#radiation ring magnet

[sw5w]

Chromium Cruiser

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:02:11

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

"Even paparazzi don't record that..."༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

synopsis: making a movie with him in the locker room after the boxing match….fic is based on his voice line from the new card

tags: Sweaty Boxer Sylus, manhandling, cunnalingus(through the clothes and then not…), fingering, recording, pictures, penetration, mirror sex, creampie, praise, vulgar, explicit

wrd count: 2.3k

a/n: Sylus my beloved i’ll never get tired of writing for you

The roar of the crowd echoed in your ears as you stood outside the boxing ring, watching Sylus stand up with a knuckle to the floor to push his sore body up, walking toward the outside of the ring.

The sweat glistened on his muscular frame, and a triumphant smile spread across his face as he looked at the bouquet you got him.

You felt a surge of pride and anticipation.

His presence was magnetic, drawing all attention to him, but his focus was solely on you, not the crowd nor the confetti that fell around you.

"Kitten," he said, his voice low and husky, “This is for me?” He said with a smug look, clearly surprised you got him such a thoughtful gift.

You grinned, your heart pounding in your chest. "It’s for the champion," you replied sarcastically, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "I suppose that’s you tonight."

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until your bodies were almost touching between the ropes of the boxing ring. "As beautiful as these flowers are…they aren’t the real gift," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "It's you."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a tangible promise of what was to come. Without another word, he took your hand and led you through the bustling arena, past cheering fans and flashing cameras, until you reached the quiet sanctuary of his private locker room.

The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly the noise of the world outside faded away. Sylus turned to you, his gaze intense and full of unspoken desires.

“I’m glad you could make it tonight, Miss Hunter.” He said as he softly grabbed each side of your face, kissing your forehead before looking back into your eyes.

You chuckled, noticing his still sweat ridden face and body; your eyes roam for a bit.

“My eyes are up here.” He says, feigning offense.

You let out a small laugh, cupping his chest and playfully squeezing it before he smacks your hands off.

“I saw what you were recording you know…naughty girl.” He whispered.

You look up at him with widened eyes, embarrassed from being caught back at the ring.

“I didn’t know it was recording- I just…”

“…Just? Just what sweetie?” He pushed, tilting his face and sitting down on the bench as he pulled you close to him, making you stand between his legs.

Before you can take it back, he pulls your phone out of your back pocket.

“Hey!- I’ll delete it don’t worry…” You assure, trying to reach for your device back as he pulled it away from you.

He lets out a tsk, opening your camera and handing the phone back to you, “Don’t bother, I’ll give you something better.” He promises.

You look at him with a sudden heat blasting your face at his suggestiveness, about to deny your actions again before he cuts you off.

“Don’t get all shy now…I would never deny your little antics.” He says with that same smug expression, pulling you into his lap as you hold onto his shoulder with your free hand.

"Get comfortable," he said, his voice a velvet rumble. "Let’s make a little movie for you tonight.”

With quick work he lays you down on the locker room bench, pulling your garments over your head and letting them fall on the floor along with your pants.

“Are you recording, sweetie?” He asks, soothing over your bare skin.

You nodded, your pulse quickening as you watched him approach. His hands were strong and sure as they wrapped around your waist, as he kneeled on both knees infront of your sat body.

Your legs parted instinctively, welcoming his proximity as you nodded.

"Good girl," he praised, his thumbs teasing the edges of your panties. "Now, let's give you a good video for later." He chuckled.

With a wicked grin, he leaned in, his mouth hovering just above your parted thighs before his tongue darted out, tracing the delicate fabric of your panties as he

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his tongue found the sensitive spot hidden beneath the lace. The sensation was electric, shooting straight to your core.

He worked his magic with languid strokes, his mouth a source of relentless pleasure.

"Sylus…," you moaned, your head falling back onto the hard wooden bench as you surrendered to the waves of ecstasy building within you. "God, yes..."

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Like that, kitten? Do you want more?"

You could only nod, your body trembling with need. Sylus's hands slid under your panties and holding your ass, lifting you higher as he pressed deeper into your folds. His teeth grazed the fabric, biting down gently before tugging the material aside, exposing your wet heat to the cool air, your entire body now on display for him.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. "The camera too…don’t take your eyes off me.”

