since you’ve been in his bed and seen the skull mask in person. Less words preferred, he’ll no doubt recognise your voice if you say too much. He’s clever like that.

He exhales a deep breath, his gear rustling in the background. “Bad day in the nest?” He asks as if he isn’t the one laying in the dirt for hours awaiting his call to take out a target. The nest being your small cubicle in the office. You’re still waiting for the contact to affirm the go ahead.

“Something like that,” you mumble, scanning the terrain and watching for movement.

Simon always requests your involvement with his solo ops. You work in sync, share similar humour and get the job done, clean. That’s where it stops, well until that night. It’s against the brass to meet the soldiers you work with, their identity a secret for a reason. And now you know what Ghost looks like beneath the mask. That alone’s a life sentence. You shouldn’t even know his name, he’s supposed to be a Ghost, but he’s a dead man walking. A man whose touch has ghosted your skin.

Bravo 0-7, Ghost those are the only ones you should know. His first name still weighing on the tip of your tongue, breathless on your lips as you think of his calloused hands framing your face. God, you know where he lives. Know what fabric softener he uses on his sheets, fresh linen.

“Just need to get laid, Finch,” Simon whispers, the click of his laser shutting off. Straight forward as usual, not one to mince his words. If he’d said it to any one else they’d probably be bringing up sexual harassment in the work place, but you and Simon had gone in detail about some past flings. Anything to fill the silence and the waiting. There was a lot of it. You always made sure you cut the recordings when you did.

You scoff, “yeah, good luck with that. Difficult when I’m stuck on shifts that even I don’t know begin.” You pick up the phone, balancing it between your shoulder and cheek, punching the number in for your contact.

The op goes well, clean like ninety percent of the time. You stay on the comms with Simon, briefing him on the safe house and wait time till he’s on his way back to base.

“Breaching the perimeter, eyes on above?”

“All clear, lieutenant. Rest up and we’ll get you out of there soon,” you say, keyboard clacking as you type up your mission report.

The recording clicks off, but his breath still filters down the comms. Yet to verbally inform you he’s signing off. Deep breaths, like the ones that were hot and heavy that night, curling round the nape of your neck. You squeeze your thighs together, shifting in your seat, leather creaking and chair squeaking with your movement.

“Touchin’ yourself Finch? Know you want to,” Simon says, the whining of warped wood travelling down the line as he opens the door to the safe house. He hums, deep rumbling sound rolling like thunder against your ears.

Goosebumps ripple over your skin, fingers twitching in your lap. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Your voice’s been in me ear for over a decade. Course I knew.”

A string of curse words draw a chuckle out of him, it’s not often you hear it. You’ve heard his forced laugh at your terrible jokes, but this is something you don’t want to lose. So you stay on the line.

“Go on, stuff those fingers down ya’ panties,” he commands, his accent growing stronger and you just wish it were his hand shoved down your trousers.

Your breath hitches, giving you away and you glance over your shoulder. Luckily your cubicles on the far end of the wall in the corner, so there’s no way for people to see. That and you’re on the graveyard shift, those on it with you tend not to seek each other out or chat between wait times.

So you follow his instructions, fingers rubbing the wet fabric of your underwear. Tracing your clothed pussy before you slip your hand beneath them. You bite back your moan, teeth sinking into your bottom lip enough to bleed.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Wet down there, Finch?” He asks, pulling his zipper down and palming his cock.

Simon rips his glove off and keeps it there between his teeth, jaw set in a tight line. He pulls his cock out, pumping his hand up and down his shaft. Thinking of the way your thighs squeezed round his head, pressure oddly grounded him in that moment between your legs. He can still smell your slick, wants to bury his nose back in your cunt. He hisses, gloves falling to the floor.

“You were practically singing me name the other night.” He says it like it wasn’t months ago, he’s been thinking of it and hopes you have been too. Replaying his mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping the juices and your fingers twisted in his hair.

He closes his eyes, trying to erase the safe house around him and thinking of you in that tiny cubicle getting yourself off to the sound of his voice. If anything’s he’s doing the same. Your low pants in his ear, definitely got your hand over your mouth too. He just knows.

“Gonna cum with me, Finch?”

You whisper a soft yes and that’s enough to send him over the edge. He stands from his chair, grabbing some tissues from the kitchen cabinet and covering his cock. The last thing he needs are cum stains on his gear, not a conversation he wants to have with the crew taking him back to base.

Simon falls back into his chair, panting along with you and he waits till your breaths even out, signing off when you bid him goodbye.

The following months he does everything to get another solo op, to hear your voice, but he’s not that lucky. So he decides to make his own luck.

It’s not difficult to find your address, he already knows the pub you frequent. He knocks on your door, your face peeking through the sliver of gap as you open it. You’ve seen his flat, it’s only fair he gets to see yours.

“Alright, Finch. Ready ta’ sing for me again?”

[m4mmonthebest]

// Summary: Friend comes to visit you. Dateables are jealous. When she tries to confess her love there's a distraction and she decides to leave. Making a summary because I know some people would probably not want to read out and just go straight to their favs being jealous lol.... Scroll all the way down to click on the available characters. This will get updated every time I finish writing down characters.

"Clementine?"

You try to open the door but Dorian seems keen on not letting anyone in, for your protection. Your friend on the other side, you've known each other for a very long time.

"Hey Dorian... you know her. Let her in..?"

After a minute the door unlocks itself, and your friend envelopes you into a tight loving hug.

"Hi.... it's been so long! I thought you wouldn't open the door for me..."

Her voice is as sweet as always. 

"Sorry for that, sometimes it's a little difficult to get the door to open itself..."

You brush your fingers through the lovely carved wood, and you know that if you had the dateviators on, Dorian would've groaned. Maybe he did.

"Well Clementine...sit wherever you wish. Do you want something to eat? Or a snack? I must have something around here..."

You begin to walk towards the kitchen, opening up the fridge which gives you a little resistance. Weird... Freddy isn't usually like that. Maybe he isn't feeling great?

There's some cookies that you bought the other day, you decide that's enough of a snack, if you got too hungry maybe you could order pizza.

Clementine sits down on one of the sofas. Although one of the cushions suddenly slips from below her, she falls to the ground with a small thud.

"Clementine!"

You go to her side quickly helping her stand up, she rubs her butt with a pained expression.

"Ouch I'm sorry.... that's embarrassing..."

"Hey no, it's okay! Bought cookies."

The word cookies brings a smile to her face, as you both sit down on the large sofa, begining to eat away at the cookies.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you, not unusual, until a cold breeze makes her begin to shiver. You quickly grab Mateo and wrap her with him. And then the temperature begins to rise. 

Now you know the objects aren't happy with your friend, you shoot Hector an annoyed look, which makes the room a bit colder.

You sigh, which makes Clementine look worried.

"S-sorry. Am I bothering? I can leave."

"No, no, that's not it. Just a bit tired that's all. I'm wondering you didn't just come to hang out though... I know you're a busy woman."

"Would... would've it been bad if I just wanted to hang out?"

She looks sad, shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said that.

"Not at all! I love hanging out with you I truly do...I just know your work doesn't leave you much free time."

Your hand rests on her shoulder. You give her a warm smile and you can see her blushing slightly.

"U-um. I ... did come to tell you something important."

"Important?"

"I've been keeping it with me for ... a while now."

You start thinking of everything you've done to get until then. Fuck. Your mind turns blank and you suddenly can't remember anything.

"Y-yes?"

"I...I wanted to say.....I....um....really lo-"

The lights flicker on an off, and then...

THUNK!!!

There's a really loud noise that interrupts whatever Clementine wanted to say at the moment. You go to the kitchen to find the trashcan fell to the ground, spilling everything on the floor.

"Cam..."

Clementine stands behind you, holding her hands together.

"I....I think it's time I leave....that was fun."

"Are you sure? You can stay if you want..."

"Don't worry. Have to wake up early anyways... bye bye."

She kisses your cheek tenderly. And when she goes to leave the door is already open. She wonders if it had been like that all the time, but ignores it.

You'll have to talk to a lot of people today.

Cam

[bluewxrld07]

Sinners

Lando Norris X Actress!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Lando have been dating for almost two years. When Lando decides he finally wants to come watch his girl perform on set, he doesn't realize that the shoot day he came to watch would include some explicit scenes. Some that made him question just how kinky he thought he was.

Warning(s): smuttttt, choking, spitting, role-play if you squint, fem!dom, sub!lando, dirty talk

"Fuck."

Y/N had whipped her head around at the sudden voice behind her, trying her best to not ruin the makeup artist's job on her current look.

Lando had walked into the makeup and hair trailer, looking her up and down through the mirror with a knowing smirk. She chuckles at his reaction before turning back and letting the artist finish their work.

"You like?"

Lando walks forward to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them lightly as they locked eyes in the mirror.

"You look so good. When you said this would take place back in the older days, I was honestly expecting like the Renaissance times or something. The 1930s looks amazing on you."

Y/N laughs more, Lando bending down to press a kiss to her head, careful to not get in the way of the makeup artist as she finishes the final touchups on Y/N's look.

Once she had been finished up, she stands from her spot and slips out of her slippers and into the heels she would be wearing for the upcoming scenes.

When Lando had asked her if he could come and watch her on set, she was a little taken aback. She knew he had been busy with racing and whatnot, so when he had said he wanted to squeeze in a free weekend to not only see his girlfriend, but to also watch her in her element, she was both shocked and excited.

"You're always watching me in my element, it's only fair if I do the same," Is what he had told her over FaceTime, Y/N happily agreeing and letting him know she would clear him access the following weekend.

She was both excited and nervous for him to watch her in action, as he had only ever seen her work on screen after each project was finished. He had never fully seen her work behind the scenes.

Not that he hadn't wanted to, it was just never able to be lined up with their schedules for him to join her. Now that he was able to, she would of course never say no.

She just hoped he would be ready to see what he would be seeing today.

When she realized what today's filming would entail, she nearly toppled over. Lando had told her when he arrived that no matter what was going on, he wanted to be surprised. He didn't want any hints, he just wanted to see her in action.

As they walked out onto the set with the abandoned warehouse, Lando held her hand as they walked next to one another and created small talk.

"You sure you don't want to know?" she asks him with a small grin on her face. He shook his head.

"Nope. I want to stay surprised. That'll defeat the purpose of expecting the unexpected."

She hums with a small giggle. "Although I will admit, I'm a little intimidated by Michael B Jordan. Max wasn't kidding when he said he's a lot better looking in person," Lando jokes, causing her to roll her eyes playfully.

"I'm pretty sure he even has a crush on himself. You should see how he acts when he thinks nobody is around."

Lando cackles at that, making her smile up at him. "But I will assure you, I'm very much obsessed with a certain British racer that races cars for McLaren," she giggles, Lando humming and pressing a few kisses to her cheek.

"Damn straight, baby," he says against her skin, before she hears her name being called. Her gaze turns back to Lando, placing a kiss on his lips.

"Just remember how much I love you, yeah?" she says softly, making him frown with a pointed look.

"Always," he chuckles. "Now I'm really intrigued."

She gives him a knowing smirk before turning on her heel and heading towards the middle of the set in front of the cameras.

The Director breaks down where they would be taking off from, stating it was just after Y/N's character had been attacked outside. Once they had called action, Y/N immediately turned into character and started advancing towards the warehouse.

She nods at Cornbread. "Cornbread," she says sweetly as she gets up to the entrance. He looks around confusingly.

"Mary, what you doing out here?"

She eyes him up and down. "You gonna let me in? Or just sit there blocking the door?"

He steps back and shakes his head. "No," he pushes his chair back. "Come on in."

She smirks at him before walking inside the building, cameras following her as she makes her way to the dancefloor.

Lando watches on the screens behind the set, the director letting him stand behind his chair as they watch intensely while Y/N acts her part out.

Lando becomes more and more intrigued as he watches her in action, his thoughts going haywire as he watches her snap into and out of her character like a reflex. The way she held it with such confidence, or how her character, Mary, become so infatuating.

He freezes only slightly as he watches her lock lips with Michael's character, pulling him in by his suit vest with biting her lip after breaking apart.

It wasn't that it bugged him, it was more so making him feel a certain way, seeing her act so confident and sexy in his eyes.

"So you can rob trains, and banks," she mutters in a sexy and raspy voice. "But you can't steal this pussy for a night?"

Lando froze as he heard those words leave her mouth. The way she looked up at her co-star, with such hunger and fury in her eyes. Even though it was just acting, it looked so real.

He wasn't even mad; he was more short-circuiting from hearing those filthy words leave her mouth. It was never something he had heard her say.

She always talked somewhat politely during sex with Lando, always saying how she was his, and so forth.

This was a whole new level he was seeing. He wasn't complaining one bit.

Lando bit his lip as he watched her seductively pull Michael out of the crowd and towards a broom closet and shut the door. Lando's eyes never blinked as he watched his girl push her co-star up against the wall and passionately make out with him, not missing the way her teeth bit his lips every so often.

He especially didn't miss the way she had licked a stripe up Michael's neck before biting his earlobe, and letting out a seductive, breathless moan in his ear.

He watched as it became steamier and steamier, his body getting hot itself. That's when he realized that he wasn't jealous or intimidated in that moment.

He was turned on.

The way she moved and did it with such ease and confidence radiating off of her body, it made him want to be in Michael's shoes.

Be the one getting dominated in a way that he was watching.

Lando had to bite his lip to keep a groan from escaping, crossing his arms as he watched the scene unfold. He thought he was holding himself a lot better than he was thinking.

That was until the very next scene began to unfold.

She had pushed him onto the ground, standing over him before sitting herself in his lap, feverishly untying and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Baby," Michael says softly with a frown. "You're drooling."

Y/N wipes it away slowly, a soft and smug grin coming onto her face. "You want some?"

Lando watches as they lie back on the floor, Y/N hovering over Michael as she puckers her lips, letting a wad of her saliva slowly leave her mouth and drop into his. Lando had to physically hold himself up on his feet and prevent his eyes from rolling back as the pair kissed once more, the British man feeling the sudden need to adjust his pants.

