#maybe I’m looking a little to far into it

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

This Wasn’t in the Contract

Word Count: 1,6k

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When a gossip account claims Lando Norris has a secret girlfriend, he jokingly confirms it—except he names you, his childhood best friend, as his mysterious partner. Now, you’re stuck fake-dating the most unserious man on the grid.

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Chapter 1: A Joke Gone Too Far

You weren’t the type to start your day by checking celebrity gossip, but apparently, you should have been.

Because if you had, maybe you wouldn’t have woken up to 237 unread messages and a phone call from your mother screaming, “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME YOU’RE DATING LANDO?!”

“…What?” Your brain was still booting up, barely processing her words as you squinted at the sunlight streaming through your blinds.

“Don’t play dumb! It’s all over Twitter! ‘Lando Norris soft-launches secret girlfriend!’”

That got your attention. You bolted upright, nearly knocking your laptop off the bed. “Lando did what?”

“I don’t know, you tell me! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? The neighbors are texting me about it! The neighbors!”

You barely heard her as you scrolled through your phone, your heart pounding. Sure enough, there it was—a blurry paparazzi photo of Lando, looking suspiciously happy as he walked through Monaco. The caption?

Lando Norris spotted out with mystery girlfriend. Who is she?

Well, it’s not me, that’s for sure.

But the real problem wasn’t the article. No, the problem was the Twitter chaos that followed.

@F1TeaSpill: Lando Norris has a secret girlfriend… my life is over.

@WAGwatch: McLaren’s golden boy is TAKEN. The girl remains unknown, but sources say they’ve been dating for months.

And then, the worst part.

A verified tweet from Lando himself.

@LandoNorris: Fine, you caught me. It’s Y/n. We wanted to keep it private, but oh well.

You stared at the screen in horror.

“…I’m going to kill him.”

Your mom gasped. “I knew you were dating! My baby girl is in love!”

You hung up.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: How to Accidentally Get a Girlfriend

It took exactly four angry phone calls and one very aggressive Uber ride to track Lando down at his apartment. The second he opened the door, you shoved your phone in his face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Lando blinked at you, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He was still in his pajamas—a McLaren hoodie and boxers, because of course he was. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

You ignored him, scrolling aggressively through Twitter. “Did you—did you seriously just announce to the entire world that we’re dating?!”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, so, hear me out—”

“No.”

“—I thought it would be funny.”

You took a deep breath. Counted to five. “You thought it would be funny?”

“In my defense, it was funny.”

You smacked his arm. “Lando!”

“OW—okay, okay, look!” He took a step back, holding up his hands. “There was this dumb article saying I had a secret girlfriend, and people wouldn’t shut up about it. So I thought, why not have a little fun? I didn’t think people would actually believe me!”

You stared at him, unamused. “Lando. You have millions of followers. Of course they believed you!”

“…Oh.”

“Oh?”

He winced. “I mean… in hindsight, yeah, that makes sense.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “This is so bad. My mom thinks it’s real. People are probably stalking my Instagram as we speak!”

Lando hesitated. “So… what if we just roll with it?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned, that signature cheeky smile that meant he was about to say something very stupid. “Think about it! We fake date for a while, mess with the media, then ‘break up’ later. It’s the perfect plan.”

You scoffed. “Perfect for who?”

“Both of us!” He threw an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the way you stiffened. “You get clout, I get people off my back about my dating life, and—bonus!—we get to mess with the internet. Win-win-win.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “That’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“…But?”

“…But it would be kinda funny.”

He gasped. “So you’ll do it?”

You sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fine. One month. That’s it.”

Lando beamed. “Deal. Now, let’s get to work.

You frowned. “Work?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Time for our first ‘couple’ Instagram post.”

You were already regretting this.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 3: The ‘Soft Launch’ Debacle

If someone had told you that by noon, you’d be sitting on Lando’s couch with him hovering over you, analyzing potential Instagram captions for your fake couple post, you would have laughed in their face.

Yet, here you were.

“This one’s good,” Lando said, showing you his phone.

You squinted at it. ‘My ride or die. ❤️’

“No,” you said flatly.

He pouted. “Why not? It’s cute!”

“It’s cringe.”

Lando rolled his eyes, flopping onto the couch beside you. “Fine. What about—‘Finally caught myself a podium-worthy girl’?”

You stared at him. “Lando.”

“Yes, love?”

“Shut up.”

He burst into laughter, nearly falling off the couch. “Come on, Y/n, help me out here! We need to be convincing.”

You sighed. “Can’t we just post a normal picture?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “We need romance. We need passion.”

“We need therapy,” you muttered.

But you gave in. Because somehow, against all logic, you’d agreed to this stupid fake-dating scheme. You allowed Lando to take a selfie of the two of you, his arm slung around your shoulders, his grin wide and cheeky while you tried not to look like you wanted to strangle him.

Fifteen minutes later, it was live.

@LandoNorris: She said yes. ❤️

“…Lando,” you said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“This makes it sound like we’re engaged.”

“Oops.”

“Oops?!”

But it was too late. Twitter had already exploded.

@F1GossipGirl: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE SAID YES??

@McLarenFan4Life: Engaged. ENGAGED. I need a moment.

@Y/nDefender: okay but if y/n makes him less of a menace on the track i support it

You groaned. “You suck.”

Lando, completely unbothered, smirked. “Oh, fiancée, you wound me.”

You were going to kill him.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 4: McLaren is Concerned

The next day, you made a mistake.

You agreed to physically show up at McLaren’s HQ with Lando.

You should have known it was a bad idea when, the second you stepped inside, his PR manager spotted you and immediately looked stressed.

“Lando.” The poor man looked like he hadn’t slept since 2018. “Care to explain?”

Lando, ever the picture of innocence, grinned. “Explain what?”

The PR manager sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The engagement. The internet meltdown. The sponsorship offers from wedding brands.”

You choked. “Wait—what?”

Lando just laughed. “People love love, mate.”

The PR manager turned to you, exasperated. “Are you really engaged?”

You opened your mouth to deny it—

“She doesn’t like labels,” Lando cut in smoothly, throwing an arm around your waist.

You resisted the urge to shove him into a wall.

“…Right.” The PR manager didn’t look convinced. “Well, just… keep it under control, okay? We don’t need another Daniel Ricciardo social media incident.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but judging by the way Lando immediately sobered up, it was serious.

“Got it,” Lando said, suddenly obedient.

You made a mental note to ask Daniel about that later.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 5: Paparazzi and Near-Death Experiences

Two weeks into the fake-dating scheme, things escalated.

First, the paparazzi started following you everywhere. Which was fine—except for the fact that Lando used this as an opportunity to be an absolute menace.

“Y/n, darling,” he said loudly one day outside a café, dramatically pulling you into a dip like you were in a bad rom-com.

You struggled in his grip. “Put me down before I punch you.”

“Ah, my sweet, violent love,” he sighed.

The cameras loved it.

Then, there was the incident with the McLaren team barbecue.

The entire grid had been invited, which meant you were subjected to hours of hearing Max and Charles tease Lando about his ‘wife.’

“She must be an angel to put up with you,” Max had joked, sipping his drink.

“I’m a delight,” Lando shot back.

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to blush when Charles leaned over and whispered, “I think he actually likes you.”

Which was ridiculous. Obviously. Right?

Right.

(Then Lando draped his jacket over you later that night when it got cold, and you started questioning everything.)

________________________________________________________

Chapter 6: The Fake Breakup Plan

By the third week, you and Lando had a problem.

Your parents—who had never once taken anything you did on the internet seriously—fully believed you were dating.

Which wouldn’t have been a big deal, except now your entire family wanted to meet Lando.

“My mom keeps asking if we’re doing a destination wedding,” you hissed one evening, pacing around Lando’s apartment.

He snorted. “Tell her I’m thinking Monaco.”

“Lando, focus!”

He grinned. “Relax. We’ll just fake a breakup.”

You paused. “…How?”

“Easy.” He leaned back, stretching. “I’ll cheat on you.”

You nearly choked on air. “Excuse me?!”

“Not really,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll stage something. Maybe I get ‘caught’ with a model or something.”

You frowned. “…We could just say we broke up because we realized we’re better as friends.”

He stared at you. “Where’s the drama in that?”

“You love drama.”

“I live for it,” he agreed.

You groaned. “Fine. But no cheating scandal. We’ll figure something else out.”

Lando pouted. “Boring.”

You ignored him, but deep down, a tiny part of you was unreasonably annoyed at the thought of him fake-dating someone else.

Which was dumb. Because this wasn’t real.

Right?

Right.

…Shit.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 7: When Fake Starts Feeling Real

Somewhere along the line, you stopped noticing when Lando reached for your hand in public.

You stopped flinching when he casually draped an arm around your shoulders.

And you definitely didn’t mind when he pulled you into his side during movie nights, letting you steal his hoodie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was fake. You knew that.

But then, one night, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said softly, “You know, I think I’d actually marry you.”

And for the first time, you didn’t have a comeback.

[tsunodaradio]

change me at all costs ⛐ 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 the three times carlos proposes and the one time you say yes.

♫ starring: carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader. ♫ word count: 2.8k. ♫ includes: fluff, romance, suggestive. mentions of alcohol consumption. established relationship, so much love :(, some spanish. @binisainz requested mitski's cover of bleachers' let's get married. ♫ commentary box: inclined to pack tf up because i don't think i'm ever going to top this. i cannot stress this enough: loop the song while reading. man. what a time. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Did you not get the memo?” 

Before you even turn around, you can already imagine the look on Carlos’ face. A raised eyebrow, maybe. A hint of a smile. Sure enough, he’s sporting that very expression when you glance over your shoulder. 

Fiddling with his cufflinks, Carlos mumbles, “I’ve switched to Williams blue, corazón.”

Your dress for the night is closer to his previous team. It’s not the same shade of red and the highlights are more gold than yellow, but you can certainly see where he’s coming from. This is the outfit of a Ferrari tifosi. 

Ignoring his jab, you hold out the jewelry set that has been giving you grief. “Help me put this on,” you say.

Carlos is already crossing the room before the full sentence is over. He takes the necklace first, and you gather your hair to one side as he fiddles with the clasp. 

“Seriously,” he doubles down. There’s that familiar edge of petulance in his tone, the one you know is mostly joking. Mostly. “I’m sure I’ve bought you at least one blue dress. They’re going to say you hate my new team.” 

Your shoulders shake as you laugh; Carlos pauses to admire the sound. He recovers quickly, now reaching out for your earrings. 

“No one is going to say that,” you argue for the sake of arguing. 

“Everybody is going to say that,” he shoots back. “Betrayed by my own girlfriend. I can already see the headlines.” 

Your earrings now firmly in place, you turn around fully to shoot Carlos a half-hearted glare. He’s dressed to the nines for tonight’s charity gala. His suit, immaculately pressed; his tie, a gift you had gotten him three or so years ago.

You rest your palm against his chest. Instinctively, he places his own hand on top of yours, even as he maintains that slight frown at your alleged betrayal. 

“It’s not Ferrari colors, cariño,” you say patiently.

“Oh?” He cocks his eyebrows a little higher, as if challenging you to debate what he considers to be obvious. “What is it, then?” 

“Think.” 

“Think?” 

“What else is red and yellow?” 

Carlos indulges you. He always does. “There’s red and yellow on a traffic light,” he offers. 

You shake your head. He lets out a small sound— one caught between amusement and frustration.  “Are you ketchup and mustard?” he grumbles, and you gently bump your knee against his in retaliation. 

“You’re overthinking it,” you say. “It’s right here.” 

“Right where?” 

You reach up to tug at the lapel of his suit jacket. That’s when it seems to hit Carlos. The pin resting right over his left breast, given to him over a decade ago by family who always wanted him to remember who he was. A miniature golden flag featuring three horizontal stripes of red and yellow. 

“Spain,” he says, a little bit dazed. 

You reward him by tilting upward to kiss him. Only on the corner of his mouth this time, but a sweet kiss all the same. The teams might change—

“Not Ferrari. Not Williams,” you murmur in the low light of your en suite bathroom. “Just you. Just you.” 

— But Carlos will always be Carlos. 

He’s contemplative as you pull away. He doesn’t let you go that far, his hand still keeping yours firmly pinned over his chest. It’s why you feel the slight stutter in his heartbeat. Before you can deliver some jab about it, he pulls the rug out from underneath your feet. 

“I could marry you, you know?” he says. 

It’s not something entirely out of the left field. The two of you are mutual in the thought that you’ve passed the age of dating for experience. Anything, now, involves future-proofing. Building a life to be shared together. 

You haven’t talked about it a lot, though. For the most part, it’s enough that you’re on the same page. And so you’ve joked about cradles after a couple of glasses of wine; you’ve used the fantasies for ammunition during one or two instances of lovemaking. 

But to hear it, now, completely sober and without a hint of a tease—

Your tone is quiet, almost shy. “It’s just a dress, cariño.” 

It’s not just a dress. You know that. He knows that. He says it out loud, too, as his hand tightens its hold of yours. “It’s not,” he whispers, partly to himself.

You don’t know what to say. 

Gracefully, Carlos recovers faster than you. He blinks once, twice. And then he’s putting his smile back on, like he’s entertained at how effortlessly the two of you fell into something so tender. 

“Well?” he quips. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“What?” you sputter. 

“I asked you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word, “to marry me. What do you say?” 

It’s a little easier, now, when you can clock the mirth in Carlos’ tone. You give him a low, derisive groan in response, using your hand on his chest to push him back. He detaches with a laugh, his eyes glinting in that mischievous way you’re used to. 

“I say— we are going to be late,” you snipe. “Go fix your hair already.” 

He clutches his chest, feigning offense. “It’s already fixed! Are you saying it looks bad?” 

The impromptu proposal is forgotten, folded in between petty squabbles over hair products and a hasty makeout session in the entryway. But you should know better than to think Carlos would ever let this— let you— go. 

It happens next after a win.

The details are hazy; the mad dash for points always did feel like a whirlwind to you. There’s one too many safety cars, a hint of rain mid-race, a brush with the wall and an ironclad strategy.

It’s all so fast. One moment, Carlos is stealing a kiss from you. (For good luck, he claims, his lips pressed to your temple.) 

The next, he’s first to shuttle past the checkered flag.

“Carlos Sainz has won Yas Marina!” the commentators screech.

You catch words like in a Williams and ahead of Verstappen and legendary, but you’re too busy exchanging bone-crushing hugs with the ecstatic Williams team. A podium finish at the last race of the year is always cause for celebration. 

It’s a glorious finish, fitting of someone who had to crawl his way through hell and back. You’re convinced you’ll remember this your whole life— the way he thrusts his trophy over his head, the way the fireworks go off like technicolor prophecies. 

There are cameras on you, of course. Close-ups of your tear-stained cheeks; photographs of your hands wrung together. His happiness, his safety, is your answered prayer. 

Carlos has some prayers of his own. 

The worst of the media obligations are done. He’s given the cursory reunion, the vouchsafed five minutes with those who love him most. 

There’s his parents, of course, who whisper mi campeón so much that the words feel like Carlos’ second name. There’s the team principal. His co-driver. 

And then. And then. 

It’s in his eyes. You see it, there, when he finally looks towards you. You know Carlos so well that you can predict that look, that you know what’s already on the tip of his tongue. 

“No, no,” you say hastily, the words splintered between your laughs and sobs. “Don’t even think about it!”

He is thinking about it, though. It’s probably the moment in his head. Carlos is a greedy man; he could use another win. Preferably one you’ll grant when he’s down on one knee. 

But he knows you’re right, too. This is not the time. Not when there are dozens of cameras trained on him. Not when everybody is probably thinking it, expecting it, anticipating a velvet box hidden somewhere in his tracksuit. 

And so he settles for something second best. He throws his arm around your shoulders, precariously dangling the trophy in his other hand. You respond by wrapping your arms around his middle. 

The two of you click into place like magnets. Carlos seals it with a kiss, ducking his head low in a futile bid to hide you two with the brim of his cap. 

It doesn’t work. The kiss is front-page news the next day, subject to dozens of videos and articles questioning Where’s the ring? 

But that’s for tomorrow. For now, Carlos tastes like cheap champagne and the drugstore lip gloss you’d given him before the race. 

For now, Carlos is simply yours. 

The evening shimmers like a promise of something yet to come.

You’ve never been more grateful that most important events in your life fall during the off-season. Tonight, it’s your parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary and Carlos is your enthusiastic plus one. 

He’s well-loved by your family and friends. They’ve since gotten over the myth and the legend of him being a renown race car driver. To them, now, he is merely the love of your life, and vice versa. 

Your younger cousins race past the two of you, shrieking as they play their little game. Your aunts and uncles swap stories of their own marriage, giving you and Carlos unsolicited advice. 

Never go to sleep angry. Your wife is always right. Don’t stop holding hands. 

The last one, Carlos takes to heart. 

For majority of the party, he keeps his touch on you. A casual arm over the back of your chair. His fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of your dress. His shoulder pressed against yours all throughout dinner. 

He’s in a mood, you can tell. He spends the evening leaning into your personal space so he can whisper one thing or another. Little nothings of this dress will look good on the bedroom floor and I know something sweeter than this dessert. 

You rebuff him at each turn, grumbling about keeping things PG-13. He’s amused— maybe a little tipsy— as he giggles and keeps on going. At one point, he slips into his mother tongue, emboldened by the fact that nobody will understand the filth. Not even you. 

Me vuelves loco, he says after you coo at a baby cousin.

¿Por qué no lo hacemos aquí?, he says as the two of you wander around the garden for a bit. 

Quiero que me montes con ese vestido puesto, he says with a playful tug of your outfit. 

“Stop,” you hiss, the tips of your ears burning red. “Behave, Carlos.” 

The lack of his usual pet name has Carlos letting up, though barely. Your parents are readying to give a toast and he’s back to pretending like he’s innocent, his palm flat on the small of your back. 

The toast is a good one. A reminder of love that endures. There’s not a single dry eye in attendance by the time your parents are setting up for their tradition— a slow dance to the very first song they waltzed to. 

As the small crowd watches on, you feel Carlos’ hand twitch at your back. You glance at him. He’s not looking at your parents. 

He’s looking at you.

His next words are soft. Spoken like a secret, shared like a destiny.

“¿Cásate conmigo?”

There’s no need for a translation. You know this question, know the look on his face. 

Marry me? 

You want to believe it’s the Chardonnay talking. The overwhelming feeling of seeing love endure and persist. But there’s something serious underneath all of it, something just below the surface. 

Carlos isn’t smirking, isn’t joking. He’s asking, and he’s waiting for your answer. 

But, again, again, again— 

This is not yours. Not your evening. Not when there’s a haze of alcohol over the two of you; not when it’s your parents that are meant to be the center of attention.

You give Carlos’ knee a gentle squeeze. It’s enough to pull him out of his head. His face breaks into a sheepish smile and he mumbles an apology; your heart seizes up. You don’t want him to be sorry, don’t want him to think he owes you anything of consequence.

Aiming for levity, you ask, “Where’s the ring?”

He stares at you like you’re the crazy one. You press on, tone playfully chiding.

“Where’s the ring?” you insist. “You can’t be proposing without a ring, cariño.”

Carlos laughs, then. It’s a forgiving sound. “You’re right,” he concedes as he reaches across the table.

He hesitates to pull his touch away from you, but what he plans to do requires both hands. His fingers are a bit clumsy in their movements; once or twice, he has to start over, and you can do nothing but watch with growing fascination.

He gets there eventually. Gently, ever so gently, he takes your hand in his. (He shakes like it’s the real thing.)

The tissue paper ring is slid onto your finger.

It’s a crude imitation of what he truly hopes to give you one day, but at this very point in time, it’s better than any cut of diamond in the world. 

“Mrs. Carlos Sainz,” he says reverently, his gaze flitting to your face to check your reaction.

He finds nothing but your smile, giddy and wide. 

On a day where everything seems to be going wrong, Carlos sets things right. 

The kitchen faucet breaks. He watches a fifteen-minute YouTube video and declares he is now an expert plumber. He succeeds in getting the faucet back into shape, but not without flooding the floor in the process.

You order takeout for lunch; they neglect your special instructions on the pizza. Carlos issues them a strongly-worded review before painstakingly picking out the olives you dislike so much, setting them as far away from you as possible.

Even the shower is not spared by your supposed bad luck. There’s some issue with the apartment’s storage tanks. Carlos lets you bitch and moan, and then, again— that self-assured, reassuring commitment of I’ll fix it. 

You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, can hear the water sloshing in the tub as he tries to get it to the temperature you want. He rightfully assumes you’re still stewing in your misfortune, so he pitches his voice just loud enough for you to hear him singing offkey. 

“I know it's bad when we look out, but bad, bad people, they don’t live in our house,” he belts. “So, I'm gonna get right for you honey! Take all of my medicine, spend you all my money, yeah!”

It chips right through your foul mood. 

By the time you’re getting into the tub with Carlos— the water exactly how you like it— there is no doubt in your mind that this is the person you want to spend all of your days with. The good, the bad. All of it. 

Nothing matters after that. 

Not the dinner plans that have to be canceled due to some double booking by the restaurant. Not the load shedding that plunges your apartment into darkness. Not the stickiness of your sweat as the two of you crawl into bed for an early night. 

The sheets are abandoned, but cuddling is non-negotiable. Despite the heat, he pulls you to him until your foreheads are pressed against each other. 

The conditions are arguably less than ideal.

But if you spend your whole life waiting for the perfect moment, then that will be all it is. Your whole life, waiting.

Your voice is small but certain.

“Let’s get married.” 

Carlos, half-awake, hums a hushed, questioning “hm?”  

“Let’s get married,” you repeat, your breath warm over his face. “I want to marry you, Carlos Sainz.” 

He tilts forward just so, his eyelashes fluttering over yours. When he kisses you, it’s unhurried. Like he knows he’s going to have a hundred more kisses like this— at the altar, in your old age, on your wedding anniversary decades down the line. 

When he pulls away, he murmurs his next words against your mouth. “I heard you the first time,” he rasps. “I just wanted to hear it again.” 

You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh, feeling an entire lifetime worth of love swell in your very being. You can barely make out his face in the darkness, but you like to think he’s smiling. 

“But I want to be the one who asks,” he says once you’ve settled down. 

“Ask, then.” 

“How impatient, corazón. I should make you wait.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

“No,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t.” 

A beat.

“The ring is in the bedside table,” he reveals, and your heart lurches in your chest. “Underneath my underwear.” 

“Really?” 

“I could get it right now.” 

“No.” Your arms tighten around Carlos. You’re not having second thoughts; you want that much to be clear. You just don’t want any distance between the two of you. 

Not now. Not ever. 

“Just ask,” you tell him gently. “We can do everything else later. Just— just ask. One more time. One last time.” 

There’s a moment of silence. It stretches, long and suspenseful, and you know it’s Carlos’ way of finding the courage he needs. “Okay,” he says, the word exhaled. “Okay.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

[jimxnslight]

All This Time? || JJK

Summary: Another day, another boyfriend caught cheating. You’re hardly surprised, but before you can even process another one of many betrayals, your best friend Jungkook offers a solution: a blind date. The twist? The guy Jungkook has in mind might not be a stranger at all. 

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: f2l, fluff, a bit of angst

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I dare you to take a shot everytime Jungkook manhandles Y/N 💀 but anyways, when I tell you these two are so cute, had me giggling and kicking my feet while I was writing them lowkey 😭 I will be writing the “blind” date, so this will have a second part!

Part 1 || Part 2

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Jungkook wait-! Oh my god, put those keys down right now!”

“No.”