You opened your eyes, locking gazes with him as his tongue delved into your soaked flesh. The sight of him devouring you, so focused and intent, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you as you struggled to hold the camera in frame as he winked at it, while practically swallowing you whole.

Your hips bucked, grinding against his mouth as he flicked his tongue against your clit, relentless in his pursuit of your climax.

"Fuck, Sylus-," you panted, your fists gripping the edge of the bench. "Don't stop... please..."

"Never," he promised, his voice muffled against your pussy. "Keep recording sweetie, don’t miss this."

His fingers joined his tongue, sliding inside you with perfect pressure. You cried out, your body arching off the wooden surface as he filled you completely. The dual sensations of his mouth and fingers pushed you to the brink, and you could feel your orgasm coiling tight, ready to burst.

“Yes…..yes, Sylus-!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls as your release tore through you. Your body jerked and spasmed, every muscle clenching around his invading digits.

Sylus drank you in, his tongue never missing a beat as he coaxed every last drop of pleasure from your trembling form.

When your vision finally cleared, you found Sylus gazing up at you, his eyes dark and hooded. "Beautiful," he murmured, kissing your inner thigh before slowly rising to claim your lips in a searing kiss, pulling you up by your hair as he stood now.

You melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you devoured his mouth. His hands roamed your body, worshipping every curve and dip, sending sparks of renewed desire coursing through you.

"My turn," he whispered against your

lips, breaking the kiss. "Let me show you how much I adore you, kitten."

Before you could respond, he lifted you off the counter and carried you to the counter. With gentle reverence, he placed you on the marble with your back facing the mirror and positioned himself between your spread legs, his cock hard and throbbing against your entrance.

"Touch yourself," he instructed, his voice a sultry command. "I want to watch you." He added, taking the phone and keeping it in his large hand.

You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. Sylus groaned, his eyes fixed on your hand as you circled your sensitive nub, building the tension once more.

"So fucking sexy," he muttered, his hips thrusting forward, rubbing his length against your slick folds as it spread your arousal over his tip. "You ready for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded feverishly, your body aching for his invasion. "Please, Sylus... I need more."

With a predatory grin, he lined himself up and thrust forward, sheathing himself in your heat in one smooth motion. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.

"That's it…say cheese~," he jested before clicking a photo of him deep inside you, his voice rough with passion. "Take me all in. Feel how much I fucking love you." He groaned.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one driving deep into your quivering core. The intensity of his rhythm had you clinging to him, your body helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.

"Oh God," you moaned, your hips meeting his with desperate urgency.

"More, Sylus... harder..." You begged.

He could never say no to you like this.

He pressed record and handed you the phone, patting your thigh to alert you to keep filming.

You take it and angle it straight in front of you, the scene so vulgar and obscure: Sylus and his large muscular back, blocking a good chunk of the frame as he holds your hips while slamming into you now, his contorted face that lays behind your shoulder seen in the reflection of the mirror behind you two as you’re seated on the counter, taking every thrust as he moves in and out of you.

The camera shakes side to side as you keep recording, his cock now pummeling you.

He turns his face, kissing your cheek a few times before giving the camera a side glance, smirking as he looks at the scene, kissing you jaw and your neck as he stares back at the screen, then to you.

“Look at you y/n…sitting so pretty, making all these cute sounds...” He chuckles, his voice raspy as he seems to be getting close. lips, his tongue dancing with yours in a fierce duel of passion.

His hands slid down to grip your ass, lifting you closer to him on the counter so that he could drive deeper into you. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling with each thrust as you tried to keep the camera steady, the lens capturing every intimate detail.

"Sylus... oh God... yes!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the cold walls. Your back arched, pressing your breasts against his chest as you rocked against him, desperate for more.

He groaned, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision, his cock filling you completely. "You feel so good," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight around me... I can't get enough."

Your fingers tightened around the camera, your vision blurring with the intensity of the moment. Sylus's hand left your ass to trace a line up your spine, sending shivers down your back. He reached around and cupped your breast, thumbing your nipple before he reached for your ankle and propped it up on the edge of the counter, giving the camera a more explicit view of you getting impaled on his cock.