He couldn't do that with everyone around him watching. Especially as he watched her fake bounce on her coworker like she was riding him, Lando rubbing his jaw and face as he chewed on his bottom lip.

He was more than hot and bothered in that moment. He was feeling every single thing in that moment.

Lando had never thought their sex was bad; everything about it he loved. They had been together for almost two years at that point, Lando not wanting to push her and vice versa.

Now, now he didn't think he could stop himself from wanting to experience this.

He was usually always the one who dominated in the bedroom, sometimes letting her ride him when she asked, but now he wanted to see if this was something she had thought about.

About being the one to dominate him for a night. To be honest, he would let her do it every night if this was what he would get.

Lando had remained still in his spot as the scene rolled out, not moving a single muscle unless need be, scared of becoming any more bricked up than he already was.

When the scene had ended, the crew had gotten together and said they would wrap up for the night, Y/N happily making her way over towards Lando.

When she got to him, she slowed down as her proud smile faded slowly.

His pupils were blown out from what she could see under the hat he wore, he was biting his lip, and a hand was running repeatedly through his hair.

"You okay, baby?" she asked him softly, watching him nod a tad too quickly after her words. "You sure?"

"Can we head back to your trailer?" he asks her quietly, making her frown and nod.

"Yeah, let's go."

The walk back was quiet, Y/N taking his hand into hers, not missing the way his hand was squeezing hers every so often. She waited until they got back to hers, locking her door behind them as he went and sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Baby, what's going on?" she asked slowly, crossing her arms. His jaw clenched and unclenched as his hands gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white.

That's when she let out a small gasp. "Was it that scene? Did it make you uncomfortable? I'm sorry, I was trying to tell you-"

"No."

"No what?"

He bit his lip. "No, it didn't make me uncomfortable."

She frowns. "Then what-" That's when it hit her. His shallow breathing, the bouncing of his knees, and the now visible hard-on in his pants.

She knew this state all too well. That's when she let a smug smirk come onto her face.

"Oh," she says softly, crossing her arms. She walked towards him until she was standing between his legs. He kept his eyes down on his lap.

"I see," she mutters. "It didn't make you uncomfy, it turned you on."

Lando's breath hitches.

That's when she takes her hand and uses her fingers to softly wrap her hand around his throat, and softly tilts him to look up at her. "Am I right?" she asks, using the same seductive voice she had used earlier that evening.

His eyes look into hers, his pupils dilating as he locks eyes with hers.

"Fuck yes it did, baby," he breathes out, nodding slowly as his hands trail up her thighs to her hips. "Seeing you like that had me all sorts of hot and bothered."

She chuckles lightly as she looks down at him, feeling the heat pool between her legs at his words.

"Yeah? You like seeing me like that? All dominant? Taking over, and taking what I want?"

He moans and nods, caressing the sides of her thighs with his fingers. She lets her other hand trail from his shoulder to remove the hat from his hair, and runs her fingers through it. She began letting her nails scratch it in a way she knew always drove him crazy.

"Tell me what you liked," she breathes out, watching his breathing become rapid.

He hums, a small smirk on his face. "I like the way you took over like it was an instinct," he breathes out, watching her let out a breathless moan as his hands roam her body. "How filthy those words sounded leaving your lips."

"Yeah? You want to steal my pussy for a night?" she rasps out, watching Lando let out a dark chuckle.

"Oh, my love," he says. "I wanna steal it forever. For the rest of eternity."

Y/N bites her lip to stop a smile from coming onto her lips. "What else, baby?" she asks, slowly placing herself into his lap, his hands slithering underneath her dress and towards her ass out of reflex.

"I like how you spat in his mouth," he moans lowly, letting his lips trail along her collarbones and neck as she tilted her head back.

"Yeah? My boy likes the idea of me spitting in his mouth? Claiming him in that way?"

"Only if my girl lets me do the same to her," he huffs out in breathless moans as he makes her hips drag across his own. She moans lowly and nods against his lips.

"Fuck, yes. Always," she moans into his ear. "I'll let you spit in my mouth. Spit all over my pussy, too. It's yours, baby."

"Fuck," he trails off and croaks out, soon remembering how he wanted to feel her tongue on his skin. "I like how you bit his ear. Claimed his neck with your tongue. Fuck, I wanna feel you everywhere."

Y/N uses her hands to trail down to his own, pushing them off of her and standing from his lap, making him let out a strangled moan at the lack of touch he was getting.

She looms over him, tilting his head back with both of her hands on the crook between his jaw and neck.

"You have me, honey," she moans breathlessly. "Now open your mouth."

Lando doesn't hesitate, opening it wide and sticking his tongue out as his eyes never leave her own. They held such passion and fire in them.

Y/N lets a trail of her saliva leave her lips and trail onto his tongue, watching it slide down his tongue before he swallows it and bites his lip. She lets out a curse as she watches it happen, not wasting another second to help him strip off his sweatshirt, leaving him shirtless.

She pushes his chest to make him fall back on her bed, Lando hungrily watching her climb on top of him.

Y/N still had the fangs in her mouth, the dress still on, soon going to unzip the back of it, only for Lando to stop her. "It stays on."

"Fangs too?"

"Fuck yes, you look so fucking hot like this."

She smirks down at him before placing her lips onto his for the first time that night, Lando immediately taking her hips into his hands and helping her grind against him.

Things began to heat up fast, moans slipping out between breathless sighs and curses.

Her hands trail from his neck to his jeans, unbuckling his belt and helping him push them down as far as they could. Y/N slips off her underwear in the process, before looking down at him and grabbing his cock in her hands.

"You ready?" she asks him, Lando nodding.

"Take what you want, baby."

With that, she slides herself down onto him, both collectively moaning at the contact when she feels him bottom out.

Lando's hands find their way up from her hips to her neck, pulling her down onto him as she begins to bounce up and down on him. She started off slowly, only to speed up the process as their moans increased.

Y/N's head goes to the side of his neck, her tongue licking a stripe up Lando's neck slowly. She feels the vibrations of his loud moan as she lets her teeth bite down on his ear, one of his hands tightening on her throat just slightly. It made her body feel like she was on fire.

"That's it, baby? Getting all turned on watching me do my job?" she teases in his ear breathlessly.

"So fucking good."

"Gonna have to come watch me more, yeah? Did it turn you on watching me fuck another man on screen? Take dominance like that?" she moans out, Lando groaning as he nods.

She sits up from his neck as she continues to grind against him, clenching herself around him every so often to make him short-circuit.

"I need to hear you, baby."

He moans. "Fuck, yeah it did. Yeah I did. Looked so good. So sexy. Wanted it to be me."

"Well just think," she says before moaning out a curse. "You'll always be the one I come home to. Who gets to experience the real thing. Try new things, and let me take what I need."

"Shit, love, yes. Take whatever you need. Whatever the fuck you need, take it," he trails off in moans, watching her throw her head back as she speeds up, his eyes fall down to where they're connected, one hand gripping her hip while the other grabs her throat again.

He pulls her down and makes her look at him. Before she knew it, he flipped them over, keeping the quicker pace as he pounded into her. His eyes looked down at her as he squeezed her throat lightly.

"Open, baby."

Y/N moans as she opens her mouth, Lando biting his lip as his eyes roll back when he sees her fangs being shown in the light.

He lets his own saliva fall onto her tongue, not wasting a second to shove his tongue into her mouth and kiss her sloppily. He could feel her clenching around him as he sped up the pace, her moans becoming louder.

A sign she was close, and he was right there with her.

"You gonna come baby?" she asks, and he nods against her lips.

"Gonna tell me when I can let go, yeah?" he asks.

"Fuck," she moans, feeling the knot in her stomach ready to burst. "Almost there."

Lando keeps his pace, his hand wrapped around her throat as he feels her hips match with his own once more.

"Lan, I'm-"

Before he knows it, she's reaching her high, her body shaking as her head falls back against the mattress. "Let go baby, fuck let it all go for me," she moans out, feeling Lando's strokes become sloppy, moans leaving his lips in short croaks.

He collapses onto her chest, the pair both feeling like they had hit a subspace, breathless and speechless.

Neither didn't think they had come any harder than in that moment.

Her hands find his hair as his own caress and rub up and down her sides, the pair sitting in a comfortable silence.

"Remind me to have you come onto set more often," she jokes, earning a chuckle from him as well.

"Remind me to take a month off to come onto set," he shoots back, feeling her chest vibrate.

"We definitely will be adding this to our list of kinks, yeah?" she asks.

"I honestly think we'd be crazy not to."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: soooo..... that happened lol. What do we think?

*I do not own any of the plot for Sinners*

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[writesvani]

down low | 04

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SIGHS... jungkook's pov, explicit sexual content, rough sex, public sex risk, infidelity, choking (light breath play), degradation, possessiveness, voyeuristic elements, emotional manipulation, profanity, alcohol use, smoking, power imbalance, graphic sexual language, references to violence (boxing), mention of injuries/bruises, emotional distress, references to sexual frustration, suggestive texting, sexually explicit dialogue, smoking, praise kink, angst, class differences/wealth disparity, lying/deception, fingering, fucking against a wall, bathroom sex

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 7,5k // date: 11th of July 2025

CHAPTER FOUR — Dirty Little Detour; happy reading my gummies...

AN: okay hi everyone. down low 4 is HERE — are we excited or what?! because writing this chapter was fucking amazing for me, not even gonna lie. i think it might actually be the best thing i’ve ever written in my life and that says A LOT.

it’s jk’s pov and i had to crawl into his brain like a raccoon in a trash can. this was supposed to be my cute lil toxic smut story but NOPE. now i’ve got a 20-page character sheet for down low jungkook. and one for y/n too because queen deserves lore.

you’re not supposed to think jungkook’s a good person. you’re not. but i swear this fic is gonna show how complicated he is. how every word, every action, every thought clashes inside him. he’s so fucked up. and somehow he’s my fave male character i’ve ever written. like, i love him. i shouldn’t, but i do.

ANYWAY. note goal for this chapter is 700 because y’all hit 500 in four days and i wanna see how insane you can be for this toxic demon. love you. go read. go scream. enjoy the chaos.

Jungkook drags in deep breaths, chest rising and falling as he tries to steady his pulse. He closes his eyes for a moment, picturing the ring in vivid detail. He sees the opponent’s stance, the way his feet shift on the canvas, the glint of sweat on his brow. He knows the combos the guy might throw, the rhythm of his jab.

Sweat drips down Jungkook’s temple, stinging his eyes as he slams his fists into the heavy bag. Leather cracks against leather with every punch as he drills a rapid-fire combo: jab, cross, hook. He pivots on the balls of his feet, launches an uppercut that makes the bag shudder. His breath comes fast, sharp in the cavernous echo of the gym.

Namjoon circles him, holding up the pads, voice crisp and commanding. “Chin down. Eyes up. Slip left after the hook, don’t stay in the pocket too long.”

Jungkook grits his teeth as fire creeps up his arms from the earlier sets of battle ropes. His shoulders feel like stone, but he forces himself to keep moving, forcing himself to find the rhythm. He imagines his opponent again—closing in, feinting, looking for an opening.

He can’t drop his guard. Not here. Not ever.

Jungkook has never been the type to give up. Not in life, not when it comes to his family, and definitely not in the ring. He’s always measured his punches, calculated his steps, chosen his words with precision. But lately, that carefulness is starting to crack at the edges.

His life has always mirrored his work. And now, no matter how hard he tries to visualize the match—no matter how clearly he sees the punches landing—he feels too slow, too heavy, not sharp enough. For the first time, Jeon Jungkook is letting his guard down. And it’s fucking him up completely.

He slams a counterpunch into the speed bag, but the rhythm falters. The hit doesn’t have the snap it should.

“Footwork lighter, Jungkook!” Namjoon yells from behind him, voice bouncing off the gym walls.

Jungkook ignores him. His legs feel like lead. His shoulders burn. Everything feels off.

His work today is shit. His training session is shit. And, worst of all, he feels like shit.

Jungkook swipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his glove, feeling salt sting his eyes. Namjoon tosses him a towel, and he catches it one-handed, draping it around his neck. His chest heaves as he grabs his water bottle, unscrewing the cap with trembling fingers before chugging half of it in one go. The water tastes metallic, but he doesn’t care.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Namjoon asks, voice edged with frustration, one hand planted firmly on his hip. His brows are drawn tight, sweat darkening his hair at the temples. Great. Now he’s pissed.

“Nothing,” Jungkook deadpans, dropping the bottle to his side. “I’m just tired.”

Namjoon studies him for a beat, eyes sharp. “Looks to me like you’re distracted.”

Jungkook lets out a dry laugh, though it sounds more like a scoff. “Hah. As if.”

But the words feel hollow as soon as they leave his mouth. His pulse still thrums in his ears. His gaze drifts back to the heavy bag swinging gently from his last hit.

He knows it’s a lie. He is distracted.

“Cut the shit, Jungkook,” Namjoon snaps, eyes blazing. “The match is in days. You don’t get to check out now—not when we’re this close.”

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. “I’m not checking out,” he mutters, digging into his backpack. “I’m just breathing.”

“Breathing?” Namjoon scoffs. “You call this breathing? You’ve been off since you walked in. Slow, sloppy—”

“Yeah, I know,” Jungkook cuts in, pulling out a half-crushed pack of cigarettes like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He doesn’t even wait for Namjoon to finish—he’s already moving, dragging his tired legs toward the exit.

“Where the hell are you going?” Namjoon calls out, voice louder now, tinged with disbelief.

Jungkook doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

Just for now. He’ll deal with the consequences later. Right now, he needs quiet.

Cold wind punches him in the face the second he steps outside, sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Goosebumps rise across his arms, sweat cooling into a chill that seeps through his shirt. But he barely notices.

He leans against the rough concrete wall, pressing the back of his skull into it like he’s trying to ground himself. For a second, he just stands there, eyes closed, chest rising and falling, as if the wall itself might hold him up.

Then he digs into the cigarette pack, fingers clumsy and trembling, pulling one free and placing it between his lips. His teeth clamp around the filter like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He flicks his lighter. A tiny spark flares—and dies instantly in the wind.

He tries again. And again. And again.

