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berfgrimm · 3 days ago

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one call | choi su-bong (thanos)

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ. heatwaves & daydreams mixtape lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıı 014 :: one call by rich amiri

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, cheating, so much dirty talk, name calling, spanking, spitting, praise kink, marking/biting, sex tape (i have to stop letting this happen), name calling, brief facefucking/deepthroating, fluff, angst, vaping, mentions of drugs and alcohol. notes: as promised the follow up to Many Times. i hope this makes up for it! this is the final fic in the mixtape event, and i've love every minute of this. thank you guys so much for joining me on this journey and thanks to everyone who participated in the event. it was so much fun reading each and every one of your fics and your comments.

You can hear the hum of Su-bong’s muffler as his car idles down the street. It’s not excessive enough to be disruptive, but you can recognize it anywhere. You’ll never tell him this, but you find yourself getting turned on by the sound – not because of the car, but by what the sound represents. It’s embarrassing enough that you have to call your ex-boyfriend for a hookup, you don’t need him to know the extent of the power he still has over you. Not yet.

It’s been two years since your breakup with Su-bong. Well, twenty-six months, but you weren’t counting, really. It was only six months after your breakup that you’d met Sangwoo in line at the bank, and he was sweet enough for you to agree to go to dinner with him. You spent the entire date mentally comparing him to Su-bong, counting the ways he didn’t measure up to your ex and even the ways he surpassed him. You think the only reason you accepted his offer for a second date was because he didn’t try to sleep with you at the end of the first – a refreshing experience after being with Su-bong.

Truth be told, Sangwoo is fine; he works a steady job, your family likes him, he’s kind to you, gets along with your friends – it’s not his fault that you regret accepting his proposal. You’d been together for seven months when he asked you to marry him, and some days, you think you only accepted because he’s ‘fine’. He’s calm, reserved, level-headed, gentle enough to be a good father if that’s what you chose. Unfortunately, he’s also boring and uptight, and with each day, the traits you loved in Sangwoo began to lose their charm. Four months into your engagement, all you could see were the ways he wasn’t like Su-bong.

Your hands shook the first time you called Su-bong. It was a long overdue call, one that you’d attempted to make at least a dozen times before, but you could never bring yourself to dial, not sure how to start the conversation. The moment he spoke, Su-bong’s deep, raspy voice got under your skin, bringing back that familiar sensation in your bones that made you squirm in anticipation. The Thanos side of Su-bong had a way of getting you to let your guard down, and that night, you asked him to meet you at a local park to discuss the truth about what really happened the night of the strip club. As soon as he gave you a smirk, and a devilish, ‘hey, lucky’, talking was abandoned in favor of kissing.

Four weeks later, you called Su-bong to ask if he still had your headphones at his apartment, and he offered to meet you somewhere public to hand them off. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten in his car with him when you arrived but his freshly dyed pink hair and inviting grin made you weak. The sensible side of you was ashamed that you wore a skirt that night, but once Su-bong’s hand found its way between your thighs, dragging your panties out of the way, all of your thoughts left your head. He got you off twice with his fingers before you called it a night, but not before Su-bong snatched your panties from your ankles to hang on his rearview mirror like a souvenir — "For good luck,” he quipped.

That was five months ago, and you haven’t spoken with him since, trying to live in the moment with Sangwoo. Your fiancee who moved you into a four-bedroom home in a rich neighborhood, and threw a house warming party with all of his friends to show off the expensive home. It’s past eleven o’clock, and most of the guests have already gone, leaving you with Sangwoo and a handful of his coworkers, including Nari, his overly-affectionate secretary. You think she’s the main reason you sent a text to Su-bong, asking if he was free.

It takes thirty minutes for Su-bong to reach your house, and he doesn’t bother texting to let you know he’s arrived. Sangwoo is tipsy, half-asleep, kept alert by talkative Nari as they sit beside one another on the sofa. You’ve had suspicions for months that the two of them were sneaking around behind your back, but you had no room to judge, not when you’re doing the same thing. You mutter an excuse for leaving the house so late and grab your purse on the way out of the door, ignoring the woman’s flirty laughs that echo through the house.

You hurry down the street to where Su-bong’s black Mustang sits, idling quietly, all of the lights turned off. You notice a small glow in the driver’s side, followed by a cloud of vapor billowing from the crack in the window, leaving a strawberry scent in its wake. You hurry to climb into the passenger side of the car, sitting low in the seat to avoid being seen by your neighbors. Su-bong stays silent as he drives out of your neighborhood, waiting until you are a block away before turning the lights and radio on again.

Now, finally getting a good look at him in the lighting of the car, he looks different from the last time you saw him. Always impulsive, he dyed his hair white, just a little longer than you’ve seen it before, and it lays flat. The hair color along with the black rimmed glasses make him appear softer than what you’re used to, leaving you wondering what brought on the change.

“House is nice,” Su-bong mutters, and you nod, focusing out the windshield again. “Doesn’t seem like something you would pick out.”

“I didn’t pick it out.”

“Figures.”

“You can take me back if this is how you’re going to be,” you snap, but Su-bong laughs, taking a hit of his vape. “This was a bad idea. I don’t know why I texted you.”

“Because you want to act up,” Su-bong offers. “You’re tired of your boring life, and you miss being bad.” You roll your eyes, shifting your gaze to look out of your window now, though you hate to admit that Su-bong isn’t entirely wrong. “You miss Thanos,” he adds, the smile clear in his tone.

“No, I don’t. Thanos was the reason this didn’t work out.”

“Are you wet right now?” he asks, suddenly. You glance towards him, finding his eyes still on the road, focused. “Take your clothes off, all of them, and throw them in the back.”

“Su-bong–”

“Clothes. Off.”

You pull in a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. Realistically, you know that you can tell Su-bong ‘no’ or ask him to take you home, and he’ll listen because he wouldn’t disrespect you – not anymore. But the way he speaks to you reminds you of nights in his bedroom that ended with the two of you covered in bruises and handprints, passing out in one another’s arms. You only hesitate for a second longer, before you do as you’re told, removing all of your clothes until you’re completely naked.

“Show me,” Su-bong says, gesturing for you to turn towards him. You maneuver in your seat to lean against the door, your leg is leaning against the back of your seat with the other stretched out to have yourself on full display for him. Su-bong glances quickly from the road towards you, and back again, repeating the action a few times to get the full view of you. “Let me taste,” he says, angling his head towards you but keeping his eyes on the road.

“Reach over here and touch me if you want it so bad,” you counter, but Su-bong shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.

“Is this what Sungwoo likes?” he asks. “For you to be the dominant one?”

“His name is Sangwoo, and can we not talk about him?”

“Oh, why?” Su-bong asks, sticking his bottom lip out to feign pouting. “You don’t want to think about your sweet, rich fiancée sitting at home all alone while your pussy is dripping onto my seat. This is the third time you’ve come crawling into my car with those needy little eyes just begging me to touch you. He doesn’t know how to handle you, does he?”

“No,” you reply, quietly, licking your lips in anticipation.

“Who knows how to take care of you?” Su-bong asks. “Who knows exactly how to get you wet and how to make you be a good girl?”

“You do,” you reply with a shaky breath.

Su-bong gives you another quick nod of his head, and you can read his command: ‘do what I say’. You swallow hard to fix the dry feeling in the back of your throat, looking down between your legs as you trace your index and middle fingers through your folds. A small shudder in your breath causes Su-bong to turn the music down so he can hear you, and he glances in your direction to watch you. Noticing that you’ve begun to touch your clit, he shakes his head.

“I didn’t tell you that you could do that, did I?” Su-bong asks. “I guess you forgot how to listen. Does your little husband let you get away with all of this?” You want to correct him, to tell him that Sangwoo is not your husband, but the way Su-bong says it, his tone heavy with disdain, makes you almost excited, much to your shame. “That’s enough,” he says, slowing down at the red light. “Let me have a taste.”

You sit up, stretching across the center console towards Su-bong, who parts his lips just enough for you to slip your fingers into his mouth. He wraps his lips around your fingers, his tongue swirling around the digits as he sucks them clean, pulling away once he’s satisfied. When you begin to settle into your seat again, Su-bong catches your wrist to halt your movements, turning his head towards you.

“Stick out your tongue,” he whispers, his face only a few inches from yours, watching you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. Even when he speaks with certainty, he has a faint smile on his lips, amused by the way you still do anything he asks of you. “Nothing sexier than a woman who listens to her man,” Su-bong mutters, leaning towards you and spitting onto your tongue. You close your mouth and swallow, reveling in the taste of your arousal mixed with Su-bong’s spit. “You always did like that,” he chuckles, pulling off of the road into a dimly lit parking lot. “Come here.”

Once he parks, Su-bong beckons you over, bringing you in for a deep kiss. He holds his hand to your throat, as he always did when he was in this mood, and you don’t complain – you love it just as much as he does. As his fingers rest against the base of your neck, you feel his fingers tracing over your necklace, though it takes you a moment to realize why he’s doing it.

“Well,” Su-bong mumbles against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “Do you always wear this or did you put it on just for me tonight?”

His finger hooks under the short chain, dragging towards the engraved clover charm that's attached. You want to tell him the truth: that the days without the necklace have dwindled, and that you often ‘forget’ to take it off. Another part of you wants to be even more honest and tell him that you started to wear it whenever you’re intimate with Sangwoo, or when you’re alone and you touch yourself so you can remember who you’ll always belong to. You can lie and say that it takes too long to disengage the locking clasp, so you keep it on out of laziness, but Su-bong knows you well enough to read the truth.

“I always wear it,” you admit, your tone low, watching him flip the over to study the 'T' engraved there.

“Good thing we didn’t go with an ‘S’,” Su-bong says, rubbing his thumb over the charm. “He would think that it’s for him.”

Su-bong stays focused on the necklace, and you watch his expression, noting the distant look in his eyes. You wonder if he’s thinking about the fight you had at your office, and if he regrets it as much as you do. When you walked out of the door that day, you hated him for how he made you feel but you hated him even more for making you fall in love with him to begin with. You carried the hate and the love with you for a long time until the day you ran into Namgyu and he told you the truth about the strip club.

“Nothing is for him,” Su-bong says, breaking you from your thoughts and guiding you closer to him with a gentle pull of your necklace. “Especially not your pussy. That belongs to Thanos.”

“Mhm,” you nod, hypnotized by the passion already clear in his eyes. The corner of his lips twitch into a pleased smirk, as he blindly feels for his vape, taking a puff as he stays locked in with you.

Releasing his hold on your necklace, Su-bong slips his hand between your thighs, stroking his fingers through your folds. You pull in a sharp breath, bracing yourself on the headrest of your seat as you further extend your leg on the floorboard to give Su-bong the space he needs. While he gives a few lazy drags of his fingers through your slickness, he watches your face for every little reaction, smiling when you let out delicate sighs as his fingers brush over your clit.

“Does your Sangwoo know how much you love getting your nipples sucked?” Su-bong asks, tracing the fingertips of his free hand around your pert nipples. “I’m sure he doesn’t. You don’t tell him everything, do you?” You shake your head, watching Su-bong dip his head closer to you so he can take your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it and twirling his tongue around. While you’re distracted, he sinks his middle finger into you, causing you to tip your head back and moan, holding the back of his head to keep him in place.

“Fuck, Su-bong,” you breathe.

“Mmm,” he hums, pulling back so he can look up at you again. “You’re tighter than I remember. Is that because he doesn’t fuck you like you deserve? I’ll bet he’s not big like me either, is he?”

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you place your hand on his shoulder now. “He’s not big, and he can’t take care of me like you can.” Su-bong tips his head back to get a better view of you, watching the way you rock your hips against his hand.

“Go on,” he mumbles. “Don’t hold back. I know you want to fuck yourself on my fingers. It must be so boring with him if you’re dripping like this already. Go ahead.”

Adjusting your grip on Su-bong’s shoulder and the back of your seat, you follow his directions, very slowly. He licks his lips, tipping his head to the side to peer between your legs, watching the way you take his finger. He wastes little time before he slips his index finger into you as well, making you whimper softly, closing your eyes.

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbles. “My lucky girl loves her man’s fingers.” Your fingers twist the fabric of Su-bong’s shirt, moving your hips faster when you feel Su-bong take your other nipple into his mouth. You moan softly, tugging the back of his shirt up enough to touch his lower back, digging your nails in. “Fuck,” Su-bong groans against your skin, letting out a heavy breath. “You always loved leaving marks on me, almost as much as you loved the ones I left on you.”

Su-bong peers up at you, his lips parted, heavy breaths blowing out, and he smiles when you lean in to kiss him again. The kiss is softer and you slow your hips in response, but Su-bong picks up the slack, thrusting his fingers into you quickly to pull a moan from your throat. He chuckles, breaking the kiss and pulling his fingers from you.

“Relax,” he nods towards your seat, quickly cleaning his fingers with his mouth.

You settle into the seat facing the front of the car, pulling your legs into the seat and resting them against the door and console to have them spread open in anticipation for him. Su-bong reaches past your lap, towards the floorboard, propping up his phone so the screen is facing you with the camera on.

Before you can question him, Su-bong shifts his attention to you again, grasping your leg nearest to him with one hand while his other hand starts to stroke through your folds, getting his digits slick. You pull in a deep breath, shifting your hips to get comfortable. Su-bong leaves a quick kiss on your cheek, keeping his head near yours when he slips two fingers inside of you, pumping slowly.

“Do you see that?” he asks, nodding his head to his phone that is set up on the floorboard of your side. You nod slowly, looking from the camera to Su-bong, your eyes wide with wonder as he keeps slowly working you with his fingers. “I’m gonna make you squirt all over it,” he says, grinning. “And if you ever get out of line…I’ll send it to your fucking fiancée.”

“Su-bong,” you whine, shaking your head. “Please.”

“I’ll bet he’s never made you squirt before,” Su-bong mumbles, leaning in closer to you so he can get a better look between your thighs. “I’ll bet he never bought you a plug with a pretty little pink heart jewel on it, did he?” You shake your head hurriedly, muttering something that you hope sounds like ‘no’ as Su-bong chuckles. “You remember that night,” he says, slowing the thrusts of his fingers. “I can tell you do from how you clenched around my fingers just now when I said it. Do you still have that plug?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, watching Su-bong drag his fingers from your entrance.

“Does he know that I did that to you?” Su-bong whispers, kissing your temple as he slowly rubs your clit. “Does he know…that you’re never going to be his completely? A part of you will always belong to me. That I’ll always have you in a way he never fucking will?” You close your eyes, your head reeling with Su-bong’s words, leaving you so distracted, you don’t notice his other hand slipping between your thighs until you feel him easing his middle and ring fingers inside of you, curling them upwards. “The way you moaned for me that night,” Su-bong continues, giving slow, shallow pumps of his fingers to match the slow circles on your clit. “You sounded so cheap…a little slut, begging me not to stop, making your throat raw from the way you were screaming for me. I never came so hard in my life.”

“You were…” you trail off, losing your words in a gasp, as Su-bong gives a particularly hard thrust of his fingers. You grab his forearm with one hand, your other hand feeling for anything at your side to hold onto to give you leverage. “You were–” You’re stopped short again by another harsh thrust of his fingers, and you pout as you look at him.

“What?” Su-bong mock whines, sticking his bottom lip out. “Don’t stop; I was…what?”

“Sexy,” you rush, resting your head against the back of the seat, rolling your hips against his movements. “You stayed inside of me until you were hard again, and kept fucking me…”

“Mmm, you loved that, didn’t you? I don’t think I’d gotten hard again that quickly since I was a teenager. That’s what you do to me.” You whimper, leaning your head against Su-bong’s and clinging to him tighter as he starts to thrust his fingers faster. “Are you gonna come for me?” Su-bong asks, nodding along with you. “Tell me.”

“I’m gonna come, baby,” you mumble, your hips struggling to keep up with Su-bong motions, both of his hands working you quickly towards your climax. “Please, please don’t stop. Let me come for you. Let me be your good girl again.” Su-bong nudges your head so you turn to him, and he quickly captures your lips in a kiss, deep and sloppy, catching all of your moans in his mouth.

Su-bong’s fingers are relentless, working you towards your climax at a swift rate. Your thighs begin to pull together, attempting to clench around his arms, but Su-bong hums against your lips, pressing his weight to your leg to keep it from moving. You whine, pulling away from the kiss, pouting again.

“If you don’t listen to me,” he begins. “And be my good girl, like you said you want to be…I’ll take you back home right now and let your fucking Sangwoo finish you off. Is that what you want?” You shake your head furiously, your eyes locked onto his mouth. “You know I’d rather hear your voice, baby,” he grins. “Let me hear that pretty little voice begging me again.”

“Please don’t stop; I’m so close, Thanos!”

“Yeah, that’s right; you’re Thanos’s girl,” he chuckles, pulling in a breath through his teeth. “You’re close? Come on, baby; come for Thanos.”