“Jungkook!”

“No.”

You groaned, eyes rolling so far back into your head you might all well have passed out right then and there. Currently, your arms were wrapped around Jungkook’s inked bicep, trying to pry the car keys from his fingers with all the strength you possessed, but you might as well have picked a fight with Godzilla himself. In fact, with how easily Jungkook was putting his shoes on while fending you off, you might as well have not been there at all. 

That realisation made you let go of his arm with a huff, the glare you sent him also doing nothing to stop the man from tightening the laces of his shoes. The moment he stood, you scrambled to place yourself in front of his main door, crossing your arms as Jungkook walked over to you with an unimpressed look - as if you were being the immature one here. 

“Y/N, move.”

“No,” you countered, happy to throw the word back in his face. 

“Y/N-”

“No! You’ll go to jail and then I’ll have to take Bam in and he’ll crap on everything I own!”

Jungkook’s jaw instantly dropped in offense, “it was one time.”

“Oh please, I saw the way he was looking at my tulips the last time he was at my place,” you threw a critical eye towards the hallway, knowing very well that Bam was probably lurking somewhere behind those cream-coloured walls, “that dog is just waiting to strike, I know it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” your hands dropped to your hips as you shifted your gaze back to the black-haired man before you, already clad in a navy and beige tracksuit, “you’re just going to- what? Beat the hell out of a man and expect to get away scot-free?”

“That sorry excuse of a man needs to be taught a lesson on loyalty, and I have no problem giving him one. Now move.”

“No.”

A frustrated breath escaped Jungkook’s lips as he stared down at your stubborn form, a muscle in his jaw flexing in the process. He looked annoyed, clearly irritated by the fact that you were preventing him from making good on his earlier threat. You knew you shouldn’t have found it amusing - maybe even a little attractive - but still, his furrowed brows and displeased lips did nothing to stifle your triumphant smile.

Jungkook’s gaze narrowed at your smug grin, something shifting in his eyes as he scanned you. For a moment, you genuinely believed he was going to let it go and return to the video game the two of were playing before all hell broke loose. You almost began to celebrate preventing a life full of Bam's poop in your apartment. 

But you should have known you weren’t the only stubborn person in this room. 

Jungkook stepped forward, earning him a suspicious look, but before you could ask what he was doing, he suddenly wrapped an arm around your legs and pulled. 

“Oh my god-!” You gasped, lurching forward as you were abruptly hoisted onto his shoulder, as though you were nothing but a sack of potatoes. Your hands instantly grabbed onto the back of his jacket, not realising just how tall Jungkook really was until that moment. 

“Are you insane-?! Put me down!”

“No,” he said, and you could practically see the smug look that must’ve been gracing his lips then. 

“Jeon Jungkook, put me down right now!” You practically screeched, your grip on his jacket tightening desperately when he began walking towards his living room - with you still on his shoulder. If you weren’t so scared of falling on your face you might've died of embarrassment. 

“Bad, Jungkook! Stay! Or sit, or whatever- just put me down!”

He snorted, “I’m not a dog.”.

You groaned, letting your forehead smack against his back. You had to ignore the feel of his muscles flexing after each step, “you’re right, Bam would’ve actually listened.”

As if summoned by his name, Bam suddenly bounded into the living room with a happy bark, his dark and light brown fur gleaming underneath the light of Jungkook’s lamps. He was jumping up and down excitedly, as if the sight of you thrown over Jungkook’s shoulder was the most marvelous thing to witness. 

That made you huff. “Just look at him. I bet he’s excited because he thinks you’ll finally let him eat me.”

“Leave him alone, you’ve hated that dog since day one.”

Bam’s bark reverberated around the room, causing your gaze to snap to him, but it narrowed when you noticed him now sitting patiently on his hind legs, head tilted in your direction. His gaze was laser focused, boring into you so much that your lips parted to ask Jungkook why he was acting so weird.

But before you could, Bam suddenly lunged towards you, making you shriek. 

“Bam, sit,” Jungkook ordered instantly, his voice straining as he fought the laugh threatening to escape his throat. You shot daggers at the dog now obediently sitting back, face innocent as ever. 

Stupid dog. And his even stupider dad. 

Another shriek almost escaped your lips when Jungkook suddenly dropped you from his shoulder, your back landing on the soft cushion of his couch. With how tightly you’d been clutching his jacket, it was a miracle you hadn’t ripped it off him as you fell.

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest as he towered over your seated form. 

“Alright, I’ve humoured you for long enough, but no more. What is going on with you, Y/N?”

“Me?” You scoffed incredulously, “your dog just tried to kill me and you’re-”

“Not that,” he cut you off with a shake of his head, “you just found out your boyfriend cheated on you and you don’t seem to care at all.”

You froze, the sudden change in topic catching you off guard. You didn’t expect him to bring it up so bluntly - or rather bring it up at all. Jungkook had made it clear that he hated your boyfriend since day one, so you had honestly expected him to breeze past this development in relief. 

You pursed your lips, racking your brain for a reasonable excuse that would satisfy him. 

“We were only together for like half a year, it’s not like I’m going to fall apart over a guy I barely even dated.”

“I don’t want you falling apart over any guy, especially that trash bag,” he said instantly, “it’s just… when you found out Saejin cheated on you all those years ago I had to practically beg you not to key his car.”

“Funny how the tables have turned…” You muttered, but Jungkook just gave you an unimpressed look. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, unsure of how to change the subject to something a bit more lighthearted, and a bit less embarrassing. But the logical part of you knew that once Jungkook was stuck on something, it was nearly impossible to deter him. And he seemed very stuck on this topic right now. 

Your hesitance caused the silence to stretch until Jungkook’s doe eyes suddenly widened, the realisation dawning on him.

“Oh my god, you already knew didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know know,” you countered immediately, “I just… had a feeling.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “How long?”

“You know, I think it’s getting late maybe I should-”

“How long?”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze, “a month or two? Or… four.”

“Four months?” Jungkook repeated incredulously.

“Like I said it was just a feeling,” you opposed, feeling the need to defend yourself, “I didn’t actually find out until yesterday when I found the girl’s bra in his car.”

“I don’t understand, if you suspected that Jaehyun was cheating on you then why didn’t you confront him? Or even just figure it out on your own? You know I would’ve helped you out.”

The Y/N Jungkook knew would’ve confronted him the second you had any inkling of a doubt; the fact that you hadn’t was making him nervous. He prayed that the guess he had in his mind was wrong, because the thought of you going through something like that all these months alone was a nightmare come to life. 

“I just thought I was being paranoid.”

“You’ve never been an unreasonable person, if you suspected something it had to be for a reason. So, why would you think that?”

Your fingers began to fidget with each other as your gaze continued to stay fixed on your lap, the embarrassment of it all making you feel small. But the moment Jungkook noticed the shift in your demeanor, he sank into the cushion next to you, an arm ghosting over your back as it found purchase on the sofa behind you. 

And then, as though also detecting the change in mood, Bam suddenly jumped up from his stationary position and scurried over to you both. A melancholy noise sounded from the back of his throat before he plopped his head onto your lap, big puppy eyes staring up at you curiously. 

“Come on, you know you can tell me anything,” he assured, the softness in his voice making your head spin, “there’s nothing you could say that would stop me from being here for you, I promise.”

“Cringe,” you mumbled mindlessly, masking the sound of your suddenly rapid heartbeat.

“Y/N…”

“I know, I know,” you said, your voice unintentionally matching his softness. Your hand moved to brush over Bam’s sleek fur in defeat, earning you a pleased woof, “I wanted to prove a point.”

Jungkook’s head tilted in question, eyes following the movement of your hand. 

“Do you remember that Christmas dinner my mom held last year, the one where Hyunjin dumped me during dessert?”

“Bit difficult to forget. It took everything in me not to break his nose.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Well, after everyone went home my mom and I were cleaning up, and she started joking around about how I couldn’t keep a boyfriend for longer than a year. I know she was just trying to cheer me up, and she probably didn’t mean it that way, but it got me wondering… why is it that I just can’t seem to stay in a long term relationship?”

You swallowed hesitantly, the words that had been plaguing your mind for months finally finding an outlet, “I wondered if maybe I was the problem, that maybe my expectations were too high or I was too paranoid as a girlfriend or something. So when I got with Jaehyun I decided to be a bit more… laid back, you know? Like letting a few things go and all.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he absorbed your words, his jaw tightening in frustration. “Let a few things go?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief, “Y/N, you let him cheat on you for four months.”

“Okay, obviously when you put it like that, it sounds bad-”

“Because it is bad. Letting things go doesn’t mean ignoring red flags the size of Bam. What were you thinking?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, “I was thinking maybe I was too demanding before. That if I just relaxed, maybe I could finally have something that lasted.”

Jungkook shook his head, unimpressed, but his voice was still soft when he spoke, “lasted? Y/N, do you want a relationship that lasts, or one that actually makes you happy? Because those aren’t always the same thing.”

“Then what is it, Jungkook?” You threw your hands up, catching the way your voice cracked in frustration, unintentionally revealing just how heavy this topic had been weighing down on you recently, “what is it about me that’s so hard to love?”

“Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” he shot back, making something in your chest flutter, but then he seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat quickly, “I mean, there’s no way you’re blaming yourself for how those relationships went down. Come on, Y/N, every one of those guys was a moron and a half.” 

Your laugh lacked any humour, “yeah? Then what does that say about me? I’m the one who keeps picking them.”

A look passed through his eyes, something firm but tender. There was something else too, a look you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“It says that you see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it,” he said, gaze unwavering, as though he wanted to make sure you understood every word that dropped from his lips. “It says you give chances when others wouldn’t. That’s not a bad thing, Y/N.”

“It sure as hell feels like it,” you scoffed, looking down at your hands. Bam’s nose nudged against your fingers.

Jungkook’s gaze softened. He shifted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours in the process, “look, I get it. You wanted to prove you could make something work. But settling for less than you deserve just to keep a relationship going? That’s not proving anything. That’s just punishing yourself.”

You hated how easily he cut through your defenses, how he always seemed to see right through you no matter how well you thought you were hiding it. But then again, you’ve been best friends for years, it shouldn't have surprised you at this point. 

You swallowed, your throat feeling dry, “yeah, well… it’s not like it matters anymore anyway.”

Jungkook studied you for a long moment, the close proximity making the action stand out way more than it should have, but just when you were about to find an excuse to put some much-needed distance between you, he suddenly stood.

You blinked, “where are you going?”

“To beat the hell out of Jaehyun.”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, grabbing his wrist, “Jungkook, no!”

“Jungkook, yes.” 

You groaned, your hold on his wrist tightening. Truth be told, you actually had no clue just how serious he was being. On one hand, there was a possibility that he was joking, but, considering how much he’s held back all these years despite hating every single one of your boyfriends, there may be some real pent up frustration he was finally ready to let go of. 

“Please sit back down,” you whined, tugging at his arm uselessly. He barely budged, the hours he spent in the gym clearly trumping the couple minutes you spent on the treadmill three months ago. Instead, the edge of his lips twitched in amusement as he watched your sad attempts at getting him back on the couch. 

But then, without a warning, he tugged against your grip, pulling you off the couch with ease. 

You stumbled forward, colliding right into his chest, and before you knew it Jungkook’s arms had circled around your form. Your breath stalled for a second, the action catching you completely by surprise, but then you found yourself slowly easing into it, your own arms hesitantly wrapping around his torso. 

“Please don’t ever doubt yourself like that again, okay?” He murmured against your hair as his hand raised to caress your back soothingly, “your confidence is the best thing about you, and no one should be able to take that away, especially that loser.“

There was something so intimate about this moment that you couldn’t help but nod shyly into his chest, your voice failing you. 

Ironic. 

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you could hear his heart beating rapidly against his ribs. Though the logical part of you knew you were probably just mistaking your own heartbeat for his. You’ve known Jungkook for years, but being this close to him seemed to be making your body malfunction in ways you thought it never could. 

Jungkook wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger absentmindedly as he spoke.

“Things are going to be better next time, I promise.”

“There’s no need,” you snorted, inwardly finding his promise kind of sweet, “I’m swearing off dating for the rest of my life. I’m starting to think it’s just not for me-”

“No!”

You paused, pulling back to look up at him with wide eyes. His expression was a reflection of your own, as though he himself was surprised by his reaction. There was a silent pause, long enough for Bam to tilt his head in question at the suddenly odd atmosphere, before you spoke slowly.

“No?”

He cleared his throat with a nervous chuckle, black strands of hair falling against his forehead as his gaze strayed from your own, “I- um… I meant that you shouldn’t just give up, you know? I’m sure there’s someone out there and all.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like I’ve got anyone in mind, and I don’t believe in dating apps.”

“What if…” Jungkook hesitated, mind racing as he grasped at some reason, any reason, for you not to give up just yet. There was an idea already forming in the back of his mind, one he couldn’t believe he was actually considering, but he couldn’t stop the words when they suddenly began to tumble from his lips. 

“What if I set you up with someone?”

“You?” This time you pulled away from him entirely, eyes wide as you searched his hesitant face. You would have thought he was joking if it weren’t for how serious his tone seemed. But it was so ridiculous. Jungkook setting you up with someone? You’ve only met a few of his friends: Namjoon, Taehyung, and you think Jin…? Did Jungkook have any of them in mind?

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck, “I might know someone that would be a good fit…”

“Oh? You been holding out on me, Jeon?”

He shrugged, gaze still traveling everywhere but in your direction, “something like that.”

“Do I at least get a name?”

“No.”

Your brows furrowed, “Jungkook, I swear if it’s some weirdo you play games with online-”

Jungkook laughed softly, his bunny-like grin gleaming, “no one online, I know him very well actually.”

“Then who?” You pushed, “is it an old friend or-”

“Are you in or not?” He interrupted with a raised brow. On the inside he was nervous out of his mind, the opportunity he’d been waiting forever for finally presenting itself. But then he noticed your hesitance and his voice softened. 

“Just trust me, okay? I wouldn’t set you up with just anyone.”

Well… you did trust Jungkook… with your life actually. And besides, there was no way you were going to pass up on a chance to see who Jungkook thought would be a good fit for you. Was it someone studious and quiet? Extroverted and wild? 

“Okay fine,” you finally gave in, curiosity getting the best of you, “but only on one condition.”

Jungkook straightened up, his nervousness multiplying tenfold. 

“No, killing Jaehyun.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the sofa dramatically.

“You’re too mean.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“I’m the dramatic one?” Jungkook’s brow raised, “you stayed with a cheater for 6 months because of some stupid Christmas party comment. That’s dramatic.”

“You’re a dead man, Jeon Jungkook.” 

You grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at his head, an action he of course blocked easily with a laugh. You tried to throw another at him, but he grabbed your wrist and tugged, causing the pillow to drop from your hand and accidentally land on Bam. The doberman barked in annoyance, shaking his head as if he were disappointed by the childish theatrics before him. 

“Okay okay, I’m sorry,” Jungkook laughed, fending off your pillows until he grabbed your other wrist, causing both your hands to stall momentarily. Your own laugh escaped your lips as you pushed forward, shoving both pillows into his face. 

“God, aren’t you feisty today?” He managed to say between the pillows before sitting forward and wrapping an arm around your waist. You yelped when he pulled you back onto the couch beside him, the distraction causing you to drop the pillows onto the floor. Jungkook grinned at your defeated form.

“You done?” 

You turned to shoot back a reply, but paused when you caught sight of him. His practically black hair was ruffled into a mess, framing the dips of his face, while his chest rose and fell slightly quicker than earlier. You watched as he pushed himself forward a bit as he began to unzip his navy and beige jacket, shrugging it off only a moment later. Underneath was a short sleeve black t-shirt that revealed his toned figure and biceps. 

Just like that the comeback died on the tip of your tongue. 

“You’re the last person to talk. You’re dating history is a nightmare,” you muttered instead, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I’ve only had one girlfriend in the past few years.”

You snorted, watching as Bam made his way next to Jungkook’s seated form, “yeah, and that girlfriend was worse than all my boyfriends combined.”

Jungkook scrunched his nose in a grimace as the bitter memories resurfaced, “okay, I admit that choice wasn’t my best. But there’s no way she was worse than your boyfriends.”

“Jungkook, come on… She put strawberries in my food during the summer party last year so that I would leave early - and I don’t even know what I did for her to do that. She was insane.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he recalled that scary moment, remembering how she’d dropped small bits of strawberry into your food when you weren’t looking, knowing you were allergic to them. Thankfully, your allergy wasn’t so severe, so the most you’d gotten were hives and a bad cough, but Jungkook had been terrified. He’d driven you to the hospital immediately, even though you’d insisted you would be fine. And then when everything had come to light a few days later, he’d been furious, breaking up with her on the spot. 

“My bad, I tend to repress most memories of her,” he muttered, “you’re right, she was a nightmare.”

He sighed, trying to rid his mind of that woman. It automatically fell back on your condition, which made him groan.

 “Fine, I won’t kill Jaehyun.”

You smiled in satisfaction, “thank yo-”

“Although, I’m not responsible if he accidentally trips and falls onto my fist.”

“Jungkook!”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, trying to stifle his amusement, “no violence.”

You narrowed your eyes in his direction, making him raise his hand in surrender. 

With Jungkook finally subdued, the atmosphere was allowed to settle into a comfortable silence, nothing but the sounds of nightlife - you hadn’t even realised it had gotten so late - bustling four floors below. The two of you watched Bam make his way between you before jumping onto the couch. You remembered when he was just a small puppy, so small that you could’ve scooped him up with one hand. Now he was much bigger, his body barely fitting in the space between you and Jungkook as he settled into the cushion, this time resting his head on Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook’s hand scratched softly behind his ears, the action so warm you felt it in your chest. 

“So, where exactly will this mystery date take place?” You asked, eyes still trained on the adorable moment before you.

Jungkook shrugged, the grin on his face answer enough, “you’ll find out then.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so impatient.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting to the side as you brought your legs to your chest. You rested your head against the back of the sofa, watching Bam - and maybe his dad too - fondly. The exhaustion from your day was slowly starting to get to you. 

“You know, for how much of a devil Bam usually is, he’s actually being such a good boy right now.”

Jungkook made a noise of mock offense. “Wow. So he’s a good boy, but I’m the annoying one?”

“You literally tried to commit a felony like ten minutes ago.”

He scoffed, tilting his head as if considering. “Felony is a strong word.”

“You were going to break a man’s jaw.”

Jungkook shrugged. “Okay, misdemeanor, then.”

You reached over to smack his arm lightly, and he chuckled, rubbing the spot dramatically as if you’d actually hurt him. The moment stretched between you, laughter fading once again into something quieter, something warmer. You didn’t know why your heart suddenly felt heavier in your chest, why the way Jungkook was looking at you made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with something you couldn’t name.

Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Anyway, don’t worry about the setup. I promise, he’s a great guy.”

You nodded, but the uneasy feeling in your stomach didn’t fade. There was something about this whole thing that felt…off. You just couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Alright,” you said, shaking off the feeling. “But if this goes horribly wrong, I get to pick your next date.”

Jungkook’s smirk faltered for just a second before he recovered. “Yeah, sure. We’ll see.”

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden hesitance but let it slide. For now.

Something told you this was going to be interesting.

[81pastrys]

i'm so obsessed with the song 'freak' by doja cat lately and i've been thinking about if you write a story about it with max verstappen or oscar piastri 🙏

Freaky Secrets

Summary— After the 4th championship in a row, she shows him a side he’s never seen and they can’t rid of the high.

Warnings— smut ; car sex ; lingerie ; sub!Max for a bit ; dom!Max ; ties

A/N— oh I had fun writing this for sure

Despite all the rumors, Max was quite vanilla in bed. I knew this, he knew this. He didn’t care, it was still mind blowing sex. For his 4th championship I couldn’t hold back.

I bought lingerie for the night and brought it to every race that he could’ve won, Las Vegas was not where I had planned to be wearing it but here we were. Walking the strip that was once a race track, looking for a club.

I sat on his lap in a round booth with a few other drivers. Max rested his hand on my thigh and my breath hitched. He knew I was going to congratulate him in private. He ran his hand up my dress and felt the Lacey material.

“What’s this schatje?” The nickname causing butterflies to form. He felt it more intricately and noticed it wasn’t just panties and a bra, but a full bodysuit.

“You’ll see.” I tease with a kiss to his cheek. That about disoriented him for a minute. Lando called his name and they went on the dance floor. Once he came back we were leaving. “So soon?” I ask.

“I’m in need of a congrats from you.” He whispered as we drive to the hotel not far off. We got to the room and he kissed me. Delicately like always. I pull back and lead him to the bed.

“Sit down champion.” I say seductively and his cheeks flush. I take off the silky dress I had partied in and he saw the lingerie in whole. “Like what you see?” I ask as he stares.

“Y-yeah.” He stutters. I start feeling up his body and taking off his clothes. His dick standing at attention. I smirk at him and he throws his head back on the bed.

“We’re going to try something new tonight, is that okay?” I ask. He picks his head up and looks at my eyes. I didn’t leave much room for argument.

“Like what?” Always full of questions. I shrug my shoulders in response and he lies back down. “Okay.” He sighs.

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to Max.” I reassure him. I rub his thigh and he sits up to look down at me on my knees in between his legs. He holds my chin and kisses me.

“I’ll try anything new with you.” He stays sitting up and I stand up to kiss him. I crawl on top of him as we make out. I grab his hard cock and give it a few experimental strokes. He groans into my mouth and I smile. I grind on him with the lace done at the bottom.

“I’m going to be in charge.” I inform him. I grind on him, my arousal coating him. I leave the bed and open my suitcase to find silk ties that match the color of my lingerie.

“You’re going to use those for yourself right?” He asked. I shake my head no. He moves to the center of the bed and complies when I start tying his hands, licking my nipples as I lean over him. I moan and falter in my movements. “You’re a little freak you know that?” He smiled.

I giggle and finish tying his hands. “I can be your little freak, daddy.” I tease. His dick twitched at the nickname. “Maybe next time I can be tied up.” I whisper in his ear. I continue my grinding and he bucks his hips up.

“Fuck, you’re insane schatje.” He groaned. I kneel in between his legs and take off my jewelry, placing it neatly on the bedside. My arousal was enough for me to stroke him.

I lick the underside vein of his cock and he pulls the restraints. I finally take him in my mouth and suck, the way I know he likes. I take him all the way, gagging slightly but he groans. Once he was close and giving me telltale signs of an orgasm, I pulled off. Lazily stroking him. “Not yet.”

We’ve never had sex without a condom, too afraid of a pregnancy scare. With birth control and how cautious we are already, I decided one night won’t kill us. He doesn’t know that. I bring myself back up to him and kiss him. “Please fuck me.” He said breathlessly.

“Already begging for it?” I tease. I run his tip through my folds and he bites his bottom lip in anticipation. “Just for tonight, I waive the condom.” I say and kiss him.

“Fuck, please fuck me raw.” There’s the begging again. I line him up with me and slowly sink down, the pleasure overwhelming. Something we both haven’t experienced. “Fuck you’re so tight.” He groaned throwing his head against the pillows.

I took a minute to get used to his size and the feeling of him raw. I started slow, like we usually do. “How many times should we cum tonight?” I ask him slowly bouncing and grinding in his cock.

“4 fuck- 4 championships.” He groaned. I smirk at him and speed up my movements. I brought him close and he couldn’t even warn me before bucking his hips making me squeal. I kept him deep inside, feeling his warm cum filling me.

“Oh my god..” I moan out at the feeling. I take a minute. “That’s addicting.” I breathe out. We calm down and untie him. “I need you to fuck me, that was-fuck.” My mind couldn’t comprehend how good it felt.