The wheel of the lighter scrapes under his thumb, biting into tender skin already rubbed raw. Tiny flecks of black debris fall onto his palm. The lighter sputters, flames snuffed out before they can properly catch.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice tight with frustration. He cups his free hand around the cigarette’s tip, trying to block the wind, but the gusts slip through the gaps between his fingers. His breath hitches as he exhales, the sharp edge of a growl in his throat.

He shifts position, hunched forward like he’s protecting something precious, shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed in concentration. The cigarette quivers in his mouth with every shiver of cold.

His thumb aches with every flick. He knows he should stop—that he’s hurting himself for nothing—but there’s something deep in his chest, clawing at him, whispering that he needs this.

Because when Jungkook craves something, nothing—not cold wind, not bruised skin, not the world falling apart—can keep it from him.

He tries one last time. Flick.

A fragile flame catches, burning stubborn and bright. He brings it closer, shielding it like a secret, and finally ignites the cigarette. Smoke hisses around the filter, swirling into the night air.

He drags in a long inhale, and the burn sears down his throat, settling into his lungs like an anchor. His lashes flutter shut as his body unwinds, shoulders sinking against the concrete.

For a moment—just one blessed, fleeting moment—everything else disappears. And all that’s left is the taste of smoke, the throb in his thumb, and the relief of having what he wanted.

He taps the end of his cigarette, watching ash crumble away and scatter like silver dust on the breeze. The wind catches it, swirling it into the night air before it disappears.

With his free hand, he digs into his pocket, fingers brushing over the frayed lining, searching for his phone. Empty. His lips twist into a silent curse. Great. He left it inside.

Now he’s stuck out here—alone, with nothing but his thoughts gnawing at him.

His mind flickers to Eunji. She’d texted him before training, sending three, four messages that buzzed against his thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply. He makes a mental note to text her back later. If he leaves it too long, she’ll get clingy. Dramatic. Suspicious.

And he can’t afford her being suspicious. Not when there’s you.

Fuck. He hates how quickly his brain jumps to you. How there’s barely any distance between Eunji’s name in his phone and the thought of your skin, your mouth. Like a hairline crack in glass, ready to shatter with the slightest pressure.

And he hates you.

No. He doesn’t.

Hating you would mean feeling something. And he can’t afford that, either.

You’re cool. You’re sharp, funny as hell. And fuck, you’re beautiful in a way that makes his pulse trip over itself. The kind of beautiful that demands attention the moment you step into a room. The kind that makes it impossible to look away.

But it’s not just that. It’s the way your lips part when you’re turned on, breath catching like you’re surprised by your own need. The way your nails dig into his shoulders when you’re close, as though you’re afraid you’ll break apart if you let go. The way you look up at him through heavy lashes while his name tumbles from your lips like a secret.

You fuck like you’re starving for it—like you’ll die if he’s not inside you, filling every inch, claiming every sound you make. And the worst part is how fucking good it feels. How easy it would be to let you become the only thing that matters.

But you weren’t made for him. This…whatever the hell this is…is just a glitch in the system. A glitch that’s lasting way too long. A glitch that could tear everything apart if he’s not careful.

He doesn’t see you like that.

He doesn’t.

He takes another drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs until it burns, his eyes fixed on the dark street beyond the parking lot. The wind slices through him, but he barely feels it.

And yet, as he exhales, he swears he can taste you in the back of his throat—sweet, electric, impossible to forget.

Eunji opens the door with a soft smile, the kind that looks like home if he were in the mood to recognize it. There’s a dusting of flour on her cheeks, her hair a bit tousled and her apron hanging lopsided on her frame.

“Missed you,” she says with a bright grin, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook. She holds him like she means it—like her entire body is trying to memorize the shape of him.

His hands fall to her waist automatically. Because they’re supposed to. Because that’s what she expects. It should feel natural.

But the scent that wafts from her apartment wraps around him like smoke.

Cinnamon.

Fuck. You smell like cinnamon.

It’s a dangerous thought. A betrayal blooming in his chest.

“Missed you too,” he mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

She giggles, bright and easy, and tugs him inside, locking the door behind them. “God, you always smell like sweat and cologne. It’s so unfair,” she teases, pressing her nose to his neck. “It’s hot.”

He gives a quiet laugh, not quite forced—but not quite real either. “You baking something?” he asks, nodding toward the oven as he slips off his shoes. He tries to sound curious. Invested. Present.

She turns back toward the kitchen, checking the oven through the glass. “Mhm, cinnamon rolls. You’re a sucker for anything with cinnamon, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, sinking into her couch and stretching his legs out. “Something like that.”

She hums, walking back toward him, hands still slightly damp from washing. She dries them on a kitchen towel and then climbs into his lap without hesitation, straddling him, arms curling around his neck again. “You okay, baby? You seem… off.”

“Just tired from training,” he murmurs, running a hand up and down her back. “You know how it is.”

“Mhm,” she whispers, planting a soft kiss on his jaw. “You always push yourself so hard. You never know when to slow down.”

“Can’t afford to. Not right now. The match is too close.”

“I know,” she pouts, resting her forehead against his. “But you’re still human, Jungkook. You need rest. You need to take care of yourself, too. What if you burn out?”

“Then I burn out,” he mutters, half-joking, eyes flickering away from hers.

She grabs his face in her hands, gently guiding his gaze back. “Don’t say that. You matter more than a match. You matter to me.”

He holds her stare for a moment, feeling the weight of her sincerity pressing down on him. She means every word. And he wishes—he really fucking wishes—he could meet her halfway.

“I know,” he says quietly, giving her hand a light squeeze. Her skin is warm and soft beneath his fingers. Familiar.

But it doesn’t feel like silk.

Nothing feels like silk these days.

She kisses his jaw again, pressing soft, fluttery kisses along the line of his throat. Her lips are gentle, hesitant, like she’s afraid he might pull away. His hands twitch by his sides, uncertain.

“Well… if you’re tired…” she murmurs, her lips brushing over his skin as she speaks, “I could help you relax.” Her voice drops, shy and breathy. She keeps kissing lower, nudging her nose against the pulse hammering in his neck.

He tilts his head, watching her closely. The way her cheeks glow pink, the small crease between her brows as though she’s nervous she’s being too forward. Eunji isn’t coy. She isn’t seductive. She’s sweet and earnest and a little shy.

And none of that is what he craves right now.

But she’s the right one.

“Mhm… maybe you could, pretty girl,” he says, his mouth curling into a smirk as he cups her face and pulls her into a kiss. He kisses her slow and warm, letting it linger longer than he feels.

She sighs into the kiss—a soft, pretty sound any man would kill to hear. The kind of sigh he should be dying for.

But he isn’t.

Even as she melts against him, all he can think about is you. The way you’d already be grinding your hips into his, your fingers fisted in his hair, your lips tugging at his ear as you whisper the filthiest things. The way you’d be half-moan, half-laugh, daring him to shut you up.

You’d be begging for it. Fuck, you love to beg.

Guilt claws at his chest, sharp and sudden. He hates himself for thinking about you. For letting your phantom touch creep into this moment that should belong to Eunji.

He knows he should stop. Not because he’s cheating. Jungkook has cheated before. Plenty of times. He never felt guilty about it. Never felt guilty about fucking you while pretending to love someone else.

But this… this feels different.

He feels guilty because he’s cheating on himself. Feels like he’s betraying the person he’s supposed to be.

And he doesn’t even know why.

Eunji pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, searching his face for permission. For connection. “Let me take care of you,” she whispers.

He swallows hard, then nods, letting his hands slip under her shirt, palms skimming warm skin. She shivers at his touch, eyes fluttering shut, and slides off his lap to sink to her knees in front of him.

He watches her, detached and almost clinical, as she fumbles with his belt. Her fingers are soft, reverent, touching him like he’s precious. Like he matters. And he wishes—for the briefest second—that it felt as good as it’s supposed to.

So he lets her. Lets her take him into her mouth, lets her cheeks hollow around him as she moans softly. Lets her look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, seeking praise he can barely summon.

He pulls her up afterward, lays her down on the couch, kisses her neck as she gasps his name. He fucks her slowly, because that’s what she likes. Because that’s what a good boyfriend would do. He watches her come apart, moaning into his mouth like she can’t get enough of him.

But in the back of his mind, he’s kissing different lips. Whispering different words. Hearing different whines.

He fucks someone else—through her.

When they finish, Eunji lays on his chest, her breath still uneven. She rests her head over his heart, letting the quiet thump lull her. He threads his fingers through her silky hair, absently staring at a crack in the ceiling paint.

She shifts, twisting her head to look up at him. “You know… Jimin’s throwing a party tonight at his place,” she says, her fingertip lightly tracing slow circles over his chest.

He’s instantly on alert. He knows exactly what she’s hinting at—and hates that she can’t just say what she wants. He drags his eyes down to hers, pretending to look puzzled. “Okay…?” he says, voice pitched innocently.

Jimin. Right. Her classmate from college. But more importantly, your friend. The same Jimin who, from what he remembers, you’d said was throwing the party. If you’re going to be there… he’s going to be there. He doesn’t even have to think about it.

He fucking hates that.

“So I was thinking…” Eunji continues, hesitating, “…maybe we could go tonight? Together? We never really go anywhere as a couple…” Her eyes are wide and shiny, full of quiet hope. She blinks up at him, lashes sweeping her cheeks, like she’s afraid he might say no.

He clears his throat, stalling for time he doesn’t actually need. Because the answer is already decided.

“Sure, bub. I’m in.” He forces a smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

She lets out a high, delighted squeak, then kisses him hard on the mouth. “Oh my God, I have to call Lili—she’s been asking if I’m going!” she babbles, already scrambling out of his arms, hair mussed and cheeks flushed.

He watches her disappear into the other room, voice floating back as she dials her friend.

Good.

The second she’s out of sight, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up as he unlocks it, thumb moving fast and familiar. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds yours.

He stares at the name for a second, thumb hovering over it. A tightness squeezes his chest, but he doesn’t let himself think about it.

He taps your name. Types out a message.

him: you going to jimin’s tn?

It’s simple. Careless. It should be.

His phone pings seconds later. Your reply comes almost instantly, like you crave him just as much as he craves you.

you 🧃: yea i will? why?

him: i’ll be there tn

you 🧃: tf?? you can’t just show up. i’m going with tae. do u even know jimin personally??

He rolls his eyes, thumb flying over the keys.

him: going w eunji. he’s her classmate or some shit

him: and i don’t give a fuck about tae

him: might be fun seeing how quiet i can make you with my cock in front of him

He can’t stop himself.

you 🧃: fuck off

you 🧃: wonder what your sweet lil girlfriend would think about that

you 🧃: seriously, don’t come. please.

him: i don’t care what she thinks

him: i’m coming. try and stop me

you 🧃: jesus christ. fine. come.

him: i am. hard already thinking about it

you 🧃: shut the fuck up. just don’t look at me or talk to me or anything

you 🧃: pretend you don’t know me

him: yeah, sure. i’ll ignore you.

him: but you owe me. at least show me what you’re wearing tonight. or nothing at all.

you 🧃: fuck no

you 🧃: wait and see tonight, kook

him: you’re torture

you 🧃: cry about it

him: i will. in your pussy.

you 🧃: bet. let’s see if you’ve got the balls

He steps into the party with Eunji’s hand in his, his palm clammy against hers. He’s hyperaware of it, the way sweat slicks their skin. But when he glances over, she’s beaming, eyes wide with excitement. She doesn’t even seem to notice—or care. She’s too busy glowing under the lights, like she’s been waiting to show him off.

The bass thrums so deep it shakes the floor beneath his sneakers. The place is packed—college kids shoulder to shoulder, red cups in hand, shots poured over tongues, laughter spilling into every corner. There’s a pair already half-naked on the stairs, making out like they’ll die if they come up for air. Secrets are being passed around like expensive cologne—quick, intoxicating, and gone before you can ask.

It all feels… familiar. And distant.

It reminds him of when he was still in college. The chaos, the freedom, the recklessness. He misses it. Misses being the guy who only had to worry about finals, not whether the rent’s late or his knuckles are bruised too raw to train.

But that’s over. He dropped out. He’s different now.

He scans Jimin’s parents’ house. It’s nice—too nice. Hardwood floors polished to a shine, tall ceilings, expensive vases he could probably hawk for enough money to pay off half his mom’s debts. Jimin’s family is doing well, clearly. Lucky bastards.

Eunji squeezes his hand tighter, dragging him deeper into the crowd.

“Let’s find Jimin—I wanna say hi!” she shouts over the music.

He grunts, distracted. “What about Lili?”

“We’ll find her too. But he’s the host,” she rolls her eyes, like he’s being dense. “We gotta be polite.”

She tugs him along, weaving around dancing bodies and throwing polite waves to friends he vaguely recognizes from campus. She leans close to mutter something catty about a guy’s hair, and he lets out a quick snort, because that’s what she wants—a boyfriend who listens.

They make it to the kitchen.

“There he is!” Eunji says, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, hiiii!”

A blond guy turns around, grin bright and wide, his energy buzzing like a live wire. Jimin. The name Jungkook’s heard enough times from your lips to piece it together.

They shake hands, Jimin’s grip warm and easy. Jungkook forces a polite smile, though his mind’s already drifting.

And then—he sees you.

It’s like getting punched.

Behind Jimin, half-hidden by the kitchen island, sits a guy perched on a stool, laughing way too hard, head tossed back like he’s trying to steal the spotlight. A redhead is giggling beside him, some other guy gesturing wildly as he talks.

But all Jungkook sees is you.

You’re slotted between the guy’s spread thighs, your back snug against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. One of his arms hooks around your waist, possessive, fingers splayed across your stomach. You’re laughing too, the kind of bright, carefree sound that scrapes something raw inside Jungkook’s chest.

He can’t drag his eyes away. The way you tilt your face when the guy—Taehyung, he realizes, your idiotic boyfriend—leans in to whisper something in your ear. The way your fingers toy absently with the thin chain around his neck. The way your bare thigh presses tight against the denim between Taehyung’s legs.

Jungkook wets his lips, jaw tightening. His pulse hammers in his throat.