Su-bong moves faster still, sending you toppling into your wet and sloppy climax. Your eyes widen, eyebrows raised as you whine and moan through your orgasm, your body going stiff with the intensity. Su-bong moans along with you as he watches the way your legs quiver from the intensity, still dripping down onto his seat.

“Fuck,” Su-bong whispers, gently rubbing his hand flat against your folds, watching the way your body twitches from the contact. “All over my fucking floor and my seat…” He pauses to look at his hand, slick with your juices, dripping down his forearm. When he makes eye contact with you again, he smirks, looking towards his arm and then back at you. “Look at the mess you made,” he says, nodding to his hand.

“Can I clean it up?” you breathe, looking at him hopefully.

“I thought you’d have better manners since you started living with him,” Su-bong replies, his smirk widening. “Say ‘please’.” You have to stop your own smile from spreading at Su-bong’s jab, but you lean closer, giving him a pleading look.

“Please can I clean it up?”

“Yes, you can, my good girl,” he nods, extending his arm to you. Starting with his wrist, you lick slowly, your eyes closing so you can focus. Trailing your lips along the back of his hand and his palm, you sigh softly, loving the taste of yourself on his skin. “So good for me,” Su-bong whispers, watching you carefully. You nod slowly, now taking his fingers into your mouth to clean them as well, pulling them out with a pop when you finish. “I should make you lick it up from the seat, too,” he quips.

“Not this time,” you shake your head, giving him a smile.

“Do you think your fucking fiancée can make you do that?” he asks, grasping you by your throat and pulling you closer. “Hm? Could he ever make you come like that?”

“No, he can’t,” you mutter, shaking your head. Su-bong stays quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s searching for something. You’re still trembling slightly from your climax but you can tell that something is on his mind. As if he notices the way you read him, his expression shifts back to being focused.

“Open your mouth,” Su-bong directs, watching as you immediately comply. When he slips the fingers of his other hand into your mouth, you suck them clean slowly, your eyes locked with his. “You always love something in your mouth,” Su-bong whispers. “I think my fingers are your favorite, though.” You hum, grasping his wrist and pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“I love your cock the most,” you say, holding onto his hand while you reach your other hand across the console to touch him through his jeans. “I miss the way you taste.” Su-bong settles into his seat, resting his elbow against the door while his other hand presses to your back, guiding you closer when you unbutton his jeans. “I haven’t had your cock in my mouth in two years, baby,” you mutter when you pull him from his boxers, pausing to lick his tip to get a good taste of what’s already leaked out. “I miss how good you taste. How thick you are, the way you feel in my mouth.” Su-bong sighs softly, pressing his hand to the back of your head to urge you along, both of you settling back into familiar territory.

Slowly stroking his length, you continue to suck on the tip, taking him a little deeper with each slow bob of your head. Su-bong shifts his hips, hesitantly nudging them upwards as if asking for permission, which you grant him by resting your hands on his thigh instead. He keeps his grip on the back of your head while you relax your throat, allowing him to give a few thrusts upwards, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

“Jesus,” Su-bong groans, thrusting a few more times before he stops with himself buried at the back of your throat. “Stay just like that; let’s see if you can still handle it.” You close your eyes, focusing on breathing out of your nose and not gagging around Su-bong’s cock, stretching the back of your throat. “Fuck, nobody knows how to handle a dick like you do, lucky,” he groans, when you moan around him. “Your…fuck, your throat feels so good.”

Your eyes begin to water, and your throat struggles to maintain him any longer, so when you gag softly, Su-bong takes the hint, lifting your head from his lap, and dropping his hips back onto the seat. You sit up, pulling in a deep breath, feeling the drool that had dripped down your chin. Su-bong cradles your head in both of his hands, wiping away the tears from your eyes while he grins lazily at you.

“Come here,” Su-bong whispers, pulling you towards him for a kiss. You feel for his cock, wrapping your fingers around it to continue stroking him while you kiss, catching Su-bong’s moans in your mouth. You trail kisses along his cheek towards his ear, your teeth pausing to tug at his earlobe before you speak.

“Fuck me, please.”

“I don’t have a condom.”

“I don’t care. I need you right now.”

Su-bong searches your eyes for a moment, his eyebrows creased together in thought. You both know you have so much to discuss, so many apologies and explanations to be said, but all you can think about is right now. You soften your gaze, nodding your head and biting your lip.

“Please, Su-bong,” you whisper.

“Anything for you, lucky,” Su-bong replies.

You lean away from him, allowing him to adjust the seat back and remove his glasses and shirt before he motions for you to climb on top of him. You’ve never had sex with someone in their car before, so you struggle to find a comfortable position as Su-bong helps keep you steady. He wraps one arm around your torso, pulling you closer before he reaches between you to guide his cock inside of you.

“Goddamn,” Su-bong groans, as you settle onto him entirely. “Feels as good as the first time.”

You stay still for a few moments before you move first, lifting off of him and slamming back down, burying him deep again. It only takes a few more repetitions before Su-bong meets your movements, thrusting upwards with the same amount of force, stretching you out in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. You whine, biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

“You fuckin’ slut,” Su-bong mutters, slapping you on your ass and thrusting harder into you. “You miss this, don’t you? This big dick stretching out your tight little pussy. You can’t get it like this at home because this pussy is all mine. It was made for me.”

“Fuck, it’s all yours,” you breathe, working to leave a hickey on his neck.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let loose, baby.”

Your legs shake as you struggle to maintain your movements, leaving Su-bong to pick up the slack. He thrusts into you, his hands holding onto your ass to help you lift up each time. The harder he thrusts, the more space he claims inside of you, making you feel pushed beyond your limits. He leaves another slap on your ass, this time harder, and your first thought is to warn him not to do it, otherwise you’ll get caught by Sangwoo, but you lose your words when Su-bong begins to speak again.

“My sweet, perfect girl,” Su-bong whispers, kissing your cheek. “You always do such a good job for me, lucky. I'm weak for you, do you know that? I can’t look at other girls, because they can never be as good as you. I’ve missed you so much, baby.” You nod along with him, clinging to him more firmly as the thrusts of his hips become impossibly fast.

“Please,” you beg.

“Say it for me, baby,” he pleads. “Tell Thanos what you need and he’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to come inside of me,” you moan against his shoulder. “Fill me up; make me yours again.”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Su-bong hisses. “That’s what you’re begging me for? You need Thanos to come in this pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you hurry, nodding your head. “I need it. I need it so fucking bad. I want to go home with your cum inside of me, so I can leak all over his fucking sheets. I want him to smell you on me and know where I’ve been. I want him to know who takes care of me like he never has.”

“Jesus,” Su-bong mutters. “If you come for me, I’ll give you what you want, lucky. I’ll give you anything you ask me for, you know. I’m your man; this dick is all yours, baby. It’s always belonged to you.”

Su-bong grips your thigh firmly, thrusting faster into you, pushing you closer to climax. You whine against him, digging your nails into his shoulder and his side, dragging to leave more marks on him. He growls in response, slapping you hard on your ass, and squeezing to pull you against him for each thrust.

It only takes a few more hard pumps to push you over the edge, pulling a loud moan of Su-bong’s name from your mouth, as you beg him not to stop. He groans along with you, working you through your orgasm and straight into his, pushing himself deeper inside of you to fill you up.

“Oh, fuck, baby, fuck!” Su-bong almost whines, his hips stuttering to a stop before he relaxes against the seat again, both of his arms wrapping around you to pull you as close as he can. “You did so good for me,” he mumbles against your hair. “So fucking good, baby. Fuck, I missed you.”

“Su-bong,” you rasp, struggling to lift your head to look at him, but he kisses you immediately, a gentle kiss that you don’t expect. “I missed you, too.”

You sigh, resting your head against his chest again and close your eyes, losing track of time. Su-bong stays inside of you while he holds you, his hand softly stroking over your back as you both try to get your breathing back to normal. As you lay there, you notice Su-bong is wearing his necklace that matches yours; you aren’t sure how you missed it before, but your fingers gently toy with the cylindrical charm, thinking of the hex key inside that unlocks your necklace.

While you reminisce about the day you bought the necklaces, you feel the ache in your knees from your position, and begrudgingly lift your head from Su-bong’s chest to look at him again. You stare for a moment, watching him breathe slowly, peacefully, his eyes closed as if he’s prepared to fall asleep holding you.

“This is starting to hurt,” you whisper, placing a few gentle kisses to his chest and throat. “As much as I don’t want to move…” Su-bong hums softly, patting your back as he slips his glasses on again, grabbing his shirt next. He uses it to wipe your seat then helps you back into your previous position, using the shirt to help clean you up as well. He’s focused between your thighs, his eyebrows knitted together as he works, and your thoughts flash again to the day of your final argument.

Neither of you were at your best that day, and you both said things you’re certain you regretted. Truthfully, you’d forgiven him in your mind a long time ago after you ran into Namgyu and he told you what really happened at the strip club. About Su-bong’s altered state of mind that led him to think the stripper was you, and not a complete stranger. Namgyu laughed as he recounted the way Su-bong looked horrified and embarrassed that he’d let the woman anywhere near him, but the man assured you that nothing went beyond the marks she left on his neck. The truth was enough to bring tears to your eyes as you hurried back to your vehicle.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, finally, and pulling you out of your thoughts at the shy look on his face.

“No reason.”

You begin to dress in silence, Su-bong handing your panties to you with a mischievous grin on his lips. Once your underwear is on, you spare a glance to Su-bong who still sits shirtless with his seat cocked back, watching you as he takes a puff of his vape. You smile shyly, breaking eye contact so you can finish getting dressed, pausing for a moment to grab his phone from the floor, where it was still recording..

“Have you eaten tonight?” Su-bong asks, when you settle back into your seat. “We can pick something up on the ride back if you’re hungry.” He reaches across the console, cupping your jaw and gently wiping away what you assume is your mascara smudged underneath your eye. You smile in response, take his hand in both of yours so your fingers can trace the outline of his tattoo. The look in his eye is hopeful, as if he needs you to say yes; as much as you would love to stay with him in this car forever, you know it’s getting late, and Sangwoo will likely notice your absence soon.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Thank you, though.”

Su-bong nods, tossing his vape into the cup holder before fixing the position of his seat. The drive to your house is quiet, but you still hold Su-bong’s hand, your fingers now laced together. He softly mumbles the lyrics to the song that plays on the radio and you find yourself longing for the days when you were together. You have to wipe the tear from your eye as you think of Sangwoo waiting for you at home.

When Su-bong reaches your street, he turns off the lights and stereo again, slowing down to not draw any attention. He parks in the same spot as before, and both of you stay silent for a moment, his hand still clasped in yours, neither wanting to talk first. Su-bong catches the chain of his necklace, dragging his fingers to the pendant. You watch the way his thumb rubs over the word ‘lucky’ engraved on the side as he stares out the windshield at your house down the street. He lets out a heavy sigh, turning his attention back to you, a faint smile on his lips.

“I can’t remember the last time I took it off,” he admits. “I feel like it’s part of me.”

“Me, too,” you agree, pinching the clover charm on your own necklace.

“Do you think…?” Su-bong trails off, breaking eye contact with you. “Is there anything I could have done to make you stay?” The question breaks your heart, but you let out a heavy sigh, reaching towards him to cup his cheek, turning his attention back to you. “I know I didn’t appreciate you enough while I had you, and then the strip club—”

“I know what happened that night,” you interrupt. “Namgyu told me the truth.” Su-bong breaks eye contact with you, running his hand over the back of his head nervously. “I get why you lied about it,” you say. “You were backed into a corner, so you lashed out. People say shit when they feel attacked; I know I wasn’t nice to you that day.”

“You were nicer than what I deserved,” Su-bong says. “I was awful to you and you didn’t deserve any of the shit I put you through. I’m so sorry. I should have told you the truth that day but…I think my head was too fucked up.” He scrunches his face, lips pursing as he keeps his gaze set out the window, taking a hit from his vape. “If I hadn’t been on those fucking pills, it wouldn’t have even gotten as far as it did,” he mumbles. “I tossed them out, ya’know? Not right away…but I’ve been off of them completely for a few months now. The alcohol, too. Just me and my vape now.” He looks at you, his eyes hopeful again as he waits for you to respond; you fight back tears, smiling softly at him. “My mind has been a lot clearer lately,” he continues. “I’ve booked a few shows in Roppongi, and I’ve got a video shoot for a new single next month.”

“I’m really proud of you, Su-bong,” you mutter, nodding your head. “I like this Su-bong a lot. A little bit of him with the good parts of Thanos is nice.” Su-bong chuckles, taking a hit of his vape. “I love you, Su-bong. Nothing is ever going to change that.” He nods his head, reaching towards you once again to wipe away a tear that escaped.

“I love you, too, lucky.” He closes the distance to kiss you gently, leaving his forehead against yours, breathing steadily. “I promise, I’m trying to be better,” Su-bong whispers. “For both of us.”

“No, don’t do it for me,” you say, quietly, pulling away from him and collecting your belongings. “You should do it because you want to. Selling out clubs in Roppongi was already a dream…Tokyo Dome next, yeah?”

“I hope so,” Su-bong nods, giving one more glance out the windshield towards your house and giving a small laugh. “Sangwoo drives a convertible?” You turn your attention to the car parked in front of your house: Nari’s car. You pull in a slow, deep breath, fighting back tears when you realize all of the other cars are gone, leaving her alone with Sangwoo.

“No,” you say, finally, looking back to Su-bong with a weak smile. “He doesn’t.” His expression is confused, but you open the door before he has a chance to ask any questions. “Text me sometime,” you say, climbing out of the car but pausing to look back at him through the door. “My wedding is on November 5th, so you’ll have to call me before that…if that’s what you want to do.” You keep your eyes locked with Su-bong’s for another moment, watching the understanding wash over him. “Bye, Su-bong,” you say, closing the door softly and beginning the short walk to your house.

You’re tempted to look back at Su-bong, but you know if you do, you’ll run back to his car. You have to be strong, Su-bong has to be the one to decide that things are going to change, not you. You’re hopeful that he’ll make the best decision, but tonight, as you near your house and walk past Nari’s car, you wonder if you’ll be able to wait for Su-bong to make up his mind before you make a decision of your own.

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jadore-f1 · 7 hours ago

Text

Hard Launched | LN4 | Chapter One

Synopsis ♡ A series of coincidences lead the world to thinking that you’re dating Lando Norris.

Word count ♡ 3.6k

Genre ♡ Lando x Fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, social media elements, may be slightly suggestive in future chapters

Notes ♡ MDNI (no smut but I am a +18 blog) OKAY Hard Launched 2.0! Let’s try this again! there are probably spelling errors , oops

Face Claim ♡ Kianna Naomi (any other pics are for outfits and general vibes) all credit to pintrest for photos

The light glinting off the tile is one of your favorite sights. It gives the floor that slick glassy sheen, wet-looking, and unblemished. A sure sign the studio’s had its monthly waxing and is ready to begin the slow process of being scuffed up again by heels, pointe shoes, and everything in-between.

It’s empty at this hour. The doors won’t open to the public for another two hours, but Madame Reneé has known you since you were one of her little ones racing through the halls in ballet flats a size too big, with a bun that never quite slicked back all the way. As long as you set up the rooms for morning yoga and hand off the keys to the first instructor who arrives, she lets you have the place to yourself most days.

Which is perfect because if you got one more noise complaint from your downstairs neighbor, you’re pretty sure your landlord would find some loophole in your lease and toss you out. (It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose! Inspiration strikes at odd times, and you weren’t even wearing your heels! See? Considerate!)

And Mina, your roommate and best friend since grade ten, would absolutely wring your neck if you lost the deposit because of scuff marks on the hardwood. (Okay, maybe you wore your heels sometimes, but come on—how are you supposed to see the full effect of the choreography without them?)

So, like the good roommate you are, you’re up at the crack of dawn, christening the freshly waxed studio with one of the most sensual songs you’ve heard in a while. You’re determined to make this take the take, the one that finally feels right. So you can beat the breakfast rush at your favorite café and maybe start the day off on a productive note.

dancingatdawn

🎵: Worst Behavior by Kwn ft. Kehlani

(one minute video and one picture)

♥️11k 💬578 ⤵️295

dancingatdawn: The minute I heard this song I had to throw together a combo for it! @/Kwnway @/Kehlani I’m obsessed 😍Watch the full video on youtube and get some behind the scenes details!

minaaa: i used to be able to dance like this but then my mama permed my hair 😔🥀anyways you ate!

↳dancingatdawn: LMAO?? bye bro 😭😭 stop stealing my jokes

nicolekirkland: 🔥🔥🔥as always, can’t wait to collab again!