"Touch yourself again," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see you come apart for me."

You obeyed, your free hand moving to pinch and tease your nipple, slowing dragging to your clit and rubbing quick circles while your other hand struggled to keep the camera focused on the both of you. Sylus watched, his gaze dark and hungry as he continued to pound into you, his rhythm unyielding.

"That's it... show me how much you love this," he growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Show me how much you need me."

The combination of his words and actions pushed you closer to the edge, your body tightening with anticipation. "Sylus... I'm so close..." you gasped, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing and the smacking of flesh against flesh.

"Then come for me," he urged, his thrusts growing more urgent. "Let go, baby... let me take care of you."

With a final, desperate cry, you did just that. Your body convulsed around his cock, the orgasm tearing through you like a tidal wave. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Sylus grunted, his own release building within him. "Fuck, sweetie... I'm not done yet," he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own climax. "I need to be inside you when I come... need to fill you up.”

You nodded, your vision swimming as you struggled to stay conscious through the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Please, Sylus... give it to me..."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came hard, his body shuddering with the force of his release. He held you close, his face buried in your neck as he emptied himself into you, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the pounding of your hearts. Then, slowly, Sylus pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty and satisfied all at once. He placed the camera on the counter, ensuring it captured the final moments of your intimacy.

"Fuck…," he murmured, kissing your forehead before stepping back to admire the scene. "Just perfect."

You smiled weakly, your body still tingling from the intensity of the experience. "Next time, maybe we should film from a different angle," you teased, trying to catch your breath.

Sylus chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I have plenty of ideas for next time," he said, leaning in to kiss you again.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. The world outside the locker room might have been filled with noise and chaos, but here, in this secluded sanctuary, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms and lost in the aftermath.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[a-d-nox]

how can you glow up: your 1h - your look

to work off my recent post about glow ups. today i will be taking a closer look at 1h themes regarding glowing up.

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

1h aries (1°, 13°, 25°), 1h mars, and/or mars aspecting asc

style

embrace boldness: strong, eye-catching styles. opt for tailored cuts, statement pieces, and/or vibrant colors like red, black, and/or deep maroon.

minimalist edge: minimalist outfits with sharp, clean lines work well. think structured blazers, fitted jeans, and sleek dresses.

athletic influences: bomber jackets, chunky sneakers, or athleisure pieces that combine comfort and power/strength.

statement accessories: leather belts, combat boots, and/or metallic jewelry.

beauty

defined features: use makeup to emphasize strong features, like sculpted cheekbones (contouring), bold brows, and/or a fierce cat-eye.

bold lip colors: reds and deep tones are perfect for making a statement.

effortless hair: low-maintenance but striking styles suit these people. try tousled waves, a slicked-back ponytail, and/or a pixie cut.

skincare for vibrancy: redness or sensitivity are common for this placement. incorporate calming, anti-inflammatory products (aloe vera, green tea, etc) while also enhancing your natural glow with gentle exfoliation.

body language & presence

command attention: walk with purpose and exude confidence in every movement.

strong posture: your body should radiates strength, so maintain good posture and carry yourself with self-assuredness.

active energy: use expressive gestures and/or physical activity to channel your energy into dynamic actions that captivate others.

mindset mantras

“my energy is magnetic."

"i am unstoppable.”

“i glow when i embrace my strength.”

1h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), 1h mercury, and/or mercury aspecting asc

style

play with versatility: you are adaptable, so lean into styles that allow you to switch things up easily. opt for pieces that can be layered, mixed and matched, or dressed up or down. modular wardrobes and quirky accessories can also keep things fresh.

focus on youthful, playful vibes: embrace fun patterns, bright colors, or playful silhouettes. think cropped tops (careful if you in corporate - office sirens are a tiktok thing they not real lol), sneakers, and relaxed tailoring.

highlight the hands and arms: gemini rules the hands and arms, so accessories like rings, bracelets, and polished manicures draw attention to you. potentially experiment with finger tattoos (i would say only if mercury beneficially aspecting mars and pluto), colorful nail art, or layered bangles.