Well, hello Kim Taehyung.

I’m screwing your girl.

But he doesn’t say it.

He just stands there beside Eunji, nodding along to whatever she and Jimin are talking about. Acting like the perfect boyfriend. Smiling when he needs to. Even as he keeps stealing glances at you.

“Yo!” Jimin shouts, cheeks flushed from booze and the adrenaline of playing host. “Let me introduce you to my besties.”

Perfect. Jungkook resists the urge to smirk. Jimin’s about to serve this up on a silver platter—and doesn’t even know it.

Jungkook drifts forward, casual, eyes lazy under half-lowered lids. But he clocks the way your gaze darts to him. Fast. Like a spark. Gone again almost instantly.

But he saw it. Of course you’re looking.

He slings his arm around Eunji’s shoulders, drawing her closer until her hip bumps his thigh. She leans in, pink and glowing, oblivious to the way the air just shifted around them.

“Guys, this is Eunji,” Jimin announces, gesturing at her. She gives a shy little wave, her eyes wide as she glances around.

“And this is her boyfriend, Jungkook.”

Jungkook inclines his chin slightly, scanning the circle of faces. “Hey.”

“Yo, I’m Rob,” says a tall guy with wild gestures, grinning as he shakes Eunji’s hand first, then Jungkook’s.

Jungkook takes his hand, firm. So this is Rob—the friend you once described in breathless detail as loud, funny, and annoying as hell.

“I’m Taehyung,” the guy perched behind you says next, voice smooth, deep. He unwinds one arm from your waist to reach out and shake Eunji’s hand, then Jungkook’s.

Jungkook’s eyes flick to the arm that was just gripping your waist. He wonders how Taehyung would look if he knew how many times Jungkook has held you there. How many times you’ve gasped when Jungkook pressed you into a mattress, hands digging into those same curves. How many bruises you had to cover up with makeup so he wouldn’t see.

“Nice meeting you, man,” Jungkook says, voice silky, lips tugging into a polite curve.

Then his gaze slides over to the redhead.

Her eyes go wide the instant they meet his. Recognition flashes across her features like lightning, then vanishes behind a polite mask.

Jungkook feels a slow grin stretch across his lips.

Ah. So your little bestie knows. Of course she fucking does.

“Lara,” she says crisply, shaking his hand. Her fingers are cool, her eyes flicking nervously to you before dropping away.

Then your voice cuts through the hum of music and laughter like a blade.

“Hi, guys. I’m Y/N.”

Your tone is breezy. Effortless. You bat your lashes and smile at both him and Eunji, your whole posture dripping casual calm.

But he sees it.

He sees the faint tremble in your fingers as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The way your eyes keep darting toward the spot where his hand rests on Eunji’s bare shoulder. The way you press your palm firmly onto Taehyung’s thigh, like you’re staking your claim—or steadying yourself.

“Mm,” Jungkook hums, as you hold out your hand to him. He takes it slowly, deliberately, pressing his fingers around yours. He lets the silence stretch as he traces his thumb lightly over the delicate skin of your wrist. Then, as you try to pull away, he lets his pinky glide along your palm, grazing lightly beneath it.

A violent shiver ripples through your body. Goosebumps break out along your arm.

No one notices. Except him.

“You seem familiar,” he says finally, voice dropping low enough that it’s almost private.

Your eyes flash, just for an instant, like you want to slap him across the face. But you catch yourself, biting the inside of your cheek instead.

Beside you, Lara swallows hard, her fingers tapping out a frantic rhythm against the kitchen counter.

“Must’ve seen me around campus or something,” you say lightly, shifting your weight, your back pressing tighter against Taehyung’s chest.

“Really?” Jungkook murmurs, tilting his head as if he’s genuinely curious. “I don’t go to college anymore.”

“Well…” You tip your chin up, and there’s a dangerous glint in your eyes now. “Maybe while you were still going.”

He laughs softly, a sound that vibrates in his chest. “Ah. Right. While I was still going.”

He lets his eyes slide down your body, lingering just a fraction too long at your mouth, then your throat, then the line of your waist tucked so neatly into Taehyung’s possessive arms.

Your lips part, ready to retort, but for half a second your eyes betray you. Something dark and hungry flickers across your face.

Oh. So you do want to play.

“Guys, do you wanna join us?” Rob pipes up, waving a bottle of tequila in the air. “We were just about to take some shots.”

Eunji immediately glances at Jungkook, eyes wide and hopeful, practically vibrating with the need to fit in. She doesn’t even have to say anything. Not with him. Not under these circumstances.

“Sure,” Jungkook says smoothly, sliding onto an empty barstool.

Eunji doesn’t hesitate; she plants herself right onto his thigh, squealing a little as she balances her weight. She’s already laughing with Rob, talking a mile a minute about some asshole professor who’s apparently making their semester hell.

Whatever. Jungkook barely hears her.

He’s focused on you.

Specifically, on the way Taehyung leans forward and buries his face in the curve of your neck. His lips brush over your skin as he whispers something low and secretive, and you giggle, the sound bright and too goddamn pretty.

Taehyung’s a good-looking guy. Jungkook will give him that. The kind of face people stop to admire. Art-student cheekbones. A dangerous grin.

You’ve got excellent taste in men, apparently.

Jungkook’s eyes slide lower, tracking the possessive way Taehyung’s hand spreads over your waist, fingers splayed wide like he’s claiming territory.

Soft hands, Jungkook thinks. Untouched. The hands of a man who’s never thrown a punch hard enough to rattle his own bones. Hands that don’t know how it feels to hit until your knuckles split open, or grip leather so tight your fingers go numb.

He glances down at his own. The knuckles are dry, scabbed over, ridged with old scars. His palms are rough, callused from rope burns, leather, and sweat.

For a split second, something hot and ugly boils in his chest. Envy.

Resentment.

His fingers twitch, curling subtly against Eunji’s thigh.

When he finally looks back up, your eyes are waiting for him.

You’re watching him right back, face unreadable, your lashes low as if trying to hide how wide your pupils have gone.

Jungkook schools his features into an easy grin. Pretends none of those thoughts just crawled through his skull. He reaches out and grabs a shot glass, knocking back the tequila in one clean tilt.

It barely burns at all.

Eunji’s phone vibrates on the counter, the screen lighting up bright enough to catch Jungkook’s eye.

“It’s Lili,” she announces, thumb already flying across her screen. “We have to go find her.”

Fuck.

Jungkook doesn’t want to go look for Lili. Not when you’re standing right there in front of him. In those tiny fucking shorts. In that dark green tube top hugging your chest like a second skin. Not when you keep looking at him with those eyes—eyes that flicker to him like you can’t help yourself, no matter who’s touching you.

But if he stays behind now, it’s gonna be suspicious.

So he forces himself to nod, pressing a quick kiss to Eunji’s temple.

“We gotta find my friend, guys,” Eunji says brightly to the group, scooting off his lap. “We’ll come back later!”

She gives a cute little wave, beaming at you and the others. Jungkook trails after her, his hand wrapped around hers, every muscle in his body strung tight.

And just as he’s about to step through the doorway, he hears it.

Your voice.

“See you later.”

It’s casual. Breezy. Soft enough that it could be meant for both of them.

But he knows better.

That’s not just a goodbye for now. That’s a fucking promise.

A slow, wicked smile curls his lips as he glances back over his shoulder.

“See you,” he sing-songs, letting the words roll off his tongue as he disappears behind his girlfriend.

Because you’re going to be his tonight. Again.

Jungkook feels like hours have crawled by since he last saw you, though in reality it’s maybe forty-five minutes. An hour at most. Who fucking knows. Who fucking cares.

He’s sitting beside Eunji, who’s laughing with Lili about some college lacrosse game. He’s not even pretending to listen.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

His mouth twitches into a smirk as he slides it out, already knowing who’s waiting on the other end.

He cuts a glance at Eunji. She’s oblivious, completely absorbed in her conversation. Perfect.

you 🧃: she’s pretty

He can practically hear your voice in his head. That sly, taunting little tone.

him: not prettier than you bent over for me

you 🧃: fuck you

him: u will. soon.

you 🧃: tae’s hands are on my thighs rn

him: and i bet all u can think about is mine on ur throat

you 🧃: jungkook.

him: mmm say it again

you 🧃: did u really have to say i look familiar? r u fucking crazy?

him: crazy for u. u look too good in that top. i keep thinking about pulling it down and sucking those pretty tits right in front of ur little boyfriend

you 🧃: you’re disgusting

him: and u love it. ur pussy’s prob wet rn just texting me

you 🧃: have u ever considered shutting the fuck up?

him: i would

him: but then who’d make u cum so hard u cry?

you 🧃: asshole

you 🧃: you still here? at the party?

him: why? wanna sneak away and ride my cock like u did at my place last week?

you 🧃: just answer the question asshole

him: i’m here

you 🧃: 2nd floor. last door on the right. it’s a bathroom but no one uses it.

him: i fuckin knew u’d fold.

you 🧃: you have 5 minutes or i’m going back downstairs to tae.

him: u won’t. u wanna feel my cum dripping down ur thighs too bad

“Bub, I gotta hit the bathroom,” Jungkook murmurs in Eunji’s ear, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You feeling sick, babe? Should I come with you?” she asks, worry creasing her brow.

He gives her a pained wince, feigning discomfort, and crafts the perfect lie.

“Must’ve eaten something fucked up… You know how it is.”

She wrinkles her nose, giggling. “Okay, okay—I get it. Go do your thing.”

And so he does.

He doesn’t sprint or rush. He walks casually up the stairs, shoulders loose, his pace easy. He knows you’ll be there waiting. No reason to hurry.

The upstairs hallway is empty, muffled bass from the party thudding distantly below.

Jungkook stalks toward the last door on the right. Opens it like he owns the fucking house.

You flinch the moment he steps inside.

“Fuck, I thought it was someone else—” you blurt, breathless, hands waving, but Jungkook’s already flicking the lock shut behind him.

“Why? Were you expecting someone else?” His voice drips sarcasm, arms folding over his chest as he leans against the door.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, actually. I sent the same text to all my hookups. Gonna see who shows up first and—mmph.”

He cuts you off, crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss, fists grabbing his shirt collar, yanking him closer like you’re furious and starving at the same time.

Jungkook groans low in his chest, biting your lower lip just enough to make you whimper. Your moan melts into his mouth, sweet and sharp as tequila.

He slides a hand around your waist, dragging you flush to his chest. You smell like cinnamon and sweat and that expensive perfume you only wear when you want him wrecked.

It’s working.

“You talk too fucking much,” he mutters against your lips.

“Then shut me up,” you shoot back, breathless.

He smirks.

“Oh, baby. I intend to.”

And his mouth claims yours again, fiercer this time, teeth grazing your tongue as his fingers dig into your hips like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck you or swallow you whole.

“You’re such an asshole,” you choke out, voice ragged, as Jungkook’s mouth drags hot and wet across your neck.

He can’t fucking stop. He’s rabid for your skin, your scent, the way you shiver when his lips brush over your pulse.

“You had to—”

Your words dissolve into a broken moan when his teeth graze hard over your collarbone, biting down just shy of leaving a mark.

“Had to flaunt her in front of me,” you spit out, breathless, fingernails digging into his back through his shirt, clutching him like you’re hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Jungkook snarls, voice a ragged growl, as he fists the top of your tube top and yanks it down.

Your tits bounce free, nipples tight and pebbled in the cool air. No bra. Nothing to hide how fucking perfect they are.

“You were practically about to let him fuck you right there in front of me,” he hisses, voice venomous, already lowering his head.

And then his mouth crashes onto one nipple, lips closing around it hard, sucking deep until your whole body jolts.

“Fuck—Jungkook—” you sob, twisting under him as he drags his tongue over your sensitive flesh, swirling and flicking until you’re panting like an animal.

He switches sides without warning, devouring the other nipple, biting just enough to sting, then licking the ache away, his spit cooling on your skin.

“Look at you,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to breathe hot words against your chest, “acting so fucking pure when you’re soaking through those tiny shorts for my cock.”

One of his hands snakes down, roughly cupping your pussy through the thin fabric, pressing his fingers against the damp heat.

“Already wet,” he mutters darkly, eyes glittering with feral hunger. “Fucking knew it. You’d let me fuck you right here if I wanted. Wouldn’t you?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled moan as he rubs you harder, dragging the heel of his palm over your clit until your knees threaten to buckle.

“Say it,” he demands, breath coming harsh. “Tell me whose cock you’re thinking about while he’s got his hands all over you downstairs.”

“You—yours, yours Jungkook,” you stammer, voice cracking as your hips grind helplessly into his touch.

“Fucking right it’s mine,” he snarls, crushing his mouth to yours again.

His tongue dives between your lips, filthy and possessive, devouring every sound you make as his fingers work you through your shorts, pressing tighter and faster.

“You keep acting like you hate me,” he breathes into your mouth, “but you’re gonna cum all over my fingers in 5 minutes. Bet.”

He doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t have a single fucking second to spare.

His hands fly to the button of your shorts, popping it open in one practiced flick. He shoves them halfway down your thighs, fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties like he’s got a goddamn right to be there.

And maybe he does.

“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead pressing to yours as his eyes search your face, wild and dark. “You’re fucking drenched for me.”

His fingertips drag through your folds, gathering slick, but purposely avoiding the spot where you need him most. Instead, he teases you, tracing slow circles just above your clit, close enough to make you twitch, never close enough to satisfy.

He leans forward and ghosts a soft kiss over your lips, deceptively gentle.

Then he finds your clit.

Your body reacts like he’s shocked you. You arch hard, tits thrusting toward him again, nipples flushed and begging for attention.

He’s more than happy to oblige.

His mouth clamps over one tight bud, sucking it deep as his fingers rub ruthless circles over your clit, fast and relentless, like he’s trying to etch his name into your nerves.

Your moans spill out ragged, desperate. His name rips from your throat over and over, raw and shameless.

His free hand shoots up, slapping over your mouth, palm pressing hard.

“Quiet it down, beautiful,” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t want anyone thinking we’re being… inappropriate in here, do we?”