He flipped us and took no time in matching my rhythm of rough. He hit all the right spots and made me see stars. “Who’s making you feel this way? Hm?” He asked. He’s never done dirty talk, but fuck it’s something.

“You.” I whine. That wasn’t enough, he gave me a harsh thrust and I screamed. “Max! Fuck!” He smirked and kept thrusting hard. I couldn’t warn him of my orgasm either as it came through harder than ever.

“You want me to fill you up again?” He whispered, still thrusting enough to let me ride out my high. “Make a mess for you to clean up?” I groan and he fills me again. This time it was much more euphoric.

“Fuck! Oh my god Max yes please.” He laid on my chest as we calmed down again. We finished the night after sharing 4 orgasms each.

That wasn’t the last time Max and I decided to be freaky, no. One night we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. My skirt riding up throughout the night, him pulling it down. We played a risky game of car sex, but it was raining so no one could tell we were the ones fogging up the Range Rover windows.

“Fuck!” I moan on his lap in the backseat. He held my hips and bounced me up and down on his cock. I had teased him and since we opened the rough sex part of our lives, we barely had vanilla sex. “I knew I never liked it simple.” I moan and kiss him hard.

“Yeah? You just never told me you could be a little freak.” His words sent me over the edge. “Used to be my innocent little good girl. Now look at you.” He spilled his load inside me and I moaned louder, throwing my head back. “Doing such bad things to me.” He slowly bounced me as we rode out the high and panted.

“I was never an innocent good girl Max, I just hadn’t had the balls to tell you how dirty I wanted it.” I admit in the Range Rover we had rented for the event.

The last bit was mainly for the song, but I tried to keep it up with the song SO

[joonjuul]

hii, are u comfortable with writing teacher x student trope?

chalk dust. jjk

pairing: professor!jk x delinquent!reader

wc: 6.2k

warnings: englishteacher!jk, softdom!jk, strict!jk, badgirl!reader, obsessive!reader, reader is a crazy tease but goes soft for jk, reader is of age, dorm sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), head pushing, light fingering (f receiving), pet names, creampie, this is absolute filth

a/n: tysm anon for requesting !! not only am i comfortable, but i lowkey love this trope and can feel a series blossoming… chalk dust jk™ has a nice ring to it no?

╋━

professor jeon was a poised man.  he was intricate, careful, took pride in his control and restraint.  he was a man who showed no weakness — and you were a girl who had nothing to lose.

it was your first semester at your new college prior to transferring, due to let’s say… academic differences.  you were never the perfect student, far from it.  you skipped class, kicked cigarette butts out your dormitory window, and scrawled half-assed answers on nearly all your assignments.  all but your english assignments at least.  

english was always different to you though, more specifically; poetry.  you didn’t always try, but the moment your pen hit the paper, you found yourself peeling open like an onion, exposing sides to yourself you never even knew were there.  and the topics that fell from your ink were never those that were comfortable for a casual reader — they were deep, intimate, and often times inappropriate for even a college school setting… especially when you wrote about him.

you had never been attracted to a teacher before, so it caught you off guard the way you would purposefully linger after class was over just to breathe in his air a little longer.  but something about him was so compelling to you, especially the thought of making him lose control, break the rules just for once, just long enough for him to take you on his desk and leave ink stains on your skirt.

“what did you think, miss y/l/n?” his words cut you out of your daydream that isn’t entirely innocent as you realize you had been drifting longer than anticipated.  he looked too good today… too good for you to stay focused.

“i’m sorry?” you blink up at him slowly.  you should feel embarrassed that you were caught red handed, anyone else would’ve been, but not you.

“what do you think wilde meant when he wrote, ‘the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.’” his calloused hands with traces of chalk etch the sides of the book as his eyes thin out in front of you.  he was the greatest test of all, a test of how far you could truly go to get something you want.

“are you asking for a literary analysis, sir?” the way you speak isn’t particularly respectful, but it’s laced with something else, something only professor jeon is able to catch on to, as most of the other students in your incredibly small class were paying attention elsewhere.

“that is the expectation, yes.”

“expectation… right.” you huff as you lean back in your chair, your voice coming out in a way that’s confident… too knowing.  “well it’s just an excuse, isn’t it?  wilde isn’t talking about temptation as a fleeting thing, he’s saying that once the thought exists, once you’ve imagined it… you’re already lost.  the real choice left is whether you act on it or let it fester.”

the class is still, no one seeming to notice the change in atmosphere, the subtle weight of your words, except professor jeon.  his jaw tenses slightly as his eyes narrow in your direction, reading between the lines of your words, the distinct way you looked at him while speaking, the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

“that’s quite the interpretation.”

“maybe, but it’s the truth.  wilde knew that resisting something only gives it more power.  because the moment you tell yourself you shouldn’t think about something… it’s already all you can think about.” your head subconsciously cocks to the side as your smirk now turns into a devious smile.  your eyes rake his body language carefully as you admire the way he lets out a slow exhale at your words, his eyes never leaving yours.  he should move on, call on someone else, change the topic at least, but for a fraction of a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“moving on.” he turns away from you, his voice sharp as his attention falls onto the chalk board behind him, outlining a different subject that he deems more pressing than entertaining your obviously suspicious behavior.

but you, your work here is done, as you’ve already planted the seed.  in fact, you had been planting seeds for quite some time now, and the biggest one was going to come to fruition in about 21 minutes.  your eyes flick over to the clock on the wall, the smallest hand ticking painfully slow as you recall the previous night.  your hands fighting for breath as you wrote vigorously in your 3-ring notebook.  you purposely bought a red one so it would easier garner his attention, but what would really catch his eye were the words written throughout the pages.

because see, it wasn’t just a normal red notebook, it was a confession — of boredom, of frustration, of a sharp, all-consuming fascination with him.  your words were far from innocent, phrases and long run-on sentences describing the way he runs a finger over his mouth when he’s thinking, or the way his voice shifts when he’s discussing mature themes.  you wonder, in writing, what it would take to make him snap.  and you’re ready to plant it right where he can see, where his all too curious mind will force him to keep reading, even when he knows it’s wrong.

you feel your breath hitch in your throat as the bell rings abruptly, ripping you from your devious daydream of what only felt like a couple minutes.  you struggle to hide the growing smirk on your face as you hurriedly throw everything in your bag, everything except one simple red notebook, and quickly rush out the door.

normally you’d take your time, enjoy the scenery and take one final smell of the chalk infested air before retreating his classroom for the day, but not this time.  you couldn’t risk premature exposure, everything had to go according to plan, and you had a slight feeling it already was.

professor jeon’s eyes flick across the room before realizing how quickly it had emptied.  normally there were a few stragglers, at least just you, but today there was nothing.

he lets out a long sigh as he turns back to the chalkboard, bringing an eraser up to his already forgotten lecture and wiping it clean, ready for whatever tomorrow may bring.  his mind danced between a new topic within wilde’s book, and something slightly more intense — you.

you were always a question mark in his mind, a level of confusion he never quite knew how to decipher.  you were incredibly smart, and anyone with a brain could see that, but you weren’t nearly as dedicated as you could be.  you didn’t participate in any extracurricular activities that would distract you from your school work, nor did you get involved in any on-campus drama.  yet you were still completely, and purposefully disobedient.  it was almost as if you couldn’t care less about your education, nevermind the topics you always found a way to bring up in class.  it was almost as if you were trying to crawl under his skin, infest his mind with your out of control behavior.  it was nearly intolerable.

he turned away from the board and his eyes quickly fell on a notebook, a red one.  he felt a brow quirk on his face subconsciously and before he knew it he was already taking leaping strides towards your desk.

you always submitted such incredible work.  whether it could be considered inappropriate, or slightly out of range of what you had been discussing in class, it always found a way to linger in his mind, leave him questioning even his own class regimen.

before he was able to decide whether or not reading what could’ve been your personal work was an appropriate thing to do, he was already turning the pages to reveal your most intense inner thoughts.

his eyes widen as he finally realizes — the true extent to all your subtle innuendos, every time your eyes lingered on his longer during class, the way you would let out a gentle exhale of relief as he would call your name… it was all starting to make sense.

and not only that, but they were dated.  they weren’t simple mindless phrases or sexual references sprawled across the paper with no direction.  they were organized, almost like a collection of memories, of fleeting thoughts that you wanted to last longer.

september 14

Maybe he thinks restraint is noble. That if he denies it long enough, it will dissolve into nothing. But that’s the thing about hunger, isn’t it? It doesn’t go away. It just waits.

september 29

I started a new habit today—writing things just for him. Slipping them between the lines of my essays, curling them into the margins of books I know he’ll flip through. I wonder if, when he reads them, he feels it. That sharp, electric jolt of knowing something he shouldn’t.

October 25th

Tonight, I had a thought I shouldn’t have.

I imagined the moment—the exact moment—when he gives in. The silence before it. The way his breath would hitch, the way he’d close his eyes just for a second too long. The way his hands, always so careful, would finally stop hesitating.

he feels his blood thicken as he continues to read, the words rambling through his mind anxiously as if they’d have no ending.  his heart rate quickens, his hands gripping the notebook tighter as he flips through the pages at lightening speed, barely slow enough to properly digest the gravity of your writing — until he lands on the final page.

his mind stutters as he arrives at the final entry, your handwriting much clearer now and he can almost hear your voice speaking it with perfect confidence and dictation.

October 31st

I wasn’t going to write this down. I wasn’t going to let it exist anywhere but inside my head, but I need to let it out.

I want him.  Not in a way I should.

I want him in a way that sits heavy in my chest, in a way that makes it hard to breathe when he’s too close. In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.

And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?

I think I want to find out.

he feels a lump crawl at his throat as his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, meeting your perfect handwriting in a lighter, much smaller format.

If you’re reading this, then I already won.

after a few painfully long moments, he finally lets out the gasp of air he had been holding in the moment his finger tips met the notebook.  and for a second, just a second, he imagines it too — the feeling of losing control.  it’s just enough to scare him into putting your notebook back down, but not enough to shake away the tugging in his loins and the burning in his chest.

he finds himself pacing, more than he’s probably ever done before.  his feet driving him in circles with his hands in his air as he realizes what he’s done, the situation he’s put himself in.  someone who’s normally so controlled, prepared for nearly any situation, is suddenly doubting his lack of weakness.  and for just a moment, he’s afraid.

he needs to put an end to this.

—

you’re unable to hide your smile of premature victory knowing there’s no way he was able to keep his curious paws off your notebook.  your feet confidently carry you through the hallways, your mind littered with thoughts of how he’d try to tell you it’s wrong, try to deny how your words made him feel, maybe he’d even threaten to turn you in, but it was all apart of your plan.

see, confidence is key here.  whether or not he ever had any feelings for you, or any sexual desires towards you didn’t matter, because you had already planted the seeds.  so even if he felt like all your comments were merely innocent flirtations in the past, they gave him brief visions of what could be, maybe even more, and that guilt alone is enough to drive him to think about you further, especially after reading your notebook.

you feel your stomach tense as you approach his door, it wasn’t time for class yet and you knew he had a free period, so you timed your walk across campus to perfectly align so he’d be reminded of your presence again today, even though you knew he couldn’t think of anything else.

your breath hitches momentarily as he emerges from his door, nearly cutting you off in your tracks.  his eyes narrow in on yours as he signals for you to enter his classroom.

you hide your victory smile quickly before following him into his classroom, watching as he approaches his desk, the red notebook sitting perfectly centered between his ungraded papers, almost as if you were his first priority.

the air was thick with tension, and you were loving every second of it.

“close the door.” his voice is rough, almost sleepless but you don’t question it, only following his orders and taking deliberate steps forward until there’s only the desk between you.

“tell me what this is.” he wraps a cold calloused hand around the rings of the notebook, his eyes narrowing in on yours.

“you already know.” his jaw tenses at your words, and his eyes flicker down to the notebook, memories flashing through his mind of your sinful words.

“you think this is a game?”

“isn’t it?” his gaze lands back on yours, sharp, unreadable — but there’s something lying beneath the surface, almost close enough for you to touch.

“you don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“that’s a lie.”

“enough.” he warns, his grip on the notebook tightening.

“why?  are you afraid?” the question lands like a blow.  he inhales sharply, but he doesn’t answer, and that’s all the confirmation you need.  you take a slow step forward, your hands falling onto the desk as you tilt your head down at him.

“you read every word, didn’t you?”

“you crossed a line.” his voice is strained, almost as if he’s holding back.

“did i?  or did i just say what you wouldn’t?” your voice drops down softly, just above a whisper as you’re unable to hide the smirk tugging at your lips, but his expression quickly changes, something in him snaps.  

“this ends now.” his voice is firm as his grip tightens further on the notebook, his other hand pointing directly at you.

“sounds like you’re convincing yourself more than you’re convincing me.” your smirk turns into a smile as you watch his knuckles turn white, his silence deafening as he stares up at you coldly.

you lean off the desk carefully before turning back towards the door, walking away without any permission to leave.  your hand curls around the doorknob as you turn your head to catch his final reaction, one of confusion and a breaking resolve.

“you can keep the notebook, professor jeon.  i’ll just start a new one.” you smile at him before turning away completely, your feet carrying you to your next class in strides instead of steps.

this was going to be easier than you thought.

but for him, it was the most difficult.

his eyes stare at the door, wide and in shock as he feels the heavy air, still full of your presence glide over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its place.

he exhales sharply, his hand releasing the notebook like it’s something filthy, but he doesn’t walk away, he can’t.  his hands move before he can stop them, the notebook falling open and mindlessly flipping to the page he already knows is there — your confession.

“I want him.”

his breath catches in his throat as the words stare back at him, bold and unforgiving.

“Not in a way I should.”

“In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling.”

“Wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.”

“And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?”

“I think I want to find out.”

he quickly slams the notebook shut, his heart drumming restlessly against his chest as his jaw locks so tightly into place that it nearly aches.  he feels something strange brew inside him, the unbearable pull of something he refuses to name.

he should go to the principal, he should call your parents, he should put an end to this.  but instead, he presses his hands against the desk as he leans forward, his breathing unsteady as he allows his eyes to close.  and for one brief, damning second — he imagines it.  the moment you wrote about.  the moment you break.

he sees it too clearly, feels the heat of it curling in his stomach, the inevitability of it tightening within his throat.  but it isn’t disgust that makes his breath hitch, nor guilt that makes his fingers tremble, but the fleeting image in his mind of his hand wrapped gracefully around your throat as you breathlessly moan out his name.

he swears under his breath, low and sharp before shoving the notebook into a drawer and slamming it into the desk.

but it’s too late now, he can’t unread your words, and he can’t stop the temptation now that it’s started.

—

the night was colder than normal, the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window as your eyes mindlessly scan the pages of the book you thought you were once reading.  your mind stutters in its daydream at the sound of a knock at your door.  

you freeze for a moment.  no one comes here this late.

you feel your feet carry you out of bed as you slowly approach the door, the hardwood floors cold against your bare feet as your fingers curl around the doorknob, your mind going blank as you see him there.

his tie is gone, his shirt which is usually pristine is now rumpled like he’s been running his hands through his hair, through the fabric, like he’s spent hours fighting himself before landing here.

and now he’s standing at your door.  soaking wet.

you lean against the doorframe, allowing your head to tilt to the side just enough to tease him.

“you shouldn’t be here, professor jeon.”

he swallows, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

“i know.”

you consider teasing him further, maybe even making him feel a little guilty knowing it’ll only intensify his feelings further, but you decide not to, knowing it’ll only driving him crazier, only stepping back just enough to allow the door to swing open further — an invitation.

his eyes flicker across yours for a moment as he hesitates.  every expression questioning whether or not he should, or if he even dares.  but he finally let’s go, taking a step inside as the door closes behind him, almost like a surrender.

the air is thick, nearly electric as he stands still, something predatory in your gaze as your eyes drag over his wet figure, something about it almost made you feel sorry for him.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” his voice is hoarse as his tongue darts over his lips quickly, his eyes barely meeting yours as he desperately tries to keep his distance.

“i think i do.” you take a step closer.

“no you don’t.” he takes a step back.  “i shouldn’t be here.”

“but you are.” your voice is calm and controlled as you do your best to talk him down from his inner turmoil.

“but you don’t understand this is wrong.  it’s… it’s dangerous.” you watch as he takes another step back from you, his hands tightening by his sides as his knuckles turn white.

“i’m your teacher.  i have responsibilities.  i’m supposed to protect you, not let… this happen.”  his voice cracks as he speaks and you can almost feel a trace of guilt within your chest knowing he really does care about his students.  but you simply couldn’t take it any longer, you were both consenting adults, it shouldn’t matter, and you were determined to show him that.

you take a step forward and slowly bring a hand up to his arm, the feeling of the wet fabric against your fingertips sparks something inside of you, a heat blooming within your stomach.

“let… this happen?” you feel him flinch slightly under your touch, his eyes landing on yours, a warning sign flickering between them.

“y/n, stop.” you hear a tinge of desperation behind his voice despite his warning tone.

you take a step closer to him, a dark smile on your face as your hand draws up his arm, your finger tips set ablaze above his body heat, your stomach twisting at the thought of him finally giving in.

“i said stop.” your shocked at his sudden movement, his hands going up to grab your wrist, holding it in place in a way that’s firm but not rough.  

“i’m not a boy you can tease until i break.  i’m a man, and if i break — i won’t be gentle.” you nearly have to hold yourself up, your knees becoming weak from his words alone.  you take a breath, stabilizing yourself before taking another step closer, your faces merely inches apart as you breathe in his air, his closeness becoming intoxicating, like a high you can’t get enough of.

“i don’t want gentle.” your voice is soft, but his features are furthest from that, his eyes holding every last bit of restraint he has as you watch them darken by the second.

silence closes the gap between your bodies as you watch his control slowly slip away.  every thought, every image that ever crossed his mind, all playing at full speed, and it’s completely overwhelming.

he lets out a slow, shaky exhale.  his eyes shutting carefully, almost like he’s preparing himself, before he tightens his grip on your wrist, the feeling of your pulse quickening under his touch only fueling him further as he pulls you into him, closing the gap between your bodies completely.

“god can you shut that pretty mouth for once?” you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, his demeanor quickly changing at he looks down at you, his eyes half lidded and full of lusted, sinful thoughts.

“what—“

“you wanted me to lose control?  fine.  but don’t say i didn’t warn you.” his voice is deep as it reverberates through your chest, your mouth slowly opening to make a response until he quickly cuts you off with his lips fully encasing yours.

you tense into his mouth, your eyes widening until you’re finally able to melt into his touch.  his hands lowering to your waist to pull you taught against his abdomen, his belt rubbing roughly against your stomach, nearly hard enough to leave marks even through your shirt.

you moan into the kiss, your hands falling to the back of his neck at your fingers quickly find his hair, tugging it in multiple directions as your mouths fight for dominance.

you feel his grip on your waist tighten, his knuckles white as he uses your shirt to pull you closer, his feet frantically walking you backwards as you feel your back collapse against your bed, breaking the kiss just long enough to see his perfectly swollen lips and broad shoulders cradling above you.

“this is what you’ve been begging for, huh?” he shoots you a sly smirk before bringing his body to hover over you completely, his knees settling between yours as he uses them to guide your legs apart.

you subtly swallow a gulp, feeling more intimidated than you originally anticipated.

his smirk deepens at your silence, his head dipping down to your ear carefully as he brings his hands up to the hem of your shirt, his cold fingertips slowly running up the skin of your lower abdomen.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?  thought you could handle it?” you can nearly hear his smile through his voice, his large stature on top of yours making you feel almost completely helpless.

“i can.” you internally curse yourself for sounding so meek, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by professor jeon as a deep, low chuckle emits from his throat and directly into your ear, his hands slowly dragging up further as he begins to lift up your shirt.

“tsk, don’t lie to me baby, you’re already in enough trouble.” his voice is dark and hoarse, his fingers cold from rain as his movements pause just below your breasts, your cheeks heating up softly as you realize you weren’t wearing a bra.

he leans further into the crook of your neck, placing a gentle kiss on your supple skin, your back unconsciously arching into him as you let out a breathless moan.

“is this okay?” his fingers carefully tracing just below your mounds.

you quickly nod, your eyes rolling back as you relish in the feeling of his body against yours.

“words, sweetheart.”

“yes.  this is more than okay.” you say softly, earning a small smile from him as his hands slowly run up your shirt before cupping your breasts fully, his large hands encasing them like they’re his own.

“so perfect.  all for me.” he mutters before diving back into the crook of your neck, his lips dancing along your skin, carefully tracing every patch your body had to offer, the speed and neediness from before being replaced with something more tender and sweet.

you can’t help the moans that leave your mouth as his fingers begin to trace your nipples, examining them with the pads of his fingers as he drags his tongue to the base of your collarbone.

he pulls away from you momentarily to fully lift your shirt off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the cold.

“so beautiful.” his hushed praises go straight to your core, your body responding to his every calculated praise.

he leans down, his face eye level with your chest as he takes each nipple in his mouth one at a time, taking care of them with ease, lapping over the buds and leaving you feeling desperate for more.

you feel worn, your breath quickening as you press your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the heat bubbling within your core, only to quickly be denied by the strength of his knees keeping you pried open for him.

after feeling satisfied with his ministrations, he pulls away, his eyes landing on yours — dark and lustful.

“do you know what you are?” he husks, bringing a hand down to your sides to soothe them gently.

you tilt your head to the side, leaning it against your pillow softly, a small smile creeping onto your face, your eyes hooded, nearly enough to look high.

“what am i?”

“you’re my biggest lesson.”

you quirk a brow at his response, feeling slightly confused and he notices your change in demeanor, his touch becoming slightly more rough as he grips at your sides, pulling you down so your closer to his pelvis.

“i stand in front of that classroom every day, teaching restraint, structure, rules.  but you — you’re pure temptation written between the lines.  you’re like the forbidden fruit.  i should’ve closed the book long ago, but instead, i’m here, crumbling before you.”

his hands grip your sides tighter, his eyes traveling down your body as he speaks, taking a momentary pause to relish in your beauty, everything laid out so perfectly for him.

“you’re the forbidden fruit i can’t put down.  the bad thought i can’t shake from my head.  the red notebook i should’ve never picked up.  and now I want to ruin every page.”

you can almost hear your heart rate increase at his words, every breath more tempting than the last, threatening to leave you laying beneath him for an eternity.

he brings a hand down to the band of your sweatpants, his fingers ducking beneath them just enough to tease you beyond repair.

“let me ruin you.” you nearly let out a moan from his words, only able to respond with the slight shake of a head before he starts undressing you like his favorite book — the cover, the sleeves, tracing each page along the way.

you feel like his muse, a piece of artwork laying beneath him, his eyes scanning you ravenously, taking in every curve and dimple on your body, his hands following suit, you almost didn’t notice when he had undressed as well, too distracted at his hushed praises as he hovers over you on the bed, a hand cupping your hair gently as his eyes gaze into yours.

“i need to hear you say yes, sweetheart.” his voice is a hushed whisper, his hair messily hanging over his forehead as he brings a hand beneath your bodies, his cock nudging at your entrance slowly.

“yes… i want this.” your voice is soft as it fills the air, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he brings a hand up to your mouth, cupping it gently, his head ducking into the crook of your neck.

you close your eyes tightly as he slowly pushes forward, his cock nearly splitting you in two as you let out a sharp gasp into his hand.