↳dancingatdawn: Yes!! Please let me know when you’re back in London 🫶🏾🫶🏾

user1: ur so talented!

user2: oh wow @/user3 are you seeing what i’m seeing?👀

↳user3: girl i’m peeping for sure…

↳dancingatdawn: ???

user4: loving the dance but the shoes!! i need immediately

↳ dancingatdawn: thank you lovely, they’re from Aldo you can use the code linked in my bio for money off ✨✨

user3: @/user2 i can’t find anything showing they know each other

↳ user2: idk it feels targeted. the dance the lyrics the jersey, its giving very much staged🤷‍♀️

user5: she’s not his usual type at all i think you guys are reaching

user6: ew what is she even doing

user7: LMAO bitches do anything for attention

user8: 🙄🙄typical slut just trying to use Lando for clout he would never go for her

↳ dancingatdawn: Not to fucking much???? who are you even talking about

Maxfewtrell: 👀

——-

When Max said he wanted them to go home—like, actually home to England for his short break between races, Lando figured he had plans. Something fun. A golf outing with their families, maybe, or messing around on the old karting track where they first met.

Anything but this.

Anything but sitting in Max’s childhood bedroom, staring at the walls, while Max watched the same damn video over and over and over again.

“Will you turn that shit down?” Lando groaned, already feeling a headache start to blossom behind his eyes. “I can’t hear myself die of boredom.”

He couldn’t believe he passed up ten days of peace and quiet in Monaco for this. This was peak sim racing time. Or, better yet, he could’ve been with that model he met in Bahrain. Arianna? Or was it Adrienne? Whatever. She would’ve been mindless fun. And right now, that’s exactly what he needs. Something to shut his brain off for as long as possible.

His jab finally pulls Max out of whatever trance he’s been in, and the video stops. Quite fills the void.

“Mate, you have to see this.”

Spoke too soon.

Now the phone is shoved in his face, the same video blasting at full volume and burning his eyes with maximum brightness.

“Fuck off!” he snaps, squinting against the glare and shoving the phone away. He glares at his best friend. “What could possibly be so important that you had to blind me?”

“If you’d stop bitching and look, you’d see,” Max mutters, rolling his eyes.

Reluctantly, Lando looks.

The first thing he notices is the jersey, it’s his jersey. Not unusual. He sees fans in his merch all the time, especially women. Not to toot his own horn, but he knows he’s popular with the female crowd. He’s not sure why exactly, maybe it’s the sea-glass eyes, maybe the boyish charm, but he’s certainly not complaining.

Then he sees her.

The girl in the jersey.

She’s gorgeous. Hair falling loose around her face, partly hiding and revealing the kind of eyes that draw you in and don’t let go. She’s dancing to an R&B track that feels like it was made just for her. Long legs, stiletto heels, every move smooth and hypnotic, like she owns the rhythm.

Okay. He gets why Max was stuck on this.

When the video ends, Lando hands the phone back without replaying it. He smooths his expression into that practiced, neutral mask he knows too well. Raises a brow.

“Okay? Hot girl dancing in my merch. What’s the big deal? Girls do this kind of thing for attention all the time.”

Max gives him a look. “Alright, jackass. I’m just showing you now in case it blows up. You know how people love to take stuff like this and run.”

Lando sighs and flops back onto the bed, the same bed that used to be their post-karting crash pad—smaller now and definitely not meant to hold this much weight. “It’s not the first time someone’s tried to use my name, and I guarantee it won’t be the last.”

Max stares at him for a moment before asking, “You’ve been a particularly grumpy asshole the past couple days. Anything you want to get off your chest?”

The question hangs heavy in the air. Of course Max would notice something’s off. He’s Lando’s oldest friend. Closest, too.

The urge to spill everything bubbles up fast in his chest but he pushes it down.

How could he even explain it? That being a championship contender, a possible Formula One World Champion, is both the best thing that’s ever happened to him and also the most terrifying. The pressure, the expectation, the spotlight. It’s suffocating.

And how could he say all that to Max?

Max, who knows the pressure of this sport better than anyone. Who wanted the title just as badly. Who could have been bitter about not having the same shot but instead, chose to be in Lando’s corner, completely.

How could he unload all of that without sounding ungrateful?

He can’t.

So, he’ll carry it. Alone. Right up until he’s standing on that number one podium in Abu Dhabi.

“Nothing,” he says finally.

Max looks like he wants to push, but thankfully he doesn’t.

“You know what you need?” Max grins. “A rager.”

Yeah. He’s right. That’s exactly what Lando needs.

——-

When you arrive back at your flat that Friday, you already have a vision for how the evening is going to go.

First, a long shower to decompress and wash off the day. Then, dinner. It’s Mina’s turn to cook, which really means there’ll be a half-hearted attempt at something homemade pushed to the side while takeout waits patiently on the stove. Hopefully Thai. Today has definitely been a Thai food kind of day.

Then, you’ll both curl up on your secondhand couch with your food and some cheap grocery-store wine, shitting on your jobs as per tradition. You, the underpaid sales associate at a high-end boutique; her, the overworked and underappreciated accountant for a bank. It’s a sacred ritual at this point.

So when you swing open the front door and the first thing you see is a full shot of tequila in your designated “I luv Miami” shot glass (part of a growing collection from your travels), you’re a little caught off guard.

“Shot o’clock, bitch! Drink up!” Mina sing-songs, waving the glass dangerously close to your face and spilling off the sides onto your work shoes.

She’s definitely already had a few.

You carefully grab the shot and move past her, setting it on the kitchen counter with a raised brow. “Uh, hello to you too? I know you don’t have to work weekends, but I still have ballet with the littles tomorrow, videos to edit, and work again on Sunday.”

“Oh please,” she waves you off, already climbing onto the counter with her designated “I luv New York” glass. “Those little girls adore you. You could make them stand in fifth position for forty-five minutes straight and they’d still think you’re the literal sun. And I know your videos are practically done. You just like to nit-pick until your eye starts twitching.”

She goes to pour herself another shot, but you snatch the bottle from her mid-pour.

“What happened to Thai and wine?” you ask, holding it hostage. “Why are you breaking out the hard stuff?”

“Because we’re getting old and boring!” she declares dramatically, arms flailing. “All we do is work and nag. We’re 24, ___! When was the last time we actually went out? And don’t say Reese’s birthday dinner that does not count. I mean really went out and let loose. We’re borderline old hags!”

“I happen to like being an old hag, thank you very much. Now what really brought this on?” You keep your grip firm on the bottle as she reaches for it again, slapping her hand away.

She lets out a distressed wail and tosses her head back, nearly toppling off the counter. “A teenager came in to open his first bank account today and he called me ma’am.”

You blink. “Maybe it was, like, a respect thing?”

“No! He might as well have called me an ancient crow! If I don’t go do something irresponsible to balance it out, he’ll be right!”

She slides off the counter, marches up to you, and grabs your shoulders with both hands, staring into your soul. “We need to go out. Tonight. Or I’ll do something drastic, and you know I will.”

Truth is, maybe a night out wouldn’t be the worst idea.

Your current routine: dance studio in the mornings, retail hell in the afternoons, editing content at night, and teaching beginner ballet on alternate Saturdays—is starting to feel a little too… mundane. Predictable. Maybe even creatively stifling.

Plus, you’ve been dealing with a wave of hate comments on your latest video. Not that that’s anything new. Comes with the territory of being a budding influencer. Still, the consistency and specificity of these comments has been weird. They all seem to mention the same guy.

Lando.

What kind of name is that, anyway? You assumed he was some washed-up footballer with a cult following and moved on. Let the trolls tire themselves out. It’ll blow over eventually.

But still, the negativity has been nagging at you. Maybe dancing it out on a club floor, phone off and head clouded with drinks and good music, is exactly what you need.

“Fine,” you sigh, snatching the tequila shot from the counter and downing it in one go. “You’re such a drama queen, Mina. We’ll go out. But I swear, if I’m hungover tomorrow in a room full of sugar-hyped six year olds, I’m coming for you.”

You posted on your story!

Lando posted on his story!

——-

The music is loud.

The bass reverberates through the walls, through the soles of your boots, through your entire damn skeleton. Lights flash in shades of neon, sweeping across the room like the club in a way that has to be against some sort of violation.

Definitely not your usual scene.

Not that it mattered. Mina said she knew a guy who could get you in for free and that was all you needed to hear honestly.

She’s already disappeared into the crowd, turns out that guy she knew was some finance bro in a blazer two sizes too small who promised her shots and a rooftop view. You’re left to nurse your drink, leaning against the edge of the bar and trying not to think about the way your feet already ache.

Then the beat drops.

And okay maybe you’re a little drunk. Because suddenly, standing still feels wrong. Was Mina on to something with her tequila induced rant earlier? Are you really that old and boring that you’ve settled for being a wallflower? No, absolutely not. Just because you’ve spent the past few months on a content-creation-sleep-repeat cycle doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten how to enjoy yourself.

So you down the rest of your vodka cran, drop the empty cup on the bar, and push into the dance floor.

——

Lando isn’t even sure how they ended up here.

One second Max was laughing about how this was “exactly what they needed”, and the next they were stepping into a sweaty pit of neon lighting and overpriced drinks, surrounded by people who all seemed way too excited to pretend they didn’t know who he was.

He’s halfway through a whiskey sour, hat low over his eyes, trying to keep a low profile and failing miserably. There’s already been three separate girls whispering “Is that Lando Norris?” as they passed him.

He needs another drink.

Or maybe a distraction.

The music pulses. The crowd moves. Bodies press too close together and the floor becomes a blur or people. Max is already deep in some conversation with a guy he knows through streaming and a girl with glitter eyebrows.

So Lando does what he always does when he doesn’t know what to do, he moves.

Slipping onto the dance floor with his drink still in hand. No plan. Just vibes.

——

You’re caught up in the rhythm before you even realize it, arms in the air, hips swaying, head tilted back. The music’s got that perfect mix of smooth R&B groove you love and the synth beats of house music, and for a moment, everything else fades. No work, no editing, no comments, no Lando-whatever-his-name-is—

Until a freezing splash of liquid crashes against your chest and stomach, soaking the front of your top completely.

You gasp, stumbling back a step as ice cubes slide down your shirt and land, humiliatingly, inside your bra.

“Are you kidding me?!”

The guy responsible is holding a now half-empty cup and looking at you like you’re the one who messed up his night.

“Oh, fuck. Relax,” he says, completely unapologetic as he flicks his eyes over you. “It’s just a drink.”

Your jaw drops.

“Just a drink? You literally poured whiskey down my shirt.”

He smirks. Smirks.

“All right, technically, I didn’t pour it. You just… got in the way.”

Who the fuck-

You’re too stunned to speak for a moment, partly because you’re dripping alcohol and partly because this guy’s attitude is unreal.

You take a deep breath and then glare directly at him.

“Whatever. Dick.” you shoulder check him on your way past to the bathroom and hear him scoff to himself like he was the one wet, sticky and already smelling like a distillery.

It’s not your best comeback but it’s better than decking him in his face right in the middle of the dance floor. You were not about to get dragged out by security over some smart mouthed pretty boy who thought he was God’s gift to man. Ugh men.

——

When you wake up the next morning, you can already tell it’s going to be better than the day before.

For one, you’re not hungover, thank God. That’s honestly the only thing that jerk from last night deserves credit for. After he practically baptized you in alcohol, you’d been way too overwhelmed to stay out any longer. So you’d grabbed Mina, dragged her away from her tragically average finance bro (who she would definitely be thanking you for later), and called the first Uber home.

But it was fine because today was a brand new day.

You got to spend your Saturday morning in your favorite place with some of your favorite tiny humans. The dance studio always feels like coming home. You’ve been dancing since you could stand upright and getting to share that joy with others? Nothing beats it.

When Madame Reneé posted an opening for a beginner ballet teacher two years ago, you applied within the hour. And you’ve loved every class since. Watching your girls finally nail a kick or a clean turn? Best feeling on the planet.

You’d teach full time in a heartbeat if passion paid the rent. But for now, you settle for two classes every other Saturday, and it’s the best part of your week.

This morning’s class was electric. The spring recital is just around the corner and the energy was buzzing. Everyone was locked in, routines flowing, tiny pink tutus spinning like flower petals in bloom.

Honestly? Today could not be more perfect.

—

You return home with a bounce in your step and a treat in hand, already anticipating a cozy decompression session on the couch.

“Bestie, I’m hoooome,” you sing out as you enter, holding up the small paper bag like a trophy. “I know last night was a bust, but I stopped at Marie’s and got us chocolate croissants!”

But then you see Mina’s face pale, wide-eyed, phone clutched in her hand like it might self-destruct.

Your heart drops.

“What? What’s wrong? Who died?”

You abandon the croissants on the coffee table and drop beside her, panic rising like a tide in your chest.

“I tried calling you this morning,” she says quietly, not looking up. “But your phone was off.”

“I turn it off during class, you know that. Mina, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Okay,” she breathes, eyes finally meeting yours. “I have to show you something. But you cannot freak out.”

“…That’s not really helping,” you say, voice edging toward frantic. “Mina.”

She hands you her phone with trembling fingers.

You take it, already bracing yourself.

And then you see it:

🏁 F1GOSSIP

New WAG on the rise?

LANDO NORRIS & INFLUENCER SPARK ROMANCE RUMORS AFTER NIGHTCLUB SIGHTING

Lando Norris, McLaren’s golden boy, is fueling the rumor mill once again. But this time it’s his off-track moves that have everyone buzzing. The 25-year-old driver was spotted at an exclusive London nightclub over the weekend, but it’s who he was seen with that has fans putting on their detective hats. None other than Y/N Y/L/N, a 24-year-old dancer originally from the United States…

Your eyes fly down the screen, scanning faster.

Eyewitnesses say the pair arrived separately and weren’t seen too close together — but maybe they’re just good at keeping it low-key in the public eye.

The speculation started when Y/N posted a dance cover in his merch to a song fans felt was heavily targeted toward their beloved driver. With lyrics like:

“Keep drivin’, one hand on the wheel and one inside it…”

The dance itself was quite sensual in nature, leading many to question who exactly she was dancing for. (Link to video)

Naturally, social media went into overdrive…

“Okay but if Lando and Y/N are a thing… I’m not surviving this season,” tweeted one fan.

To add fuel to the fire, followers noticed Y/N and Lando both posted very similar Stories that same night. Coincidence? F1 Twitter thinks not…

There’s two blurry pictures attached to the article. One of you mid-movement on the dance floor and one of some guy in a white button down and black hat. And it’s with a chill creeping down your spine that you realize it’s him. That guy from last night!

Your mouth is hanging open.

Your pulse is in your throat.

“I—what—” You blink. “WHAT!”

“I told you not to freak out!”

“Mina, they called me a WAG!” you screech, throwing the phone on the couch like it personally betrayed you. “I don’t even know who he is really! He spilled a drink on me and was an absolute asshole about it! I feel like I'm being punked!”

“They think you’re dating.”

“No, they think I’m soft launching a relationship with a jersey I picked up at a charity shop for €5!,” you hiss, snatching the phone back and scrolling again. “Which is insane. This is insane! They even linked the video!”

You tap the link and sure enough, your most recent dance post plays on the screen — the one in his jersey, the one with the admittedly seductive choreography, the one that’s now racking up views by the millions.

“Mina. This video has three times the engagement it did yesterday. My follower count is climbing like it’s on crack.”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter,” she whispers, like she’s delivering a terminal diagnosis.

“Oh my God.” You bury your face in your hands. “I’m going to get eaten alive.”

If you thought your comments were bad before… you don’t even want to imagine what they look like now.

Lando Norris fans were apparently feral. They’d already hated you for wearing the merch but now they thought you were sleeping with the guy?

What the hell were you supposed to do?

Oh God, what was he going to do? Would he sue you? Rich assholes like him loved suing people when they couldn’t get their way.

You felt like throwing up.

Mina nudges your knee. “Okay but… silver lining?”

“What silver lining?”

“You look hot in that video.”

You glare at her. “Just for that I'm eating your croissant. ”

Authors note: Sooo what do we think? 🫣 ugh i already feel so much better about this! Please lmk you thoughts and if you want to be added to a tag list! (i don’t wanna reuse the old one incase yall dont wanna be on it srry if thats annoying 🙈) Thanks for reading! 🫶🏾

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #lando norris #f1 smau #ln4 #smau #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris smau #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #lando x reader #lando norris fanfic

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bbina · 2 days ago

Text

"oh right" chenle speaks up, startling you in the process

you two have just been in the hotel room all day. just lounging around with no plans. you were in bed, scrolling endlessly through your phone, after talking to karina and giselle about how your china trip is going while chenle is sat on the other side of the bed, probably doing the same thing

"what?" you ask, looking up from your phone

"wedding dinner rehearsal tonight" chenle mumbles, looking at the text message jun had sent days ago. just to be sure

you nearly choke on your own spit. "WHAT?!"

chenle turns to you with an eyebrow raised. "why are you acting like it's a big deal?"