You shudder, eyes rolling back as you bite down on the fleshy base of his palm just to keep from screaming.

He loves it. Loves the way your pupils blow wide, the way you fight to breathe against his hand, the way your thighs quake around his wrist.

His breath saws in and out as he slides two fingers deep inside you, groaning low in his chest when your heat clamps around him.

“Shit… so fucking tight… you’re gonna make me lose my goddamn mind,” he rasps, voice shredded with need.

He pumps his fingers into you, curling them just right, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. Slick sounds fill the bathroom, obscene and wet, echoing off the tile.

“Look at me,” he commands, pulling his mouth from your nipple just long enough to stare into your dazed eyes. “Look at me while I make you cum all over my fingers. Right fucking now.”

Your body locks up, trembling, teetering on the edge of detonation. And he can’t wait another fucking second.

Because if he doesn’t bury himself inside you soon… he’s pretty sure he’ll fucking combust.

He spins you around in a blur, pressing your chest into the wall so fast you gasp, palms splayed out flat against the tile for balance.

Before you can catch your breath, his hand leaves your mouth. He’s fumbling with his belt, cursing under his breath, the metal buckle clinking wildly until he finally shoves his pants down.

But even while he wrestles his clothes off, he never stops working your clit. His fingers grind merciless circles, slick and fast, until you’re trembling, arching your ass back into him, the back of your head pressing desperately against his chest.

“That’s right… that’s just how you were perched on that loser’s lap downstairs,” he snarls, breath hot against your ear, his voice dripping with venom and lust.

A broken moan rips out of your throat.

His hand slaps over your mouth again, silencing you just as he lines himself up.

And then he slams into you. No warning. No hesitation. Just thick cock spearing deep in one brutal thrust.

Your muffled cry echoes through his palm as your body jolts forward, forehead bumping the wall.

Jungkook groans like an animal, fingers digging bruises into your hip as he holds you still and sinks even deeper.

He doesn’t fuck you soft.

He fucks you like he’s trying to own every inch of you. Like he wants to split you open and crawl inside. Like the entire world outside that bathroom can burn for all he cares.

His hips pound into you, relentless, hard enough the slap of skin on skin echoes off the tile walls. His chest is flush to your back, breath ragged as he snarls in your ear:

“Fucking take it… take every inch, baby…”

Your eyes roll back, tears springing from the corners as the pressure builds impossibly tight.

He twists his hand in your hair, wrenching your head sideways until he can see your face. His other hand is still clamped over your mouth, catching every broken sob.

“Look at me,” he growls, hips hammering you so hard your tits bounce against the wall. “I wanna see your fucking eyes when you cum.”

Your vision blurs, heat flooding your core, body clamping down around him so tight he chokes on a curse.

And Jungkook loses it.

He fucks you faster, deeper, like he’s chasing the end of the world, until there’s no room for thought—only moans and sweat and filthy skin-on-skin.

He’s gonna ruin you. And you’re gonna let him.

Your body convulses around him, every nerve firing white-hot as he rams into you, over and over. Your moans vibrate against his palm, strangled and desperate.

“Fucking hell, look at you,” Jungkook snarls, sweat dripping down his temples, teeth bared as he stares into your tear-glazed eyes. “So fucking perfect when you’re stuffed full of me.”

His hips snap forward, every thrust slamming your hips into the wall so hard you swear it’ll leave bruises. You feel everything—the thickness of him stretching you wide, the rough drag of his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go black around the edges.

And he just. Won’t. Stop.

He rips his hand from your mouth and replaces it on your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your next breath tremble.

“Jungkook—” you gasp, voice broken, “please—”

“Please what, baby?” he hisses, rutting into you so deep your toes curl in your shoes. “Say it.”

“Please… lemme cum…” you sob out, nails scraping helplessly at the wall.

“Ohhh, you wanna cum for me?” His lips graze your ear, filthy and mocking. “Go on, then. Fucking cum. Show me how this pussy belongs to me.”

And then his thumb finds your clit again, circling it fast and merciless, perfectly synced with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts.

The orgasm hits you so hard it feels like your soul leaves your body.

You scream his name, loud and raw, voice echoing off the bathroom tiles as your walls clamp down on him in pulsing waves. Your legs nearly give out, trembling violently as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

“Fuck—fuck—” Jungkook grits out, hips stuttering, eyes glued to where he’s buried deep inside you. “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight—shit—”

He pulls you back flush against his chest, his teeth biting his lips so hard he thinks it’s going to bleed, as he pumps a few more frantic thrusts.

And then he’s spilling inside you, a broken groan tearing from his chest as his cock pulses, flooding you with heat. His entire body shudders against yours, breath ragged as he rides it out, grinding into you until he’s milked every last drop.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of panting, of your wet, slick bodies pressed together.

Finally, he loosens his grip on your throat, dragging his lips along your jaw, voice hoarse.

“As I said, knew you’d fold for me.”

He kisses you, filthy and deep, like he’s trying to claim your soul along with your body.

“Now fix your fucking hair,” he murmurs against your lips, smirking. “Don’t want your little boyfriend getting suspicious, do we?”

taglist: @mochi13 @wobblewobble822 @jkvamp @sunnikthv @whoa-jo @kimyishin @asyr97 @pjmname @shesscorpio7 @daarla07 @jeontids @bellefaerie @kissyfacekoo @lily-lilacsky @bammbi-jeon127 @httpjeonlicious @belleilichil @minghaosimp @marrtyaa @livluvsjungkook @leahsummms @septemberskies @yok00k @ioanatodorova @rokshi @b2407 @boommoom @kookienooki @avawants2havefun @bhonbhon @taekritimin123 @ana-marais98 @deeznutkooks @oraiseok @thenamesathy @superchamchi88 @lenamercedesworld @candygalx @notsevenwithyou @heesuvk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonsinsatiablekitten @saki-gojo @piratekingateez2001 @0-0rot @bangatanily @justbelljust @plusultra0 @softhaes @bangtanily

[verityasian]

“Say I love you back”

>>> you prank goldenretriever!jj by not saying “I love you” before he goes to work.

A/N: because I love TikTok trends and goldenretriever!jj lol

JJ’s got one boot on. The other half-dragged. Bag slung over his shoulder. His hair’s still wet from the shower, and his cologne’s hanging heavy in the air.

He leans down, kisses the top of your head, grabs his keys, and says it like always:

“Love you, baby.”

You glance up from your phone.

Smile.

Nod.

But say nothing.

JJ stops.

One hand on the doorknob.

Back still to you.

Silence.

Then he turns. Slowly. Dramatically. With betrayal written across every inch of his face.

“…What was that?”

You blink innocently. “What?”

“I said ‘I love you.’ And you smiled. That’s not the system. That’s not the ritual.”

You stretch. “I thought we were being spontaneous now.”

He drops his bag with a thud. “We don’t improvise when it comes to love. That’s not how we live. That’s not who we are.”

“JJ, you’re going to be late—”

“I’ll be later if I die of heartbreak.”

You laugh softly.

He’s pacing now. “Did I do something? Is this about the fork I left in the sink? Is this payback for when I said you looked hot but also ‘like a sexy Muppet’ in that fluffy sweater?”

You stay quiet, fighting a grin.

JJ stops. Looks at you like a kicked puppy.

“You don’t love me anymore.”

“Oh my God, JJ—”

“Don’t lie. I can see it in your face. I’ve become replaceable. You’ve outgrown me. You’re gonna get a new boyfriend with emotional regulation and a clean car and—”

“JJ.”

“—and he’ll have fancy job titles and a real shampoo routine and—”

You finally stand up and walk over. Put your hands on his cheeks, force him to look at you.

And you say it slow, clear, and just loud enough to erase every single dramatic spiral in his head:

“I love you, JJ.”

He exhales like he just got pulled back from the edge of death. “Thank God. I was about to cancel my whole shift.”

You smirk. “You were gonna skip work because I didn’t say ‘I love you’?”

JJ wraps his arms around your waist, kisses your nose, your forehead, then your lips — long and extra just to prove a point.

“I was gonna fake a back injury and spend the day proving it to you until you caved.”

You lean into his chest.

“And now that I said it?”

He grins, smug again. “Now I’ll just think about it all day. And probably send you six texts asking you to say it again.”

———

BONUS:

<JJ’s voice memos>

[9:14 AM]

“Hey, just checking… You still love me, right? Like, it wasn’t a pity ‘I love you’ this morning? I felt a lot of passion, but I just—need to hear it again. For science.”

[9:21 AM]

“If you do love me, can you send a selfie? Preferably with my hoodie on. Bonus points if it looks like you miss me too.”

[9:37 AM]

“Also, just thinking out loud — but maybe you could say ‘I love you’ again. You know. Just to build trust. Emotional safety. Brain chemistry and stuff.”

[9:58 AM]

“Do you want to run away together? I’m serious. Like, drop everything. You, me, a truck, a cooler of Gatorade. We can live off love and weed. Think about it.”

[10:18 AM]

“Okay, quick update. I just told Pope you said you love me and he said ‘congrats’ like I won a prize. And I did. The prize is you. Also I almost drilled a hole through the wrong wall. Worth it.”

[1:24 PM]

“Okay serious question: was it a casual love-you or like a forever ever one? Be honest. I won’t spiral. I just need to know if I should start planning anniversary playlists and pet names and—”

[2:37 PM]

“Actually I lied. I already started the playlist. It’s called ‘She Loves Me (Confirmed)’ and track one is that dumb acoustic song you played in the car that made you cry. Text me back.”

——

<Y/N’s voice memo>

“JJ.”

(Pause. Your tone is firm but playful.)

“Stop smiling at drywall. You’re gonna mess something up and Pope’s gonna send me the bill. Focus. Drill straight. Keep your fingers attached. Pretend I’m not the most beautiful, irresistible girlfriend in the world for like five minutes. I know it’s hard.”

(Another pause. Softening now.)

“But just so you can finally breathe again…”

(Pause, then with a gentle smile in your voice:)

“I love you.”

I’m currently working on the ‘lean in closer and then pull away’ trend for bestfriend!jj right now that I can’t wait to post once I get the time.

[binmeister]

Hey I was wondering can you do a bodyguard reader fiction where we start getting more closed off and distant almost always trying to be alone but the Rumi comes into our room one day and sees us sitting on the bed crying demon marks on our body as if gwi ma is starting to get in our head and she calls Zoey and more telling them what she saw being super worried for us (also I was wondering can I be a 🍪 anon) and if not thats okay I get it's a lot have a good day/night!

Heavy

Huntrix x Bodyguard! Reader (Masc)

I love potential hurt! Thank you cookie anon - welcome to the dumpster, good luck getting out there’s too much word spaghetti on the ground to find your footing.

The only thing I’ll say with this is I don’t believe Bodyguard! Reader would ever make a deal with Gwi-Ma / does not have any demon blood in him thus no markings but, Gwi-Ma’s voice definitely impacts him on a low day. Kinda detoured off the prompt but I hope that’s okay - sorry :’)

WC: 2.5k approx

CW: not perfectly proofread, potential angst (?), self-loathing, references to feelings of depression / in a slump used here - proceed with caution for your own comfort please.

Some days it was hard to wake up, your chest felt heavy and it felt like someone had decided to crush you in your sleep. But you still needed to get up. Still needed to do your job, go through the routines, get through the day. You didn’t have time to think about yourself, or rather you didn’t want to think about yourself for too long. This was unfortunately one of those days.

Getting through your morning routine is fine mostly, your body drags along but you get your teeth brushed, hair neatened, clothing changed and you manage to get food prepped for the girls so that they’re not left hangry later. When they’re awake and talking amongst themselves you can’t really make out what they’re saying, it just sounds like background noise and you feel lucky that today had no major scheduled events. 

Your hands busy themselves with cleaning up plates and cutlery, any pots and pans used to make food also get washed by hand and your body ran on auto-pilot as you simply nodded whenever you vaguely heard something that sounded like a thank you. Your eyes are struggling to focus and it feels like you’re actively trying to remember how to breathe and it’s irritating but also, numbing.

There’s a whisper in the back of your head, an annoying little thing that keeps trying to get louder but you don’t give it the time of day. You feel a little like a zombie as you settle down on the couch by the girls, they’ve got some show on at the moment as they talk about the training plans for the day and whenever they ask you something you nod and pretend you heard them. They take note of that, eyes glancing at each other nervously but they try to play it off - maybe you just had rough sleep? Sometimes that happens.

When it’s time to train and Rumi asks if you’ll be joining, you don’t nod with enthusiasm. Your face pushes a small smile onto it as you calmly say ‘no thank you, I’m a little tired’ and you excuse yourself from the living room, steps sluggish as you make your way back to your room. You don’t hear what they say after you, you can’t tell if they did say anything as you close the door to your room behind yourself.

You trudge to your bed and just flop face first onto it. Your eyes feel heavy but you don’t feel tired enough to sleep, but your body feels too tired to stay awake. So you’re left laying there before you roll onto your back and stare blankly at the ceiling. That familiar weight in your chest is back and you have to take long and slow deep breaths, that little whisper of a voice continues to spout nonsense but your tired state doesn’t even recognise anything it’s saying. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying there but it’s been long enough that you know the sun has set and it’s some time in the evening by now. At some point you managed to drift into a short nap but it felt like only moments later you’d woken yourself up as you just continue to lay star-fished on your bed, just trying your best to breathe and do the bare minimum to function.

There’s a light knock on your door and you hear Zoey’s voice pipe up through the barrier, asking if you’d want to come watch a movie with them or play games with them and you cant bring yourself to sit up as you call out ‘no thanks, a bit tired’. You don’t know that Zoey bites her lip and her hand hovers over the doorknob, wanting to check in on you but being worried about overstepping in case you were just tired. 

“O-okay! Sleep well.” You hear her call out and the vague sound of her retreating footsteps. 

You feel exhausted still but you’re steadily getting irritated with the whispers in your head trying their best to be front and centre, begrudgingly reaching for your headphones and blasting music in your ears as you let your eyes fall shut again. Tomorrow will surely be a better day.