“shhh.  good girl.  that’s it.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice knowing you would struggle with his size, but his hushed praises are appreciated nonetheless.

his girth was unexplainable, spreading you apart in ways you never knew were possible.  you certainly weren’t inexperienced, but it somehow didn’t matter.  it felt like an eternity before he bottomed out in you, his hips stalling to give you time to adjust, but you’re nearly shaking when you finally come to, the sound of his breathless panting in your ear bringing you back to reality, his hand slipping away from your mouth and down to your hip.

“jungkook?” you whimper, not even realizing that you’ve never called him by his first name before.

“you feel… heavenly.” he groans, his hips stuttering forward sending shockwaves through your core, a small moan slipping past your lips at the sudden jerk.

“so goddamn tight.” he rolls his hips forward slowly, his cock grinding against your walls with ease.

“ahh — jungkook.  please.” you didn’t mean to beg, but his teasing was making it nearly impossible for you to control yourself.

“fuck, you have to be quiet for me, sweetheart.  can you do that?” he continued to slowly roll his hips forward, your body shuddering with every small movement.  you’re only able to nod at him, gentle whimpers falling past your lips as you bite them tightly in an attempt to stay quiet.

he shoots you a glare, but decides not to tease you too much before he sets in on a quicker pace, his cock driving into you with intensity, but not too fast where you’re fighting for your life.

every stretch of his cock was delicious, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you down to meet his thrusts, occasional groans leaving his mouth and falling into the air as you stifle back desperate screams.

“fuck.  you’re perfect.” he grumbles, his voice low with need as he dives back into the crook of your neck, licking it ravenously and you’re unable to suppress a moan, coming out much louder than you had intended.

jungkook slowly pulls away, his eyes meeting yours with a glare as he quirks a brow at you, watching as your face contorts with both pleasure, and discomfort at his size and the inability to be heard.

“sweet girl, you can be quiet, right?” he smirks, his voice teasing as he brings a hand up to grab yours at the wrist, pinning them above your head gently, as if he thought you would break from any more force.

you whimper again, your voice shaky as you let out a meek, “y-yes.”

he tsks at your response, unbelieving as he dives back down into the crook of your neck, his hips picking up their pace as he places gentle kisses on your skin, a deep contrast to the way he was fucking you now, pinned up like a doll.

“wouldn’t want anyone to catch us now would we?  a cute little girl and her teacher, that wouldn’t blow over well i’m sure.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks in between kisses, trailing them down to your collarbone as your fingers wiggle under his hold.

“n-no.  i’ll be quiet.”

he chuckles lowly, pulling away from you momentarily to appreciate your fucked out state — your forehead slick with sweat, lips puffy and swollen and eyes bloodshot.

“good.  because i have ways to keep you quiet if you’re not sure how.” he drives into you forcefully, a squeal leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion, your stomach feeling like it’s being prodded with every thrust.

he quirks a brow at your noise, his demeanor changing to one slightly stricter as his eyes zero in on yours, almost like a warning.

you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you feel his thrusts quicken once more, the feeling of his cock driving into you was almost too much, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that left you with every movement of his hips.

he lets go of your wrists gently, his hands going down to your hips as he quickly flips you onto your stomach, a loud gasp from you easily being muffled as he places a hand on the back of your head, pressing it deeper into the confines of your pillow.  you let out a moan of relief knowing you can at least make some time of noise now.

his thrusts quicken now, his other hand going under your stomach to angle your ass up for him, giving him the perfect view as he smirks to himself at how easily you respond to him.

“that’s a girl.  feel better?” his cock prods your g-spot with every flick of his hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge till it was nearly unbearable.

you shove your head further into the pillow as you moan loudly, your impending orgasm sneaking up on you quickly with the change of positions, making it nearly impossible for you to respond to him.

he feels the way you’re tightening around him, and he can’t help but throw his head back at the sensation of your walls closing in — it was heavenly.

“f-fuck why are you so tight?” his voice gets huskier with every word, his grip on your side tightening as his thrusts become messy, the feeling of your cunt wrapped so deliciously around him driving him to insanity.

you felt euphoric, teetering on the edge of your orgasm and every stroke of his cock only pushed you closer to the brink, it was almost enough to make you dizzy.

“p-please.” you moan, muffled into your pillow but you can tell he can hear you by the way his hand snakes in between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit with perfect accuracy.

you’re barely able to comprehend what’s happening before you’re sent spiraling over the edge, your legs shaking aggressively as you feel a wave of warmth run over your body.

“holy shit.” jungkook curses as he feels you cream over his cock, your cunt tightening so hard it makes it difficult for him to move, his hips stuttering as he does his best to continue his pace.

you’re a moaning mess, your head shoved deep into the pillow by his hand as you feel his cock continue to plow into you, your mind going blank as your body recovers from your orgasm.

“that’s it, baby.  good girl.  shh, i’m right here.” he mumbles barely understandable praises as he messily drives his dick into you, the tension on your g-spot quickly becoming all you can think about as your pleasure suddenly turns into overstimulation.

you’re writhing, unable to respond properly or tell him it’s too much due to his hold on the back of your head, your legs trembling harshly as you feel his hand settle back on your hip, his fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises.

“so perfect, fuck.” he breathes out before bottoming out into you, his cock twitching as he spills his seed deep into your cunt, your walls drinking up every last ounce he has to offer, not letting even a drop go to waste.

he lets out a deep moan, his head collapsing against your chest, his breathing unsteady as he rolls into you one last time, your walls milking him for every thing he has left to give.

you bring a hand up to the back of his head, the feeling of his hair between your fingers as you settle into his locks soothing you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

he slowly pulls away from you, your eyes meeting as he smiles at you softly, a hand going down to your hair as he tucks a strand behind your ear peacefully.

“you’re a lot to handle, you know that right?” he chuckles looking down at you.

“i think you did a pretty good job.” 

he smiles softly, “now i just have to learn how to handle you in class.”

[alaia777]

hi!!

do you know that tiktok sound where it’s like “give me a hug i need this” ?😭😭i was wondering if you could do that w the bllk boys. where reader is js being clingy and they are soo over it

RIN —

rin was sitting on the edge of the couch, as far away from you as possible. you’d been breathing down his neck all day, following him everywhere—even to the bathroom—begging him to let you hold his hand while he did his business. it was the first day in weeks that you both had off, and you were determined to make the most of it.

“you know what would really help me right now?” you said, tilting your head dramatically.

silence.

he didn’t even acknowledge you, staring straight ahead like if he just stayed still enough, you’d lose interest and leave him alone.

undeterred, you scooted closer, a teasing lilt in your voice. “if you were wondering, the answer is a hug.”

as soon as the words left your mouth, you reached for him, arms outstretched, but rin was quicker. he shifted away, pressing himself against the armrest like it would somehow swallow him whole.

“absolutely not,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he shot you a wary glance.

but you weren’t giving up that easily. with a grin, you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his waist before he could escape. he let out a sharp exhale, stiffening under your touch.

“just one,” you bargained, squeezing him tighter. “you act like i’m asking for a kidney.”

rin sighed, his muscles slowly relaxing, though you could still feel the reluctance radiating off of him. “feels like it,” he grumbled, but he made no effort to pull away.

BAROU —

barou was trying to clean the kitchen when you burst in out of nowhere, phone in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, leaning against the counter like you had all the time in the world. he was wiping down the stove, scrubbing at a spot like it personally offended him, his movements sharp and precise.

“you missed a spot,” you pointed out, taking a loud bite of your chips.

he shot you a glare, jaw clenching. “if you’re not gonna help, get out.”

you grinned, unfazed. “i am helping. moral support.”

you watched him for a moment before pushing off the counter, stepping closer with your arms wide open. “okay, break time. give me a hug.”

barou didn’t even look up, just shifted away slightly like he already knew what was coming. “no.”

“why not?” you frowned, taking another step toward him.

he finally glanced at you, eyes narrowing at the chip bag in your hand. “your fingers are greasy.”

“so?”

“so, i’m not letting you touch me with those disgusting hands.”

you gasped, dramatically pressing a hand to your chest. “disgusting? barou, that’s harsh.”

he rolled his eyes, turning back to what he was doing. big mistake. the second he looked away, you moved fast, arms reaching out to grab him.

“don’t even think about—”

too late. you wrapped yourself around him, laughing as he groaned in frustration. he immediately tried to pry you off, hands gripping your wrists as he attempted to push you away without actually shoving you.

“get off me—”

“just accept my love, king.” you teased, holding on tighter.

he sighed, shifting his weight in an attempt to shake you off. “you’re getting grease on me—”

“then you should’ve just hugged me from the start.”

he exhaled sharply, standing still for a second. then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and expertly spun you around, trapping your arms behind you.

“now what?” he muttered, voice low as he held you firmly in place.

you huffed, twisting in his hold but getting nowhere. “this is cheating.”

“this is self-defense.”

you glared at him over your shoulder, but instead of backing down, he smirked. “go wash your hands. then maybe i’ll think about it.”

reluctantly, you relented, but as you pulled away, you muttered, “you just wanted an excuse to hold my hands.”

barou scoffed, but the way he turned away just a little too quickly told you everything you needed to know.

NAGI —

nagi was hiding in the bathtub right now, waiting for the inevitable. you were supposed to be back any minute, and if history had taught him anything, it was that you’d come straight for him the moment you walked through the door.

not because you couldn’t survive a few hours without him—your life didn’t revolve around him or anything—but because after spending time out and about, socializing and dealing with the world, you liked to come home and recharge with the one thing that brought you comfort: clinging to him like a koala.

and nagi, despite how lazy he was, had long since learned that once you got a hold of him, there was no escape. he didn’t really mind, not when it was you, but he just wanted to finish his level first—because the second you found him, his phone was getting tossed aside, and he was spending the rest of the night being used as your personal pillow.

“nagi, i hope the reason why you’re in the bathroom with the lights off is because you’re saving the planet and not because you’re hiding from me,” you said, peeking inside.

he stayed completely still, like if he didn’t react, maybe you’d just leave. wishful thinking.

you sighed, stepping inside and climbing straight into the bathtub with him, ignoring the way he groaned in defeat. settling against his side, you rested your head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“seriously?” he muttered, shifting slightly but making no real effort to push you away.

“yep,” you replied, getting more comfortable. “this is your fault for trying to hide.”

he exhaled heavily but didn’t argue, already knowing resistance was useless. his game would have to wait—because now, trapped under your warmth, with your fingers lazily tracing shapes on his side, he realized he didn’t actually mind at all.

SHIDOU —

in your relationship, shidou had always been the clingy one—always finding ways to stay close, like he was trying to fuse himself to you. you, on the other hand, were more reserved, never the one to initiate anything. at first glance, he didn’t seem like the type to be so needy, all sharp edges and reckless energy, but he was. he’d grip onto your jacket when you denied him pda, tugging at the fabric like a restless storm, grumbling about how unfair it was, acting as if being apart for even a second was some kind of punishment.

now imagine his surprise when you walked through the door after work, a deep frown on your face and your steps quick and determined. before he could even process it, your hands shot up—too fast, too sudden. instinctively, he flinched, ducking slightly with his hands raised in defense.

the result? an awkward collision. you barely had time to stop before bumping right into him, his shoulder knocking against yours as he stumbled back. for once, shidou was the one caught off guard, blinking at you with wide eyes while you just huffed, completely unfazed.

you looked at him, deadpan, and crossed your arms. “well, that was graceful.”

shidou, still trying to regain his balance, shot you an exaggerated glare. “i thought you were about to slap me, what do you expect?”

you smirked, leaning slightly closer, but keeping just enough space between you two to make it dramatic. “you’re lucky i didn’t,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “i’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration from work.”

he straightened himself up, clearly not backing down, but then leaned in just a little more, clearly testing your reaction. “oh, so you just come home and use me as a punching bag now?”

you rolled your eyes. “only if you keep dodging hugs like that.”

he paused, his eyes narrowing mischievously. “what do you mean?”

without warning, you took a step forward, close enough that your chest nearly brushed against his as you wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight hug. “i mean this,” you muttered against him.

shidou froze, caught off guard. for a moment, he didn’t know how to react, but then a chuckle escaped him. “so this is how it is now? one second i’m dodging punches, and the next, i’m being ambushed with hugs?”

you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, grinning. “pretty much.”

he smirked, his arms finally wrapping around your waist, pulling you back in. “not so bad, huh?”

you hummed contentedly. “not bad at all.”

[justarkive]

THE JEONS : 08

08: Father Of The Year Or Fairy Of The Year?

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics sometimes!

• chapter contents: more family fluff, jungkook has been convinced to be the tooth fairy for hanas first tooth falling out… and it fails. hana is BETRAYED.

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking (cmnt to be added)

masterlist, series masterlist

Jungkook had many titles. The epitome of a dilf. Gym enthusiast. Certified wife guy. Ultimate girl dad.

( He made these all up )

But tonight, against his will and better judgment, he was—

The Tooth Fairy.

And he was fucking regretting it.

“Baby,” he whispered, shoving his phone in your face. “Is there any way out of this?”

You grinned, far too amused by his suffering. “Nope. You lost the bet, fairy boy.”

Jungkook groaned into his hands. But a promise was a promise, and he’d rather humiliate himself than disappoint his little princess.

Which is how he ended up standing outside Hana’s bedroom at 11:43 PM, wearing—

A child-sized tutu from her toy box that barely fit around his waist.

One of your old glittery crop tops (it looked so much better on you).

A plastic star headband sitting way too tight on his head.

A blonde, ratty, tangled wig (that he swore smelled like feet).

And the pièce de résistance: a single chopstick with a pom-pom Blu-Tacked to the end, doubling as his “magic wand.”

He looked ridiculous.

And his sweet, innocent daughter was about to suffer for it.

Taking a deep breath, he eased the door open—only to find Hana still very much awake, sitting up in bed with her tiny hands clutching the blanket.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, pure wonder on her face.

“Toof faiwy?!” she gasped.

Jungkook winced at her excitement. He hadn’t expected her to be so invested in this.

Still, he tried to play the part, high-pitching his voice as he flapped his imaginary wings. “Uh—y-yes, sweet child! ‘Tis I, the T-Tooth Fairy!”

She giggled, bouncing on the mattress.

He felt a brief moment of pride. Maybe he could actually pull this off—

Until the fucking wig slipped.

And his very recognizable face peeked through.

Hana froze.

Her eyes squinted.

And then—

“DADA?!”

Jungkook panicked.

“NO, BABY, I—”

“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

It was over.

His cover was blown.

Hana wailed, throwing herself back on the mattress like she had been betrayed by the gods.

Jungkook, still gripping his damn pom-pom wand, crouched beside her, scrambling for damage control. “H-Honey, no! I’m not Dada! I’m—uh—Tooth Fairy #2?”

Hana sobbed harder.

You, watching from the hallway, wheezed.

Desperate, Jungkook reached under the pillow and shoved the folded bill into her tiny hands.

But it only made things worse.

Hana sniffled, looking at the money in disbelief.

Then she gasped, wailing, “DADA STEAL!!!”

Jungkook froze.

You collapsed onto the floor, laughing so hard you saw stars.

“B-BABY, NO—”

Hana threw the money at his chest and howled, and Jungkook knew—

This was not the night he’d be winning Father of the Year.

[revelboo]

Hello our dearest Revel!!! I hope you’re doing well and feeling a bit better, I remember a few days ago you said something about feeling sicky icky. Anything fun going on right now??? :) When you get the chance, can we maybe get some more of peepaw Kup?? I fucking love that old man a very normal amount, I promise 🤣 If you aren’t in the mood to write for him, though, then maybe some Swerve or TFA Ratchet??? I’m now seeing a trend in my faves lmao… Endearingly sweet and pathetic or Old Crotchety Man ™️

Sure!

Don’t You Pt 3

Kup x Reader

• Looking up at a thud and a burst of growling, alien rumbling, you stumble to your feet and gape as Kup drags in-something with Springer on his heels fussing from the sound of his alien gibberish. Whatever that thing is, you’re very glad it appears to be dead. It’s like if a squid had violet, angry sex with a deer. And Kup’s looking up at you, chewing on that metal cigar of his. “Hope you’re hungry, kid. Should last you a while.” Oh. Oh, no. But he looks so genuinely proud and his plating is scratched up from that thing, so you can’t just refuse. Even though you want to.

• Working his cygar as your mouth opens and closes, before you offer him an almost frantic smile. “Oh. Great. Thank you.” You don’t sound that grateful, though. Almost look a bit green. Hears Springer’s disgruntled venting about the mess, the thing’s blue-black blood leaving a wet trail through the ship. “I can’t eat raw meat,” you add, clasping your hands together worriedly. Picky, little thing. Shaking his head in amusement as you wander closer to the edge of the table he’d left you on, he retrieves a knife and starts sawing through the thick hide to get at the muscle underneath.

• Paling as he drives the blade into the squid-deer’s belly and saws upward, as soon as it’s slick, gray entrails pour out, you’re gagging and running for the far side of the table. Retching. “You good, kid?” He calls out as you shudder, unable to look. But you can smell it and really wish you couldn’t. How are you supposed to eat that? And the wet sound of him what he’s doing isn’t helping. It seems to take forever for him to butcher that thing, hearing the old bot humming to himself as he works like he’s enjoying this. “Ain’t gonna learn anything like that. You need to know how to feed yourself if you’re going to survive.”

• Primus, help him as you make gagging noises and pointedly refuse to look at what he’s doing. Giving you a pass this time because you’ve been through a lot, but he’d been serious. You need to learn so you’re not dependent on the kindness of others, because you can’t count on that. “I don’t think I can do that,” you mutter, voice strained. No confidence in yourself. He’ll need to work on that, too. Make a little wrecker out of you, but he has a feeling he’s going to have a lot of work to do. Until then, he can protect you until you can protect yourself. Primus knows if he takes his optics off you for even a klik, everything on this world is likely to try and eat you.

• Can’t make yourself look as he cleans up. Glancing over when the smell of cooking meat fills the air. And it doesn’t smell as awful cooking at least. Someone’s dragged the carcass off somewhere, but there are black smudges on the floor still. But your stomach growls at the promise of food and your attention shifts fully to Kup. Watching him roasting the meat over an open flame with a slight frown. Trying his best to take care of you even though he doesn’t have to, just like he’d saved you when you’re nothing to him. “You can. Just need to be taught,” he says, metal cigar bobbing between his denta. Sounding so confident, but he’s the only one. A plant has nearly eaten you. No, your best bet of survival is clinging to Kup with a death grip and refusing to let go.

Previous

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it's time to return the second favor. and for that reason, spencer finds himself invited by you...on a date?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist!female reader, fake date at the bar, reader's ex makes an appearance, kinda inspired by blank space taylor swift

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.5 k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

[unknown number] wake up pretty boy

[unknown number] time to pay your debt

Spencer, sitting on his bed with a book resting on his lap, stared at the message for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed. Evening, the warm glow of his lamp making it easy to read. He had the next day off, no real plans, just a quiet night ahead. The sudden chime of his phone had caught him off guard.

For a split second, he was surprised—but he didn’t have to think too hard to guess who the sender was.

He typed out how did you get my number, then deleted it before hitting send. Something else was far more interesting. And a little concerning. That second message. Pay your debt. She remembered about that now, at this hour?

Before he could ask, another text came in.

[unknown number] taking you on a date

[unknown number] dress nice

For a moment, deeply confused, he just stared at his phone, already sensing somewhere deep inside that this was going to be a really weird night.

[spencer] What do you mean by ‘date’?

A minute or two passed. He didn’t put his phone down. Didn’t even look away from the screen.

[unknown number] the one who asks questions loses his way

His fingers moved automatically.

[spencer] That’s not how the saying goes

✓ Seen 10:12 pm

Reid sighed. He had absolutely no plans to go out that evening, and he wasn’t thrilled about the fact that he hadn’t been given any details about this so-called date. Unless she was joking? There was something off about this—some kind of trick, a twist he hadn’t figured out yet.

The only thing stopping him from ignoring her messages—something he very much wanted to do—was the simple fact that he did owe her. Technically, twice. Though he had managed to repay one of those debts in an easy way, requiring almost no effort on his part.

He had a feeling this second one wouldn’t be nearly as simple.

And now he found himself wondering what exactly she meant by dress nicely.

*

"Wait, one more time. We’re going there as her… what?"

"Mental support," she said, moving forward with that usual quick stride of hers, the sharp tapping of her heels almost aggressive. Whether unconsciously or fully aware but not caring, she got a few steps ahead of him, speaking without turning back. Her voice hung in the night, street air.

Spencer hated when she did that. It made him feel like a dog on a leash. He sped up to match her pace.

"Well, I heard you," he scoffed. "Doesn’t mean I get what you mean. And maybe you should clue me in if I’m supposed to be part of…whatever this is” 

She stopped with a sigh so heavy it was as if giving him any details about something he was supposed to be part of was beyond her patience and strength. Hands tucked into the pockets of his blazer, he gave her a questioning look as she finally turned to face him.

His gaze dropped—quick, casual. Or at least, that’s how he thought it looked. Even at night, under the less-than-ideal glow of the streetlights, he could register how her outfit hugged her figure, emphasizing every curve.

At work, she dressed more formally. With her looks, that face, and the unshakable confidence she carried, she could probably make a burlap sack look like a designer gown. But Spencer had noticed something about the way she dressed for nights like this. Or rather, the way she became something else entirely. Like she belonged to the night, completely in her element.

Quick, casual glance—yeah, right.

To make the situation even more embarrassing, she snapped her fingers in front of his face, demanding his attention.

"Alright, listen up," she started, shifting her weight onto one hip. "I’m explaining this one last time. My friend, Liv—you might know her from my team…"

"Olivia, you mean," He said her full name in confirmation, recognizing the woman he had indeed seen before.

"Do you really have to correct me on how I call my own friends? Anyway, fine. Olivia has a date tonight with some guy she met online. The thing is, Olivia is a hopeless romantic who’s waiting for the love of her life to magically show up at her door, but she’s also buried in work and can’t even remember the last time she went on a date. Plus, she’s a little worried about ending up with some psycho. You know what I mean."

"All too well," he nodded, recalling all the missing persons cases that had started exactly like this—an online match gone wrong.

“Exactly. So Olivia asked me to come along. You know, for physical backup if anything goes sideways. And mental backup. Just to make her feel safer."

Well, he didn’t want to praise her out loud, but it was…nice of her. Okay, nice wasn’t the perfect word—honestly, the fact that she even had to do something like this was a little bitter at its core—but it didn’t change the fact that she was being a good friend.

He watched her for a moment, not even realizing he had gone quiet. He realized he’d never actually seen her interact with her people, her team, but he had somehow assumed their dynamic was more… detached. Not that she genuinely considered them her friends and actually cared.

"Finally caught up, genius?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Spencer snapped out of it. Okay, so maybe she cared about her friends—but she was still seriously unbearable.

"I get it. Except for one thing," he replied, matching her slightly rude tone, one that made him sound almost offended. She raised a brow, nodded as if giving him permission to continue, and started walking again—this time at a slower pace.

Actually, they were moving at almost the same rhythm now, nearly side by side.

"Why do you need me for this?"

Their eyes met, but this time, she didn’t look like she was about to mock him. In fact, the corners of her lips lifted slightly, as if she thought that was a very good question.

"Because tonight, pretty boy, I plan to stay completely on the sidelines," she explained. "Not interfering with my friend or her date in any way. Being completely invisible."

"Invisible?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

It wasn’t even just about what she was wearing. Drawing attention was simply an unavoidable part of her presence. She nodded in confirmation.

"Exactly. But I figured that to keep away all the desperate guys trying to get my number, all I need to do is bring one with me," she looked like she was trying not to laugh. "You’re gonna be my scarecrow."