"because it is! why did you just tell me this now?!" you hissed, getting up from the bed to run to your luggage to pull out some dress that's decent enough for a wedding dinner rehearsal

chenle simply shrugs. not a single care in the world that the dinner is in about two hours. "had too much fun yesterday so it just like... slipped" chenle reasons, humming

you freeze mid rummage looking for a presentable dress. too much fun yesterday?

your mind recalls the events that happened yesterday. the xiaolongbao fiasco, the tanghulu thing, holdings hands, the bag, literally everything

chenle lets out a loud cackle seeing you get flustered. you let out a groan, snatching your makeup kit and stomping to the bathroom where you can do your thing in private without chenle saying anything weird to throw you off

he gets up from the bed and knocks on the bathroom door where you locked yourself in

"don't worry about it too much, madam!" chenle calls out from the other side of the door, "just stand next to me and be pretty while we show face. that's all there is to it~"

"shut up, chenle!"

for a wedding dinner rehearsal, the setup was sure grand

you were already being ushered to your seats the moment you and chenle arrived at the venue

chenle takes notice of your awed reaction. he chuckles to himself as you two walk to your seats. he thanks the usherette and pulls out your chair first

you look at him with a weird look but accept his gentlemanly actions and sat down. he then takes the seat on your right. but before you two could settle in, chenle hooks two fingers under your chair and scoots your chair closer to him that you two are shoulder to shoulder

"clingy much?" you muttered under your breath as you slightly stiffen next to him

"more like making sure you're comfortable" he retorts, smirking at you rolling your eyes

you take a good look around the venue again. gold accents around, contrasting the red and ivory white theme. you could instantly tell that the couple did not hesitate to splurge a lot. from the chandeliers hanging off from the ceiling, to the endless rows of tables filled with guests, from the flowers that are meticulously decorated to match the elegant theme they had going on

if this is just the wedding dinner rehearsal, what more tomorrow when it's the actual wedding?

"this is just a crumb of what is yet to come tomorrow, you'll see" you hear chenle comment beside you. he probably caught you looking around again

you turn to him with wide eyes. just a crumb?

"is this like.. the norm around here?" you mumble

"basically. its a cultural thing i suppose. wedding culture in korea is nothing compared to this"

you let out a hum, still taking in everything. now you can't wait for the actual wedding tomorrow. the current atmosphere was lively. friends and relatives of both bride and groom are all over the place. you can't help but smile a little especially with the excited buzz about the couple all around

it didn't take long for your table started to be filled. they were mostly elderly guests, aunties and the like dressed in silk and jade. clearly they come from money and that made you realize that you were the odd one out in the table

from what you know, or heard is that chenle is a secondary sponsor for this wedding

"哦，乐乐！很高兴再次见到你！(oh, lele! It's great to see you again!)"

aunties start to flock towards chenle. chenle smiles dashingly, politely bowing and greeting every single one

you watch as they make small talk. you can only smile a little as you watch them converse in rapid mandarin. you didn't understand a single thing

chenle earnestly interacts with them. even laughing along with what they were talking about. they must be some family friends to him since they all coddle him. pinching his cheek and patting his head

all of a sudden, one of the aunties turn to you with a smile on her face

"哦！这是谁？这是你的女朋友吗？(oh! who is this? Is this your girlfriend?)" one of the aunties ask chenle

chenle's eyes widened and shakes his head

"哈哈，不。但她对我来说是特别的人。(haha, no. but she is a special person to me.)" chenle laughs softly, discreetly wrapping an arm behind your chair

the aunties all suddenly coo and move to your side. you smile at them again, unsure what chenle had told them. one of them grabs your hand, rubbing them as they talk to you in mandarin

unsure what to do, you just awkwardly laugh and nod your head while shooting chenle a look. chenle however, was looking over at you so fondly that you swear you were seeing things

they all start talking to him again. it sounded like they were nagging him with the way he sheepishly smiles and nods his head

"哎呀。。。乐乐终于找到了属于他的人! (oh dear... lele finally found the person who belongs to him!)"

"你需要照顾她。她很适合你。(you need to take care of her. she is very suitable for you.)"

"你祖父一定很高兴你终于找到了妻子。(your grandfather must have been very happy that you finally found a wife.)"

chenle just shakes his head as he looks at you again. making all the aunties coo and squeal in delight before they all went to their respective seats. finally leaving chenle alone

you slightly dip your head a little, still a little shaken by the whole interaction with the aunties

"what were they saying?" you ask, whispering

chenle leans close, "nothing much. they were just asking if you were my girlfriend"

that earned a little smack from you. chenle yelps a little, clutching the spot you hit him

"what was that for?!"

"that's for you just talking shit!"

"it's true though! jeez.."

you huff discreetly, politely smiling at the table who were suddenly watching your every move

"她很漂亮 (she is very beautiful)" one auntie comments

chenle leans close again. "she just said you're very beautiful" he translates

you turn to the auntie who just said that. bowing politely and saying thank you in mandarin. something you've picked up throughout the trip so far

"你们两个在一起很登对。(you two make a great match together.)" another auntie comments across the table. the aunties next to her all nod their heads enthusiastically like they just agreed on what she just said

"they said that we look good together" chenle translates casually. like his heart didn't just do flips inside his chest upon hearing what these aunties had to say about you and him

"oh my god" you react, now covering your face from embarrassment

"what? i'm just translating!" chenle defends himself, chuckling lightly at your reaction

the table then continues to converse from here on. you were just listening or watching chenle talk to the guests around him. you were also trying to pick up on what they were saying but it was getting too much despite chenle translating some bits whenever they laughed at something mid bites of dinner

they were all speaking so rapidly that it made you overwhelmed with everything going on all at once

all of a sudden, you feel a warm palm on your thigh. your head snaps to the side in lightning speed. it was chenle

he just wordlessly rested his palm on your thigh. like he was grounding you amidst of your own chaos

like he was saying "i'm right here"

unbeknownst to you, your muscles slowly relax. you don't even realize that you were now leaning closer to him that your knees are brushing his

chenle immediately adjusts his seating position so you can be more comfortable

someway, somehow, you now feel more at ease.

. . . ᝰ.ᐟ

the rehearsal dinner was dragging on longer than chenle expected

he was now leaning back lazily, his arm still draped behind your chair but subconsciously his arm is now slowly raising up that you could kind of feel him looming behind you

it started innocently at first. just chenle tapping beats on the back of your seat just to keep himself focused or what not but as the night drags on, his arm had moved up that he started tapping beats onto your shoulders

you slightly stiffen at the motion. you steal a glance to the side to check if he was doing it on purpose but he was still facing towards the actual ceremony but it was clear that he was bored

thinking of it as nothing, you just let him be for a while. you thought that he was probably just doing it mindlessly or if it was an accident but all of a sudden you feel his hand move up to the strap of your dress. now tugging it and making it snap against your shoulder with a quiet "twack"

"chenle" you hissed, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks, "focus"

"hm?" chenle hums, breaking his trance to turn to you with a slight look of concern on his face

"you're playing with the strap of my dress!" you hushed, now adjusting the strap he was playing with

chenle takes a look at his own hand before turning back to you with an eyebrow raised. "so what? i'm bored"

"focus. this is your friend's wedding rehearsal" you scold lightly. sometimes talking to chenle is like talking to a literal child. you swat his hand away as you turn your attention back to the ongoing ceremony

you weren't just going to agree with him that you were also now bored. you still couldn't understand what was going on so it was inevitable for your part

despite swatting his hand away, he didn't budge. he just moved his hand a little that he was resting his hand on your shoulder

"wanna get out of here?" you hear chenle ask

you fully turn your attention to him at this point. was he actually serious right now? during his own friend's wedding?

"are you serious right now?!" you gawk. you actually can't believe that just spewed out of his own mouth

chenle lazily shrugs. "i'm bored. you're bored. we're both bored and we're just sitting here listening on what's about to happen tomorrow so lets just get out of here"

you stare at him for a good 5 minutes. you try to look for signs that he was just joking around but his eyes tell you that he's deadass serious

"if i hear one more guest talk about how marriage life is a whole different experience and what they should do to make their marriage last i might as well just walk out of here" he adds

you still don't answer him. a part of you is shy because what if people see then it would've looked so rude of you to walk out of this rehearsal dinner especially since you were just a plus one of a secondary sponsor

"and besides, you look like you're already overwhelmed with everything. so i figured why not just kill two birds with one stone. so, what do you say? let's get out of here?"

"are you seriously bargaining your way out of this whole thing like its a business deal?!"

"what can i say? i know how to do business" chenle smiles smug. now removing his hand from your shoulder to your thigh again. giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance as if that's going to help change your mind

spoiler. it does

you bit your lip for a moment. taking a good look around the table. they all seem to be preoccupied. listening to the current speaker tell advices to the about to be wedded couple

"they'll think we're going to go out for a romantic walk so that already makes things easier for us" chenle says, like he read your mind about worrying about what others had to say

"chenle.." you say unsure but your body reacts faster than you could think when he was already starting to get up from his seat

chenle just winks and holds out his hand for you to take— to which you gladly accept. chenle smiles in triumph before walking out of the venue hand in hand

"i knew you couldn't resist me" chenle winks, gripping your hand tighter as the usherette opens the door for the two of you. you tug on his hand harshly, giving him a look but he ignores it, finding your reaction funny

you don't have anything to retort so you just stayed silent. letting him take you wherever he pleases

. . . ᝰ.ᐟ

the cool air of shanghai hits your skin. you take in the breeze in relief. somehow it was a tad bit better than the somewhat suffocating atmosphere of the wedding dinner. well maybe because it was the language barrier but whatever. you'll take this than anything else right now

turns out chenle was taking you to the bund. the only thing you were looking forward to during this trip

it was even better at night. the lights of the skyscrapers and buildings all reflect against the huangpu river. it was beautifully breathtaking. even photos can't capture its true essence. a real treat for the eyes

chenle catches the way your face literally lights up as you take a good look around. even walking ahead of him as you lean against the railings, peering over the river with a smile on your face

"i always wanted to go here" you beam, watching the colors dance around the water

chenle makes his way right next to you, his elbow propped against the railing as he steals a glance. he fails to hold in his smile, then nudges your shoulder

"i can tell" chenle says in a sing song voice

you break your gaze away from the river to give chenle a weird look

what the hell is that supposed to mean

"huh?"

"nothing" chenle hums, flashing you a cheeky grin

you give him a suspicious look, eyes narrowing before you turn back to the water. completely ignoring his presence. he's being weird again. was he that bored from the dinner rehearsal?

suddenly you feel a poke coming from your side. you whip your head back to him again. "chenle!" you scold but he wasn't listening. instead he continues

chenle pokes you again but this time on the other side causing you to jerk to the side. he does it again and again til you're full on running away from him

"chenle stop!" you squeal, swatting his hand away in all directions, even shoving him as hard as you can before running away

chenle laughs loudly as he chases after you. with you wearing heels, it didn't take long for chenle to catch up. you can hear his footsteps against the pavement that you find yourself smiling widely too. not because he was basically tickling you in public but more of the situation you two are in

first, you two basically ditched a wedding rehearsal because he was bored. second, this was the first time you are seeing chenle away from his usual, confident (more like cocky), ceo mask that he always has on and third, you were at the bund

you take a quick look behind you, just to be sure he was still far away but no. he was close. close enough that he was arms reach. curse his long legs for catching up to you quickly

"chenle don't you dare—"

your words die in your mouth as you let out another squeal when he wraps his arms around your waist, spinning you around so you're facing him. you instinctively clutch your arms around his shoulders as he steadies you

the breathtaking view of shanghai's bright city skyline is suddenly a mere backdrop behind the two of you

all you can hear is your shared laughter. both breathless that you barely acknowledge that chenle had leaned close. so close that your noses are nearly brushing against each other

you try to wiggle away but it was no use. chenle tightens his hold around your waist while you were now looping your arms over his shoulders. looking up at him with flushed cheeks

"people are going to look!" you hissed, voice hushed, trying to look around in case there were people walking around and looking at the sight before them

chenle rolls his eyes, tugging you even closer if that was even possible

"then let them" he smirks, staring deep in your eyes

and just like that, you two were in your little bubble. the rest of the city blurring into the background when all you two can focus on is each other

chenle fights back every demon, every urge to kiss you right here and then. the way you were looking up at him like he's the only one in the world right now

wait, what?

he can't. just not right now. especially when he doesn't know what he is to you like you are to him

because in this very moment, he now realizes that he likes you

in that way

not in the "she's the best assistant i ever had" way or the "she's one of my best employees i ever hired" way but in the "i want her to be next to me in every step i take next" way, "i want to know what she's doing every minute of the day" way, the "i want to be with her" way

eventually, you two let go of each other. the laughter has now subsided but still, you and chenle stick close just walking around the street with chenle telling you facts and the history about the bund.

chenle's jacket was now draped over your shoulders after he caught you shivering slightly over the cold breeze despite your protests that you were fine but he insisted. his hands too find their way to yours like it belonged their (to him, it does now)

after a while you two start to head back to your hotel. by now, you had insisted that you and chenle share his jacket since it was starting to get colder. chenle happily obliges and moves his hand to wrap his arm instead around your shoulder, pulling you snug against him while you loosely wrap your arm around his waist

to other people who had walked past the two of you, you two definitely look like a couple who just had their date with how cozy you two looked

so much that when an elderly couple passed by, they couldn't help themselves but wish the two of you long lasting love and prosperity

chenle was listening to your untold bucket list here in china when he makes eye contact with an old lady. chenle smiles politely but what she says next just fucked him up more than it should've

"啊，真是一对热恋中的年轻夫妇。(ah, what a young couple deeply in love.)" the elderly woman coos, nudging her husband beside her. the husband chuckles lightly before she continues, "愿你们的爱永恒而繁荣。(may your love be eternal and prosperous.)"

in that moment chenle is stunned. he looks between the elderly couple and to you, who now looked confused but still smiled politely at the couple

chenle stares at you for a couple of seconds before squeezing your shoulders. he then turns back to the couple, bowing politely while saying thank you

the elderly couple smiles back before walking away, leaving you and chenle just standing in the middle of the street in silence for a while

chenle shakes his head, unable to contain his smile. he then feels you poke his sides

"what did they say that got you smiling like you just won over a client?" you ask, your curiosity getting to the best of you. you tried to ignore the weird feeling of butterflies in your stomach for a while now because of the way chenle had looked at you all night

and that the stares you've gotten from couples themselves and now that an elderly couple actually had stopped their tracks to talk to chenle just sparked your curiousity even more

chenle is quiet for a moment before he shakes his head. instead, he leans his head on top of yours as you two resume your walk back to the hotel

"nothing much" he murmurs

you let out a hum. you're not quite buying it just yet

"really? doesn't seem like it if you look like you just got the world in your hands?" you tease, trying to make him say it

chenle chuckles. you’re right. he does have the whole worlds in his hands now— you.

"just good wishes" chenle then glances down. his eyes trailing from your eyes to your lips then back up again. he's staring at you with fondness in his eyes

you look away because you can feel yourself blush with just his gaze. you're absolutely gone now. there was no turning back from this point forward. because the way he was looking at you just said everything

it's more than the shanghai city lights casting a certain glow on his face that it made you feel queasy but maybe it's the mere thought that tonight you were no longer just his assistant and he was no longer your boss but

you were his and he was yours

. . . ᝰ.ᐟ

back at the hotel the lights were now off. you two had gotten back at the hotel a few hours ago and are now in pajamas, in bed, just staring at each other over the lone pillow wall barrier that you had built two nights ago but couldn't find it in yourself to repair it back up after everything for the past 2 days

it was quiet. not the normal quiet you two share after a long day of work but more of the quietness of unspoken words

your eyes find his amidst the dark room. though you can't really make out of it but he smiles lightly before he just stares back. blinking occasionally. you didn't look away and neither did he

even if your little romantic escapade to the bund ended a few hours ago, the ever growing tension between the two of you is still high

so high that the longer you two stare at each other, you feel that any time it could crack especially with just one flimsy pillow in between the two of you

you try not to think about what ever the fuck happened back there at the bund. his hands that found your waist, the way you instantly looped your arms over his neck, the knowing stares from people passing by and to even that look on his face like you were the only person in his eyes

everything

you start to panic. you rapidly shake your head before turning around, your back facing him

"goodnight chenle" your words are soft but definitely rattled if you listen close enough

chenle stares at your back. the slope of your shoulders and your breathing before lying on his back, now staring up at the ceiling

his chest is so full after tonight. he lets the silence envelop the dark room while his mind replays the night for him before he could even stop himself

the way your laughter fills his ears, the warmth radiating off of you when you wrapped your arms around his neck after his arms found your waist. the way that you were looking at him like that in ways he himself can't even describe

chenle slightly turns his head to look at the lone pillow in between the two of you. in his head, he almost wanted to chuck it out of the way since it felt like it was the only thing keeping you away from him. like it was mocking him that he can't cross this path just yet

he quietly huffs before looking up at the ceiling once more. he covers his face with both hands, before running them through his hair in frustration, tugging on his bangs slightly as the realization of what's happening to him creeps up

he wasn't supposed to like you. he wasn't supposed to fall in love with his assistant. he wasn't supposed to notice every time your face lit up. he wasn't supposed to take care of you in his own chenle ways just because he doesn't like it when other people do it, most of all he wasn't even supposed to feel like this towards you out of all people

chenle swallows hard. there was no use of hiding it anymore

he likes you. he likes you more than he should. he likes you beyond the office, beyond the company, beyond your title as his personal executive assistant

chenle likes you.

now he just stays still in bed like an absolute idiot after wholeheartedly admitting to himself that he likes you. like you weren't just at arms length beside him but that stupid pillow is blocking him from admitting it to you right here and then

chenle scoffs before letting out a quiet restrained laugh of defeat because he is absolutely and utterly fucked

and he's sure of it now

BUSINESS PROPOSAL ᝰ.ᐟ . . . FUCKED

✎ . . . things aren't going as planned the way you thought it was going to be. especially the part where you find yourself falling in love with your own boss– which was definitely not part of the agreed proposal.