embrace intellectual elegance: incorporate "smart", polished touches, like well-fitted blazers, statement glasses, or minimalist yet clever jewelry.

beauty

fresh-faced makeup: aim for light, natural-looking makeup that emphasizes radiance. think glossy lips, dewy skin, and fluttery lashes. experiment with subtle eyeliner or shadow to create a playful but polished eye look.

experiment with hairstyles: don’t be afraid to try new cuts or colors. bangs, layers, or multidimensional highlights could add to your playful energy. accessories like barrettes, headbands, and/or clips can reflect your quick-changing vibe.

skin-care for a luminous look: focus on lightweight, hydrating products that enhance your natural glow without feeling heavy.

body language & presence

curiosity: you should aim for being naturally inquisitive and engaging. a warm smile (ugh hate telling people to smile more) and attentive posture amplify your charm.

express with your hands: use gestures when speaking to showcase your animated and captivating energy.

keep your energy light and flexible: you come alive in conversations and movement, so let your personality shine in how you interact with others.

mindset mantras

“i am curious and adaptable.”

“my versatility is my superpower.”

“my playfulness enhances my every look.”

1h libra (7°, 19°), 1h venus, and/or venus aspecting asc

style

classic elegance: timeless, sophisticated looks. aim for chic silhouettes, neutral tones, and soft fabrics like silk or cashmere. tailored blazers, flowy dresses, or polished trousers.

balance in outfits: libra thrives on symmetry and balance. counter balance proportions (i typically do fitted top with wide-leg pants as someone with this placement) and pair bold elements with subtle ones.

romantic details: incorporate feminine, romantic touches like lace, ruffles, and/or floral patterns. accessories like pearl earrings (my fav).

matching color theory / finding flattering colors: usually these people are in a soft palette. so pastels and harmonious shades like blush pink, light blue, or cream highlight your natural beauty.

stylish accessories: beauty is in the details. think statement jewelry, a chic handbag, or elegant shoes can complete your look.

beauty

glowing skin: prioritize your complexion via hydrating skincare. face mists, illuminating primers, and natural highlighters can give you that venusian glow.

perfecting your brow shape: symmetrical beauty is a libra venus and rising thing, so well-groomed, balanced brows enhance your natural beauty.

soft makeup: opt for soft, romantic looks: rosy blush, nude or pink lips, and neutral eyeshadow. slight winged eyeliner adds a touch of drama without being overpowering.

the art of hair: best suited in polished hairstyles. consider sleek ponytails, loose waves, or elegant buns. highlights or balayage in warm, subtle tones can add to your perceived sophistication.

body language & presence

charm: smile often (i hate when people tell me that) and project warmth. libra risings have a natural charisma that attracts others.

posture: a graceful, upright posture enhances your air of elegance. yoga or pilates can help develop this poise.

be approachable: your energy is diplomatic and magnetic, so lean into your ability to create harmony in social interactions.

mindset mantras

“i am the embodiment of beauty and grace."

“my elegance is effortless.”

“harmony begins within, and it radiates out.”

1h sagittarius (9°, 21°), 1h jupiter, and/or jupiter aspecting asc

style

go bold: embrace bold colors and lively patterns that reflect an adventurous spirit. flowing, luxurious fabrics like satin or silk mirror the abundance you bring.

elevate with elegance: invest in quality over quantity. timeless pieces, like tailored blazers or elegant dresses, will amplify your glow.

cultural inspiration: styles inspired by travel or cultural motifs (like patterns, jewelry, or textiles) resonate beautifully with this aspect. of course in a non-appropriative manner .

comfort is key: ensure your wardrobe blends style with comfort. think soft, flowing cuts or boho-chic aesthetics.

beauty

radiant skin: focus on achieving a healthy, radiant glow through skincare. hydration and nourishing products are essential.

bright and open makeup looks: go for makeup that enhances your natural warmth. think luminous foundation, bronzer for a sun-kissed look, and golden highlighter work well.

hair with movement: jupiter’s energy loves freedom, so hairstyles that are loose, flowing, or natural-looking (like waves or curls) suit you best.

body language & presence

confident posture: you have a natural charisma. stand tall and own your space to project confidence effortlessly.

engaging smile: let your smile be your signature. a genuine smile enhances your approachable energy.

generous energy: exude warmth by being present and enthusiastic when engaging with others.

mindset mantras

“my positivity is my greatest glow.”