Spencer's mouth fell slightly open, completely at a loss for words.

"You…you are just… just…"

"Amazing, smart, beautiful, wonderful…"

"Shameless. That’s the word"

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her expression filled with a strange kind of complacency.

"Love when you compliment me," she said in an overly sweet tone.

"That wasn’t—" he started, but then cut himself off, realizing there was probably no point in arguing with her. He sighed.

"You’re welcome."

*

Despite the late hour, the bar wasn’t overcrowded. Sure, there were plenty of people inside, but most were engaged in quiet conversations over their drinks. Spencer noticed quite a few couples. As if they were one of them, they found a secluded spot in the corner, right next to a small pool table made of dark wood with a striking green surface.

"That’s them," the woman discreetly motioned with her head toward the pair at the bar— a cascade of blonde curls and the man accompanying her. She fixed them with an assessing gaze, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Hm. He looks like his pictures. I’ll take that as the first good sign."

"She shows you pictures of her dates?"

"Every single time. We rate them on a scale from one to ten."

Spencer wasn’t surprised in the slightest. His gaze briefly shifted in their direction, though he made sure not to stare, not wanting to make them look weird. The pair seemed to be talking a little shyly—it was obvious this was their first meeting.

“So,” he started. “Is this what we’re going to do all night? Just stand here?”

“Basically, yeah. I mean, we don’t have to just stand around like a couple of creeps, staring at them. We can enjoy our date. Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it can’t be fun,” she said, slowly circling the pool table until they were on opposite sides.

She slipped off her outer layer, and Spencer couldn’t help but notice that her outfit underneath did anything but help her stay invisible. Reaching for a pool cue, she nodded at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“You want to play?”

“No, I want to duel you with the cues,” she scoffed. “I’m a professional, you know.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow slightly as he grabbed a cue of his own.

"Professional?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm. World championships and all that. But that was a while ago. Then came the injury, and I had to say goodbye to my career. After that, I had no idea what to do with myself, so I became a chemist," she said, with a casual shrug.

He chuckled at the made-up story, setting the pool balls up into a perfect triangle at the center of the table. Once they were ready, he gestured for her to go ahead.

She refused with an exaggerated, almost overly generous smile. "Oh, no. Amateurs go first."

He held back a roll of his eyes, leaning over the table. The balls scattered across the surface, and from that point on, he'd play with the cue ball. It was her turn now, and Spencer watched her movements closely.

"I didn't know your story before the FBI job was so fascinating," he remarked, trying to throw her off a little.

They hadn't made any bet, but there was a subtle competitiveness in him now.

She shrugged.

"I don't think it's fascinating. More tragic. Lost dreams."

"Right, sorry for my disregard. What kind of injury was it?"

She paused for a moment, focusing on her next shot. One of the balls sank smoothly into a pocket, and a small smile played on her lips.

"Shoulder," she replied casually. "Sometimes it still acts up. I have to go for regular massages."

"Poor thing," he said, his tone teasing.

Her gaze briefly scanned the entire bar, landing once again on her friend. Nothing seemed to bother her, so she returned to the game.

"We're playing just for fun? Don't you think that's a bit boring?"

"Sorry, I don’t want to bet with you again. Paying off debts with you is never easy."

"Come on. You’re having fun with me” 

"You think so?"

“No. I know it."

She potted another ball, gaining the upper hand. Spencer puffed his lips, deciding to focus more on the game. They both did, though it didn't stop them from continuously exchanging similar comments, remarks, and jabs. And despite the countless huffs and eye rolls, he had to admit, he was really having fun. With her.

And even more fun when he realized he was close to winning.

With a certain satisfaction, he noticed she was watching his moves with more attention, her eyes slightly narrowed with cool competition. As he leaned over the table again, she moved toward him lightly, almost as if tiptoeing. She passed by almost unnoticed. In fact, he only realized how close she was when her breath softly grazed the inside of his ear as she spoke in the voice of a social commentator.

"Ladies and gentlemen, to the surprise of the entire audience, amateur Spencer Reid has managed to take the lead," her whisper was laced with feigned suspense. Of course, he refrained from moving, making sure not to make a mistake from distraction. "Will he manage to win today's tournament?"

He straightened up with a sigh, which made her step back slightly. He gave her a look full of mock pity, and she responded by slowly blinking her eyes, imitating the gaze of an innocent angel.

"I'm pretty sure this counts as sabotage," he remarked.

She raised both hands in the air, as if defending herself against the accusation.

"Hey, I'm not doing anything," she denied, a subtle spark in her eye. She gave a quick nod toward the table. "Come on, finish it."

Spencer, uncertain and sensing she was up to something, tried to refocus. When he found the perfect angle and was about to hit the white ball, something nudged his elbow, causing it to roll in the completely wrong direction.

He directed a look at her, mouth open in indignation.

"This is... this is cheating, pure cheating..."

"No idea what you're talking about!" she shot back. She pretended to be serious, though in an incredibly clumsy way. Her lips kept trembling, trying to form a smile, and she struggled to suppress it. "I didn't do anything. Your hand must have slipped..."

At the sight of the expression on his face, she couldn't hold back anymore and burst into laughter. It mixed with the sound of his incessantly muttered, mildly irritated comments under his breath, which absolutely didn't reach her conscience. In fact, it seemed to only make her feel more smug. Spencer finally gave in, letting out a sigh.

"I demand a fair rematch."

With her arms crossed over her chest, she raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead, then," she said, grabbing the cue stick again.

Her friend and her date were still deep in conversation, sitting much closer than before, with small smiles on their faces. They didn't seem like they were in any hurry to end the evening. A few new people had arrived at the bar, making it louder, but Spencer didn't even notice. He was completely focused on this small, occupied space between them where they were slowly giving in to the growing rivalry, even though nothing had been wagered. It was probably just about pride.

His opponent was doing everything in her power to make his game harder. He'd abandoned all pretenses of fairness and stood right beside her whenever she leaned over the pool table. He didn't even intend to nudge her—but when he was close, she assumed he would and became incredibly cautious, often elbowing him in the ribs to make space for herself to focus. Despite all of this, they were laughing. He even forgot for a moment that he had planned to spend the evening entirely differently.

They played a few more rounds, each of them winning the same number of games. He announced the next one, but before starting, he briefly disappeared into the bathroom. Simply because, well, he needed to use it.

As he washed his hands, he could hear the hum of conversations, laughter, and music, all muffled by the door. It felt a bit warm, despite the fact that he'd taken off his jacket a while ago. For some reason, he suddenly became self-conscious about how he looked, though he hadn't thought about it at all before. After all, it wasn’t like he was on a date with some woman he was trying to impress. Still, driven by some inner impulse, he fixed his hair and smoothed the fabric of his shirt with his hands, rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn’t get wet while washing. He hesitated for a moment before lowering them again, surprised to sense someone's gaze on him.

The tall man with black hair, a rather sturdy build, and narrow glasses on his nose didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at him. Spencer wasn’t sure if he should just walk away, but something made him raise an eyebrow skeptically. He had no idea what was going on.

“Do we know each other?” he asked, genuinely considering the possibility.

He couldn’t recall this man from anywhere, which, given his memory, pretty much ruled out the idea.

“No,” the man replied briefly but confidently, still not breaking eye contact. After a moment, he added, “But I know your friend. I know her well.”

Reid stood still for a moment, embarrassingly slow to realize which friend the man was referring to. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that it struck him—this guy had likely been watching their game for a while and was talking about her. Before Spencer could say anything, the man continued.

“Actually, I used to date her. And listen, I’ve got some advice for you. Just give up on her.”

Spencer blinked, trying to process if he’d misheard.

“Beg your pardon...”

“I’m serious, man. Not because I’m jealous or anything like that,” he quickly clarified, raising both hands as if to declare his sincerity. “It’s just simple, you know, guy solidarity. Don’t waste your time.”

He was struck by a strange feeling that his conversation partner had some mistaken idea about their relationship. Besides, even though the man had clarified that he wasn’t jealous, he sure sounded like a jealous ex. Spencer knew he should just laugh it off and walk away. After all, he wasn’t dating her, didn’t intend to, and whatever the guy had to say about her shouldn’t matter. Yet, his legs refused to simply walk away.

Some curiosity, one he couldn’t shake off, took hold of him.

“What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

A slight smirk appeared on the man’s face as he noticed he had Spencer’s attention.

“I get that you might see something in her. She’s pretty, you have to give her that. At first, even...kind of charming in her arrogance. But once you get to know her...it’s a strong word, but you need to know, she’s fucking insane.”

The language seemed to twist strangely in his mouth.

“That doesn’t tell me much,” he replied dryly. “I mean, anyone could mean something different by saying fucking insane.”

The man scoffed with a bit of contempt. Spencer was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

“Okay, you’re probably going to deny it and defend her because you like her, I’ve been there, I get it.”

Because I like her? He almost denied it but stopped himself, letting the man continue.

“She’s just insufferable in the long run. She acts like she knows everything, gives orders, always has to have the last damn word. And you know, at first, you think she’s just playing that part. And then she’ll start acting, well, you know…”

Spencer felt the urge to laugh.

“Submissive?” he suggested, the missing word that seemed to want to spill from the man’s mouth.

“Normally. Just normally.”

Something started to smell between them. A distinctive scent. Wounded male ego.

That alone was enough for Spencer to know not to take this conversation seriously. That alone was enough for him to know he could end this conversation whenever he wanted. But before he could take a single step away, he thought about the entire evening he'd spent with her. Everything, from the first message he’d received while still at his apartment.

He counted how many times during their meeting he’d just laughed, having more fun than he’d had in a while. In some unclear way, he felt he owed her that.

“Let me sum this up,” Spencer began, gesturing with his hand and never breaking eye contact with the man. “Because this, in its way, is strange to me. Funny, even, when you think about it.”

The man furrowed his brow, listening. Spencer remained unfazed as he continued.

“First, you met a commanding, confident, and, okay, a little cheeky woman. That didn’t scare you off, though, and you decided you wanted to start a relationship with her. And when it happened, you were surprised she was commanding and cheeky? You know, she doesn’t pretend she’s not like that. You knew what you were getting into.”

"Fine, you know what, this doesn’t make sense," the man sighed. "Do whatever you want. Just remember, I warned you. One day, you’ll be grateful for this."

"Maybe you're right," Spencer admitted, nodding slowly. "It doesn’t make sense."

The man gave him one last look before scoffing and walking away. Reid was left in the bathroom alone, actually reflecting for a moment on the entire conversation. He didn’t think he should have been a part of it at all. The guy must’ve assumed he was interested, or that they were dating. He didn’t have any insight into what their relationship really looked like. In any case, Spencer imagined what it would be like if another guy were in his place. Her actual date. I wonder if a conversation like that would make him turn away, push him away entirely.

After a moment, he concluded that no, it probably wouldn't have. Assuming, of course, that the other guy wasn’t a complete idiot, blindly believing the words of a hurt, maybe even a little jealous ex.

Though, maybe he couldn’t really judge from his position. The position of someone who wasn’t planning on dating her, and who wasn’t interested in her in that way.

He thought for a moment about whether he should tell her about the conversation. He decided against it, not wanting to spoil or ruin the good mood of their evening. Instead, he straightened his hair and, completely unfazed by what he'd just heard, returned to the pool table where she was leaning, clearly growing impatient with his prolonged absence.

"Finally," she hissed at the sight of him. She almost shoved the cue stick into his hand, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I thought you were trying to escape me. The thought of another loss scared you, huh?"

He paused for a moment, staring at her face—the slightly parted lips, the warm bar light reflecting in her eyes, and the familiar, confident gleam. For a brief moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—what did she even see in that guy?

But almost immediately, he dismissed it, considering it none of his business, and took the cue stick from her, ready to start the next game.

[wchswift]

Oooh, those look fun! How about 8G𓆣 (maybe with Dean, or whoever you feel like)? 👀

꒰ 8 ꒱ “i’m taking you home, and that’s that.” ꒰ G ꒱ drunkenness ꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ an alleyway behind a dive bar

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: dean comes after you but a drunken argument almost makes you reveal unspoken feelings.

word count: 830

notes: I love this one sm!! It was so fun to write, tysm for sending it :) hope you and everyone else likes it <3

build a fic

You needed a drink.

After the week you’d had—sleepless nights, a hunt that had nearly gone sideways, bruises that still ached beneath your jacket—you deserved one. But, of course, Dean had to have an opinion about that.

"You shouldn’t go alone," he’d said, arms crossed, voice edged with something that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t far from it either.

"Sam’s busy, and you're being annoying by not wanting to go to any dive bar with me," you’d shot back, grabbing your jacket. "I’ll be fine, Dean. It’s not my first time drinking alone."

"That’s not the damn point."

"Then what is the point?"

He hadn’t answered. Just stared at you, jaw tight, looking like he wanted to tell you something and stop you. But when he stayed silent, you scoffed and walked out, slamming the motel door behind you.

Now, a few drinks deep, warmth buzzed under your skin, numbing the exhaustion you’d been carrying for days. The bar was loud and crowded, filled with the kind of people who didn’t ask questions. It was exactly what you needed—somewhere to get lost for a little while.

But the problem with places like this? Some guys didn’t understand boundaries.

"You’re real pretty, you know that?" The man’s breath reeked of beer as he leaned in, one arm braced against the wall beside you. His smile was lazy, the kind that said he thought he had a chance. "How ‘bout one more drink, sweetheart? On me."

You sighed, head tilting back against the alleyway’s brick wall. "Not interested."

"C’mon, don’t be like that," he pressed, his hand settling just above your waist. "Bet you just need the right kind of company."

Before you could snap at him—or worse—he was gone.

A sharp grunt, a blur of movement, and suddenly the guy was staggering back, crashing into a pile of crates.

Dean.

He stood in front of you, shoulders squared, fists clenched, chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. The guy muttered something, but Dean didn’t even look at him. His focus was locked on you.

"Seriously?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in your head. "This is what you call ‘being fine’?"

You rolled your eyes, still feeling the warmth of alcohol buzzing under your skin. "I had it handled, plus I didn’t know I needed you watching me all the time."

Dean let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep his temper in check. "You don’t. But you do need someone watching your back when you decide to get drunk in the shadiest damn bar in town."

Your eyes flicked to him, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Oh, right. Because you never go off alone, drink yourself stupid, and pick fights in places worse than this."

Dean’s jaw clenched. "That’s different."

"How?" You pushed off the wall, wobbling slightly before straightening. "Because you’re Dean Winchester? Because you’re so damn good at taking care of yourself?" You stepped closer, voice lowering. "You’re a hypocrite, Dean."

His expression darkened, but there was something else in his eyes—concern, something deeper that he wouldn’t say out loud.

"I’m taking you home," he said firmly. "And that’s that."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping. "Why do you care so much?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, unfiltered by the whiskey in your veins. "Why do you always act like I’m your damn responsibility?"

Dean didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was struggling with himself. Finally, he muttered, "Because you are."

Your breath hitched. "Dean—"

"I’m always gonna take care of you," he cut in, voice rough. "Even when you make it hard. Even when you run off and drink yourself stupid because you’re too damn stubborn to let me help." His hands hovered at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. "And I don’t—" He exhaled sharply, looking away for half a second before locking eyes with you again. "I don’t wanna do this here. Not when you’re drunk."

The air between you was thick, heavy with all the things neither of you had ever said out loud.

You swayed slightly, still feeling tipsy, and before you could stumble, his hands did move—one gripping your wrist, the other landing on your hip to steady you.

"You wanna argue about this?" he murmured, voice softer now. "Fine. We’ll do it when you’re sober."

You stared up at him, pulse pounding, every nerve in your body hyperaware of his touch. But Dean was already leading you away from the alley, his grip firm, steady.

And for once, you didn’t fight it.

(I hope this is good cause I'm not used to writing something short and without rereading it several times lol)

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @lyarr24 @blossomingorchids @bettystonewell @rositaslabyrinth @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

[p1astr81]

a dream p4

in which: Oscar makes his dream a reality.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

warnings: bit of angst😨, that’s it

an: this is lowkey a day late sorry about that guys

previous part

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

Six dates and the title of “girlfriend” all in the span of two months.

You couldn’t believe it. You thought your luck was astronomical. I mean, a formula one driver going for the barista that works for his team? It’s the stuff of fantasies.

Oscar couldn’t believe it either, but for different reasons. After that dream, he thought he’d never see you again. But he did, and it’s safe to say that if he didn’t believe in fate before, he definitely does now.

If he had it his way, you’d already be engaged. He was aware that it was far too soon, though.

The both of you opted out of telling anyone. Prying questions and the eyes of the media were something neither of you desired. It was just you and him.

You didn’t feel like a secret because it’s not like he avoided you.

He continued to visit you in the cafe, just standing and talking to you while you worked. And he requested that you shared a hotel room. So while you didn’t tell anyone, you were sure at least a few people have figured it out already.

There were three races left in the year, and while on break one afternoon, a familiar driver came up to you.

Not your driver, though.

Lando sat across from you. “You’re dating Oscar.” It wasn’t a statement, nor a question, but an accusation.

Your brows furrowed. “Yes.” Your eyes darted around the room.

“Huh.” Lando hummed, an epiphany. “So many things make sense now.”

You tilt your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Leaning back, Lando propped a leg up on the chair and hummed. “Well, for starters, you’re exactly how he described you were in his dream. And now it makes sense why he’s been so giddy. And he’s been-“

“Wait, what? What dream?” You leaned forward.

Lando froze.

“What are you talking about?” You urged.

He remained silent, looking like a little kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar.

The lack of response had your heart dropped to your stomach, your face gone white. You stood quickly, making a beeline for Oscar’s driver room. Lando called after you, but you didn’t hear his words.

A gasp ripped from Oscar lungs when the door hit the wall. You closed it and leaned your back against it. “What dream is Norris talking about?”

Oscar goes white, then a deep shade of red.

And you finally take note that he’s only half dressed. He’s shirtless. In the middle of dressing. Your eyes linger, shamelessly checking out his toned chest. You snap your eyes up once you realize, swallowing.

“Uhm, well, don’t hate me.” His fingers fumbled to get his fireproofs on. “Will you sit down please.” He gestured to the small bench.

Eyeing him with suspicion, you complied and he joined you.

“Do you remember that first day in the cafe?” He appeared calm, but the nervous air around him shattered the delusion.

The memory alone caused you to have to fight back a laugh. “When you looked like a lost little kid? Yeah.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Well,” he struggled to find his words. “That night before, I had a dream. I was married and had two kids.”

You furrowed your brows.

“With you.” He explained.

You blinked, eyes falling to the floor.

Oscar continued to explain. “And- and you know I- uh- I loved you in- uh- well not just in my dream.” He placed a hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” He confessed with a sigh.

“So you’re saying you only asked me out because of a dream you had?”

The tone of your voice startled him. You sounded hurt, or maybe even offended. He didn’t know what to say. How to fix it.

“Would you have even looked in my direction otherwise?” You continued.

No. He supposed he wouldn’t have.

You scoffed a laugh. “This is built on a fucking dream? What if I’m not like the girl in your dreams? What if I don’t live up to her standards?”

Panic set in, and he began to scramble for the words to soothe your own worries. “No. Well, I guess it is in a way?” He didn’t want to lie. He shook his head. “And does it matter? You’re exactly like you were in my dream. A carbon copy.”

You got to your feet, frustration coming to a boiling point. “Yes of course it matters! Because you don’t like me. You didn’t fall for me. You fell for some made-up fantasy version of me.”

How was he to reply to that? You weren’t fully wrong, but you weren’t also totally right. He sighed. “I know it was wrong not to tell you, but I didn’t want to seem like a total creep. I’m so sorry.” He fumbled on his words once more. “And for what it’s worth, I have really fallen for you.” He confessed quietly.

His big, doe eyes stared up at you, shining with regret and begging for you to accept his apology. Your frustration faltered.

You huffed. “Fine.” You threw yourself back on the cushioned bench. You stared ahead at the blank wall, trying to ignore how Oscar continued to look at you. “Sorry for getting mad at you over something so stupid.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” His soft voice consoled you, while he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you to his side.

“You’re too damn nice. And cute. It’s not fair.” You mumbled.

Oscar just chuckled and squeezed your arm.

۶ৎ

5 YEARS LATER

“Dadda!” The three year old Victoria slipped from your grasp and sprinted over to Oscar.

With Jace on your hip, you couldn’t chase after her. “Vik! Careful!”

Oscar had not see her speeding toward him, too focused on the video currently being shot for McLaren’s socials.

She collided with his leg, gripping onto it for dear life. “Momma said you won!” She shouted.

A nervous smile is all he could manage. “I did.” He tried to laugh. “Where is your mom?”

Vicky whipped around. “Shes-! Oh.” Her big, innocent brown eyes looked up at Oscar. “I don’t know.”

You emerge from a crowd of people, looking very nervous and apologetic.

Oscar placed kisses on both the twin’s heads. It was strange. He never mentioned the names of your children in his dream. You were the one to suggest them, unprovoked, like it was written in the stars, a prophecy that was meant to come true. Of course, he agreed right away.

While he thought about the crazy coincidence, you started to ramble. “I’m sorry. She got away from me. I tried to chase her but Jace was on my hip and he didn’t want to get down and-“

“Baby, it’s fine.” Oscar chuckled, his hand rubbing Vicky’s back. “We’ll just edit it out. It’s no big deal. I was just making sure she didn’t run off fully.”

You nodded, but he could still tell you felt guilty. He pulled you into a short hug. “Get back to the hotel and put the kids down for a nap, yeah?” He suggested. “I’ll be back in a bit and then we can go to dinner.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “Congrats on your win.” You muttered.

“Ugchl! Ew mommy!” Vicky shouted, causing Jace to laugh at her.

You kissed him again just to hear her squeals of anguish.

“Don’t worry about dinner, go celebrate. You deserve it.” You told him.

He scrunched his nose, a look which tells you he isn’t fond of your idea. “Dinner sounds like a perfect way to celebrate.” He grinned, the apples of his cheeks became more prominent. You wanted to pinch them. Or kiss them.

You chose the latter and received another disgusted noise from Vicky, who had clung onto your hand at some point in the last few moments. “I’ll see you then, I guess.”

It was inexplicable, the ounces of love that swam through the reflection of his eyes. As if you were the only wonder of his world. He hummed. “I guess so.”

[rosylix143]

sweet angel | h. hyunjin

pairing: demon!hyunjin x angel!reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, angst (some comfort ig)

synopsis: you’re an angel who escaped the heavenly palace from your extremely possessive guardian angel, only for you to stumble into a forbidden territory of a demon who finds you a little peculiar.

cw: MDNI (putting this warning here just to be safe), abusive relationships (not with hyunjin), descriptions of abusive behavior (also not with hyunjin), captivity, manipulation, not everything is religiously accurate, hyunjin's lowkey an asshole but also not really lol.

let me know if i’m missing anything

wc: 2985

———————————・❥・———————————

Your feet were tired. Your legs were burning, and air was constantly forcing itself in and out of your lungs rapidly. Your head was spinning, and your wings hurt from resisting the pin so much. You just wanted to fly instead of run, but you couldn’t. You didn’t even know where you were going. You just wanted to be as far away from the Heavenly Palace as possible. It didn’t matter where you were. You just needed to be out of any angel’s sight.

Suddenly, a scream escaped your throat as you tripped over one of the larger roots of the trees. You fell face-flat onto the grass. Your nose burned from the rough landing. You groaned and tried to get up. You winced a little, noticing the trail of blood coming down from your knee. You then took a moment to see how your perfect white dress was now torn and covered in dirt.