[ PREV / NEXT ]

✎ AUTHORS NOTE . . . 4k words for this one chat because... hey....... how yall doing.... writers block kicked my ass and ive been busy for the past week LAWL but i havent forgotten about my babies!!!!! but i think ill be more busy soon cus im about to fly soon lol so theres that... BUT i hope u guys enjoy this chapter!!! definitely a turning point for all chenyn yearners and chenyn themselves!!!

✎ TAGLIST . . . @mrkleelvr @jenodigital @https-dandelion @rik0shii @spacejip @yyangj3lly @multifandomania @taroddori @222brainrot @amouriu @defzcl @va1entinaa @carelessshootanonymous @onlywonb @flaminghotyourmom @do-you-remember-summer-127 @grimlinshere @yayayaiheardyouthefirsttime @hoeingthefuckup @meltinghershey @alwayswook @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @dudekiss3r @sibwol @mey-archive @morklee02 @httpsxnox @firydst @yuyita-rosier @ayukas @cottonjaems @monomya @neocults26 @greenyweirdo @cinneorolls @morkleesgirl @jising-jisang-jisung @hsified @kpopwh0r3 @kswluvrr @bbykaixx @90slovejeno @barkbarkseungmin @dearmynayeon @dreamheil @enhalovie @kyucides @wiishies @itslauanyduarte @berrylovesseunghan @untitledtyun

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mononijikayu · 1 day ago

Text

kinktober 2025 — kayu's version.

geto suguru admits it. he's greedy when it comes to you. but he can't help it. not when you let him. not when it makes him feel good. he pins you against the cold metal of the fine car, his hips grinding roughly against yours. he bites down on your neck, marking you as he rips open your shirt, sending buttons flying. tender palms your breasts roughly, pinching and twisting your nipples until you cry out. suguru works his way down your body, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin until he reaches your core. his gruff hands tears off your panties like they're nothing, exposing you to the cool night air. he goes on without warning, he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking greedily at your folds. suguru wants to taste every inch of you, to drive you wild with pleasure before he even thinks about taking you.

hello everyone, this is kayu!!! welcome to our second annual kinktober kayu playlist!!! just as the first, i am so thrilled to come to you with all these ideas i have in hand. once again, this is a whole new world, one wherein my ideas are going to be born to bring some joy, at least in my hope. just as last year, much of these would be not safe for work, specifically r-18 and therefore something that i would not be able to accomodate everyone with the sort of fics that are outside the r-18 and nsfw bubble this month. but dont worry, there will be fics that will be coming out before this comes out and certainly, after as well. even then, the old works that are sfw are here to be there for you. so if you cannot read r-18 and not safe for work items, its okay. i still write for you, i still love you <3 this year, we will have ten entries. two of which are commissioned works my patron is happy to share, because they were too good not to share, as we both agreed. so they will be coming along side the eight written for this. in any case, dearest friends, i am so elated for you to enjoy this. it may be something you've never read before but nevertheless, i do think it would be worth the fun to read. i hope to see you in the dates below!!! i love you so much~ xoxoxoxo kayu <3

> october third, twenty-twenty five;

diet mountain dew - nanami kento

( toxic romance, oral sex, overstimulation )

there was no going back, when he had become so enamoured with this addiction, with this love as his drug. in his mind, his heart, his soul, he knows that you were his vice. and you were too good to lose. you weren’t good for him, you knew that too well. and he wasn’t safe for you. he liked order, control, precision. you liked to tear it all down, brick by brick, just to watch what he’d do when the ground shook. he tried to tame you, but the truth was, you wanted him feral. “you’re going to kill me, won’t you?” he said once, voice low, jaw tight, fingers wrapped so firmly around your wrist it hurt. you smiled at him, sharp and sweet, and leaned in close enough that your breath ghosted his lips. “you’ll die happy.” you cracked open the can, the hiss filling the silence between you. the sweetness fizzed on your tongue, sharp and artificial, exactly the way you liked it. kento then sat across from you, jacket draped over the chair, tie loosened, watching you like he always did. somewhere between exasperation and hunger.

> october sixth, twenty-twenty five;

2. bubblegum bitch - kamo choso

( dom/sub, jealousy, biting )

you grab your much taller boyfriend by the collar, yanking him down with a force that startles him. your glittering heels click sharply as you rise on your toes, closing the gap before slamming him back against the wall. the sound reverberates through the room, heavy and final. his dark brown eyes widen, stunned, breath caught in his throat as you press yourself into him, body pinning body. you smiled at him like you usually do. all too bright, sugary, almost innocent. but he knows better. that smile is a mask, one the world falls for, one that hides the claws beneath. your breath spills hot against his lips, uneven, restless. “listen here, you jealous little puppy.” you hiss, each word a chain tightening around his chest. “no one else matters. do you hear me? those girls, those boys. everyone else is nothing. they do not exist. only me. only you.” your nails bite into the fabric at his collar, dragging him closer still. the smile doesn’t falter whatsoever. it only gleams sharper, dangerous, suffocating. as if daring him to ever forget who he belongs to.

> october ninth, twenty - twenty five;

3. eyes don’t lie - heian sukuna

( pregnancy, masturbation, crying )

you could always tell when your husband was there. the weight of his presence had a gravity of its own. always so heavy, commanding, impossible to ignore. usually, that was enough to steady you, to ground you when the days pressed in too hard. but these times were different. the ache inside you wasn’t soothed by comfort or familiarity; it was sharper, heavier, borne of long months where exhaustion dug its claws into your bones. you needed release of pleasure, not solace. you needed something stronger, something ruthless enough to shatter the heaviness pressing down on you. your hands moved with the skill you’d honed over the years, but tonight, even that betrayed you. no matter how you touched yourself, no matter how you coaxed, the relief you craved stayed just out of reach. the wetness gathered, slick and wanting, but the friction wasn’t enough, and frustration tore moans from your throat. and he was there, watching. ryomen sukuna leaned back in the shadows, the sharp cut of his smirk gleaming like a blade. his eyes trailed over your trembling body with a hunger that was both cruel and reverent. eagerly devouring every arch of your hips, every desperate twist of your fingers. you could feel the weight of his stare as though it were another set of hands on your skin. he didn’t move to help. not yet. instead, he savored the sight, letting you writhe and gasp under the heat of his gaze. because he knew. he always knew. what you thought you needed, what you thought you could take care of on your own. he saw through it instantly. those eyes did not lie. they promised ruin and deliverance in the same breath, a reminder that he could unmake you with a touch…...and that he would, once he decided you’d begged enough without saying a word.

october twelfth, twenty-twenty five;

4. older - nanami kento and hiromi higuruma

( threesome, age gap, praise kink )

you're wiping down the bar, humming softly to yourself when you notice the two men sitting in the corner booth. they were certainly not regulars to you, to be sure. you would know if they were. one is clearly a salaryman, his fine, prestine suit crisp and his sandy blond hair neatly styled appropriately. you find that he looks up as you approach, his eyes lingering on your curves appreciatively. the other man is dressed just as formal. though his demeanour were stridently casual for someone so well dressed like this, but there's an air of authority about him that commands attention. as you lean in to the bar counter to take their order, you catch snippets of their conversations. it was something about a high-profile case and a substantial sum of money. your curiosity is piqued, on both the case and the gentlemen. but even when you weren't certain, they definitely had their eyes on you too. after all, the curious eyes are always hard to stop. much less older gentlemen who were born to be curious.

october fifthteenth, twenty-twenty five;

5. lilith - gojo satoru

( cheating, hatefuck, possessiveness )

gojo satoru's bright beaming eyes follow you as you move through the crowded room, his gaze lingering on your every step, with your fine silk kimono fluttering behind you. he knows you're zenin naoya's wife, and the knowledge only fuels his hatred for you, a feeling which had existed long before your marital prospects to the zenin. but there's something else there too, something that draws him to you like a moth to a flame. even then, when you were children, it was like this. your laughter rings out, bright and carefree, and he finds himself wanting to hear more of it. your beauty is undeniable, but it's more than that. naoya did not deserve you. he knew that as much as you did. 'who deserved you?' he asks himself in that moment as he watches as other men approach you, their smiles charming and their compliments smooth. 'who is your truest equal?' satoru sees the way you brush them off, your attention always drifting back to him. he couldn't help himself, circling around you, like a predator stalking its prey, eager to see where this dangerous game will lead. 'me, i am your equal.'

> october eighteenth, twenty-twenty five;

6. kollage - volleyball au! ryomen sukuna

( tattoos, masochism, aftercare )

you sit nervously in the waiting area of the tattoo parlor, your eyes glued to ryomen sukuna as he chats with the artist about something you couldn't hear. your boyfriend looks so calm, so at ease as he watches the needle pierce his skin again and again. he does that without flinching, without so much as a grimace. it was crazy to you. it's like he's defying the very laws of pain and pleasure, finding joy in something that should be agonizing. you can't help but stare at the tattoo taking shape on his back. it was a intricate design that he chose a while back, just after high school graduation. with all his practicing and the college extrance exams, he never really got the chance to go and get it done. he catches your eye in the mirror and smiles, a genuine, happy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. sukuna starts to mouth back at you reassuringly. "i'm okay, babe."

> october twenty first, twenty-twenty five;

7. tiptoe - fushiguro toji

( mirror sex, passionate, tenderness )

your husband stands behind you in the bathroom, his arms wrapped around your waist as you both gaze into the mirror. toji lets himself presses soft kisses along your shoulder, his touch tender and gentle. from there, you find yourself indulging on the touch of his hands as they roam your body slowly, exploring every curve and contour with reverent fingertips. you lean back into him, already overwhelmed by the feeling of everything. he found you savoring the feeling of his strong chest against your back, letting out a small appeased tone. soon enough, fushiguro toji works his way up to your neck, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as he inhales deeply. even after all this time, toji is frank about the need to keep you close. he doesn't tiptoe about it, like he had before. instead, he is shows you, he tells you, he lets you engrave it in your soul. toji turns you around to face him, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. you let his tongue dance with yours lazily, pouring all his love and devotion into the embrace.

> october twenty fourth, twenty-twenty five;

8. cat and dog - caleb xia and sylus qin

( uniform, double penetration, oral sex )

“you’re spiraling again, aren’t you, my precious hounding dragon dog? and you hate it when i point it out.” you turned to sylus, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. “and you, my dragon cat, what good is precision if your partners can’t follow you there? you isolate yourself. then you blame everything else.” they said nothing. the silence was their surrender. you tasted it like honey. “idon’t need any generals who gnaw at each other like starving beasts.” you said, stepping back. “i need my partners. i need my good boys.” caleb stood there, letting his breath hitch at your words and pursed his lips at your words. sylus shifted his leg, straightening his position, trying to be barely perceptible, but you felt it. the pull. the ache. you smiled, slow and devastating. “so. you’ll both come to heel now.”

> october twenty seventh, twenty-twenty five;

9. do i wanna know - qi rafayel

( blood, shower sex, manipulation )

for a long moment, rafayel said nothing. then, slowly, his elegant lips curved. Not the teasing grin he showed you, nor the dazzling smile he used to charm strangers. this one was quieter, sharper, and most of all, content. he tilted his head, studying the still figure with an artist’s eye, as though seeing something in the scene only he could understand. and then he turned back toward the villa, toward you. his smile softened once more, all gentleness and ease, as though nothing had happened at all. you swallowed hard, shivering. it was not from the chill, but from the sight of that quiet violence. for a moment, your instincts screamed at you to run, but your legs refused. rafayel’s hand was still on your shoulder, grounding you, his warmth oddly calming. “come on, cutie. It’s getting too late.” he murmured, tugging gently at your arm. “let’s get you back. towels, warm sheets…maybe i’ll even let you paint a little with me tomorrow, yeah? though, that’s only if you behave. otherwise, we’d end up with me having all the fun.”

> october thirtieth, twenty-twenty five;

10. joyride - geto suguru

( choking, car sex, rough )

“do it.” “hah?” “if you’re so brave and tough, and you want to please me, do it.” “i’m not gonna do that, what the fuck is wrong with you?” "a lot of things." you tell him, rolling your eyes at him. "but you knew that the moment you started dating me, don't you? "i fucking hate you." "i know you do." geto suguru only smirks, leaning across the center console. before you can react, he yanks the door open and pulls you into the passenger seat of his sleek, black sports car. you yelp at the sudden act, thudding against his chest, breath knocked out of you. the engine roars to life with a deep, guttural growl, and when he slams his foot down, the entire car shudders. the vibration runs through you, coiling in your stomach like a spark waiting to ignite. without warning, his hand snakes over, wrapping firmly around your throat. he squeezes just enough to make your breath catch, then shifts gears with the same hand, each movement deliberate, each flex of his fingers reminding you who’s in control. “hold on, then.” he murmurs, eyes fixed on the road, but his grin is sharp, wicked. the highway blurs into streaks of neon and shadow as he pushes the car faster, the night air slicing through the open window. your pulse hammers in sync with the engine, with his grip, with the rush of it all. then, just as suddenly, he veers off onto a dark, deserted side road. tires screech, rubber burns against asphalt, and the car comes to a violent stop. silence crashes down except for the ticking of the cooling engine and your ragged breathing. before you can speak, he’s on you. his seatbelt unbuckled, body pressing you back, mouth crashing into yours. the kiss is bruising, claiming you. his hands rough as they tear at your clothes. every movement screams possession, like he wants to brand you here, now, with nothing but his touch and the memory of the night.

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zaynessbeloved · 8 hours ago

Text

Language of flowers and tattoos

Synopsis: It only started as a simple crush on the shy, charming florist with the soft smile and amethyst eyes. One bouquet led to coffee, coffee led to kisses, and suddenly you were tangled in late-night texts, flour fights in his kitchen, and quiet walks in each other's presence. You couldn't help falling head over heels with him, and now he’s the one who makes your world feel like it’s always in full bloom.

Content warnings: Slowburn, crushes, mutual pining, slice of life, blushing fools in love, flirting, kissing, flowers as love language, teeth rotting fluff, cuddling, first time sex, explicit content, aftercare, very cute and soft confession, matching tattoos.

Pairings: Florist!Rafayel x Tattoo artist!Reader

Word count: 11.2k

A/n: I got this idea from one of my friends and also a friend of theirs who is a very talented artist and made some art of Florist!Rafayel and Tattoo artist!Reader which is absolutely divine. I had so much fun writing this, especially since I usually focus and write smut so this was not my expertise but writing fluff just had me giggling like a fool the whole time.

anywayyy, enjoy <3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

By mid-autumn, your relationship has settled into a rhythm that feels both brand-new and impossibly natural, like you’ve been circling around this warmth for years. Dates outside wrapped in scarves, stolen kisses in parks as the leaves crunch underfoot, dinners cooked in each other’s kitchens, lazy evenings curled up with movies or bickering over board games—it all folds into the quiet sweetness of being with him.

The kitchen smells faintly of cinnamon and roasted hazelnuts, the warm air wrapping around you like a blanket against the crisp October evening outside. Rafayel’s house always seems to hold a kind of lingering softness, the kind that feels lived-in yet touched with an elegance that is just so him. Autumn flowers rest in a vase by the window, their petals rich with orange and crimson, and strands of fairy lights wind lazily around the edges of the cabinets. The two of you have been cooking for the past hour, laughter spilling into the space in between simmering pots and clattering spoons.

You already know by now that Rafayel is actually a surprisingly good cook—measured, attentive, quietly skilled—and every time he stirs something with that focused crease between his brows, you feel yourself falling just a little harder.

But baking? That’s another story. It starts with his teasing, the way his eyes glimmer as he smirks over the mixing bowl, remarking too casually on your technique.

“If you stir it like that, we’re going to end up with a chocolate brick instead of a cake,” Rafayel teases, leaning casually against the counter, rolling up his sleeves like he’s about to deliver a culinary lecture.

You shoot him a glare that is half amusement, half challenge. “Oh, I’m sorry, Masterchef. Maybe you should just do it all yourself, then.”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is infuriating. He tilts his head, lavender eyes glimmering in the golden light. “Don’t tempt me. You’d cry if you didn’t get to lick the spoon.”