The same heavy weight on your chest was what you woke up to after a restless night. You’d slip into a deep sleep for maybe an hour then jolt awake the next, then back and forth for the remainder of the time you spent in bed. There’s barely any sunlight leaking into your room as you finally manage to get yourself up to a seated position, shoulders hunching as that crushing weight you hadn’t felt in a while settles itself snugly in your chest and shoulders.

It takes a herculean effort for you to get yourself to the edge of the bed, and even more of a power struggle to get yourself out of your room and into the bathroom to do your business but as you pick up your toothbrush you inwardly groan as you drop it back into it’s place and drag yourself back to your room. Quietly clicking the door behind you as you make your way back to bed.

That voice is back in your head again, pecking away at you and reminding you that you’re so pathetic right now. With a shaky breath you grab your headphones and slam them over your ears, trying to dig for any song in your playlist at this point to drown it out and struggling as every song feels wrong. You settle on a random song and click the volume loud enough so that thinking wasn’t a possibility as you feel yourself steadily drift back into another bout of restless sleep.

At midday there’s a knock at your door but you can’t bring yourself to answer, your eyes are refusing to open at this rate and you just prayed that whoever was there would just leave you alone. Just leave you be for a while. Rumi looks at Mira and Zoey in concern, the three of them hovering around your door as Rumi finally takes initiative to crack open the door just to make sure you’re at least home.

When they spot you, you’re on your back with an arm covering your eyes and your breathing seems like you’re just sleeping. There’s the faint sound of your music leaking out of your headphones but they don’t want to disturb you at this moment since it seems like you’ve only just managed to go back to sleep based on how slow your breaths were. When the door clicks closed again, you finally lower your arm that was shielding the tears leaking out of your eyes.

It didn’t matter how loud the music was at this rate, whatever part of you that wanted to take you down a peg was loud enough that it stung.

‘Idiot’. ‘Useless’. ‘How can something so weak think they can protect others?’. ‘Waste of space’.

The thoughts kept looping in an endless cycle. When you manage to focus on the lyrics of a song or the rhythm of the music in your ears the thoughts in your head get louder. Telling you not to run from the truth. That you are nothing. You finally manage to fall asleep again after an hour of agonising over the self loathing you felt, that you didn’t feel enough as a son, as a person.

A couple hours pass and you know the sun has started to set again when your room feels cooler. When you’re not blearily staring at the ceiling, you’re in a dream getting pinned down by shadows with voices demeaning you. When you wake up from the ache in your chest, your thoughts loop in the same self-loathing that the nightmarish voices repeated over and over.

It leaks out finally, the sound of your sobbing over the music. You can’t take it anymore. You toss your headphones from your head onto the floor as you finally sit up for a little bit and just cry your heart out. Fingers dig into your chest like you could rip your heart out and throw it into the ocean, but there’s no relief as you continue to sob. You’re steadily pulling at your hair as well now, hands switching from clutching at your head to pulling at your hair in hopes that things will quieten down but there’s a roar in your head that won’t stop.

You curl in on yourself, balling up tight as your knees tuck loosely into your chest and you’re near heaving out choked sobs and hiccups as you just let it out. You want to throw up, you want to scream, you want silence, you want it to end. You don’t hear the click of your door open or the panicked gasp from Rumi as she rushes to your side, her voice is a little shaky as she attempts to get you to release your grip on yourself.

“You’re hurting yourself, hey, hey I’m here, [Name]? I’m here.” She calls out gently as she desperately tries to get your hands to stop digging into your scalp and your chest, it takes a good amount of effort until she’s finally managed to get the hand digging at your scalp out of your hair as she attempts to rub comforting circles on your back. Your body is shaking, each breath and sob that leaves you absolutely rattles through you.

“Is everything okay-” Mira asks as she peers her head in, seeing your door wide open and she’s shocked to see you crying your eyes out and soon Zoey is beside her as well out of curiosity. The two quickly make their way over as well, Zoey attempts to look at your face and try to wipe away at some of the tears streaming down your face with her sleeve. Mira’s holding your water bottle out to you, telling you that you should try to hydrate when you can - they’re all trying to tell you that it’s okay and that they’re there. 

Their voices should bring you comfort but it doesn’t.

Instead of words of encouragement and comfort all you hear is the distorted sound of them telling you that you’re so stupid for crying. What kind of cry-baby could be of any use to them? Your hand breaks from Rumi’s grasp and soon you’re clutching at the back of your head again, curling in on yourself once again as you continue to sob. Your fingers are digging into the back of your head and the back of your neck, enough to the point your nails are digging in and steadily leaving deep grooves.

Zoey is stunned, she doesn’t know what to do as she looks at the older girls for help and Rumi is trying her best to coax you to stop, that you’re hurting yourself. Mira’s hovering beside you, her hands raised like she’s going to comfort you but she’s frozen. What do they do? They haven’t seen you like this in.. years. They feel helpless.

Which in turn makes whatever is in your head scream at you, laugh even louder at your pitiful state. You’re making them uncomfortable. Shouldn’t you be the bigger man here? Why’re you crying? Then an almost demonic version of yourself leaks in and tells you that maybe you should just give up, let someone else take your place. That maybe you shouldn't have survived from the saesang incident.

Zoey is finally talking, her voice soft but firm as she reaches out and tries to get you to lift your face up so she can look at you. It takes her a great deal to do so without hurting you but at some point your arms had lost feeling and had dropped into your lap and she’s able to get you to look at her. Her hands on your cheeks as she tries to talk to you and ground you enough so you can hear them, hear that they’re trying to reach you.

Rumi’s still rubbing patterns on your back as she looks at the damage you’ve done to yourself, thankfully no blood was drawn but just barely. Mira’s voice is low, quiet, as she tries to ask if you want to talk about it. The three of them stay close, close enough that you know that they’re there but not close enough to frighten you when you finally manage to calm down enough to look at Zoey.

Her expression is full of concern as she tries to read how you’re feeling with your eyes but it’s just, empty. Hollow. Your breathing is still ragged and you feel so tired right now. You just want to sleep. You voice that to them and they share a glance at each other and let you lie down, but they don’t leave. The three of them stay seated on your bed, Mira and Zoey on one side while Rumi is on the other.

“Do you want to talk about it..?” It was Rumi’s turn to ask you, they’re all keeping a close eye on you even though all you’re doing is staring blankly at the ceiling above your head as you try to calm yourself down. Idiot. You groan as you scrunch your eyes closed for a second, the voice in your head is actually starting to piss you off.

Fuck off. The voice fizzles out after that and you feel some relief finally.

“Just, tired... Heavy..” You finally rasp out after a minute, eyes slowly blinking back open as you hear shuffling and all the girls are making themselves comfortable on your bed. “You guys don’t have to st-”

“Too late.” “Sleep over!” “We’re staying.” 

Mira is seated, leaning her back against your headboard when she says ‘too late’ as she lets Zoey squeeze between hers and your body. Zoey happily wriggling beside you as she playfully pats your chest when she says ‘sleep over’. You feel Rumi settle down beside you and she’s looking up at the ceiling with you, her voice was quiet when she said ‘we’re staying’ but something about it helped reassure you that they were here. They were real. They weren’t the little worm in your head telling you otherwise.

You feel Zoey’s head rest against your shoulder, Mira’s pulled out her phone and there’s some YouTube video playing quietly for ambience and you feel Rumi gently grasp your hand and interlock her fingers with yours. Like when you were kids after a bad dream. There’s a small chuckle that falls from your lips and that heavy feeling you’ve been feeling the past couple days starts to ease up a bit as you finally let your eyes close shut for a peaceful rest.

When your breathing has evened out, and they can tell you’ve fallen asleep the girls all look at each other with a knowing and concerned look. Gwi-Ma almost got you, this isn’t the first time this has happened and it wouldn’t be the last try that he aims to catch you when you’re vulnerable and in a weakened state of mind.

He’ll have to try harder than that to break you.

[angels-hideaway]

Hi! I love the stories you have written and was wondering if you could write a Caitlyn x fem reader where Caitlyn loves the reader but they cant be together because they are from different social classes, they are women and simply her parents have arranged a match for her already. Caitlyn dumps the reader, which starts the yearning and angst from her part. She sees reader and yearns for her even more so when she finds out she is starting to talk to someone new. All of this reaches a point where Caitlyn cant take it anymore and passion (smut ) arises between them. Please add your magical touch!! I am a big fan of love angst, yearning and passion lol

𝔇𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡𝔰

Caitlyn Kiramman x fem reader

C/w: angst yayyy apology sex soft dom Cait, fingering (r! Receiving), oral (r! Receiving), grinding/ scissoring

summary: After Caitlyn’s parents disapprove of her relationship with you, things go downhill quickly. Even after things end “for good” both of you can’t seem to forget each other.

a/n: yay another request done! I had a lot of fun with this one so I hope you enjoy, anon! dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @enchanthings

“Did you tell your parents about us yet?” Caitlyn shifted awkwardly against you when she heard your question. Neither of you were really paying attention to the movie on your tv. The topic of Caitlyn’s parents was one that often came up. “Darling I…no. I’m sorry, I really meant to this time it’s just, I don’t think it’ll go well.” She avoids your gaze. “But even if it doesn’t go well, that doesn’t mean we’d be over, right?” She smiles softly and takes your hand. “No. Their approval is just very important to me.” 

Caitlyn and her parents were some of the most influential people in Piltover. Her mother was a powerful member of the council, which was a position Caitlyn was bound to inherit one day. You; however, were a nobody. Just a waitress she found cute, and asked out one day. “Even if they don’t accept me, we’ll pull through together.” You lean in for a kiss, which she gives with some hesitance. 

Caitlyn has been acting strange lately. Sometimes she’s staring at you sadly like a kicked puppy, or getting oddly silent when she comes over for dinner. One night, you’re eating with Caitlyn on your couch because you didn’t have a dining room, and she begins to speak. “I spoke to my parents today.” You almost drop your food. “Seriously? What did they say? How did it go?” You knew she said that she’d stay even if it went south, but you’re praying it went well anyways. “They…Don’t really like it. Apparently dating a woman and a non-socialite is a ‘bad look for the Kirammans.’ ” 

The following silence was loud. “They haven’t even met me yet… Maybe, I can change their mind?” Caitlyn sighs. “I honestly don’t know. I want them to meet you, but I just don’t know when, or if that’s even a good idea.” Caitlyn puts her fingers to her temple. That’s a sign she’s Feeling stressed. “I just wish they could see past status. See you like I do.”

Ever since that day, Caitlyn has become distant. She takes long to reply to any message you send, she’s late for nights at your place, and sometimes she’ll refuse to touch you at night. She’s not been herself at all. She always looks a little sad, like she’s hiding something from you. Something important.

 “Caitlyn, what’s going on with you? You haven’t been acting like yourself.” You confronted her one night in bed. She sighs, and grabs your hand. “I’m sorry for getting so distant. There’s just something I’ve been unable to tell you. I don’t know how to say this, but my parents have… arranged someone for me.” Your heart practically stops. “What!? That’s insane!” Caitlyn winces at your reaction. “I know… I’ll try everything in my power to fix this. I want to stay with you, you has to believe me.” She scoots closer to you and holds you close beneath the sheets. You sigh in relief, and enjoy a rare moment of tenderness. “Of course I do, Caitlyn. I love you. For a moment, I thought you were breaking up with me.” Caitlyn gently cups your face with one hand and kisses you. “I can’t do that. Not over something as stupid as this.”

“I’m sorry.” Caitlyn whispered. Her eyes were avoiding yours. She closed them and took a deep breath when you began to cry. She was trying to steel herself. She always subdued by your tears. “You said you wouldn’t leave me over this! There has to be some kind of solution!” 

“I tried I really did! This is truly my last resort. This I just won’t work! Someone like me and someone like you? It was destined to fail.” Caitlyn snaps. With tears filling her eyes, she takes both of your hands. “Im sorry I wasted your time. You deserve someone who can give you their everything. Someone who isn’t so weak. That’s not me.” With that, Caitlyn left. She walked out the door. You spent that night feeling absolutely wrecked. Your tears wouldn’t stop. The bed is cold without her. No amount of blankets or sheets could replace the way she felt against you. 

Caitlyn was reeling from it too. The quiet halls of the Kiramman mansion felt more lonely than ever. Everything reminded Caitlyn of you. Flowers on her nightstand? They were your favorite color. The nightgown she wore that night? You had picked it out for her. Even her routine felt desolate without you by her side. She tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she only saw you. Your eyes, your hair, the way you smiled, the things that made you laugh, all of it. She’d get over you eventually, surely. 

She didn’t.

Nothing worked. No matter how much time she spent with her new fiancé, she couldn’t forget you. In fact, she hated him. He was the very antithesis of you. Everything he did contradicted you. He was selfish, rich beyond belief, but he still wanted more. He wanted more of her, her body, and her time. She missed how you were at peace with where you came from. That you didn’t care that she was from a different world. As many times as Caitlyn insisted that she could find you a nice house in Piltover, you always refused with a smile. She missed how you always understood when Caitlyn’s duty called for her. She missed you. 

She saw you once, sitting in a cafe between Piltover and the undercity. She wanted nothing more than to run inside and just reverse everything, but she knew she couldn’t. She made the right choice. She couldn’t hurt you any longer. Pulling against her own heartstrings, she turns the other direction.

You were surprisingly handling it better. You were still devastated, but part of that emotion helped you get up. You wanted to keep going so that hopefully, you’d move on. Going on without Caitlyn was difficult though. Especially the nights. Nothing felt lonelier than going to sleep without her arms around you, and her soft voice in your ear. You missed her terribly. 

On a particularly painful day, you decided to go out that night. If you couldn’t forget Caitlyn, maybe a night out would help. 

The club was loud. It reeked of alcohol and other substances. You were sitting down watching it all. You came here to dance and have fun, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. “What’s got you feeling down?” A woman sat herself next to you. “Don’t tell me, I’ll guess…” She looks at you strangely for a while. “Aha, you got dumped, right?”

Caitlyn was going mad. She was more disorganized than ever, which says a lot because she’s normally like a hurricane. She keeps catching herself daydreaming about you during meetings, dinners, dates with her finance, and during enforcer work too. “Hey, Caitlyn?” Her fiancé rose from bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. She already knew what he wanted, and she’s declined every single time. 