“i radiate abundance and confidence.”

“growth and self-love are the foundations of my beauty.”

1h pisces (12°, 24°), 1h neptune, and/or neptune aspecting asc

style

dreamy, flowing silhouettes: soft, fluid clothing. opt for dresses, skirts, or tops with flowing, romantic designs. sheer or satin fabrics amplify this vibe.

whimsical details: lace, embroidery, or shimmery accents add a touch of magic to your look. layering pieces like shawls or cardigans can evoke a dreamy, layered aesthetic.

soft colors: pastel shades, muted tones, or oceanic hues like lavender, pale blue, seafoam green, and silver.

beauty

luminous skin: enhance a natural glow. use hydrating skincare and dewy makeup products, like liquid highlighters or illuminating primers.

soft, diffused makeup: focus on dreamy, blended looks. think soft, smoky eyes, blush with a watercolor effect, and sheer lip glosses.

hair with flow: loose waves, soft curls, or tousled styles. hair accessories, like pearl clips or headbands, add a whimsical touch.

body language & presence

graceful movements: move with calmness and fluidity. practices like yoga or dance can enhance your poise.

mystical energy: lean into your mysterious vibe by being introspective and allowing your presence to speak louder than words.

soft gaze: your eyes are likely a standout feature. enhance your connection with others through warm, soulful eye contact.

mindset mantra

"i radiate beauty and grace effortlessly.”

"my creativity is my greatest assets.”

“i glow when i align with my inner magic."

1h ruler in the 4h

style

comfort meets elegance: blend cozy and chic. think knitwear, flowy fabrics, and soft layers that make you feel at ease yet polished. fabrics like cotton, linen, and cashmere resonate with the homey yet refined vibe they should aim for.

heritage-inspired looks: incorporate cultural or familial influences into your style, like heirloom jewelry, vintage pieces, and/or traditional patterns.

neutral/earthy tones: soft, calming colors like beige, cream, sage green, or light blues create a harmonious, approachable aesthetic.

classic, timeless staples: opt for timeless pieces that feel like a second skin, like well-fitted jeans, crisp shirts, and/or a versatile trench coat.

beauty

natural glow: emphasize a fresh, radiant complexion. focus on nourishing skincare and light, dewy makeup that enhances your natural features.

relaxed hair styles: loose waves, soft braids, and/or simple updos work well; they reflect their easygoing, comforting energy.

soothing beauty rituals: prioritize self-care routines at home, like face masks, at home manicures, or aromatherapy.

body language & presence

grounded confidence: project a calm, steady presence that reflects your inner security.

emotional connection: share your personal story or background when appropriate - it can make your presence more relatable and magnetic.

warm, inviting energy: your glow-up is amplified when you make others feel at home around you.

mindset mantras

“my glow begins from within.”

“i balance comfort and beauty effortlessly.”

“when i feel at home in myself, my light shines everywhere.”

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button! 

return to nox’s guide to metaphysics

return to nox's hypotheses

© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[wonders-of-the-cosmos]

Voyager 1 began photographing Jupiter in January 1979. Its closest approach to Jupiter was on March 5, 1979, at a distance of about 349,000 kilometres from the planet's center. Because of the greater photographic resolution allowed by a closer approach, most observations of the moons, rings, magnetic fields, and the radiation belt environment of the Jovian system were made during the 48-hour period that bracketed the closest approach. Voyager 1 finished photographing the Jovian system in April 1979.

Image Credit: NASA

[kbwrites]

OFFICE ESCAPADES WITH NANAMI

Synopsis: Ever since Nanami hired you you’ve done nothing but stress him out. You’re infuriating… And he just can’t seem to get enough of you.

⚝a/n: I don’t usually write smut so I decided to give it a shot.