You tried to get up, but you were exhausted. How long have you been running for, you had no idea. You didn’t even know where you were. You panted heavily and looked around to take in your surroundings. Turns out that you ran into some deep forest. The trees were tall and lively, most of them were growing delicious fruits. The sunlight was glimmering through the branches, and the water was flowing peacefully. The flowers were even blooming. Everything in the forest was beautiful. But everything in Heaven was beautiful. It’s so beautiful that no one could see the darkness within.

No one knew what living in the Heavenly Palace entailed. At least for you. Every angel around you found pleasures in the littlest things in the palace: all the wine, fruits, music, and holy books. You wondered if they ever had to go through the same things as you. There had to be something wrong in their lives at least. Or maybe you were just so naive that you never knew of some test you had to pass to achieve great success. Did they ever have a Guardian Angel like him?

You wondered so many things, but you didn’t have the time to think about it all. You only needed to run and run and run until he couldn't find you. You tried to get up, but your legs were so tired. It was like they gave up on you. Or maybe you were paralyzed, you didn’t know. You wanted to just lie down and rest somewhere, but your mind was screaming at you to keep going because if you don’t…he’ll find you.

I have to keep going….God, please let me move….

“Oh my…I didn’t expect to see an angel around here.”

You stopped, and so did your heart. The voice was unfamiliar, but if it was a fellow angel, there’s a chance that he’s found his way close to you. You looked around frantically, wondering who could be nearby. Your eyes then met those of a man dressed in all black: a black sheer button up with intricate maroon patterns, black trousers, and black pointed shoes. His hair was a little long, dark, and luscious. His lips were full and red like a very ripe plum, and his eyes were a deep crimson, mischief brewing in them. His dark wings were spread out, and his thin and pointed tail was wailing around like a whip. A demon?!

“Who are you?!” you asked, your voice shaking.

“What does it look like, Angel?” he laughed a little, “Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with my kind.”

He stepped closer to you, and you couldn’t do anything about it but brace your arms for anything. Your legs were still not bothering to move, and your wings were a lost cause. The demon was finally standing right before you. He was tall, and he looked at you with curiosity. It’s not every day he sees a battered angel. Normally, angels are well-kept, and their wings are never pinned and clipped. A smirk crept up his lips, and he crouched down to meet you at eye level.

“So this angel is rather…unfortunate,” he said, his voice had a little dryness, but there was something a little melodious about it. “What could have you possibly done to get you looking like this, sweetheart?”

You didn’t look at him. Meeting a demon was the last thing you needed to deal with. Your whole life, you have been told to avoid demons in whatever way you can. They are evil, they encourage nothing but sin, they come from a place of constant torture and endless pain, and they try to corrupt as many angels and humans as they can to take them away from the righteous path. To meet a demon is the equivalent of meeting your demise.

“Not that much of a talker, huh?” the demon asked. “I thought angels loved to talk and talk. But again, angels don’t get their wings clipped and pinned like a treasured bird.”

He laughed a little. You couldn’t say anything about it because he was, in fact, right. You aren’t like other angels. The demon circled around you like you were some zoo animal. If you had any strength or energy to run, you would’ve been far away from him by now. Shivers were sent down your spine when you felt his fingertips glide across your wings. 

“Very pretty and soft wings,” the demon purred, touching your feathers like it was a cat’s back.

You couldn’t help but think of the many times your Guardian Angel sat you in front of the mirror, your bare body fully on display. Your skin was warm and rosy, and he held you close, kissing your neck softly while touching your wings. He did it with the same kind of gentleness, whispering soft praises into your ear of how good you’ve been for the whole day, right before he brought out the long and sharp golden shears. You quickly cowered away from the demon’s touch, shaking and hiding behind the large tree that was closest to you.

“Don’t touch me,” you said.

The demon raised his eyebrows, becoming even more curious. He then smirked once more.

“So the angel can talk,” he said. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s rich coming from a demon,” you spat out.

“And you know what I am. Good, good. I was beginning to worry that you didn’t. Oh, silly me, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin bowed his head toward you like a gentleman. You just stared at him while he looked deeply into your eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, something stirred deep within you from his gaze. You weren’t so sure why. Maybe it was just his intimidating presence or devilishly handsome face.

“Well, I’m no one…” you said, finally feeling your strength return to your legs. You got up and turned your back to him.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Hyunjin said, “I thought angels couldn’t lie.”

“Your perception of angels is skewed.”

You crossed your arms and started walking away from him. You didn’t hear anything from Hyunjin for a moment. Maybe he was pondering your words. You kept walking, and you felt something cold and scaly slither up your leg. Your eyes widened, and you jumped, letting out a squeal. The black snake quickly wrapped itself around your arms and waist, keeping your body still, and Hyunjin was suddenly standing right in front of you.

“What do you mean by that, Sweet Angel?” he asked, “You're telling me that all the angels up in Heaven are truly not the God fearing divine beings they claim themselves to be? Has my whole life been a lie?”

He asked with such a sarcastic tone, like it was laughable that angels are capable of being anything other than God fearing and perfect. You wanted to slap the demon before you, but you couldn’t because of the snake wrapped around you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, irritated, “Let me go!”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. The snake immediately disappeared, turning into a red smoke, and you were free to move again. Well…mostly. Your wings were still pinned. “Come on, Angel, I was simply asking a question, and you haven’t given me an answer.”

“Why should I answer to a demon of all things?”

“Because you ran into my territory.”

You stopped for a moment. His territory? You looked around, and the forest around you seemed clearer than before. Sure, it was beautiful on the surface as you thought, but the wind was cold—very cold. The sky changed from blue and bright to dull and gray. The trees were slowly decaying, and all the cute animals you’d normally see in Heaven were laid dead, decomposing on the ground. This place didn’t feel like Heaven to you.

“Oh…the poor angel doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into,” Hyunjin teased. “Well, to be fair, it did look like you were running away from somewhere. It’s only unfortunate that you bumped into me.”

“Am I in Hell?!” you asked, a little panicked.

“I’d say the In Between. One step closer to me, and you, Sweet Angel, will end up in Hell.”

“I can’t be here!! I have to leave…”

“Leave? And go back to Heaven so soon?”

You froze a little at his response. You couldn’t go back to Heaven. Not after running away for so long. You couldn’t bear to imagine the look on your Guardian Angel’s face once he sees you crawl back to him. The punishments he’d give you for being a disobedient angel, or the humiliation you’d feel if he forced other angels to see you looking so broken and ruined, making an example out of you for why angels shouldn’t disobey their Guardians and God.

Hyunjin looked at your conflicted expression. He didn’t understand why an angel would be so torn about returning to Heaven. It’s their safe haven, is it not? But he then looked at your state once more: your clipped wings, held together by a golden pin, your torn up and dirtied white dress, the bloodied scrape on your knee, and the red marks on your wrists, ankles, and neck. Not to mention, the scars on your skin that looked like the aftermath of severe burns.

“You were running away from Heaven, weren’t you?” he asked.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

“Let me guess,” Hyunjin continued, “You disobeyed your God, and you’re dealing with the consequences—”

“I didn’t disobey Him,” you said, “I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh really? Well, what else could’ve happened?”

It was clear Hyunjin didn’t believe you.

“Fine. You wanna know the truth?” Your patience was wearing thin, and your hands were trembling. “My Guardian Angel did this to me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just existed, and he punished me for it. He claimed that he was protecting me from the cruel Hell demons and whatever sinful things were lurking around. I was too precious to him, he said. But then it got to a point where he just locked me up in his home and then later his room and then eventually a cage….”

The memories were flooding your mind once more: from the beginning where your Guardian Angel gave you a beautiful smile with the words “I will keep you happy and safe” to the many times he clipped your wings and pinned them together, the many times he kept you in a gilded cage, your wrists, ankles, and neck bound by golden chains, and the most recent memory of running away from him the second he opened your cage to check on the burns he left on your skin with hot iron.

Your heart clenched, and even while thinking about it all, nothing made sense to you. The number of times he said he loved you more than anything and how lucky he was that God put you into his life. His kisses, his embraces, his hands tying the strings of your dress together and putting your hair up. They were so soft and gentle, unlike his harsh grip and his loud, haunting voice. Your Guardian Angel was meant to love and protect you, but he instead tortured you for even thinking of stepping outside. Tears streamed down your cheeks and landed on your ruined white dress.

Hyunjin watched as you were crouched on the ground, sobbing your pain away and feeling weak and helpless. He’s seen and done many cruel things in his lifetime, but he’s never seen anything like this. An angel all broken because of another angel. He didn’t even believe that it was possible. All he’s ever known was that angels were incapable of doing anything heinous, let alone lying. But here you are, crying because of your Guardian Angel’s abuse. He wasn’t sure why, but Hyunjin felt something stir within him. He couldn’t exactly define it, but he wanted nothing more than to have you in his arms.

“Oh, angel,” Hyunjin said. He lowered himself to your level. His dark demon wings spread out and covered you like a blanket. You couldn’t see anything except for him. His hands gently reached for your face, his crimson eyes staring into yours. “It’s awful that you had to go through that.”

“Are you pitying me?” you cried, “I don’t need it.”

“No, no, I’m not pitying you. It’s just….They don’t deserve you. How could anyone be so cruel to their own?”

You sniffed, feeling so confused yet comforted by Hyunjin’s words. His touch was surprisingly gentle and not threatening. You had a fuzzy feeling in your stomach, and you didn’t understand why. Why was a demon comforting you? Demons are supposed to be evil and heartless, aren’t they? Hyunjin’s expression and embrace, from both his arms and wings, reminded you of something. You remembered the night your Guardian Angel scolded you for even thinking about walking to the Garden of Eden by yourself.

It was dark outside, and you read a lovely poem about the Garden of Eden. Your Guardian Angel was finishing up his nightly prayers to the Almighty. You innocently asked if you could go to the Garden, and he firmly said no.

“Why can’t I go to the Garden?” you asked, “Every angel gets to see it so why can’t I?”

“Because demons can still lurk there, Y/N,” your Guardian Angel said, his tone very annoyed. “They’ll give you an apple, and your lovely wings will disappear. Besides, we have a garden of our own, and it’s just as beautiful as Eden.”

“But—”

“No buts. My job is to protect you from harm, and I can’t afford letting you walk out there into any demon’s trap.”

“This is Heaven though, and I never hear anything about a demon lurking around from other angels.”

“Yes, but demons are still going to find an excuse to be here.”

“You’re acting like I can’t protect myself.”

“That’s because you can’t!!” he yelled, his voice booming through the whole room. “Look at yourself. You’re too naive, too pure, and too innocent for this universe! You don’t understand just how different you are from other angels, Y/N. If any demon gets its hands on you….I won’t ever forgive myself. God wouldn’t forgive me.”

Silence was between you both, and your Guardian Angel’s hands were clenched into fists. Meanwhile, you were twiddling your thumbs, your whole body slightly shaking. He looked deep into your eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel weak for just how scared and guilty you looked. Your Guardian Angel sighed and approached you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said calmly. “You know how protective I am of you…I’ll go to the Garden tomorrow and pick out something for you. I’ll get you anything you like.”

You were completely enveloped in his arms and wings. His hand was gently gliding on your smooth, silky hair, and your warm face was right up against his defined and soft chest. His scent was so strong that it made you dizzy. You weren’t so sure how to feel within that moment, but the thought of having anything from the Garden of Eden seemed like a good compromise.

“Anything?” you asked.

“Anything, Love,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You opened your eyes once more, and Hyunjin looked at you with such sincerity. Maybe this was some demon’s trap like your Guardian Angel said many times. Hyunjin was holding you so tenderly, and his wings were not like anything you’ve ever seen: so dark, sharp, and leathery, unlike your soft, fragile, and feathered. His tail was one of a kind. It could pierce through anything, but it probably wouldn’t hurt as much as the hot iron staff your Guardian Angel pressed against your bare skin more than once.

“Will you protect me?” you asked.

Hyunjin looked into your eyes, and without thinking, he leaned in close. His lips pressed against yours.

“Yes, I will,” he said, “I’ll treat you better than any angel has in their lifetime.”

He held you close, gently kissing you just like your Guardian Angel did many times. However, this time, you felt the urge to kiss him back. You kissed Hyunjin back, and his hands traveled down to your waist. You weren’t so sure if this was his demon magic or if you were severely starved for love. But you melted into his touch anyway. Maybe your Guardian Angel was right. You were too naive, too pure, too innocent for this universe, but at that moment, you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. If Hyunjin’s so bad, then what makes him any different from your Guardian Angel? If losing your wings meant never having to be in endless pain and suffering ever again, then you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———————————・❥・———————————

a/n: here's a new fic to take a small breather from the LADS AU lol. this type of fic isn't what i normally write, but the idea was killing me, so i had to get it out there. also, happy birthday, hyunjin. love you to pieces, pookie bear :333 comment down your thoughts, and ofc reblog/like if you enjoyed it. see y'all in my next post hehe <3

masterlist | taglist

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 23

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had seen Lizzie nervous before—before a book signing, even before their first public appearance together—but this was an entirely new level. She was sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that he was surprised the fabric hadn’t ripped yet.

“Lizzie,” he said gently.

She exhaled sharply. “Lando, I don’t think you understand. Your sisters have read my books.”

“Yeah, they love them.”

“That’s the problem!” She turned to him, eyes wide with panic. “What if your mum has read them? What if she’s read the spicy parts? Lando, I wrote those scenes!”

He tried—he really did—to keep a straight face, but a laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Liz, I hate to break it to you, but my mum is a grown woman who had four kids. She’s not going to combust if she reads a bit of smut.”

Lizzie looked at him like he’d just blasphemed. “That’s your mum! God, Lando, you’re missing the point.”

“Oh, I have a point,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “And that point is, you’re making this way too big a deal.”

She scowled at him, whacking him with the back of her hand. “You’re being extremely unhelpful right now.”

He caught her hand, grinning. “Hey, I’m just providing perspective. But if you want to keep being nervous on your own, be my guest.”

Lizzie huffed but didn’t pull away from his grip. “Why do I feel like you’re enjoying my freaking out?”

He squeezed her hand, still amused. “Because it’s entertaining to watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the effect was diminished by the way she was worrying her bottom lip. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Lando bit back a smirk, bringing her hand to his mouth and pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. “Maybe I am.”

“Your dad is a millionaire, Lando,” she muttered as they pulled into the driveway. “What if he thinks I’m using you for your money?”

Lando couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “What?”

Lizzie huffed, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a valid concern!”

He tried—and failed—to regain his composure. “You’re worried my dad is going to think you’re a gold digger?”

Lizzie nodded, looking at him with wide, earnest eyes. Lando bit back another laugh, shaking his head. “Liz, love, you really worry too much.”

“I’m serious, Lando!” she protested. “People talk, okay? And with your family’s background, I can’t blame them. How am I supposed to convince them that I’m not just some fangirl with a talent for writing dirty scenes?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, I am,“ she whispered.

“Come on,” he coaxed, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “They already love you.”

“They don’t know me.”

“They know of you. And they’re excited to meet you properly. Trust me, they’re more likely to make me uncomfortable than you.”

Lizzie lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Lando smirked. “Because they’re probably going to tell you all the embarrassing things I did as a kid.”

That seemed to help—at least a little. She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “If they bring out baby photos, I’m taking pictures.”

“Traitor.”

“Survival.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lizzie did the same, taking a deep breath. When Lando walked over to her side of the car and held out his hand, she took it, gripping it tightly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, but she climbed out of the car anyway.

Mara jumped out of the backseat with a wagging tail, immediately tucking herself against Lizzie's side.

Lizzie laughed, giving the dog a quick scratch on the head. Lando watched her intently, noticing how tense she still was.

He moved forward, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Breathe,” he told her softly.

She let out a shaky exhale, leaning into his touch. "I'm trying," she muttered, sounding a little less nervous.

They began the short walk toward the door, Mara trotting happily ahead of them. Lando could feel Lizzie trembling a little under his touch.

“Remember," he murmured against her ear, "they’re going to be just as nervous as you, if not more."

Lizzie shot him a disbelieving look but didn’t have time to say anything as the door swung open.

The front door opened before they even reached it. His mum stood there, beaming, and before Lizzie could get a word out, Cisca pulled her into a warm hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

Lizzie tensed for a split second, then melted. “You too, Mrs. Norris. Thank you for having me.”

“Cisca,” his mum corrected, stepping back. “And please, we’ve been waiting for ages to meet you. Lando keeps you all to himself.”

Lizzie shot Lando a look, and he just grinned. “Told you.”

His mother stepped back, still smiling. “Well, now that I’ve got you in person, it makes sense why Lando's been so distracted." She cast a sly glance in Lando's direction. He just rolled his eyes.

"Mum," he said, a warning tone to his voice.

His mother just laughed, patting his cheek affectionately. “Oh, don’t you mum me.” She turned back to Lizzie, linking their arms together. “Now, come on. We’ve got lunch ready.”

Lando let them walk ahead, watching how easily his mum settled Lizzie. Even when he was a kid, his mum had always had a way of making people feel comfortable. Now, it seemed Lizzie was on the receiving end of that skill.

They headed inside, the rest of the family waiting in the living room. They all stood when they entered, and though Lando wasn’t surprised to see the eager curiosity on their faces, he still shot them a warning look. His brother in particular looked like he was preparing to say or do anything to embarrass him.

“Finally!” Oliver stood , arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “The Elizabeth Treshton, in the flesh. Lando has been hoarding you." His brother wasted no time. “Alright,, I have questions,” he announced brightly. “First of all, how did this idiot pull you? Second, how long did it take before you realized he’s an absolute menace? Third—”

Adam Norris appeared in the doorway, shaking his head fondly. “Leave her alone, Oliver.”

Oliver just grinned. “No can do, Dad. She willingly signed up for Lando. I need answers.”

Adam shot Lando a look. “You should’ve known bringing her here would be opening her up to interrogation.”

Lizzie was trying hard not to laugh, but her eyes were sparkling. Lando couldn’t tell if that was from nerves or amusement.

"I have questions!" And there was his youngest sister. He should have known that neither Flo or Cisca were going to be normal.

"Of course you do," Lando muttered.

Flo ignored him and beamed at Lizzie. “I have questions too!"

His mother rolled her eyes at her children, stepping forward. “How about we hold off on the interrogation until after lunch?” She placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, offering the slightest bit of reprieve. “I think poor Lizzie here needs a moment to readjust before we barrage her with questions.”

"But I have book questions!" Flo said quickly.

"And you can ask those during lunch," His mother assured her, steering Lizzie away. "Give the girl a chance to breathe."

"Fine, fine," Oliver said, flopping back onto the couch like a disgruntled teenager.

Adam chuckled. “Maybe try not to scare the poor woman off in the first five minutes?”

"Oh, no worries there," Oliver drawled. "She put up with Lando, right? Everything else will be a breeze."

Lando just rolled his eyes.

Adam laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “Don’t act like that comment wasn’t 100% accurate.”

Lizzie slipped right in the midst of his family, like she always had belonged there. Keeping up with his sisters' rapid-fire Q and A, his very fascinated toddler niece who kept staring at Mara, who sat next to Lizzie, as well-behaved as always...

It was almost surreal to watch the scene unfold. Lizzie was already comfortable with his family, chatting and laughing, easily deflecting questions and answering others. Even his sisters had given up their attempts at embarrassing him, too interested in Lizzie to bother with him now.

He watched all this, trying to keep the smile off his face. It wasn’t until his dad walked over and stood next to him did Lando realize he hadn’t said anything in a while.

Adam clapped Lando on the back, his tone warm. “You picked a good one, son.”

Lando’s chest filled with quiet pride as he watched Lizzie laugh at something Flo had said.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I really did.”

He should have known that something was going to go wrong.

It started with Mara.

She’d been lying calmly at Lizzie’s feet one second, then suddenly sprang up, ears perked, tail stiff. She nudged Lizzie’s leg with her nose, then her arm. Insistent. Focused.

Lizzie stilled.

Lando was already frowning. “Liz?”

She exhaled slowly, looking down at Mara before turning toward him. “I’m going to have a seizure.”

Just like that. Simple. Direct. As if she were telling him it might rain later.

Lando shot to his feet. “What—what do I—”

A tense silence fell across the room as the others picked up on the situation. Lizzie reached out, fingers skimming Mara’s head as she struggled to keep her breaths even. She was already pale, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead.

His mum was the first to recover, her expression calm but her voice sharp. "How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?"

"I need to go lay down," Lizzie said, her voice careful. "I should have a few minutes until it hits."

Everyone else was still reeling, frozen in shock, but Lando’s mind snapped into focus. “Right. Yeah. Come on.”

He crossed the room, gently tugging Lizzie to her feet. She leaned on him, her weight a little heavier than usual.

“Lando,” Adam said, “we can—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, cutting his dad off. He shifted Lizzie’s weight, supporting her as best he could. “Just...give us some space, okay?”

His dad nodded, clearly wanting to say more, but holding back for Lizzie's sake. Lando appreciated the effort.

He half-carried Lizzie out the door, Mara sticking close to them. The dog knew as well as Lando did – something was wrong.

The walk to his old room felt like it took an eternity.

As soon as they reached it, Lizzie was already moving, sinking down to the floor like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

"What do you need?" he asked her, sawllowing.

“Nothing,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything.” She stretched out, lying flat on her side, arms loose, legs bent just slightly. Mara settled near her head, pressed close but not touching.

Lando hated how practiced it was.

His pulse hammered in his throat. He dropped down beside her, panic clawing at his ribs. “Lizzie—”

“If you can’t watch it, I get it,” she murmured, voice calm, even as something flickered in her expression. “But don’t touch me.”

Lando’s hands clenched into fists.

“I— I can watch,” he said, even though his entire body screamed otherwise. “I’m not leaving you.”

Lizzie managed a weak smile, but her eyes were already going glassy. "Okay," she whispered. "But don't blame yourself." And then her breath hitched, and her body began to tremble.

And then she was gone.

Her body tensed, jerking suddenly, violently. Her hands curled, fingers twitching erratically. Lando could hear her breathing shift—harsh, uneven. It was awful.

He dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to stay still, to stay calm.

It felt like forever.

In reality, it was barely a minute.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended.

Lizzie sagged against the floor, still, quiet except for her uneven breaths. Mara whined softly, nuzzling against her arm.

Lando moved carefully, shifting onto his knees.

“Liz?” he asked, voice tight. “Can you hear me?”

A long pause. Then, a weak murmur: “Mm. Hate that part.”

Relief hit him so hard he nearly choked on it. He exhaled sharply, pressing a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “Me too.”

Lizzie cracked one eye open, exhausted but there. “You okay?”

Lando let out a strangled laugh. “Am I okay?”

Lizzie blinked at him like it was a genuine question.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That was awful.”

She hummed, voice drowsy. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize—”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Lando swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. But I still hate it.”

Lizzie sighed, shifting slightly, her limbs sluggish. “Me too.”

He watched as Mara pressed in closer, her body warm against Lizzie’s side. Lando reached out slowly, brushing damp hair away from Lizzie’s forehead.

She leaned into the touch, just barely.

Lando swallowed hard. “You’re okay,” he murmured.

Lizzie didn’t answer—already half-asleep in the aftermath.

But she was breathing.

She was safe.

And he would make sure she always stayed that way.

He wasn't sure how much time went by, but eventually, soft footsteps sounded at the doorway. He glanced up to see his mum standing there, her face pale, expression carefully neutral. She took in the situation for a moment, her eyes lingering on Lizzie before looking to Lando. There was a silent question on her face, and Lando nodded to her. She exhaled softly, nodding to herself, before speaking quietly.