“No.” She muttered. She expected the typically response: “Your answer is always no! I’m getting tired of this!” Caitlyn couldn’t care less. Her response came out sharp and cold. “Then go to a brothel for all I care.” She spat, getting up and going to the bathroom. 

After splashing her face with cold water, Caitlyn groaned into her towel. She was going crazy. Her mind felt stuffy with memories of you. She could practically smell you. She was pent up, frustrated, and tired. Despite all this, she’d rather die than sleep with her fiancé. She didn’t just miss you physically though. After standing there in her mirror, Caitlyn decided to sleep in her office. Just being in bed with that man ruined her mood. That’s it. She gives up. First thing tomorrow, she’s heading to the undercity to find you. She’ll get you back.

It was hot out today. The streets were packed with people, and Caitlyn was looking for you everywhere. She knew where you frequented, but she couldn’t find you at any of your favorite cafes, bookstores, or anything. Just as Caitlyn was ready to give up, she saw you. She began to walk towards you, and it turned into a brisk jog. Finally, everything would finally go back to normal.

“Did you wait long? Sorry. There was a line.”

“No! You weren’t long at all!” You reassured your girlfriend. She passed you a smoothie and kissed your cheek. She was a good woman, but something just didn’t feel right. Not like how Caitlyn made you feel. You were with her to try and fill the deep, gaping hole she left you with, but it wasn’t really working. 

You never saw Caitlyn watching you from across the street. 

Caitlyn’s heart dropped. How had you already found someone new? It made way too much sense though. You were a catch. The type of person Caitlyn rarely came across. The kind of woman anybody would want. She couldn’t be mad at you, nor your new partner. Caitlyn left the undercity feeling deflated. She didn’t want to go back to that mansion, and return to her pushy family and stuck up fiancé. She wanted to run back to you and beg for your forgiveness, and that’s what she would do. So what if you found someone new? She wasn’t ready to give up. Not when it came to you.

“See you tonight?” You asked your new girlfriend. 

“Yep! I just want to change, and then I’ll be back at your place. Won’t take long at all.” She kissed you, and left. Something still felt off. After locking the door, you showered, indulged yourself with some nice skin oils, and slipped into a nicer nightgown. You were having company tonight after all.

“That color looks nice on you.” Caitlyn said when you stepped out of the bathroom wearing your new nightgown. “How much was this thing!? This has to be from so expensive boutique in topside. The quality is insane!” You replied. Caitlyn smiled and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about how much it cost, it’s my gift to you.”

“Are you sure the gift isn’t for you? After all, you’re the one who gets to see me in something like this. It’s kind of sexy.” Caitlyn didn’t answer. She just smiled slyly.

The memory flashed in your head. She bought this for you. The tears began before you could even stop them. You were stupid to think she’d stay with someone like you. Your doorbell rang suddenly, making you pause. It was probably your new girlfriend. As you try to wipe away the evidence of your breakdown without ruining your makeup, you head to the door. Checking the mirror one more time, you sigh, and then open the door.

“Caitlyn?” 

Why was she here? Caitlyn stood outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Your favorite kind too. “I came to apologize… for how I treated you.” Her voice is low and quiet. “You can’t be here…”

“Why’s that? Is someone else in your bed right now? I hope they enjoy that little number.” She motions to what you’re wearing. “No ones here…it’s just me.” 

“So you’re just walking around at home in the lingerie I bought you?”

“Someone’s on they’re way…” Caitlyn seems hurt by that. “I came back for you! I don’t care that you’re with someone else, I don’t care about my finance! You couldn’t have moved on so fast! Please just- give me one more chance!” Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. You’ve never seen Caitlyn Kiramman like this before. She always looks so poised and confident. Like she owns Piltover itself. “Caitlyn I…” before you could even finish, she drops the flowers at your feet and hugs you tightly. You missed her. You missed how this felt so much. 

“Caitlyn please…” you were crying now. You wanted to forget her. You wanted to so badly because there’s no way it could ever work. She was from a different world, yet she still kept coming back. She was dragging out what could have been left alone. “Just go back to your big fancy mansion and leave me alone!” You pushed her back, forcing her to release you. Caitlyn still tries to get through to you. “I’m finished with denying myself! I’m sorry for just leaving you like that, believe me I am. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I can’t be happy with anyone else! Not when everything reminds me of you!” She steps further into your apartment, making you step back. “So please.” Her voice is shaking. She hugs you again. “Forgive me.”

You’ve completely melted. Your arms hang limp at your sides as she cries into your shoulder. “I forgive you…I really missed you..” She sniffles and pulls away from you. “I was so foolish. You’re the most special girl I’ve ever met. No one could ever replace you.” She held your face in her hands, and kissed you. You knew your rebound was probably on her way now, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You and Caitlyn stumbled over to your couch, where she pushed you down gently. “Please excuse my haste.” She whispers as her hands felt your body through the thin nightgown. “There’s no way I’ll ever let you wear this for someone else.” Her hands travel lower, and she lifts the nightgown over your head to gaze at your naked body. “That’s better. You’re beautiful. Don’t ever forget that.”

Caitlyn undresses herself, removing her turtle neck and pants to join you. “how I’ve missed this.” She kisses you again. You can feel her breasts on top of yours, and her leg between your thighs. “Caitlyn.”

“I know…you haven’t been pleased since our split too, is that right? I was so miserable without you.” She reaches a hand down between your legs and gently brushes your clit with her fingers. When you flinch, she chuckles. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. Let me make it up to you.” She starts to rub firm, slow circles while kissing your collar bone. You can’t resist her touch. Caitlyn watches you with eyes filled with love. “That’s it…” When she thinks you’re wet enough, she slips two fingers inside. She starts slow, but gradually moves to a speed she knows you prefer. Caitlyn knows your body well, so when she sees that you’re about to come, she stretches it out longer.

“Cait!” She kisses your neck slowly as you come. Caitlyn doesn’t wait for you to come down from your high. She moves to be between your thighs, and gives you the dorkiest smile.

“I was really stupid. For leaving you, I mean. I still have to sort things out with my family, but I’m never giving you up again.” Just as she’s finally going to get the chance to taste you again, the doorbell rings. Caitlyn looks startled, but then she looks to you. 

“Oh crap…” you mutter. “I should probably get the door.” You sat up, but Caitlyn wasn’t having it. “No, there’s no need.” Caitlyn resumes her actions, and starts suckling on your clit. The doorbell rings again, followed by a few knocks, but you can’t answer. Your hand is in Caitlyn’s hair, and you’re spewing nonsense about answering the door. “Wait…. I can’t leave her at the door..fuck…Caitlyn..” Caitlyn is laser focused on pleasuring you as much as she can. It’s as if she’s apologizing for every tear you cried over her. When your phone starts to ring, she doesn’t even flinch.

“I have to at least answer the phone!” You reach for your phone, but Caitlyn manages to get to it first. “Do you want me to answer it?” She says sternly. Her lips are glistening with your own fluids. “Caitlyn uhm…” She answers the call and puts it on speaker. “Hello, this is Caitlyn Kiramman speaking. How can I help you?” You can hear the distaste in her voice for your newer companion.

“Babe? Uh, are you there? Who’s this?”

“I’m sorry, she can’t come to the phone, or the door right now. We’re busy.” 

“Hey! Who the hell are you!? Babe? Babe!”

Caitlyn rolls her eyes and hangs up. “She doesn’t deserve you. Neither do I, when I think about it...” She sets the phone down and goes in to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on her lips. Caitlyn adjusts your legs so that she can grind herself against you. She slowly starts to rock her hips, and whispers sweet nothings to you. She’s hugging you close whispering how sorry she is with every roll of her hips. “I’m sorry. Sorry for all the pain I caused you…”

“Cait…” 

“Yes love? It’s okay. I’ve got you.” She starts to move faster, and starts to kiss and bite your neck. “Caitlyn…I’m close..” She leaves your neck and presses her forehead to yours. She kisses you for what feels like the hundredth time as she guides you through your release. “That’s it…you’re so pretty. I love you.” She says between kisses.

You and Caitlyn are spooning on the couch, and she’s running her hands through your hair. “I’m going to figure this out. I swear it to you.” She kisses your forehead and holds your nude body close. “I like being skin to skin like this.” She says, giggling quietly. “I love you, Caitlyn. I’m really happy you decided to come and find me.” 

“I’m happy I did too. I can’t believe I just left you like that.” She hugs you tighter. “It’s okay. The pressure to live up to expectations is something I’ll never know as well as you.” She looks away from you, but you turn her face back to yours. “I understand, really. I probably would have done the same thing if I had an arranged husband.” Caitlyn suddenly begins to cry.A few tears slip down her cheeks, and she looks at you with remorseful eyes. “I just felt like I was betraying you. I didn’t want to lead you on.” She pulls you into another passionate kiss, which you return. 

“My couch is kind of small… let’s go to bed.” You said once the two of you finally parted. “Mhm” Caitlyn hummed. She was smiling again. 

“I can’t promise this is going to go well at all, and there’s probably going to be a lot of shouting. Probably directed and coming from me and my parents.” Caitlyn squeezed your hand.

“I know. I’m ready.” You looked up at the massive Kiramman mansion. It was definitely a little daunting. “This time, I’ll be with you no matter what.” Caitlyn kissed your hand before leading you inside.

Taglist!: @starryeyes-7 @caitlynsbathwater @halle5s @riotstemple29 @mxchi-mxxn @thinkviolets @commanderraccoon @madalinee @gwscloq @seisei18 @paigeilicous @cottagegirlworld-blog @cenizajskp @kittymrtnezz69 @jiryelle @vivienneswhispers @all-things-lilac @marve1stranger @trulysapphic @b7ue8erry @poeticrenaissance @whatthefuckisthisapppppp @girlsatourbest @st0nerlesb0 @butchpuppyy @yearningandstillnotlearning @eyehatesex @sunsetzzzzzzz @kaylovesmatcha @venuswarmlight @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @ggutpunch @detergentclog @sillypuppy77 @abbyandcaitlover @sevikas-whore @rainfalls77 @dvrkhcld @missaerys @goiabadasia @ispendwaytolongonhere

[bloofairyfox]

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙅𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 (𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙣)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of snakes

Note: this is so messy and is literally me just rambling, but my head was just filled with Jason Todd and I needed to get it out. So I apologize in advance to spelling errors and jumping from one topic to another

Dividers by: @cafekitsune & @saradika / @saradika-graphics

I feel like Jason has a habit of kinda softly flicking his nose when he laughs. Not a full on laugh, but kinda when he scoffs or huffs out a dry laugh (?)

Like he’ll hear someone say something stupid, or hear a mildly funny joke and he’ll huff out a laugh as he smirks and tries to cover it up with his hand, flicking his nose a bit

Adding to the laugh bit, Jason’s actual laugh is loud and insane. Like the type of laugh to pierce your ears, it’s so crazy he sounds like a hyena. And it’ll come out of nowhere too. He’ll be on his phone scrolling mindlessly and you’re sitting next to him minding your own business, doing your thing. then here comes Jason “Siren” Todd laughing at a dumb video he found and startling you.

He definitely snores and he snores like a dad, I’m so sorry yall

Jason doesn’t really care much for dressing himself up that much (not that he doesn’t try because he does), but I feel like he collects leather and bomber jackets sometimes. (he’ll even add little patches on them too)

He takes night walks to clear his head whenever he gets overwhelmed. He just throws on his headphones and goes, no destination or nothing.

I feel like he really likes taking night walks during autumn. Not too hot not too cold, but just cold enough to wear his favorite jackets.

Definitely has broken headphones/earphones

The screen on his phone is definitely cracked from all that fighting and jumping off of buildings. Like it genuinely is a hazard how cracked his screen is.

Jason strikes me as a person to keep his apartment moderately clean. Like he may have old bottles and scattered clothes around the house but not to the point where you can’t walk around and it stinks, you know what I mean?

I feel like since everything else in his life is messy he would want control over some part of it, and that would be his apartment, his space. It’s not perfect, but it’s his and it’s clean enough for him.

One night, when Jason was out on patrol, a little kid waved him down to talk to him. And being the kind hero that he is, he jumped down from the roof top and talked to the kid.

It was kinda obvious the kid was nervous, so he bent down to the kids level and spoke just a little bit softer to not be as intimidating.

As they talked for a bit, the kid told Jason to stay put and went somewhere to grab something. A few minutes later, Jason could hear many small footsteps and giggling coming around the corner, then he saw a group of kids from a nearby orphanage come running towards him, all beaming and in awe at Jason.

Jason had never received so many handmade gifts and hugs in his entire life.

Hangs out in public libraries a lot, reading any book that peaks his interest. You can usually find him in a kind of secluded part of the library, a little corner that no one really goes to but not too far away from people either.

I feel like Jason isn’t that bad of a cook. Like when he was younger, maybe Alfred taught him some recipes (maybe even taught him how to make his favorite dish) and he just learned from there. He still messes up from time to time, but he genuinely finds enjoyment in the art of cooking. Makes him feel more normal.

I’ve seen some people say that Jason is a dog or cat person, which I agree with. But may I present you with this…

Jason and snakes!

I feel like he really likes snakes idk why but he strikes me as a reptile kinda guy. He just thinks they’re cool and that snake names sound cool.

When Damian goes to art museums, Jason might tag along just because he doesn’t have anything to do that day. He does have to get through Damian being…Damian, but it beats being stuck in his small apartment all day. And plus the art work is nice to look at. (Damian won’t admit it but he appreciates the company)

Jason is a very complex person, that lives a dangerous life and can be reckless at times. But he still tries to find moments of normality whenever he can and holds on tight to it.

CLAP IF YOU LOVE JASON TODD 🫵🏾👏🏾

╰┈➤ DC Masterlist

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Partnered Up Part 2

It’s been two days since you and Nika turned in your final presentation.

No rubric. No shared Doc. No lingering excuse to stay up late together in your dorm, legs tangled and hearts pretending not to be racing. And yet…you haven’t stopped thinking about her.