You gasp, more play than indignation, and without thinking, you dip your hand into the nearby bowl of flour and flick a puff straight at his chest.

Rafayel startles, blinking down at himself, the pristine dark shirt he wears now ghosted in pale white. Slowly, so very slowly, his grin spreads—sharp, boyish, dangerous in its own way. “Oh. Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” he grins sheepishly, “You’re in trouble now.”

The next few seconds dissolve into chaos—flour in the air like snowfall, your laughter breaking loud and helpless as he retaliates. He catches you by the waist mid-escape, pulling you flush against him, both of you dusted in flour until you look like ghosts of bakers past. You push weakly at his chest, pouting through your giggles.

“Let me go!” you huff, pushing weakly at his chest. “Look what you did to me. I’m covered because of you!”

“Because of me?” Rafayel arches a brow, leaning closer with a mischievous glint, his laugh rumbles against you, flour clinging to the curve of his jaw. “You started it. Don’t pout at me now.”

You narrow your eyes, pouting, then glance at the bowl of melted chocolate cooling on the counter. Mischief bubbles up in your chest before you can stop it. With a grin, you dip a finger in the glossy surface and reach up, smearing a bold streak across the tip of his perfect nose.

He blinks, stunned. Then, impossibly, he giggles—an honest, boyish sound that makes your heart ache and flutter at the same time. His cheeks flush pink as he gives you an exaggerated pout. “Unfair,” he whines, cheeks pink.

You try to twist away, but he reels you back with flour-streaked arms, dipping his own finger and swiping chocolate across your nose in retaliation. “Now you have two choices,” he declares with mock seriousness, warm eyes twinkling. “Match me or clean it up.” his violet gaze shimmering with poorly-hidden delight. “But you’d better hurry before it dries.”

His ridiculous pout makes you laugh, your chest aching with how much you adore him. But you have a better idea. Instead of conceding, you lean close, wipe the chocolate from his nose with your finger, and without hesitation, you slip it between your lips.

His entire face goes crimson. He freezes, staring at you as if the world tilted beneath him, throat bobbing with a hard swallow. You know exactly how it looked, and the heat that sparks in your belly makes you want to push further.

The kitchen is still hazy with flour, the scent of sugar and cocoa sweetening the air, though neither of you is paying much attention to the half-made cake anymore. Rafayel’s arms rest snug at your waist, his shirt dusted white like fresh snow, his cheeks flushed a shade that rivals the warmth of the fairy lights strung above you. His pout lingers, though it falters every time you laugh, and those amethyst eyes—bright, soft, too easy to drown in—keep darting to your lips and back like he’s trying very hard not to be obvious about it.

You can feel the way his heart beats against you, quick and uneven, and something in you aches with the need to push him just a little further. You’ve grown comfortable with him now—comfortable enough to know he won’t pull away, even if you catch him off guard.

So you lean up, gentle and unhurried, and brush your lips against the tiny mole at the side of his nose. He goes still beneath you, his breath catching, and his hands instinctively tighten at your waist as though afraid you’ll slip away. Before he can say anything, you tilt just slightly and press another kiss, feather-light, against the small mole tucked beneath his right eye.

A shiver runs through him, subtle but undeniable, and he exhales a shaky sigh that fans warmly across your cheek. His eyes flutter half-shut, then open again, dazed and searching.

“Why did you…?” his voice is quiet, almost tentative, the question trailing into the space between you.

You smile, soft and sure, the words slipping from you like a secret meant only for him. “Because they’re beautiful.”

The silence after is thick, charged in a way that makes your chest ache, your body still trembling faintly from the closeness. His gaze holds yours, unguarded and impossibly tender, and you realize just how rare it is to see him like this— without the playful deflections. Just Rafayel, bare and wanting.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in and captures your mouth with his, a kiss so deep and intimate it almost steals the breath from your lungs. His lips move with a kind of aching reverence, as if he’s been waiting far too long to taste you like this, and yet there’s nothing rushed about it. His fingers splay against your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left, only warmth, only him.

You shudder under the weight of it, melting into the kiss, your hands curling in the fabric of his flour-stained shirt. The world outside the kitchen ceases to matter—there is no half-made cake, no mess on the counters, just the gentle press of his mouth and the way he sighs softly into you like he’s found something he doesn’t want to let go of.

By the time the oven timer dings, the kitchen looks like the aftermath of a small war. Flour coats the counter and streaks across Rafayel’s cheekbone like some ridiculous badge of honor, chocolate smudges on your wrist, bowls stacked haphazardly in the sink. The two of you are laughing so hard it’s a wonder you even remembered to take the dessert out on time.

“Don’t tell me this is your master plan,” Rafayel says between soft chuckles, brushing flour off his apron with little success. “Trap me in chaos and then make me clean it all up?”

You grin, leaning against the counter. “Maybeee. You look cute like this.”

His ears pinken immediately, his laugh coming out a little shy, boyish. He ducks his head but can’t hide the soft smile that tugs at his mouth. “You can’t just say things like that while I’m still recovering from earlier,” he murmurs, still flustered about you kissing his moles.

You steal a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping away to grab plates, his laugh following you, quiet and warm.

Cleaning takes longer than it should, because Rafayel keeps finding excuses to brush against you, to bump shoulders, to press a quick kiss to your temple. By the time you’re both finally settled on the couch, plates in hand, the dessert steaming between you, it feels like the warmth of the kitchen has simply followed you here.

He leans back into the cushions, arm draped loosely over the back of the couch, close enough that you can feel his presence at every breath. You scoop a spoonful of the dessert and, grinning, hold it out to him. “Open,” you tease.

He raises a brow but obliges, lips closing around the spoon. He hums, eyes closing for just a second as though savoring it more than he needs to. “Not bad,” he says softly, licking his bottom lip before peeking at you through his lashes. “Maybe we make a decent team after all.”

Your heart skips, but you laugh anyway, nudging him lightly. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

He smiles, but when you bite your lip, his gaze lingers there, curious, warm. You can’t stop your thoughts from drifting—to the tattoo on his back, the one that was the quiet turning point between you.

“Y’know,” you say, voice softer now, almost teasing, “if I think about it… everything started with your tattoo.”

His cheeks flush immediately, his boyish laugh breaking free as he runs a hand through his purple curls. “Don’t remind me,” he says sheepishly, pulling you closer until you’re nearly in his lap. “I was so nervous that day.”

You laugh softly, nestling closer. This is new, him tugging you into his lap so openly, comfortably. His arm tightens around you, steady, protective, and you realize you don’t mind at all. In fact, your heart races. But your thoughts wander again, to your own tattoo—the one he hasn’t seen yet. The one etched into your skin long before this, back when he was only a soft crush and you hadn’t dared hope for more. The one that feels almost like a secret between you now.

You must drift too far into your own head, because Rafayel pats your hair gently, tilting his head down toward you. His voice is soft, teasing, but his gaze carries a little worry. “Hey. Sorry, are you uncomfortable with me pulling you in like this?”

You chuckle, shaking your head quickly, pressing a little kiss to his jaw. “It’s not that.”

Relief softens his face, his blush deepening as he exhales and smiles. His forehead rests against yours, violet eyes glowing in the low light. “Good. Because I like having you right here.”

Your chest aches sweetly, and you know you’ll have to gather courage soon—to show him the ink on your shoulder blade, the one that carries his favorite flowers.

You’ve been quiet for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that makes Rafayel tilt his head and study you like he does with his flowers—careful, patient, but not without concern. He shifts just slightly beneath you, his arm tightening around your waist. When you don’t say anything, he leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours until you let out a helpless giggle.

“There you are,” he murmurs, smiling in that boyish, coaxing way. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

Your chest softens, and you find your voice, quiet and a little hesitant. “Do you… remember the day I showed you some of my hidden tattoos? The ones I did on myself when I was just starting out?”

His cheeks flush almost instantly, but his laugh is low and warm. “Yeah,” he admits, eyes flicking down shyly before meeting yours again. “I remember. You were nervous then, too. I told you they were beautiful.”

Heat curls at your neck, and you laugh nervously, nudging his chest as if to deflect. “And before that… you asked if I’d gotten a new tattoo. I didn’t want to show you back then.”

He hums softly, thoughtful, and without meaning to, his gaze flicks to your shoulder. You bite your lip, pulse quickening under the weight of that soft, curious look.

“Rafayel…” you whisper, shifting slightly in his lap, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater. His violet eyes track the movement, gentle but keenly aware. “Do you want to see it now? Just…please don’t misunderstand.”

His brows pinch the faintest bit, as if he wants to ask what you mean, but he doesn’t. He only nods, steady and patient, even as the faint pink spreads to his ears.

Gathering your courage, you slip off his lap, heart hammering as you turn your back to him on the couch. Fingers trembling, you tug your sweater over your head, left in only your bra, your skin prickling with nerves at the thought of him seeing you so bare. You close your eyes for a moment, almost afraid of silence, afraid of what he’ll think when he sees the ink you carved into yourself months ago, long before he was yours.

The quiet stretches, but after a while, you feel the featherlight brush of his fingertips tracing over the tattoo etched into your shoulder blade, his touch soft, careful, almost trembling. A shiver ripples down your spine, your breath catching.

“You…” his voice is hoarse, breaking slightly before he steadies it, softer than you’ve ever heard. “You got my flowers tattooed.”

You swallow hard, daring a glance at him over your shoulder. He’s flushed deeply, eyes wide and shining, lips parted in awe.

“I—I didn’t want it to be weird,” you whisper quickly, stumbling over your words. “I drew it before we were—before all this, and I just… wanted to carry it with me. Something that reminded me of you. I was scared you’d think it was too much.”

His hands are on you before you can spiral any further, gently but firmly turning you to face him. His blush is vivid, almost as deep as yours, but his expression is nothing but soft and achingly earnest. He cups your face like you’re fragile, thumbs brushing your heated cheeks, his eyes locking with yours.

“Too much?” his voice cracks with a quiet laugh, disbelieving. “You have no idea how special this makes me feel.”

And before you can say a word, his lips are on yours—harder than his usual sweetness, a kiss that steals your breath and every last thread of anxiety. He breaks only long enough to press his forehead to yours, his voice trembling but sure.

“You don’t even know how long I wanted to tell you this.” another kiss, softer, lingering, his hands framing your face like he’s afraid to let go. “I love you. And seeing this on you, knowing you thought of me even then—” his words cut off in another kiss, desperate and loving all at once.

Your heart feels like it might burst, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you whisper against his lips, “I was so scared you’d hate it.”

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in, eyes shining with something that makes your chest ache. His thumbs trace over your cheeks, and his voice comes quiet, hesitant but sure.

“Hate it?” he lets out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. “There’s nothing I could ever hate about you. Seeing this, seeing you wear my flowers like that, it makes me feel…” his voice falters, and he swallows, eyes softening into something that nearly shatters you. “…it makes me feel like I’m someone special to you.”

Your heart stumbles painfully at the question hidden in his tone. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of warmth, but it’s impossible. You kiss him, firm and certain, before pulling back just enough to whisper against his lips, “You are. Special to me.”

The look on his face—flustered, boyish, overflowing with something he doesn’t have words for—has you melting into his arms again, kissing until you’re both breathless.

It takes a beat before you realize your sweater is still discarded somewhere in the room, and you’re sitting here in nothing but your bra. A flush burns through you, but what makes your stomach flip is the quiet certainty that his eyes haven’t strayed once. He’s only looked at your face, only held you with that same softness, even when he could have looked anywhere else. The thought leaves you both flustered and achingly warm.

You chuckle softly, trying to lighten the moment, nudging his nose with yours. “Guess that means we have matching tattoos now.”

His laugh bursts out of him, warm and helpless, his forehead pressing against yours. “Guess we do,” he teases, his hand cradling the back of your head while the other stays firmly on the couch beside you, never daring to go further than you allow.

But you want him to. The ache in your chest, the delicious flutter low in your stomach—it’s all him. You want his warmth to cover every inch of you, to watch his pretty face flush deeper when you kiss him senseless.

Gathering a shaky breath, you whisper, teasing but timid, “You can see almost all of them now. My tattoos.” you glance down, then back up at him with a small, nervous grin. “Why don’t you look at them?”

The question clearly flusters him, his cheeks blooming crimson, his lips twitching into a helpless smile. He leans in, pecking your lips before murmuring, almost shy, “Because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Your heart lurches at the softness in his tone, the hesitation in his touch. You rest your forehead against his, voice low and trembling as you whisper, “You wouldn’t. You can… you can look, if you want. I want you to.”

The air between you becomes charged but tender, his breath hitching, eyes widening slightly before darting down. His gaze drifts carefully, slowly, taking in the tattoos across your torso and chest, his lips parting as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. And in that moment, he looks so utterly beautiful that you almost can’t stand it.

You can feel the quiet weight of his gaze, each second making your stomach knot with warmth. He doesn’t linger in any place too long, as though he’s afraid of overstepping, but his lips part softly, caught between awe and restraint.

“They’re so delicate,” he murmurs, his voice hushed as if he’s speaking in a chapel. His fingertips hover, not yet touching, but his eyes catch on the curve of one inked line of a flower. “This one looks like it was meant to be there, painting your soft skin so beautifully.”

Your teeth sink into your lip, heat rushing to your cheeks as you watch his expression shift between admiration and shyness. He drags his gaze across another piece, the one near your ribs, his throat working visibly. “And this one… I don’t even know how to say it, but it suits you. It’s beautiful. You’re—”

You can’t take it anymore. You cut him off softly, your heart pounding. “Rafayel… touch me.”

His eyes widen, breath catching as they snap up to yours. For a beat he doesn’t move, frozen in disbelief, and you take the chance to shift, straddling his lap with careful boldness. He gulps softly, his hands still fixed to the couch as if glued there, as though even now he doesn’t want to assume.

You bite your lip and reach for one of his hands, prying it gently away from the cushion, guiding it up until his palm rests flat against your torso, right over one of the tattoos he’d almost touched that first time in the back of his shop, months ago. The air thickens between you as you whisper, your voice trembling but sure, “You can admire them all you want. You don’t need permission to touch them, either.”

A breathy sound escapes him, half laugh, half disbelief, his cheeks burning. “You can’t just say things like that.” he whispers, voice cracking slightly with the effort of holding himself together.

You giggle, pressing closer to his body, teasing him with a shy grin. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered. What’s the matter, hm? Seeing your girlfriend in just a bra got you like this?”

He silences your teasing with a kiss, sudden and deep, stealing your words and your breath in the same instant. His arms circle your waist at last, pulling you flush against him, his composure breaking just enough to let the warmth of him envelop you.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, his forehead resting against yours as his voice drops low, husky and trembling. “You’re so beautiful. So yeah… you’ve got me a mess.”

Your face burns at the compliment, your pulse thundering in your ears. His hands splay warm and steady against your skin, and it sets you on fire in the sweetest way. You loop your arms around his neck, chest brushing his as you inch impossibly closer, and his shaky breath against your lips makes your whole body shiver with want.

Your lips brush his as you whisper against them, the words slipping out in a trembling breath. “You’re a beautiful mess.”

His laugh is soft, shaky, barely there. It stirs against your skin, prickling down your spine in the most delicious way. Your fingers find the soft curls at the base of his neck, playing with them gently, and the small sound he makes, shudders and sighs, they nearly makes you go insane.

His mouth finds yours again, sweet at first, then deeper, hungrier, like he can’t help himself. The world narrows to the press of his lips and the warmth of his hands, sliding carefully along your waist, holding you close but never straying further. The restraint only makes your chest ache more, each kiss leaves you breathless, every soft inhale louder in the quiet of the room.

It’s so good. Too good. The heat pools low in your stomach, a slow burn spreading the longer you linger against him. You can feel him, feel the movements of his body under yours, the subtle hardness pressing against you where you sit in his lap. His breathing grows heavier, ragged in between kisses, and you know it isn’t just you who’s getting worked up.

You shift softly, trying to get comfortable, but the friction it causes makes his breath hitch. His lips falter, breaking the kiss as his forehead drops against yours. “Don’t—” his voice is husky, unsteady, his amethyst eyes dark and pleading as they find yours. “Don’t move so much.”

You blink at him, biting your lip, your nose brushing his in a tender tease. “Why?” you whisper, feigning innocence even though your pulse is racing.

His laugh is quiet and shaky, his cheeks flushed crimson. He leans in closer, his breath hot at your ear. “You know why.”

The admission makes your stomach flip. A daring heat sparks inside you, enough that you nuzzle against his neck, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin there. “Because you’re hard?” you murmur, your voice almost innocent, though you feel the way he shudders.

He squeezes his eyes shut, a soft groan escaping him, his blush spreading down his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, breath trembling against your temple.

But you pull back before he can retreat further, your lips catching his again, firm and eager. His apology tastes ridiculous when every part of him feels so right pressed against you. Between kisses, you bite your lip, your words timid and breathless, the courage barely holding together. “Can we…?”