"Is she alright?"

Lando's voice felt like gravel in his throat. "She's fine. She'll probably sleep for awhile."

His mum stepped more into the room, taking in the sight of Lizzie on the floor. A deep frown pinched her brow, like she was trying to hold back her emotions.

Lando looked back at Lizzie, reaching out and brushing his fingers gently over her damp hair. Just the sight of her sleeping peacefully was enough to soothe some of the wild panic from earlier, but his heart still ached.

"Does...has this happened before?" His mum's voice was quiet and careful, as if she were worried about upsetting him.

"I've never seen it," he admitted weakly. "I knew she had epilepsy. I have seen her after a seizure...but I never saw her seize," Lando admitted, swallowing. "How can a mother see this and then decide to leave?"

"Lando..." his mum's voice was gentle, almost like she was bracing him for something.

Lando's heart felt heavy. "I just don't understand how someone could—" he cut himself off when his voice broke, trying again. "I don't understand how someone could just leave their child like that."

His mum crossed the room, sitting beside him and pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I don't think most people will ever be able to understand that, hon. I can't," she admitted freely. "If I imagine that it's Flo or Cisca in her place...nobody would have gotten me away from my daughter," his mother said fiercely.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, his voice tight. "That's because you wouldn't leave her," he said, voice low. "You'd never go without her. You'd fight to stay every step of the way. And you sure as hell wouldn't give up on her."

There was a beat as he stared at the floor, and he barely registered his mum wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She pulled him into a tight hug, and he couldn't help but bury his face against her shoulder, eyes stinging.

His breath hitched. "I just... I can't imagine just walking away from her."

"Then don't," his mother said simply. "Don't be like her mother. Don't walk away. Talk with her and the next time it will happen, it will still feel horrid. You'll never get used to it. But you'll learn to live with it."

The words hit Lando like a weight to the chest. For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing them. His first instinct was to disagree. He would never, ever be like Lizzie’s mother. He could never abandon her like that.

But then...

His mum was right. He'd never get used to the idea of him just standing by and watching while she suffered. No matter how many times he would see her seize, it would still be torture for him.

But this wasn’t about him. 

This was about Lizzie. Lizzie, who needed to live with an invisible illness that could be controlled to the best of modern medicine's knowledge, but never cured completely.

And Lando would rather live through the torture of seeing her have a seizure a hundred times than to let her go. To leave. To let her deal with it alone. 

***

Lizzie woke up feeling like she’d been wrung out, every muscle sore and heavy, her head pounding with the dull, familiar ache of exhaustion. She blinked at the ceiling, willing herself to move, but even that felt like too much effort.

Then she remembered.

Lando.

The seizure.

How he’d seen it—how he’d stayed.

Her stomach twisted.

Carefully, she turned her head.

Lando was lying on his side, facing her. He was awake. Had he even slept? His hair was an absolute mess, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, studying her closely.

Lizzie had always known this moment would come.

She’d warned Lando about it early on—matter-of-factly, no dramatics. She had epilepsy. She had seizures.

But knowing about something and seeing it were two very different things.

And she’d lost people to the latter before.

Her mother couldn’t handle it. The fear, the helplessness, the exhaustion of watching and not being able to do anything. It was too much. So she left.

Lizzie didn’t blame her.

But she also knew what it felt like to be too much for someone to love.

Lando held her gaze, the silence stretching painfully between them.

She swallowed hard, bracing for it - the looks of concern, the pity, the thinly veiled excuses.

Then Lando spoke, his voice rough and quiet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with a freight train.”

Lando’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured.”

The silence between them was heavy.

Lizzie forced herself to push up onto her elbows, ignoring the way her body protested. “Lando—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head, his eyes never leaving her. “Stop talking.”

She went silent, staring at him. His gaze was like a steady weight, pinning her in place.

He inhaled slowly, as if steeling himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, Liz.”

Her breath caught. She'd been bracing herself for rejection, for distance. For fear and confusion and pity.

But Lando was just...looking at her. Just like that. Not like she was broken. Not like she was different now. He was just looking at her.

“You’re not?” Her voice was a whisper, vulnerable and terrified in spite of herself.

He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Something stirred in her chest. Hope, maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

She swallowed, trying to get control of her emotions. “Most people don’t stick around after they see it.”

Something flickered across his face—something sharp, something angry. “Well, they’re idiots.”

Lizzie huffed a small, tired laugh. “Maybe.”

Lando shifted closer, hesitating before reaching out. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, careful, almost hesitant.

“Did it scare you?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around her hand, grounding both of them. “I hated seeing you like that,” he admitted, voice low. “Knowing and seeing aren’t the same thing.”

She sighed, exhaustion pressing against her bones. “No. They’re not.”

Lando shifted again, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand. “Your mum couldn’t handle it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lizzie swallowed. “No.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“I’m not her.”

Lizzie’s chest ached, and not from the seizure.

“I know.”

Lando’s fingers squeezed hers. “Do you?”

She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words remained. “Because I need you to believe that I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes stung with held-back tears. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Lando’s expression remained steady, but she could see the determination in his eyes. "I do know that,” he said softly. “I know me, Liz. How I feel. What I can handle. And I can tell you with complete certainty that I’m not leaving. You can’t get rid of me now even if you tried.”

She tried to keep her voice steady, but her breath hitched on a stifled sob. “What if it changes though? What if one day you can’t—”

“Liz.” He cut her off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stop it. Stop worrying about what-ifs. This is my choice. I’m staying. End of story.”

“But—”

He cut her off again, his grip on her hand tightening, as if he could force her to believe him through touch alone. “No buts. This is a non-negotiable for me.” He took another deep breath, his voice growing even quieter. “I’m not your mother, Liz. You are not too much. And I’m not scared. Got it?”

Something crumbled inside her, some long-held piece of fear disintegrating in the face of his steady, certain gaze.

Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the tears threatening to spill over.

“Got it?” He repeated, his thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles.

There was something pleading in his voice—a silent plea for her to understand, to believe him.

And she realized in that moment, as he held her hand and looked at her with so much certainty...she did.

She believed him.

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne | chapter two

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. Once indifferent to the throne, Zayne now moves with purpose, his quiet defiance and lingering glances far more dangerous than any war. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it.

content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, reader is also future empress consort, arranged marriage!au, elemental!au, forbidden love, maybe a touch of angst if i’m feeling it, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, light smut, minors do not interact

writer’s note : inspired by this here. Again I had an idea, I ran with it. Also mentioning the two lovelies who share my vision : @sugarphoric @regalillegal here’s part 2 <3

quote : “Loving him is a sin; of that I’m fully aware. But a sinner I am.” — Bella Jewel

parts | one | two

—•

“If you think I’ll stand by while you’re bound to another man, a man who wants to use you as a bargaining chip, then you never knew me at all.”

—•

The scent of nightshade drifted through the air, mingling with the crisp bite of the evening breeze. The sky had deepened to violet, the last streaks of sunlight fading beyond the treetops.

The world was quiet here, hidden away from the grand halls and watchful eyes of the court.

You sat at the edge of the fountain, fingers tracing the water’s surface, watching as ripples distorted the reflection of the sky.

Beside you, Zayne leaned back on his elbows, one leg stretched out, the other bent, sword resting lazily against his shoulder.

He was quiet tonight. More than usual.

You glanced at him. “You’ll be king one day.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk, but he didn’t look at you. “Will I?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a question.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze to the water. “No, it isn’t.”

His tone was unreadable, but something about it made you pause.

The air between you felt heavier now, the silence stretching.

You watched the way his fingers tapped absently against the hilt of his sword, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was thinking of something else entirely.

You frowned. “You don’t want it.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

You tilted your head. “Then what do you want?”

Zayne let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to the sky.

His eyes followed the stars, his expression unreadable, unreadable but knowing.

And then, without looking at you,

“Something else.”

The words were quiet. Unshaken. Final.

You watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more.

He didn’t.

Because Zayne never needed many words to tell the truth.

And at the time, you had believed him.

Because Zayne never wanted the throne.

Until now.

—•

The grand hall was alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of goblets, the low murmur of politics veiled beneath laughter.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.

Nobles swirled in their silks, indulging in excess, oblivious to the shift in the air.

A shift that came from them.

The brothers.

At the center of the banquet, near the head of the long dining table, the air had grown cold.

The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames shrinking as frost began to creep along the silver goblets, delicate but unmistakable.

It had started small.

A remark.

A glance.

A slight too veiled for the courtiers to notice, masked beneath the smooth cadence of conversation and the clink of goblets.

The calculated tilt of the crown prince’s head, the smirk hidden behind his goblet, the way his words curled just a little too deliberately, aimed not at the room but directly at him.

At Zayne.

And he noticed it instantly.

Of course he had.

The crown prince had spoken too carelessly, too smugly. He had leaned back in his chair, lips curled in amusement, fingers tracing the rim of his goblet.

A performance. A taunt.

“Strange, isn’t it?” His voice was smooth, barely audible over the chatter of the hall, but the words were aimed at one man alone.

“For all your careful planning, brother, you still seem so… powerless.”

The ice cracked.

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable.

A small fracture along the prince’s goblet, a thin web of frost spreading outward.

The nobles nearest to them barely noticed, but Zayne did.

His fingers tapped against the table once, twice. His smirk was slow, practiced, but his eyes were cold.

Sharp. Calculating.

“Powerless?” His voice was light, but there was something beneath it. Something smug. “That’s an interesting word choice.”

The crown prince chuckled, tilting his head. “Is it?”

Zayne leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the table.

“Coming from a man who needs alliances to keep his kingdom together, I would say, yes.”

The prince’s expression flickered.

Just for a second. Just long enough.

Zayne saw it. And pushed.

“Strange, isn’t it? Wearing a crown, holding a kingdom, and yet the one thing that truly matters still slips through your fingers.”

The crack was louder this time. The goblet in the prince’s hand shattered.

The conversation around them stopped. The nearest nobles turned, expressions shifting between curiosity and unease.

A thin veil of frost stretched across the table, creeping toward the prince’s untouched plate.

His jaw tightened. “Mind your tongue, Zayne.”

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

“And if I don’t?”

The tension snapped.

The crown prince stood so fast his chair scraped against the marble, the sound slicing through the silence.

His hand shot forward, fingers curling in the fabric of Zayne’s tunic, a warning, a mistake.

In an instant, Zayne was on his feet, the air dropping around them.

His fingers wrapped around his brother’s wrist, prying him off with a grip too firm to be casual.

Frost spread along their skin, two forces colliding, neither willing to yield.

The nobles stared, some whispering, others watching in stunned silence.

And then.

You walked in.

The room shifted.

The torches swelled back to life, warmth rushing in, but the tension remained thick.

Your gaze swept the scene, the shattered goblet, the frost-laced table, the brothers locked in a silent battle of strength and will.

And you knew.

You knew exactly what was happening.

Not a dispute over politics.

Not a clash of pride.

This was about you.

The grand hall was frozen.

Not in the way of silence or stillness, but in the way frost had spread across the table, curling around the shattered goblet at the crown prince’s feet, creeping toward the legs of the nobles seated nearest to them.

It had reached the silver plates, frosting over untouched wine, dulling the candle flames until they barely flickered.

And yet, in all that cold, Zayne’s grip remained firm and steady, his fingers curled around his brother’s wrist, prying him away as if he had all the time in the world.

The crown prince’s jaw was tight, fury barely restrained beneath his controlled expression, but his ice cracked first.

The doors had barely closed behind you when the words left your lips.

“What are you both doing?”

Your voice echoed through the thick, heavy silence, a thread of warmth against the chill that filled the space.

Both men turned.

Zayne was the first to release his grip, fingers uncoiling from his brother’s wrist, though his expression remained unapologetic and unreadable.

The crown prince inhaled sharply, regaining his composure as he flexed his fingers, as if shaking off the remnants of a fight.

Neither spoke.

The nobles sat in rigid silence, some glancing between the two men, others staring at you, waiting.

You let out a slow breath, exhaling warmth into the frozen air.

The torches lining the walls flickered back to life, the frost receded from the silverware, the thin layer of ice along the table melting beneath your presence.

The temperature in the room shifted.

A quiet, deliberate reminder of who you were.

Of what you were.

The nobles felt it.

The flicker of heat pressed against their skin, the lingering cold dissolving like mist beneath your quiet fury.

The crown prince’s ice was strong. Zayne’s restraint was stronger.

But none of it mattered here, not when you chose to break it.

Your gaze swept between them expectantly. “Well?”

The crown prince was the first to speak, his voice clipped but steady. “A misunderstanding.”

You arched a brow. “A misunderstanding?” You turned slightly, eyes landing on Zayne. “That’s all?”

Zayne, to his credit, didn’t even try to feign innocence.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he hadn’t just nearly shattered the balance of the room.

“We were just talking.”

A muscle ticked in the crown prince’s jaw. “Is that what you call it?”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, taunting. “You’re the one who reached for me first, brother.”

The prince’s fists clenched at his sides, his patience already hanging by a thread.

You lifted a hand before he could respond, fingers splayed, heat radiating from your palm just enough that they both felt it.

Not enough to burn, but enough to warn.

The torches flared again and the last remnants of frost evaporated.

The nobles exhaled.

Some shifted in their seats, a few murmuring among themselves as the tension in the air cracked and dissolved, as if the moment had never happened.

But you knew better.

You dropped your hand. “Whatever this is, it stops now.”

The crown prince exhaled sharply, stepping back, his control snapping back into place like a mask fitted perfectly over his face.

His voice was smooth, practiced. “Of course, Princess.”

Zayne, however, held your gaze a second longer. He wasn’t smiling anymore, wasn’t taunting.

He was watching you.

And you knew exactly what he was thinking.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

—•

The door slammed shut behind you.

Zayne barely had time to turn before you were on him, words sharp and furious.

“What the hell was that?”

His smirk was immediate, lazy, like he had expected this.

Like he was waiting for it. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You exhaled sharply, stepping closer.

“Don’t play with me, Zayne. That wasn’t just a fight.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t argue.

He simply watched you, waiting for you to burn yourself out.

But you weren’t done burning.

“I told you to stop. This isn’t a game.” Your chest rose and fell quickly, heat radiating off your skin, pressing against the cold he carried like opposing forces colliding.

“You don’t get to throw ice at your brother across a table like children. You don’t get to start a war in a banquet hall just because you—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly you were close.

Too close.

Zayne’s fingers brushed against your wrist—not to restrain you, not to challenge you, just enough.

Enough to make you realize how hot your skin had become.

Enough to make you realize how much he had noticed.

His eyes softened, flicking over you, quiet and knowing.

“You’re burning up.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move away.

“That tends to happen when I’m angry.”

Zayne hummed, head tilting slightly.

“Or when you care too much.”

The words landed like a challenge, but not a cruel one.

Not a taunt. Just the truth.

His fingers, cool and steady, skimmed over your wrist, trailing up just enough to make you shiver.

The heat beneath your skin simmered, just barely tempered by the way he touched you—calm, careful, like he knew exactly how to quiet the storm inside you.

And maybe he did.

You swallowed, voice quieter. “You can’t do this, Zayne.”

His smirk faded. “I can.”

His hand lingered, just for a second longer, before he finally pulled away, the absence of his touch sending a sharp contrast through your skin.

He exhaled, trying to calm himself.

“You think I want to be at that table? Playing politics with men who don’t deserve to rule?” His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by a seriousness you weren’t used to.

“I never wanted the throne. You know that.”

You held his gaze, waiting. “But?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Zayne let out a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides before releasing.

“But I can’t watch him take everything and do nothing. Not when it involves you.”

Your heart stumbled.

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

This wasn’t about ambition. It wasn’t about power.

It wasn’t about proving himself.

It was about you.

Zayne had never wanted the throne.

Until you became the price of losing it.

The air between you felt thinner, stretched tight with something unspoken.

The heat that had flared beneath your skin had cooled, but not completely. Not when he was still watching you like that.

Like he was daring you to understand him.

You exhaled, body shaking in frustration.

“So what is it you suggest? Going to war?”

Zayne huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You nearly froze over a banquet hall.” You retort, crossing your arms.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, his voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “That wasn’t war. That was a warning.”

You held his gaze. “And if they don’t listen?”

His lips curled slightly. “Then they’ll wish they had.”

The weight of his words settled.

He wasn’t speaking in riddles or games this time, he meant it.

Every word.

You studied him carefully.

“And where do I fit into this plan of yours?”

Zayne didn’t blink. “You already know.”

The response came too quickly. Too easily. And it sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of something dangerously close to understanding.

You inhaled sharply. “You want me to choose you.”

He smirked as he tilted his head slightly. “You say that like you haven’t already.”

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale before you could stop it. His confidence was infuriating.

But worse, it was accurate.

Zayne has never asked for power, had never fought for it.

Until now.

Until you.

Your fingers curled, your nails pressing into your palms. “You think this ends with just the two of us?”

Zayne exhaled, hands sliding into his pockets. “No. I think this ends with him losing.”

You weren’t sure which truth hit you harder—the fact that he meant it, or the fact that you didn’t hate the idea as much as you should have.

Because you knew what kind of ruler the crown prince would be.

And for the first time, you weren’t so sure that Zayne stepping out of the shadows was a mistake.

You just weren’t sure if you could handle what it would cost.

The torches lining the walls flickered, the heat of them barely cutting through the cold still clinging to the space between you.

Zayne was waiting.

Not for your answer, but for your realization.

That you already knew what he was asking.

That you had known for a long time.

Your jaw tightened. “You want him to lose.”

Zayne’s head tilted slightly, his smirk slow, almost lazy.

“I do.”

Your pulse stumbled. Not at the words—at how easily he said them, more at how sure he was about it.

Zayne has always been meticulous in his planning.

Always watched from the sidelines, always played the long game while letting others take center stage.

But that wasn’t the man standing before you now.

He already made a plan, a solid, fool-proof one.

And he was done waiting.

You exhaled. “If you do this, there’s no undoing it.”

“I know.” His voice, confident.

Your stomach twisted. “And if I say no?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression.

A moment of hesitation, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then he sighed, voice quieter now.

“Then I’ll stop.”

A pause.

“I won’t force you into this.”

Your breath caught, something too heavy, too real pressing into your ribs.

Because you knew him.

You knew he meant it.

And you could not decide if that was worse.

Because if you told him to stop, he would.

But the war wouldn’t.

The crown prince would still rule and the court would still whisper about you as if you were a tool to be tamed, something to be bartered, something to be controlled.

And Zayne would step back, let the game unfold without him, let fate take its course.

Even if it meant losing you.

Your throat tightened. “You’re asking me to betray him.”

Zayne let out a soft breath, a low chuckle. “And what makes you think he hasn’t?”

The words landed.

Because you knew.

The crown prince had never seen you as an equal, never seen you as anything more than an asset, a weapon to be sharpened and wielded.

He would never fear losing you because he never thought you had the choice to leave.

But Zayne did.

Zayne only ever saw you.

And now, he was offering you something the others never had.

A choice.

You inhaled sharply, fingers curling at your sides. “And if I say yes?”

Zayne stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

The air between you cooled, the heat beneath your skin tempered by the quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Then we win.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t an if, it was a when.

Because this is Zayne who does not fight his battles unless he was sure he would win.

Especially now that you were his battlefield.

The realisation settled on you like a veil over your head.

Zayne’s gaze held steady, his confidence unshaken, but you felt the weight of what he was asking.

This wasn’t just about power. It wasn’t just about politics.

It was about choosing him.

And that was something you weren’t sure you could do.

Your fingers curled, breath unsteady as you forced yourself to speak.

“This isn’t right.”

Zayne faltered. Just barely.

But you saw it.

The flicker of something raw, something he didn’t bother to hide around you.

“It feels right.” His voice was quieter now, lower, but still unwavering. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You felt your heart drop.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that terrified you.

You shook your head, willing yourself to push past the way he was looking at you, past the way his presence cooled the fire raging inside you when nothing else could.

“I can’t just betray everything I’ve been raised to uphold. I can’t—”

He moved.

Not away. Toward you.

Fast. Reckless.

Before you could say another word, his hands were on your waist, his mouth crashing against yours, stealing every last thought from your mind.

You should have pulled away.

You should have stopped this.

But when his lips parted against yours, when his fingers tangled in your hair, when your own hands betrayed you and gripped onto him like he was the only solid thing left in your world, you let him.

His mouth slanted over yours, firm, demanding, unchained.

Heat and cold clashed where your bodies met, his touch sending shivers down your spine while your own magic curled beneath your skin, fighting the pull of him, yet craving more.

Zayne’s grip tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your gown as if he could brand himself into you.

You gasped against his lips, and he seized the sound, swallowed it, claimed it like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than either of you would ever admit.

The cool stone wall bit into your back, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your body as his hands touched you slow, deliberate, starving.

His lips left yours only to trail down your throat, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing at the sensitive spot beneath your jaw.

A sharp inhale left you, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling, needing.

This was wrong.

This was reckless.

This was everything you had fought to avoid.

But when his hands slid lower, when his lips moved over your collarbone, when his teeth nipped at your skin before soothing it with his tongue, all you could do was arch into him, your body betraying you as it pressed closer, seeking more.

“Zayne—” Your voice was a whisper, barely more than a breath, but it made him freeze.

Just for a second.

His breathing was uneven, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, his fingers still gripping your waist.

His lips hovered over your skin, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths.

His voice came low, gravelly, as he forced himself to still.

“Tell me to stop.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop.

And that terrified you.

Your hands were still in his hair, your body still burning beneath his touch.

But you said nothing.

Zayne lifted his head, his gaze locking onto yours—intense, dark, filled with something dangerously close to possession.

His fingers trailed along your thigh, slow, teasing, testing. Your breath hitched, a shudder rolling through you at the cold of his touch against your overheated skin.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

You parted your lips, but nothing came.

Because you couldn’t.

Because this was the moment you had been avoiding, the truth you had buried beneath duty, beneath reason, beneath everything except what you really felt.

And that was all the answer he needed.

His smirk returned, slow and dangerous, his fingers tightening at your waist. “That’s what I thought.”

His lips crashed into yours again, this time deeper, hungrier.

You didn’t fight it anymore.

Because god, you wanted him.

The room was quiet, save for the unsteady breaths between you.

The air still carried the lingering heat of your magic, but it was nothing compared to the fire curling beneath your skin—the fire he had ignited.

Zayne’s gaze burned into yours, dark, intense, his body still pressing you against the cold stone wall.

His lips were kiss-swollen, his breathing ragged, but his hands? His hands hadn’t stopped moving.

“You can still tell me to stop.”

His voice was low, rough, his fingers just beneath your skirts, tracing slow, lazy circles against your thigh. The threat of restraint still lingered in his touch, but barely.

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming against his fingertips, every part of you caught between hesitation and pure, desperate desire.

He wasn’t just waiting for your answer—he was waiting for permission.

But you had already made your choice.

Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him down as your lips met his again, a kiss that held no more restraint, no more second-guessing.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest as he grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart, lifting you effortlessly until you were wrapped around him.

His hands gripped your curves, kneading, pulling you flush against the hard press of him, molding you to him like he had every right to take, every right to claim.

The cool of his skin was a stark contrast to the heat rolling off you in waves.

You burned for him and he knew it. He had always known it.

His mouth moved to your throat, teeth scraping, lips soothing, tongue teasing, working his way lower as his hands pushed fabric aside, found more skin, more of you.

Your body arched into him, seeking, needing, powerless against the way he unraveled you.

His fingers teased at your core, a slow, maddening stroke that had your breath catching in your throat. You could feel smirk against your collarbone.