About how she’d stretch out in your desk chair like she owned it.

About the soft crook in her smile when she said your name.

About the moment…right before you both packed up for the last time, when she looked like she wanted to say something more but didn’t.

Now you pass each other on campus like something’s different.

There’s no label. No plan. Just this fragile string of possibility between you.

You don’t know what it is.

But you want to.

Wednesday Afternoon – Coffee Run

It’s raining. A slow, lazy drizzle that makes the world feel quiet.

You weren’t supposed to be near the gym, but somehow you’re standing by the student center anyway. You’ve got a coffee in each hand…yours and hers. Her order’s memorized now: two shots, oat milk, one pump hazelnut. You don’t even think about it anymore. You just get it.

She texts while you’re waiting:

“Wanna meet after practice? I owe you a latte.”

You reply:

“Already got yours. Figured you’d forget the espresso.”

You hear her before you see her…shoes squeaking, bag slung over one shoulder, hair damp and pulled back, eyes tired but bright when she spots you.

She walks up slowly, hoodie strings swinging.

“You’re unreal” she says, taking the drink from your hand. Her fingers graze yours and linger a second longer than necessary.

You raise an eyebrow. “For remembering your coffee?”

“For everything,” she says. “But yeah. That too.”

You start walking, shoulder to shoulder, no umbrella between you…just the soft press of rain clinging to your clothes and the warm hum of something building in the silence.

“So,” she says after a minute, nudging your arm with hers. “Now that we’re not, you know, partners anymore… what are we?”

You hesitate, a smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want us to be?”

She stops. Right there on the path.

You pause beside her, rain misting both your cheeks.

“I wanna be the person who kisses you in the hallway,” she says quietly. “And walks you to class even when I’m late. And I want to see your notes even when there’s nothing to study.”

Your throat tightens. You can barely hear the rain over your pulse.

She looks nervous now. That same girl who trash talks on the court and calls herself chaos in a hoodie is suddenly unsure.

So you take the step she’s too afraid to.

You lean in, hands still wrapped around your coffee cup…and kiss her.

It’s soft. Gentle. Almost surprised.

But she melts into it like she’s been waiting.

Her fingers find your wrist, her mouth smiling against yours, and you feel it…the click. The knowing. The yes.

When you part, her eyes stay closed a second longer.

Then she whispers “That was definitely not on the rubric.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Extra credit, duh.”

“Gonna need a lot more of that.”

You smile, cheeks burning, but you don’t move away. Not yet.

“Me too.”

Thursday – Class Feels Different Now

You sit in your usual spot. She’s one row behind…same as always, but now you can feel her watching you.

You don’t dare turn around. Not when your cheeks are already flushed from remembering yesterday. From remembering the way her fingers had tightened around your wrist, like she didn’t want to let go.

Halfway through the lecture, she passes you a folded scrap of paper. It lands neatly on your desk.

You wait until the professor turns their back to unfold it.

A stick figure version of you, complete with a speech bubble that says:

“This is my hot, smart girlfriend. She uses color coded tabs.”

Next to it: a poorly drawn heart. And underneath it:

“Wanna come over after class?”

You stare at it for a second, biting back a smile. Then you scribble back:

“Yes. But I’m still not helping you organize your closet.”

You hear her snort behind you.

Later That Night – Her Dorm

Her room smells like fabric softener and Gatorade. There’s a half eaten protein bar on the desk, a crumpled pair of socks in the corner, and her laptop playing highlights from a game she’s not watching.

She lets you in and locks the door behind you, but it’s not for drama, it’s just instinct now.

You toss your bag on her bed and sit cross legged while she flops down next to you, her leg brushing yours like it belongs there.

“Hi,” she says, softer now.

“Hi,” you echo.

She watches you for a second, head tilted. “You always look so calm. Even when you’re freaking out.”

You shrug. “You always look like you don’t care. Even when you really do.”

“Guess we’re both liars,” she says.

There’s no teasing in it. Just truth.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. But I think I like that about us.”

“Same,” she murmurs.

And then she kisses you again…less hesitant now, more sure. Her hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like she wants to remember how this feels. Like she wants to know what makes you sigh into her mouth, what makes your hands twist in the fabric of her shirt.

It’s soft. But real. And it feels like a beginning.

When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.

“I’ve kissed people before,” she says quietly. “But not like this. Not with this much… I don’t know. Want.”

You nod, voice catching in your throat. “Me too.”

She kisses you one last time before whispering: “I like you so much it’s gross.”

You laugh against her mouth. “I can live with gross.”

The End of the Week – Labels? Maybe

You walk together, and it’s different now. Not because you’re holding hands (you’re not). Not because anyone’s staring (they’re not).

But because you’re not pretending anymore.

She nudges your hand with hers as you near your dorm. Her pinky hooks around yours.

“Hey,” she says. “If people ask… what should I say?”

You glance over. “About what?”

“You. Me. This whole dangerously flirty coffee kiss situation.”

You think about it. Then shrug.

“Say we started as partners.”

She smiles. “That’s it?”

You smile back. “Say we’re still figuring it out.”

Nika grins, nose scrunching in that way you secretly love. “Cool. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She tugs your hand…just a little…and kisses you, fast, quick, in the middle of the sidewalk.

Someone whistles across the quad.

She flips them off without looking.

You laugh the whole way home.

[harrypotterheretic]

Fact checking:

"Just bombed" ... in 2022. So three years ago. Since then Hogwarts Legacy has been released and was the highest selling video game worldwide, that year, selling over 22 million copies in 2023. That same year, HBO announced that they would be making their new Harry Potter series, which will debut sometime in 2026. In the meantime Harry Potter books have continued to top best seller charts even though the series is creeping up on its 30th birthday. If - and this is a big if - people stayed away from Fantastic Beasts 3 because JKR is "hateful", they seemed to have got over it by the very next year.

"bombed" - fact checking just this word even. FB3 cost 200 million dollar to make and earned 407.2 million dollars worldwide. So a profit of over 200 million dollars. It was estimated to earn 40 million in its opening weekend in the US and earned 42 million, so pretty much exactly as expected (slightly better) and was the top of the box office that weekend. Yes, it's the worst performing of the wizarding world franchise, but that has to be judged within the context of how crazy successful the rest of HP is. It was still by no means a flop by any regular standards.

"she still has a lot of money and will be more than comfortable" - Understatement of the century alert. in 2025 she became a billionaire again (having first lost billionaire status due to the sheer amount of charitable donations she makes). I don't think she is worrying about any losses she has incurred by the cancellation of Fantastic Beasts, because she is so very rich she couldn't possibly even begin to notice that drop in the ocean has evaporated. (Plus all the other avenues of revenue that have opened up or continue to earn well since 2022 probably cushion the shortfall)

According to Forbes she has earned £80 million per year since she started tweeting about women's rights and the way gender ideology impacts on them.

The books still sell, the Harry Potter movies have their own TV channel that shows nothing but them all day every day, The Cursed Child continues to run on the West End and Broadway, Hogwarts Legacy has been released, Universal have expanded their HP theme parks with their new land in Epic Universe and next year Potter mania will reach a new height not seen since the early 2000s when the new show starts.

Any imagined boycott of Harry Potter is not having any effect, as JKR's recent billionaire status will attest. No one in the real world cares (no one believes) that she is "hateful".

The stench of your desperation is overpowering.

God, how much they hate a rich woman in charge of her own wealth.

It's her money. She does not need oversight, or trustees or a chairman of the board to tell her how she can spend it. There is no reason she should not have complete control of where her money goes. If she wants to spend her own money helping women fight for their lawful sex based rights against entities unlawfully denying them those rights, she can do precisely that. She is not suspicious because she didn't set up a charity and ask other people to spend their money doing it. She is just a very very rich (self made) lady spending her money as she sees fit and you, and nobody else, gets a say in that.

And for some reason that makes you mad.

There are no checks on her transphobia? There are no checks on your misogyny.

[chrisstvrns]

﹒⌗﹒⌞matt & fangirl!readers first time having sex⌝ ⸝⸝

warnings: established relationship, soft dom!matt, emotional sex, first time having sex during the relationship, comfort, safe sex, lmk if i missed anything - matt x fangirl!reader au

word count: 1.3k

you remember the first time you saw him in person. february, a snow slushed parking lot, lost somewhere in your hometown of new york. your heart thudding behind a fan made sign and a letter you had written a dozen different versions of.

the line moved quickly, too quickly. you barely had time to breathe when you stepped up and met matt’s eyes.

but he smiled like he already knew you.

and you handed him the letter anyway.

you didn’t expect him to read it. or to text you that night. or to invite you to the last date of the tour in boston.

you definitely didn’t expect him to fall for you.

it was supposed to just be a celebrity crush. 

but now it’s august, six months of knowing each other, three months of dating, and you’re lying in his bed, one leg draped over his waist, the thin sheet tangled somewhere beneath your hips.

his room is dark, lit only by the streetlamp outside and the glow of his tv, which was playing one of your favorite movies, that you finally convinced him to watch.

"you okay?" matt whispers, voice low and scratchy from talking and laughing all day.

you nod, your fingers skimming the hem of his pink, hershey park tshirt. "yeah. just thinking."

he shifts onto his side to face you fully, hair messy from your hands and his own tossing. "about?"

you shrug. "how crazy this is. how we met. how i'm even here."

"i think about that all the time." he pulls you closer, your chest flush against his. "sometimes i still don’t believe it."

your nose brushes his. your hands rest over his heart.

you whisper, "can i tell you something?"

"anything."

you swallow. your throat feels dry, your stomach fluttery. "i want to... i want tonight to be the night."

he doesn’t ask what you mean. he doesn’t have to.

his eyes soften. "are you sure?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. i’ve never felt safer than i do with you."

matt leans in, kissing you gently. once, then again, a little slower the second time. his hands stay still, respectful, cradling your jaw like you might slip away if he doesn’t.

you kiss him deeper. you shift closer, fingers sliding under his shirt, over the warm skin of his stomach.

"just go slow," you whisper, as he pulls back to search your eyes.

"always."

he helps you out of your shirt first, then pauses. "still okay?"

you nod, smiling shyly. "yeah. promise."

his lips trail down your throat, your collarbone, every kiss soft and warm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. his hands are gentle, never rushing.

your skin hums beneath his touch, a slow build of warmth and anticipation as he undresses you piece by piece, stopping to kiss the new skin he uncovers, like every part of you is worth memorizing.

when it’s his turn, you help him undress too. fingers fumbling a little with the waistband of his sweats, both of you laughing quietly when he nearly trips kicking them off.

you pull him down, kissing him again, deeper now, your legs parting slightly as he settles between them.

he slows again. "i have a condom in the drawer. do you want me to.."

"yeah. please."

he reaches for his drawer, slowly opening it. he picks up the condom, ripping it open with trembling fingers, then kisses your shoulder as he rolls it on.

"you’re okay?"

"more than okay," you whisper, pulling him in.

and when he finally presses into you, it’s slow, achingly slow, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he goes too fast. your legs are wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, your fingers clutching at the firm curve of his arms like an anchor. his forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breaths tangled in the sliver of space between your mouths.

“tell me if anything hurts,” he whispers, voice rough at the edges, almost hoarse. his lips brush against yours with every word.

you nod, but don’t speak. afraid your voice might betray how overwhelmed you already feel. instead, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he inches deeper, your body stretching around him slowly, the unfamiliar burn sparking down your spine. but it’s not unbearable. it’s not sharp or wrong. it’s just new. vulnerable. intimate.

you feel everything. the steady tremble in his arms as he holds himself up over you, the way his brows pull together when you gasp softly, the almost reverent way he watches your every reaction like it’s the most important thing in the world. and maybe it is.

he waits. lets you adjust. doesn’t move until your hands leave his arms and reach up to cup his jaw. you nod again, lips brushing his cheek. that’s all he needs.

his first thrust is gentle, cautious. a quiet moan slips from your throat, caught in the kiss he pulls you into, deep and slow and needy. your back arches instinctively, hips rising to meet him, and the sound he makes, that soft, broken gasp of your name, is something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

it’s not fast. it’s not desperate.

it’s soft. sacred. slow like sunrise.

there are whispered praises against your skin, kisses that trail from your mouth to your throat to your collarbone. your hands stay tangled in his hair, fingers trembling as they brush over the nape of his neck. his mouth finds yours again and again, never staying away for long.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with emotion. “so fucking beautiful.”

your eyes sting with tears you didn’t expect. you kiss him again to hide them, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to breathe through the way your heart is cracking open and blooming all at once.

his hand cradles your face like you’re something delicate, something meant to be protected. the other grips your hip, grounding him, anchoring both of you to this moment.

you feel a pressure building in your stomach, and you cling to him a bit closer, shakily moaning. “matt, m’close, m’so close, matty!” 

“me too, sweetheart. c’mon, pretty girl. cum f’me.”

and you do. you moan as he fucks you through your high, peppering your face in kissing. he falls with you seconds later, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a quiet moan, your name tumbling from his lips like it’s the only thing he knows.

when it’s over, neither of you moves right away. his body stays pressed to yours, skin warm, hearts still racing. your legs remain tangled around his, arms holding him close, like letting go would break the spell.

your fingers trace the long line of his spine, feather light and lazy, memorizing every dip and curve. his hand finds your chest, resting over your heart, feeling the steady beat under your skin.

“you okay?” he asks eventually, his voice low, rough with tenderness. it’s so quiet, so gentle, like he’s afraid to shatter the silence that’s settled over you.

you turn your head slightly to kiss the tip of his nose. “i’ve never been better.”

he grins at that, slow and real, then presses a kiss to your cheek, lingering there. “good,” he whispers. “because i love you.”

you freeze, breath catching in your throat. your eyes find his, and you see the fear there. the vulnerability. like he didn’t mean to say it out loud but couldn’t help it.

and then you smile. soft and sure.

“i love you too.”

you don’t fall asleep for a long time after that. instead, you stay exactly where you are. limbs intertwined, hearts thudding in sync, his nose buried in your hair, your fingertips dancing along the curve of his back.

you lie there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels still. safe. full.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

aurora's notes: i finally wrote for my babies i love them soso much

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

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