You trail off, your meaning heavy in the air though you can’t quite force yourself to say it aloud. His lips hover, his eyes wide and burning as they search yours, like he needs to be sure. The wanting between you hums electric, undeniable—every kiss, every trembling breath pulling you closer to a line you’ve both been circling for months.

He gulps, the sound small but heavy, and you feel it where your chests press. His lips brush the corner of your mouth in a trembling kiss, breath warm as he murmurs, “You really want that?”

You nod, your own pulse a wild, fluttering thing. His shaky exhale ghosts against your skin, then his mouth drifts, grazing the line of your jaw before lowering to your neck. Each kiss is slow, unhurried, as though he’s memorizing the taste of you. You shiver instantly, squirming faintly in his lap, because your neck has always been too sensitive.

He knows it too. He’s teased you countless times, wrapping his arms around you in the shop and sneaking soft pecks at the back of your neck just to hear you giggle and swat at him. But this—this is different. His body twitches beneath you, his voice a hushed, flustered murmur against your skin. “You’re very sensitive.”

The words make your stomach tighten, and when he leaves wetter, lingering kisses along the side of your throat, you can’t hold back the soft sound that escapes you. Your hands clutch at his hair when his mouth finds the spot just under your ear, and your voice breaks on his name. “R-Rafayel…”

He whimpers quietly, as if undone by the sound, his lips trembling against your skin. “Here?” he whispers, brushing another kiss to the same place. “So sensitive…does it feel good?”

Your answer slips out broken, a breathy “Yeah…” that only encourages him. His lips seal more firmly on that spot, sucking gently until heat sparks down your spine, until the first moan spills out of you—soft and startled. The sound makes him twitch hard under you, the proof of his own arousal pressing right against where you ache most.

His hands roam your back, careful but eager, teasing along the curve of your spine, brushing faintly at your bra clasp. He’s shaking as much as you are, this being new for you both, but it feels too good to stop.

“Pretty…” he rasps against your dampened skin. You don’t know if he means your voice, your reactions, or you entirely, but the word sends you reeling.

You move in his lap, unable to help yourself, chasing more of him, more friction, more heat. He whines, low and caught, before a quiet, shocked curse slips out of him. “Ahh… shit—”

You pull back, breathless, cheeks flaming. The sound of his voice like that—raw, unguarded—stuns you as much as it turns you on. “Did you just curse?” you tease softly, eyes wide, your tone a little breathless laugh.

He chuckles, flushed to his ears, his fingers tracing a slow line up your spine. His lips find your clavicle in a tender kiss as he admits, shy but honest, “You moved, and it… it felt too good. I couldn’t hold it back.”

You tremble at every kiss, your heart clattering in your chest. Your hand cups his face, tilting him up enough to press a shaky kiss to his lips before you whisper against them, voice low and pleading, “Don’t hold them back. I like hearing you enjoy this as much as I do.”

His breath stutters, his smile trembling into something boyish and undone, and the way his arms curl around you tighter makes your pulse race. You move again in his lap, slow and dragging, your hips pressing back and forth against the hard line of him beneath his clothes. His breath stutters against your skin, the kisses at your neck growing messier, needier. Each moan that slips past your lips makes him shudder, and in turn, his own little grunts and broken whimpers spill into the hollow of your clavicle, trembling sounds that only spur you on.

“A-ah… cutie…” he gasps suddenly, the pet name tumbling from him unguarded, his voice breaking around it.

Your heart stumbles and you whimper softly at the sound, pulling back just enough to look at him. He’s a beautiful mess—flushed to the tips of his ears, lips swollen and damp from your kisses, amethyst eyes glazed half-lidded and hazy with want. Heat coils low in your stomach at the sight, and even through your own ragged breathing, you manage a breathless smile. You keep moving against him, biting your lip as you whisper, teasing, “Is that a new pet name for me?”

He laughs weakly through the small, needy noises you’re dragging from him, his arms tightening around your waist. A startled little “mmph” escapes him as he pulls you flush against him, burying his face in your neck. His voice is muffled, flustered but trying to play it off with charm. “I could use so many more if you want,” he murmurs, breathless, kissing along your skin. “Baby… my girl…”

The way he says them, in a low and trembling voice, it makes your body jolt, a moan slipping out before you can catch it. You clutch at him harder, heat flooding between your legs as his words sink in.

His hands, which had been hesitant until now, finally trail lower, resting at your hips, then guiding you in slow, deliberate motions against him. The friction makes both of you whimper into each other’s mouths as your lips find his again, the kiss wet and desperate.

“You liked that…” he whispers against your lips, teasing gently, though his voice breaks into a ragged edge. His lips trail lower, leaving damp kisses across your chest until he reaches the swell of your breast, pausing just long enough to glance up at you through lashes damp with heat. Then his mouth closes around the curve of you, sucking softly as his fingers fumble at your bra clasp.

A small gasp leaves you, your body arching instinctively into him. The clasp finally loosens, his hands careful as he shifts the fabric aside, his lips brushing the newly exposed skin. “Baby…” he breathes, and then firmer, against your breast before his mouth closes over your nipple, “My girl.”

The sudden suction pulls a louder moan from you, your head tipping back, neck arched, chest pressing closer to him. The sound alone makes his hips buck weakly beneath you, his arousal twitching against your heat.

“Ohhh—” it leaves you shaky, caught off guard by how good it feels. His hands steady you, one splayed across your back, the other gently teasing your other breast as his lips keep working over you, coaxing more of those soft sounds from your mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers hoarsely, pulling back just enough to mouth against your skin, his breath shaky, his voice breaking with want. “This feels so good. But if you move like that…” a broken laugh tumbles out of him, flustered and husky. “…I won’t last.”

The words make you flush all over, your heart lurching in your chest. You kiss along his jaw, his throat, each brush of your lips shaky with need. “I’m close, too.” you admit softly, but your voice trails off, hesitating, because you want more than this. You want all of him, but the words feel too big, too bold.

He feels your pause, hands cupping your face, warm and trembling, coaxing your gaze back to his. His other hand keeps moving gently over your breast, circling softly as if trying to soothe you through your hesitation. His own cheeks are flaming, but his eyes hold yours, coaxing. “Tell me…” he murmurs, low, tender. “What do you want, hm?”

You bite your lip hard, hips still rocking against him, and he swallows thickly at the sight, his voice coming out raspy through his own little moans.

“Do you…” he starts, then gulps, his breath shuddering as his lips brush your ear, “…want more than this?”

Your nod is small, shaky, but enough, a whine breaking free as his fingers pinch lightly at your nipple, making your body jolt. He lets out a trembling, breathless laugh, suddenly a little bolder despite the heat painting his cheeks red.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, voice husky and coaxing. His breath is hot against your skin, his words ragged, “You want me?”

Your breath shakes when you whisper. “I do” the words tumbling out before you can stop yourself.

Rafayel makes a sound against your lips, half whimper, half sigh, as if your answer alone is enough to undo him. His arms tighten, drawing you flush against him, the hard press of his body leaving no room for doubt. His lips skim your neck, his voice husky and timid, the words trembling even as he tries to sound playful. “Let’s get comfortable, yeah?”

Before you know it, you’re lying against the soft sheets of his bed, the world narrowing to the warmth of him above you. His lips chase yours with a hunger he tries and fails to temper, each kiss stealing your breath, each brush of his nose against yours leaving you trembling. Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt without thinking, the heat of his skin beneath your touch making him shudder.

“Can I—” your voice breaks, breathless and needy as you bite your lip, “...take this off?”

The sight of you, flushed and asking, makes him nuzzle into your throat, his own voice breaking as he whispers, “Please do.”

You waste no time tugging his shirt off the moment he leans back, your fingers tracing along the lines of his chest and stomach before you can even think to stop yourself. His skin is hot under your hands, the faint shiver in his muscles betraying just how much he feels your touch. He kisses you again when you pull him closer, your lips clashing in a messy, desperate rhythm as you part your legs to welcome him between them.

His hand trails from your cheek in a slow, reverent path, down the curve of your neck, lingering over the swell of your breast. He cups you gently, thumb brushing your skin in a way that makes you moan softly, your body arching beneath him. He kisses you again, muffling the needy sound before his hand drifts lower, sliding over the softness of your stomach until it hovers just above your waistband.

He pauses, his breath uneven against your lips, eyes searching yours as if he’s afraid to move too quickly. His voice comes soft, low, almost bashful. “Can I touch you?”

Your nod is small but certain, your lip caught between your teeth as you manage to whisper, “Please.”

The word makes him exhale sharply, his cheeks flushing as though the sound of your plea alone is enough to shatter his composure. He helps you tug out of your pants and panties with careful hands, his fingertips grazing along the bare skin of your thighs, making you tremble and gasp. The sight of you so exposed has him blushing deeply, but instead of staring, he leans close, pressing soft, reassuring kisses along your neck, finding that sensitive spot under your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rasped and heated. “I’ll make you feel good.”

The first slow stroke of his fingers against your folds makes you jolt, a gasp catching in your throat as your hips arch helplessly toward his hand. You claw lightly at his shoulders, shivering as he circles your clit, teasing, his touch achingly gentle.

“Mmh, ahh—” little sounds spill from your mouth as he works you, unhurried but steady, his voice a low murmur against your skin. “That’s it… you’re doing so good for me. I can feel how much you want this… how much you want me.”

Your back arches when one finger slips inside, the sensation making your body pulse with heat. But it isn’t enough, not with the need twisting so tightly in your stomach.

“More,” you gasp, your voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut as your hips roll against his hand.

Rafayel looks down at you, cheeks blazing, lips parted as if he can barely breathe. The sight of you aroused and needy beneath him makes his throat tighten, but he doesn’t hesitate long. With a small, flustered nod, he obliges, sliding another finger inside, watching the way your body clenches around him, how you chase the rhythm of his hand with trembling need.

His breath shudders above you, lips parting as he watches your body respond to him—your hips rolling desperately into his hand, your lips spilling soft, broken sounds that make his cheeks burn. He looks wrecked already, violet eyes glassy with awe, as if he’s drunk on nothing but you.

“Yeah… just like that,” he breathes, voice husky, his fingers moving in a slow, steady rhythm that leaves your whole body trembling. “You’re so beautiful like this… very beautiful.”

Your moan is sharper, louder, and he falters, startled by the way your voice rises. His lips twitch into a shy smile, flustered but unable to help himself as he leans close, murmuring again, deliberately now, “That’s it, my pretty girl. You like it when I tell you that?”

The way your back arches answers him better than words could. He presses his forehead to yours, his own breaths uneven, whispering soft praises between each kiss he steals from your lips. “You’re doing so good… oh, you feel so good around my fingers, so wet…”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as the pressure coils tighter, unbearable, and when he whispers a shaky, “Let go for me, beautiful…come on, I’ve got you,” you break.

The release tears through you, your voice spilling his name in a broken cry as your body clenches around his fingers, trembling hard beneath him. Rafayel groans softly at the sight, as if the sound of you shattering in pleasure is too much, his lips pressing everywhere—your temple, your jaw, your mouth—desperate to catch every part of you.

When you finally sag against the sheets, flushed and dazed, he doesn’t stop kissing you. His fingers slip free slowly, careful, and he brushes a damp strand of hair from your forehead, his own lips trembling as he catches your gaze.

Your chest still rises and falls in uneven waves, every nerve in your body humming from the aftershocks. Rafayel’s weight lingers above you, his lips brushing your jaw in small, dazed kisses before he finally pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His cheeks are crimson, lips swollen, breath catching like he can barely believe himself.

“Did it feel good?” he asks softly, almost timid, his voice cracking as he searches your face. “I wasn’t too eager or anything, right?”

The way his uncertainty slips through makes your chest ache, and you can’t help but smile through your ragged breath, pulling him closer by the back of his neck. “It felt so, so good,” you whisper, lips ghosting his, your blush fierce but your voice firm. “I needed that so much, needed you. Every touch felt incredible, Raf.”

His eyes soften, relief loosening the tension in his shoulders, though he still flushes deeper, a breathy laugh escaping against your cheek. When you tug him closer, whispering, “Do you still want to go all the way?” he stills, his whole body trembling against yours.

Your words, quiet and raw, make his breath break into a moan against your neck. He presses his forehead there, kissing the sensitive skin as he huffs out a shaky laugh. “You’re so bold now,” he teases, voice husky, though his hips betray him, pressing needily against your thigh. “God, cutie… yeah, I want you. Been wanting you for so long…” he whispers breathily, need clear in his voice, “Can’t stop wondering if you’ll feel as good around me as you did around my fingers just now.”

The bluntness of it makes your body jolt, heat flooding low in your stomach. You whimper, your fingers clutching at his hair as your eyes flutter shut. He groans at the sound, as if he’s addicted to it, hips rolling softly against you.

You catch his mouth in a hard kiss, needy, desperate, your words tumbling out against his lips with your face hot enough to burn. “Let’s find out?”

His lips linger at your neck, pressing one last soft kiss there before he pulls back. You blink, dazed, tilting your head to watch him through your haze, still flushed and buzzing from every touch. He chuckles under his breath, cheeks pink, and shifts to reach for the drawer beside the bed.

Your breath hitches when you see what he takes out—a condom—and your eyes widen, heat rushing all the way down your body. You bite your lip, too flustered to stop yourself from blurting, “So you just… keep those close at hand?” your voice is breathless, teasing, but your chest flutters at the very sight of him holding one.

Rafayel’s blush deepens instantly, but his smile tips into something sly, shyly confident all at once. He lifts it between his teeth as he tugs his zipper down, a sight that makes your heart stutter. His voice comes warm, a little husky, when he finally murmurs back, half joking and half serious, “Only in case something like this happened.” His violet eyes catch yours, unflinching, even as his throat works on a nervous swallow. “Guess that means I thought about it.”

Your mouth goes dry watching him free himself, his hand wrapping gently around his cock, pumping slowly. The sight of him flushed and hard, every line of him bared, makes your body pulse with need. You gulp, legs parting almost instinctively, breath catching when he rolls the condom on with practiced fingers before leaning down to kiss you again.

The kiss is sweet, coaxing, the kind that tries to settle your nerves even as your body trembles. His forehead rests against yours, voice low and steady as his thumb strokes your cheek. “Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll take my time. We don’t have to rush.”

You laugh breathlessly, cheeks flaming, kissing his lips again before whispering, “You’re too sweet.” Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands moving over his chest, tracing him like you’ve been dreaming of for months. “I want you so badly.”

His breath shudders at your words, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses down your jaw again, mouth lingering on your neck. You whimper at the touch, your skin prickling with every press of his lips. He groans against you, the sound raw, and the head of his cock nudges slowly at your entrance.

“Relax,” he murmurs into your neck, breathing ragged as he steadies himself. “I’ve got you.”

The stretch makes your whole body jolt, your eyes rolling back as your voice spills his name in a moan you can’t hold back. He sinks deeper with a trembling groan, teeth grazing your skin as his hips finally meet yours.

“Ahh–” his voice cracks into a whine against your neck, his whole body shuddering as he bottoms out. “You’re so tight…” he admits in a shaky whisper, boyishly flustered, his lips trailing along your jaw. “Guess that tells you… this is my first time too.”

You pull him up from your neck, kissing him with all the desperate heat his words spark in you. Your lips crash together, messy and hungry, your body arching into his as you whisper against his mouth, “It’s okay. Just move, please, baby.”

His answer is another kiss, deeper, almost shaky with the effort of control. He rocks into you carefully, shallow at first, as if afraid to break you. But when your body adjusts, when your nails clutch at his shoulders and your hips meet his with a needy roll, he lets out a broken groan, his pace slowly picking up.

The room fills with the soft, frantic sounds of skin against skin, your moans and his whimpers tangled together in the dim light. His eyes squeeze shut as he kisses you again, trembling as though he’s unraveling with every thrust, and still, he clings to you like he can’t bear to let go.

Your moans spill into the quiet room, soft and sweet, as Rafayel finds a steady rhythm. Not too fast, not too slow, just enough to make your body thrum with heat, every thrust coaxing sound after sound from you. His hands wander over your body, no longer shy but intent, a reverent sort of greediness in the way he touches. One hand squeezes your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple until you gasp, while his mouth finds your neck, sucking gently until warm marks bloom against your skin.

You shudder under him, nails dragging down his back, and he falters with a broken groan, his hips bucking too hard. Breathless, he steadies himself, both hands gripping your hips before shifting you slightly, angling you beneath him.

The change makes you cry out, the sudden press against that sensitive spot inside making you clench tight around him, trembling as your teeth sink into his shoulder. He jolts, groaning raggedly, before stopping just long enough to search your face, dazed and worried. “Are you okay? Was that too much?”

Your chest heaves, words tangled in your throat. You shake your head quickly, cupping his flushed face, pulling him down into a desperate kiss. Against his lips, you whisper, shaky but certain, “No, what you did just now—it felt so good. I didn’t expect it.”