“So eager.”

You had never felt like this.

Like you were coming undone and being put back together all at once.

Like he had all the control while making you feel like you held it.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, back against the stone, thighs tightening around his hips. He groaned at the feeling, his grip bruising, his restraint breaking.

His lips found your ear, breathless, full of promise.

“Let me ruin you, Princess.”

And when his fingers finally slipped inside you, claiming, knowing, teasing you open for more

You did not hold back.

—•

The air was thick with the scent of heated skin and fading restraint.

Your breaths were uneven, your body still trembling against his as you came back down from the high he had torn from you.

Zayne’s forehead pressed against yours, his grip still firm on your hips, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Like if he did, reality would come crashing back in.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Not uncomfortable. Not uncertain.

Just the stillness of two people who had crossed a line that could never be redrawn.

Your fingers traced the damp strands of his hair, your heartbeat still wild, still trying to catch up.

He exhaled sharply, his hands sliding down your thighs, squeezing once before setting you back on your feet.

Your legs nearly gave out, and he smirked, steadying you, his touch lingering longer than it should have.

His voice came low, husky, tinged with amusement.

“Careful, Princess. You look like you might fall.”

You swallowed, forcing your body to remember how to move, how to think. “You’re insufferable.”

His smirk deepened. “And yet, here we are.”

Here.

In the dimly lit chamber, with your dress askew, his tunic undone, and the taste of his lips still lingering on yours.

The weight of what had just happened settled between you like a dangerous secret.

Zayne’s expression flickered, something serious, something darker, before he reached up, brushing his thumb over the mark he had left on your skin.

“No regrets?”

You knew what he was really asking.

You held his gaze, your chest rising and falling as you forced the words out. “This changes nothing.”

Zayne let out a slow exhale, but he didn’t look disappointed, as if he expected that answer.

Like he knew better.

His lips curled, slow and knowing. “If you say so.”

And when he stepped back, when the cold air rushed between you, you realized something that made your stomach twist.

It did change everything.

And you both knew it.

—•

The royal court had always been a place of veiled threats and measured words, where influence was played like a finely tuned instrument.

Today was no different, maybe except for the fact that Zayne was no longer playing from the sidelines.

You felt the change the moment he entered the chamber.

It wasn’t loud, not a grand display of force or some reckless grab for power.

No, Zayne was smarter than that.

It was in the way the nobles subtly straightened, in the way conversation faltered for just a breath before resuming, as if pretending they hadn’t noticed the shift.

But they did.

You did.

His steps were unhurried, controlled, the soft click of his boots against the marble floor carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

He didn’t linger at the edges of the room today, didn’t settle into his usual place of quiet observation.

Today, he moved with purpose.

Like he belonged there.

You sat beside the crown prince, poised, unreadable, but your attention was fixed on Zayne as he approached the war table, his fingers brushing idly over the map sprawled across it.

Not studying it. Not learning it. Just… familiar.

Lord Callas cleared his throat. “The eastern border remains volatile, Your Highness. Reinforcements are needed before the rebellion grows.” He glanced toward the crown prince, awaiting the usual nod of approval.

But before the prince could speak, Zayne’s voice cut through the room.

“And what do you suggest? More soldiers? More bodies to feed a conflict that should have never started?”

The nobles stilled.

Zayne didn’t look at them.

He remained focused on the map, tracing slow circles over the disputed territory.

Callas shifted in his seat. “Without proper forces, the region will fall further into chaos.”

Zayne hummed, tapping his fingers against the wood. “Funny, considering the coin sent to reinforce those garrisons never actually reached them.”

Callas stiffened. “That is an unfounded accusation—”

“Is it?” Zayne finally lifted his gaze, slow, calculated. His smirk was faint, but his eyes? Cold. Unyielding. “You seem awfully defensive for a man who has nothing to hide.”

The murmurs started, hushed but undeniable.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening in your lap.

He wasn’t just making a statement. He was setting the stage.

The crown prince’s tone was clipped. “Enough, Zayne.”

Zayne leaned back slightly, as if considering. “Of course.”

A beat.

Then, with an easy shrug, “After all, I suppose it isn’t my responsibility to keep the kingdom from crumbling, is it?”

“I believe that is your job, brother.”

The court went silent.

The shift was subtle, effortless, but devastating.

Zayne wasn’t just calling out a failing strategy.

He was questioning the throne itself.

The crown prince’s jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Have I said something untrue?”

The room held its breath.

The weight of Zayne’s words settled over the court like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t need to say it outright.

He didn’t need to declare that he had been cleaning up his brother’s messes for years.

Didn’t need to point out that he has been the one managing the generals, soothing the nobles, securing the stability that the crown prince took credit for.

He made his point.

And everyone in this room had understood it.

You inhaled, the flicker of heat beneath your skin warning you of what was coming next.

Because for the first time, Zayne wasn’t just standing in his brother’s shadow.

He was stepping into his light.

Soon, the court dispersed, leaving the battle that had only just begun.

Whispers trailed behind you as you walked, the echo of hushed voices filling the grand halls.

The tension from the war table still clung to the air, an invisible weight pressing down on the walls, on the floors, on the very foundation of this palace.

And at the center of it stood the two brothers.

The crown prince, the future Emperor.

And Zayne, the man who had never wanted the throne.

Until now.

You weren’t meant to be here.

But you stayed.

Because this wasn’t something that could be ignored.

Their steps were slow, calculated, the silence between them stretched tight. This wasn’t a simple disagreement.

This wasn’t even a rivalry.

This was war.

You could feel it.

The slow, brewing storm. The tension threading through the air like a knife against silk, waiting to cut.

Finally, the crown prince exhaled, breaking the silence first. “That was bold of you, Zayne.”

Zayne barely spared him a glance, his smirk lazy, unbothered. “You’ll have to be more specific, brother. I do many bold things.”

A flicker of irritation crossed the prince’s features, there and gone in an instant. “You’ve never overstepped like this before.”

Zayne hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” He smirked. “That should tell you something.”

You saw it then.

The brief flicker of unease in the crown prince’s eyes.

The tension in his stance, the way his fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to react.

Because for the first time, Zayne wasn’t standing in his shadow.

He was challenging it.

The crown prince came to a stop, turning to face his brother fully. His voice was low, controlled, but beneath the surface, you heard the threat.

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but let me make something clear.” He took a step forward. “I am the future Emperor. Not you.”

Zayne finally looked at him then.

Not lazily. Not with amusement. But with something colder. Heavier. Unshaken.

And then, he spoke.

“And yet, I do all the work.”

The words cut through the air like a blade, precise, deliberate.

The crown prince inhaled sharply through his nose, his composure slipping, just slightly.

Zayne’s smirk turned sharper. “Strange, isn’t it?”

The air shifted.

Not visibly. Not enough for the nobles still lingering nearby to notice.

But you felt it, the drop in temperature.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was a challenge.

Zayne felt it too.

But he didn’t tense. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, he took a step forward.

A fraction of movement. Subtle, barely noticeable.

But the crown prince stepped back.

Not by much. Not enough for anyone else to see.

But you saw it.

And Zayne knew it.

His smirk deepened, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Be careful, brother.”

The prince’s fingers curled at his sides, his breath slow, measured.

But he said nothing.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Because Zayne had already won this round.

And you had just witnessed it.

You inhaled slowly, aware of what this meant.

Zayne was no longer just a prince on the sidelines.

He was claiming the space he had been denied for too long.

And he was doing it for you.

—•

The quiet of your chambers was deceiving.

Outside these walls, the palace still buzzed with the aftermath of the court session. The nobles had seen it.

Zayne’s words, his challenge, the moment he had made them think.

And that was dangerous.

Because once a ruler’s strength was questioned, the throne beneath them began to crack.

And you weren’t sure if you should stop him.

Or help him break it entirely.

Zayne stood by the fireplace, one hand resting against the mantle, his expression unreadable as he watched the flames flicker.

You sat across from him, perched at the edge of your chair, fingers curled against the armrest.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything that hadn’t been said.

Finally, you spoke, “You’re going to push him.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. “I already have.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How far?”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp, calculating. “Far enough to make him doubt himself.”

Your pulse stumbled. “That’s dangerous.”

Zayne hummed in agreement. “It is.”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your gown.

“So what’s next? You make him paranoid? Isolate him? Turn the court against him?”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “I don’t have to.” He stepped closer, his presence sinking into the room, pressing into the space between you.

“He’ll do it himself.”

You inhaled, the weight of his words settling into your chest. “And what about me?”

Something flickered in his gaze. Something dangerous.

“You will be by my side.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of something else.

Something inevitable.

You swallowed. “The nobles won’t just fall in line. They need something to believe in.”

Zayne nodded, tapping his fingers against the chair beside him. “Then we give them something.”

“Meetings.” You thought aloud.

“Strategic alliances. We need to control the conversations before my betrothal to your brother becomes the chain he tries to bind me with.”

Zayne’s smirk faded, replaced with something colder. “He won’t control you.”

The way he said it sent heat curling under your skin.

You exhaled slowly. “Then make them believe in something bigger.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly. “You mean us.”

The words settled between you.

You weren’t sure if he meant the political alliance.

Or the one that had already crossed far too many lines.

Before you could answer, a sharp knock at the door shattered the quiet.

You exchanged a glance before the door suddenly barged open.

A guard stepped inside, his face unreadable. “Your Highness.”

His gaze flickered to Zayne before settling on you. “The crown prince requests your presence.”

You inhaled, already knowing what this was.

Already knowing he wasn’t going to sit idly by.

Zayne’s jaw ticked. “And if she refuses?”

The guard hesitated, shifting slightly. “Then he will come here himself.”

You pushed to your feet before Zayne could say anything else. “I’ll handle him.”

Zayne stepped closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “He’s already desperate.”

You held his gaze, fingers brushing briefly against his wrist before you pulled away. “Then let’s see how desperate he’s willing to get.”

And then, you left.

Because the real fight was just beginning.

—•

The halls felt colder as you walked.

Not because of the evening air, nor the marble floors that never retained warmth. It was him.

The crown prince.

He stood near the large windows of his chambers, dressed in royal black and deep crimson, the embroidered crest of the empire stitched into his sleeves.

He looked composed, regal, every inch the future Emperor he was supposed to be.

But you could see it.

The tightness in his jaw.

The way his fingers curled against the window ledge.

The way the frost that had begun creeping along the glass betrayed his control slipping.

You stopped a few paces from him, your own posture unyielding. “You summoned me.”

He turned, slowly, eyes sharp as steel, glinting with something dangerous. “It seems I have to.”

The tension in the room coiled tight.

He gestured toward the cushioned chair near the hearth. “Sit.”

You didn’t move.

His gaze flickered over you, unreadable, but his tone remained smooth. “You are my future Empress. This game with my brother ends now.”

Your breath steadied.

“Game?”

The crown prince let out a slow exhale, his head tilting slightly, his expression measured. “I don’t believe I’ve been unclear. You will marry me.”

You didn’t flinch. “Because you command it?”

His smirk was cold. “Because it has already been decided.”

The words landed like a lock clicking into place.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest.

“Funny.” Your voice was smooth, measured. “Because from where I stand, it seems you’re the one who feels the need to secure it.”

His jaw tensed, just barely, but you saw it.

He was pushing now.

Because for the first time, he felt the need to.

He took a step forward, slow, deliberate. “Do not mistake patience for weakness, Princess.”

The temperature in the room dropped. The torches flickered, the frost spreading further along the glass behind him.

Still, you didn’t step back.

Your voice remained steady. “And do not mistake obligation for devotion.”

Silence.

The flicker of something dark in his gaze.

“You overestimate your choices.” His voice lowered, smooth as glass, but it did nothing to hide the warning beneath it.

“This marriage is not an option. You and I will rule, and you will uphold the duty you were born for.”

Your throat tightened, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what he refused to see.

“And if I don’t?”

A slow inhale.

His expression remained calm, but his power pressed into the room, into your lungs, into the very air you breathed.

And then, he smiled.

“Then I will remind you why you must.”

Ice spread beneath your feet.

A cold so precise, so controlled, that you knew this was no warning.

This was a promise.

Your fingers curled at your sides, heat humming beneath your skin, ready to melt every ounce of frost he dared to place at your feet.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, you met his gaze, unyielding, unwavering. “We shall see.”

The smirk that crossed his lips was slow, confident, but there was something else beneath it.

Something uncertain.

Because he didn’t expect you to fight this.

And that would be his first mistake.

The frost beneath your feet crept forward, thin veins of ice threading through the marble, a slow, deliberate claim.

The crown prince watched you, his smirk carefully measured, but you knew him.

You saw what he was trying to hide.

Frustration.

Not because of your defiance—he had always expected you to fight.

But because he couldn’t control you the way he did the others.

And he knew that.

He took another step forward, close enough now that the chilled air clung to your skin.

“We shall see?” His voice was smooth, the tone of a man used to winning before the battle even began. “There is nothing to see, Princess. This union is sealed. You are mine.”

Your jaw tightened. “I am not yours.”

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his gaze hardened. “Not yet.”

Your breath steadied, heat simmering beneath your skin, pressing against the cold, but you kept it contained.

Controlled.

“Do you think this will work?” You tilted your head, keeping your voice calm, even. “That you can… freeze me into submission?”

His smirk faded slightly. “I think you are playing a dangerous game.”

You stepped forward, the warmth of your presence pushing against his cold, countering, challenging.

“And you think you aren’t?”

A flicker of something dark in his gaze. He exhaled sharply, his control tightening, restraining whatever impulse was itching beneath his skin. “I am offering you power. I am offering you a throne.”

“You are offering me a cage.”

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Careful, Princess.”

The crown prince stood before you, his posture stiff with controlled rage, his eyes dark with something dangerous.

“You think you can fight this?” His voice was smooth, but beneath it, you heard the strain.

The frustration.

The fear.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your voice steady. “I don’t have to fight.” You tilted your head, gaze burning into his. “Because you’re already losing.”

His jaw clenched. The cold around you thickened, the air becoming thin, biting. “You forget your place.”

You took a step forward, the ice melting beneath your feet. “You forget that I am fire.”

The torches flared higher, shadows stretching along the walls, warmth flooding the space between you.

“You think your power makes you untouchable? That your ice will cage me?”

Your gaze hardened, your voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “It will never be enough.”

The crown prince inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, his control barely holding. “You overestimate yourself.”

You let out a quiet laugh, slow, deliberate. “No. I think you’re finally realizing that you’ve underestimated me.”

For the first time, his silence was not power.

It was defeat.

Suddenly, the door opened.

A guard entered swiftly, bowing low. “Your Highness, the nobles are gathering. They request your presence.”

The prince inhaled slowly, his expression smoothing over in a practiced motion, his power retreating like an ocean wave pulling back before the next storm.

You knew this wasn’t over.

Neither did he.

He turned to you, his smirk returning, but colder now. “We will finish this later.”

You smiled back, slow and deliberate. “I look forward to it.”

He left without another word.

But as the door closed behind him, as the frost faded, your heart was still beating too fast.

Not from fear.

From the certainty that the real war had just begun.

The moment the door closed behind him, you let out a slow breath, releasing the fire you had held so tightly within you.

The heat hummed beneath your skin, the tension still coiled in your chest, but you had won this round.

You had stood your ground.

But you also knew he wasn’t done.

The crown prince had been pushed before, but never like this. Never in a way that made him feel as if his power was slipping through his fingers. He would not take this lightly.

You turned away from the lingering chill in the room and made your way back toward your chambers. Zayne would be waiting.

And you had much to discuss.

—•

Zayne was already there when you arrived.

Leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in that way that told you he had been expecting this.

Waiting for you to come to him.

His gaze swept over you the moment you stepped inside, sharp, already knowing what happened.

“He tried to secure the marriage.”

You exhaled, closing the door behind you. “He’s grasping at what’s already lost.”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, pleased. “Good.”

You took a measured step forward, arms folding neatly at your waist. “Don’t look so smug. He’s going to lash out.”

Zayne chuckled, tilting his head. “Of course he will. It’s the only thing he knows how to do.” His gaze flickered toward the window, thoughtful. “But he’s not thinking ahead. He never does.”

You met his eyes. “And you are.”

He lifted a brow. “Always.”

Your lips curved slightly, mirroring his amusement, but your voice remained steady. “Then tell me.”

Something flickered behind his expression, something that wasn’t just amusement, something that had been there for longer than either of you had admitted.

He stepped closer, his presence calm, certain, inevitable.

“The nobles are already watching. I gave them a reason to doubt him today.” His voice was smooth, unwavering. “Now, I give them a reason to follow someone else.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You mean you.”

Zayne held your gaze. “I mean us.”

Your breath didn’t catch. Your pulse didn’t stutter. You had already made this decision.

His eyes flickered down, searching for hesitation, for doubt. He found none.

He exhaled slowly, something dark, something hungry curling behind his smirk. ��He is desperate to keep you. And when a man is desperate, he makes mistakes.”

You tilted your head slightly. “And what mistake will he make?”

Zayne’s smirk deepened. “The one where he forces your hand too soon.”

Your fingers traced the carved edge of the chair beside you. “And when that happens?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering to something intimate, lethal.

“Then we take everything from him.”

The words settled between you, but there was no tension.

No uncertainty.

You had already chosen.

This wasn’t a question, there was no hesitation.

This was a declaration.

Your fingers brushed his, deliberate, a promise more than a touch.

“Then let’s begin.”

[forrest-onfire]

Mkay, I’ve got another:

I need a fic where Raf and MC are chaotic besties. Obviously Raf is in love but MC also has a crush except she’s CONVINCED he’s gay. Bc come on. Look at him. Do you hear his voice? That’s a pretty little gay boy right there. I’m 100% down for bisexual Raf (I’ve been seeing lots of Sylus x Rafael lately and I’m EATING IT UP). But I digress: MC loves Raf but has always friendzoned him unintentionally because she’s convinced he couldn’t possibly like her back, he’s just a flirty person in general, not that she’s every seen him flirt with anyone else, but that assumption suits him well anyway.

Raf HATES that she seemingly doesn’t see him as a threat at all. Basically the whole “clearly you don’t see me as a man” cliche except she totally does, but she’s lost all hope in pursuing him and now just treats him as her gay best friend, playful flirting, innocent touches, etc…

Things go a little too far when she starts to feel comfortable enough to change in front of him, and he just kinda snaps, getting all defensive to hide how flustered he’s getting and then she finally lets it slip.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much. This isn’t your first time seeing a naked woman, is it? You may not be attracted to the female body, but I didn’t think you’d be so squeamish. Didn’t you study anatomy as an artist? Though, I guess you don’t have to since you hardly ever do portraits…”

She’s rambling as she changes, but Rafael is still caught on her casual confession that she apparently had NO CLUE how hot and bothered he gets every time she walks into the room. NO CLUE that every time she passed by him, the scent of her shampoo alone give him a pathetic hard on that makes his pants feel so tight, he wonders if the seams will pop open and reveal his disgusting, dirty train of thought. NO CLUE that he fisted himself under the sheets at night after trying and failing so many times to draw her just right because no frozen picture on a canvas could fully capture her beauty, not to mention how was he supposed to draw something he’d never gotten the privilege to see.

Until now, as she stands naked and unassuming in front of him, going on about how he’s…

Gay?

I mean, sure he liked dick probably as much as the next guy (assuming the next guy was queer as shit, of course). But Rafael was nothing if not adventurous and maybe a little depraved at times.

Like now, feeling that dark desire pool in his stomach and his cock struggle against the fabric of his briefs.

Her back is turned towards him, stretching leisurely before she bends to pick up her clothes and gives him the perfect view of e v e r y t h i n g, plump ass wriggling absentmindedly back and forth, thick thighs pressed together, and between the two like a delicately framed jewel is her sweet cunt that he’s been trying to envision for months now, right in front of him for the taking.

It almost made him angry how she did so with such innocent intentions, no idea how crazy it was driving him. But you know what? If this wasn’t an opportunity to prove to her just how much of a man he was, then what else was? After all, never once did he say a word about not liking woman - he hadn’t even mentioned liking men at all, how could he think about someone else when she stood right there, perfect in every way except apparently common sense because where the HELL had she gotten the idea that he was gay?

So really, it’s her fault. A lesson needs to be learned, and if Raf was lucky, she wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon…

K, so I accidentally almost wrote it myself. But I don’t wanna, so here! Take it. Make it better please I need to see this as a fully fleshed out one-shot. If you write it and tag me, I’ll be your forever mutual and a devout follower for the rest of our days.

Also, I’m aware I could make these requests directly to a fic writer, but as you can see, I prefer to simply scream out into the void and wait patiently for a response that will probably never come.

Happy pining 🤧❤️

[gabberpopsexclusive]

The fact that Joost has confirmed like 3 (!!!) times that he likes to go slow is just… i cant handle it

Like think of him kissing all the way down your body, rubbing you so slowly you want to rip your hair out. And when you tell him to go faster he just keeps toying with you 😖😖

I’m normally a bottom joost enthusiast but this just gives top vibes for me IM SORRY

mmm hear me out anon..

sleepy slow sex with joost?? listen yall hear me out.

joost wakes up before you, looking to the nightstand next to your shared bed. the clock reads 6:43am. he looks over to you, your blissfully sleeping face making him smile. you look so beautiful in the dim light.

he just cant resist you. slowly, he moves down the bed to your side, maneuvering your legs so that he can see your panties. he slides his finger over the material covering your pussy, which draws a small moan from your still unconscious mouth.

he continues to tease you lightly, moving your underwear to the side and toying with you, making more light moans come from you.

he swears the noises you make are the most angelic sounds hes ever heard, all he wants to do is hear more from you.

you stir slightly, and he brings his face to your pussy, licking a gentle stripe up it. you wake up slowly to him in between your legs, a plesant surprise on a slow morning.

you gently grab his hair, moaning at the sensation youre feeling. the pleasure is slowly overwhelming you, his speed is at a pace where you dont feel too overwhelmed, but youre still feeling pleasure.

the feeling builds up fast for you, and you let him know that. he takes no issue with letting you cum, for now, licking it up from your folds slowly and sensually.

when hes done, he moves up to meet your face, placing light kisses on it and down your chest as he moves down his boxers. he pauses quickly and stares at you. you lightly ask him to continue, your meek and tired voice gently passing through his ears. unfortunately, he decides to toy with you for a bit longer.

running his hands up and down your body, gently toying with your nipples, and then stopping completely. you want him to continue, you want him to make you feel good, but it seems like hes just getting off on watching you writhe and beg for him to do something.

eventually he makes his way back up to your face, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. his face leaves yours, finally taking his dick out and moving down to watch his length enter you. it feels absolutely surreal, being half awake and feeling such overwhelming pleasure from your lover, the feeling is enough to make you cum again right then and there.

he sets a slow pace, its antagonizing you that he isnt deciding to go any faster. youre trying to subtly hint it at him, looking up at him with needy eyes and letting out louder moans when he hits a spot that feels particularly good. eventually you give up, and actually have to use your words. it felt like he was slowly teasing you for an eternity, and you just couldnt handle it anymore. the begging and pleading coming from you is another noise he finds absolutely angelic, swaying him to finally do as you ask. he starts to go faster, and finally he hits a pace where you cum not too far after he starts thrusting at that rate. after feeling you cum, he cant resist the urge, and pulls out to cum all over your stomach.

it may be a mess, but he loves to clean it up for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hi. yes i maybe snuck a little sub!joost down at the end. cuz why not. (imo the mans totally a switch but thats a discussion for another post.)

anywayyyz.. hope u like this one. took me a lil while to get out but i grinded for yall 🫶