He stares at you for a second, then rolls his hips experimentally, slow and careful, his voice breaking into a husky whisper. “Yeah? There? Like this?”

The moan that rips out of you answers for you, your back arching into him as your body clenches again. His whole frame shudders, and the pace of his thrusts picks up, coaxed by your every sound. His voice tumbles out in shaky praise, his words a litany meant only for you. “You’re giving me the sweetest sounds. Do I really make you feel that good?”

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your lips pressed to his damp skin as broken little moans escape. “Yes… so good, Rafayel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I feel so hot, I can’t—”

His hips stutter at the way you cling to him, his voice cracking as he leans into your ear, his breath ragged. “I’m going to make you cum, cutie. Just like this, yeah, cling to me, hold me…” his groan breaks into a soft curse, his rhythm relentless now.

The sounds filling the room are frantic—your moans, his whimpers, the wet slap of skin against skin. Your body tightens, trembling violently as that heat unravels all at once, your voice breaking on a sharp cry. “Cumming, ah, I’m cumming, Rafayel, baby, yes, yes, yes—”

Your words tip him over the edge. He groans, almost a whine, his hips buckling hard as his whole body shudders above you. “Shit, cutie, don’t moan like that—f-fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, I’m gonna—”

With a ragged, broken breath, he spills inside the condom, collapsing over you with trembling arms, both of you dazed and gasping, your bodies clinging as though afraid to let go.

The room is quiet now, the only sounds are your uneven breaths tangled together, the faint rustle of sheets as his trembling body settles fully against yours. His weight is comforting, his warmth wrapping around you, and you can still feel him inside you—slow, steady pulses that keep your body fluttering around him long after the peak has passed.

For a while, neither of you speaks. His lips brush along your temple, soft and reverent, as if he’s afraid to break the spell. His fingers trail absently over your bare skin, tracing the lines of your tattoos as though memorizing them anew. Every touch makes you shiver, and yet it’s soothing, grounding.

You break the silence first, your voice soft and breathless, muffled against his neck. “That was incredible.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving, his nose nudging your hairline. “You really think so? I was so—god, I kept worrying I was too much. Too eager.”

You tilt your head, catching his eyes in the low light. They’re blown wide, still shimmering with warmth, the edges lined with pink. You smile, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “You weren’t. It was honestly perfect.”

His breath stumbles, his forehead pressing to yours, relief spilling out of him in the softest laugh.

You turn your face and nuzzle into his neck, catching the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something purely him. Your lips curl into a shy grin before you can stop yourself. “So…” your voice is soft, playful despite the nervous thrum in your chest, “you were pretty ready. Condoms right by the bed?”

A soft groan escapes him, and you feel the way his face burns as he buries it deeper in the crook of your neck. His muffled voice is sheepish, half a whine. “Don’t tease me… I just hoped it would happen. Someday.”

Your heart stumbles at the honesty in his tone. Blushing, you nudge at him gently, whispering against his ear, “So… you really imagined us making love?”

His breath hitches, and for a second you wonder if you pushed him too far. Then, slowly, he nods against your skin, his voice so soft you almost don’t catch it. “Yeah. I thought about it. About you. Is it wrong, wanting it?”

The confession sends a shudder down your spine. You hug him tighter, pulling his face up so you can find his lips, kissing him deeply—less timid now, more reassuring. Between kisses, your whisper trembles, warm and certain. “I like knowing you did. Really. Because now you don’t just have to imagine.”

He pulls back just far enough to see your face, eyes wide and shining, his lips trembling into a grin. You’re both blushing, both giddy, and then you’re laughing softly into each other’s mouths as the kiss deepens again, giggles breaking through until it turns into helpless smiles. Wrapped up in him like this, you realize there’s nothing to be anxious about. Every touch, every kiss, every shaky laugh, everything about this moment is just as it should be.

Eventually, Rafayel draws in a shaky breath and slips out of you with care, pressing a final kiss to your jaw before reaching for the discarded wrapper on the nightstand. You watch him pad over to the bin with the condom, his shoulders still flushed pink, hair a little messy from your hands. When he returns, he doesn’t hesitate, he folds himself back into you immediately, arms winding around your waist as if the thought of being apart for even a second is unbearable.

You laugh softly into his shoulder, brushing a damp lock of hair off his forehead. “You’re clingier than usual.”

His only response is a muffled hum as he nuzzles into your neck, his pout warm against your skin. “Not letting go,” he mumbles, boyish and petulant. “You’ll just sneak off otherwise.”

You snort, cheeks heating as you curl closer. “Sneak off? After this?” your voice wavers with shy laughter. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Mm,” he hums again, tightening his hold. Then, quieter, almost shy, his voice reaches your ears again, “Stay. Let me make you breakfast in the morning. Please?”

Your heart squeezes at the way his voice dips, that mix of fluster and earnestness only he manages. You giggle into his hair, teasing him with a grin he can’t see. “Bribing me with breakfast now? What’s next, a lifetime supply of flowers?”

He pulls back just enough to glare at you halfheartedly, cheeks bright pink, lips twitching into a smile. “Don’t tempt me, cutie.”

Between chuckles and the soft tangle of limbs, you press your nose to his, kissing the freckles dusting across it and his cheek. He blushes so hard you feel the heat against your lips, and you whisper, half shy, half teasing, “I was going to stay the night either way. I don’t want to leave you.”

For a moment, his breath stills. Then his grin blooms wide, radiant and boyish, as he squeezes you so tight you squeak. You both laugh at that, muffled against each other, until you finally settle, tangled in the warmth of his arms.

“You’re warm,” you murmur into his chest, teasing, but also completely sincere.

His laugh rumbles under your ear, soft and sheepish. “Good. Then you really can’t leave.”

And you don’t. Not tonight, not when he holds you like you’re his whole world.

—

The first thing you register when your eyes blink open is warmth. Not just the cocoon of blankets around you, but the steady heat pressed against your back, arms locked firmly around your waist. Rafayel is curled around you like a vine claiming its stake, his chest pressed to your spine, his breath feathering against the crown of your head.

It takes you a moment to realize the shirt hanging off your shoulders isn’t yours but his—one he tugged over your head with flushed cheeks after last night, mumbling something about you needing to be comfortable. Now it swallows you whole, soft and smelling faintly of him, and your cheeks burn hotter the longer you think about why you needed it in the first place.

Last night.

Your body warms just remembering it—the breathless way he whispered your name, the trembling way he touched you while he was learning you piece by piece. The memory of his lips on your skin, his voice breaking when he came undone against you—it all comes rushing back so vividly you can barely breathe. You bury your face into the pillow, giddy and shy all at once.

Rafayel stirs behind you, nuzzling into your hair with a sleepy groan. “Mm… morning,” he mumbles, voice husky and lazy, one hand tightening on your waist as if to pull you closer than you already are.

You squeak a soft laugh, your blush practically glowing. “Morning,” you whisper back, your voice small.

Instead of loosening his hold, he shifts, draping a leg over yours, his entire body curling more insistently around you. His chin hooks over your shoulder, and when you glance back at him, you find him already smiling—boyish, radiant, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“You’re so warm,” he says, voice soft, almost a pout, like it’s the only explanation he needs for why he refuses to let you go.

You laugh into your shoulder, wriggling a little in his embrace. “You’re clingier than usual.”

He blinks, feigning innocence even as his blush betrays him. “Mm. Maybe I’m just not timid anymore.”

The words make your stomach flip, your blush deepening as you remember how confident and a bit bold he was with you last night, how he whispered things that left you trembling. You press your face into the pillow again with a muffled groan, which only makes him chuckle, the sound warm and teasing in your ear.

Rafayel shifts just enough to peer down at you, violet eyes catching the faint blush painting your face. His lips twitch, and before you can look away, he grins boyishly, nuzzling into your neck with an exaggerated pout. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from me now. That’s not fair, cutie.”

You squeak a laugh, trying to wriggle, but his arms only tighten. “I’m not hiding!” you insist, though your heated cheeks betray you.

“Mm.” he kisses the soft spot beneath your ear, and you shudder, clinging tighter to him. “You blush too easily,” he teases, voice softer, almost shy beneath the playful tone.

“Not my fault you won’t stop—” you break off into a breathless giggle as he peppers kisses along your jaw, effectively cutting you off.

“Won’t stop what?” he asks innocently, though the warmth in his grin gives him away.

You roll your eyes, giggling as you shift, climbing on top of him and pinning him with your weight. He laughs into the kiss you press to his lips, muffled and sweet, and his hands slide instinctively over your waist, holding you in place like you belong there.

It’s new—this closeness, this easy intimacy of waking up tangled after a night like that. You’ve only ever cuddled before, timid little touches, but this feels different. Deeper. You can feel it in the way his smile softens against your mouth, in the way his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns over the shirt that hangs loose on you, in the boyish laugh he breathes when you kiss him again and again, unable to stop.

He’s glowing, even as his cheeks dust pink every time your lips find a new place to linger. And you’re glowing too, heart aching in the best way, because this—him, the warmth of his arms, the softness of the sheets, the silly giggles you share between kisses—is exactly where you want to be.

The sheets are still warm when he finally untangles himself from you with a reluctant sigh, padding toward the kitchen barefoot, hair a mess and skin still flushed. You trail after him a little later, wearing nothing but his shirt that brushes your thighs, watching with quiet amusement as he immediately starts fussing around the stove.

Rafayel tries to play it cool, moving with a kind of confidence, but the way his ears burn pink whenever he glances at you perched on the counter betrays him. He’s glowing, and you know it—knows he knows it too.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tease lightly, kicking your feet against the cabinet as you watch him beat eggs into a bowl, his brow furrowed like he’s cooking for royalty.

“I said I’d make you breakfast,” he replies without looking up, voice soft but steady. “I keep my promises.”

Your giggle breaks the air, and it makes his shoulders twitch. “You’re way too cute when you’re serious about scrambled eggs, baby.”

That earns you a look over his shoulder—mock offense, eyes glinting—but then he crosses the space between you in three steps, his hands bracketing your knees as he leans in to steal a kiss. Just a brush of lips, quick and soft, but enough to send your stomach flipping.

He pulls back with a satisfied hum, eyes dancing. “Better behave, cutie, or you won’t get any.”

You laugh outright, tugging him in for another kiss before he can retreat, and this one lingers, his lips warm, his breath uneven as he melts for just a second too long before going back to the stove.

You watch him work, giggling when he mutters something under his breath about timing, when he pulls open a drawer a little too hard, when he bites his lip trying not to burn the toast. He looks so effortlessly beautiful standing there shirtless, the muscles in his back shifting as he moves, the bold tattoo you inked into his skin alive in the soft light of morning. Your mark, your art, the flowers that bind you etched into him forever.

Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you drink in the sight of it, warmth pooling in your chest. The design is still breathtaking to you—his favorite flowers, the ones you now both carry on your skin, like an unspoken bond.

And then, as if he can feel your gaze, Rafayel glances over his shoulder, catching you in the act. His smirk is boyish, faintly smug. “Enjoying the view?”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you throw him a sheepish smile, shrugging as if you hadn’t just been caught staring. “Maybe.”

He laughs quietly, turning back to the stove, but you don’t miss the way his ears go pink again, nor the way he sneaks back over a moment later, pressing another kiss to your lips like he just can’t help himself.

You can’t help but find it amusing, because you know Rafayel can cook. He’s proven it plenty of times before, moving around his kitchen with practiced ease. But this morning he’s fidgety. Over-stirring the eggs, double-checking the pan, glancing at you too often and then pretending he wasn’t. And you know exactly why. He’s still flustered, still glowing from last night.

It makes your heart flutter in your chest, that thought—that he’s just as dazed and giddy as you are, even while trying to distract himself with breakfast.

“Careful, chef,” you tease softly when he fusses with the pan for the third time. “You’ll scramble those eggs into dust.”

He shoots you a look, lips twitching. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, am I?” you tilt your head, grinning as you trail your fingers over the hem of his tattooed back, featherlight touches that make him shiver. “What, do I make you nervous?”

The tips of his ears go pink again, and he tries to brush it off with a scoff. “Don’t ask me that.”

Your laugh bubbles out, sweet and bright, filling the kitchen. He shakes his head, muttering something about you being trouble, but there’s no hiding the little smile tugging at his lips as he plates the food.

Before long, you’re both settled at the small table, plates between you, his hand sneaking over the surface to catch yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He eats with one hand, holding onto you with the other, thumb brushing idle circles against your skin. You’re sure you’ll never get used to how warm he is.

The food is good, of course it is—it always is when he cooks, but it tastes better because he’s watching you eat with that soft, boyish smile, like you’re the most important thing in the room.

When you finally laugh and point your fork at him, teasing, “See? You didn’t burn anything after all,” he groans dramatically, hiding his face in his hand for a moment before looking up at you through his lashes.

“You really are going to tease me about everything, aren’t you?”

You lean across the table, stealing a kiss that tastes like toast and honey, smiling against his lips. “Of course. It’s part of my charm, wouldn’t you say?”

His laugh is quiet, breathless, and he leans into you, kissing you again, longer this time, until your food is forgotten for a moment and you’re left with the steady thrum of his heart against your palm.

—

It feels almost impossible, sometimes, to trace the line of how you got here. How the warmth of his hand fits so easily in yours now, how his kisses taste of honeyed laughter and stolen moments, how your life has become tangled with his in ways you never knew you craved.

However, when you close your eyes, you can see every step, every heartbeat that led you here.

You remember the first time you noticed him. Not properly met him, just noticed him, passing by his shop on your way somewhere else, catching sight of him through the glass. That boy with violet eyes and a bouquet in his hands, framed by blooms of every color. You thought him intriguing, too pretty for words, the kind of boy who belonged in a painting rather than real life. You told yourself it was nothing but curiosity, just a passing thought and a pretty muse, wondering how ink would look on him, and if it’d suit his soft skin.

But curiosity tugged at you until the day of the flowers and pastries event, where fate seemed to press you two closer. You remember how your breath caught when he offered you a bloom—simple, gentle, but with meaning tucked into its petals, as though he already spoke a language only you could understand. His smile had been soft, a little shy, but in that single gesture, something stirred in you, something that only grew with every encounter after.

From then on, there was no turning back.

You think of the afternoons in his flower shop, where laughter curled like sunlight through the stems and petals. How your sketchbook always seemed to open when he was near, how his teasing voice made your heart stutter every time. You think of the tattoo, of the moment your hands trembled over his bare skin, inking his favorite flowers into him, watching his breath hitch beneath your touch. How it felt like weaving yourself into him permanently.

You think of your first date, your first kiss, your first bouquet from him that carried words he couldn’t yet say aloud. You think of the teahouse, the galleries, the lakeside walks, the late nights filled with flour battles and chocolate smudges, the quiet mornings tangled in each other’s arms. You think of the way he looks at you now, not just shy and flustered, not just teasing and charming, but with something deeper, something unshakable. Something like love, warm and passionate and undeniable.

And you can’t help but think forward too, because with him, it feels impossible not to dream.

You imagine Sundays spent at his shop, arranging flowers together, his hands stealing yours every few minutes just for a kiss. You imagine rainy nights where you curl up on his couch, a blanket around you both, watching movies you’ll forget because you’re too busy laughing into each other’s mouths. You imagine heated moments too, his breath warm against your skin, his touch sweet and unhurried, loving you like every kiss is both a beginning and an end. You imagine anniversaries marked not by expensive gifts but by little bouquets, secret meanings tucked into petals and stems, promises whispered in the language that only the two of you share.

Coffee dates that turn into kisses in the corner of his shop. Long afternoons where you sit at your tattoo chair, sketching while he fusses over arrangements, both of you pausing only to grin and kiss when the moment demands it. Future winters where you’ll curl together under blankets, snow falling against the windows while his hand traces lazy shapes over your skin. Summers where he’ll insist on picnics in the park, sneaking strawberries into your mouth just to see you laugh.

You imagine road trips to nowhere, his hand always reaching for yours on the console. Lazy Sunday mornings where he’ll cook breakfast shirtless, and you’ll distract him with kisses until the eggs burn. Nights where the love between you ignites again and again, heated and desperate, leaving you both trembling, clinging, whispering into each other’s skin. And the quiet mornings after, when everything slows, and you’ll think there is nothing in this world more beautiful than waking up to him.

It all started with a glimpse through a window, a flower pressed into your hand, and now you cannot wait to see what comes next. Because Rafayel is your warmth, your flustered florist with soft freckles and a boyish grin, the boy who taught you how love can be quiet and loud, playful and tender, innocent and heated all at once. And you are his artist, his canvas, his flower language brought to life.

From a single flower, to a sketch, to a kiss. From a crush, to a confession, to a ‘forever’ you’re only beginning to write together. You can’t wait to see what fate has in store for the two of you, because if the beginning of your story is already this sweet, then the rest of it will be nothing less than a love in full bloom. Whatever fate has in store, you’re certain of one thing. You’ll bloom together, always.

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