⚝tags: Porn with plot, Nsfw, Companyman! Nanami, Semi-Public Sex, Enemies to Lovers

⚝wc: 2.4k

Nanami was a gentleman, arguably the perfect one. He shows up to work on time, early even. His hair was neatly combed, his dress shirt pressed, leather shoes shined. He was the pinnacle of discipline and control.

However, every time he was in your presence. That control would slip, little by little.

He hired you fresh out of college. Top of your class, all of the firms in the area had given their offers; but Nanami snatched you away.

He soon began to think that maybe you were more trouble than you were worth..

You were brilliant, there wasn’t any denying that. You were gorgeous, couldn’t deny that either. But that damn mouth of yours.. was going to be the death of him and you…

You strutted into the older man’s office, ‘he’s told you multiple times to knock first…’ Nanami peels his eyes away from his laptop to look at the woman standing in front of his desk. His eyebrow quirks up as he notices her visibly pissed-off vibe.

“Something wrong?”

You scoff in annoyance “You denied my contract?”

He looks back at his laptop, stealing glances at you.

“Did you even read over it before you sent it to me?”

“Excuse me-”

“The terms in this contract… Do you have any idea what kind of position it’ll put us in?”

“Are you suggesting I don’t know how to do my job?”

Nanami shoots you a sidelong glance, a hint of irritation flashing across his face.

“I’m not suggesting I’m telling you. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you this big a project so soon.”

You huff in annoyance. Your boss knew just what to say to push your buttons. You slam the papers you were holding onto his mahogany desk. Looking down at your senior… he was so.. So.. infuriating. Nanami leans back in his chair, hands folded against his chest as he looks up at you.

“You arrogant-”

“Arrogant?” He laughs, his voice laced with annoyance.

“You come in here with a horrendous contract, even worse attitude, and think you’re in the right?” He rises from his desk, striding over to you. You never noticed how much Nanami towered over you, and now he was inches away from you. He smelled like… Vanilla and cedarwood, his cologne making you dizzy. But no, you needed desperately to try to control yourself. Make it seem like he wasn’t having such an effect on you.

“That contract is getting sent out.” You inch in closer looking up at him, failing at being intimidating.

“No, it's not.” Nanami says firmly, his eyes locked onto yours. An intense, almost magnetic pull between the two of you. He continues to invade your space.

“You’re not sending anything out until I’ve reviewed and approved it. Understand?” He pushes his glasses up his bridge.

Being this close, you can feel his breath on your skin, the heat radiating off his body.

Nanami takes a deep breath stepping back just enough to create some distance, he takes the papers you previously slammed on his desk and shoves them into your hand.

“Come back when you’ve made the changes I highlighted.”

You roll your eyes before bowing, your formal gesture cannot hide how much you want to ring his neck right now-

“Yes. Sir.” You turn on your heels, leaving his office. Slamming the door on your way out.

Nanami lets out a deep, shaky breath.

“Fuck… She’s gonna be the death of me.”

He runs his hand through his golden locks, trying to compose himself. Why did you have to be so irritating? He would love to just put her in her place. Shut that pretty little mouth of hers… Have her on her knees taking his-

Wait.. What?

Nanami shakes his head, trying to reign in his desire. ‘She’s a coworker’ he tells himself. ‘It would be highly unethical’

And yet you plague his mind, every waking moment. How it would feel to have you underneath him, begging for mercy.

His hands move lower, palming his semi-hard erection through his cotton twill dress pants. The otherwise put-together businessman groaned at the friction delivered from his hand… Imagining it was you, splayed out on his mahogany desk..

He unzips his pants, loosening his yellow tie…

Your blouse discarded and pencil skirt… that damn pencil skirt-- He always warned you it was just a little too short.

His length springs free, slit already leaking. He wraps one hand around it, pumping slowly.

“S-shit… (Y/N).” He lets out a shaky breath. He shouldn’t be doing this, it's shameful to even be thinking about you in that way. He’s your boss.

He tightens his grip, hips bucking into his hand. Nanami’s head falls back to his office chair, this is so wrong.. This is so wrong…

“Ff-fuuuck…”

He hisses through clenched teeth, you’re just on the other side of his office door. If you only knew how he really felt about you. That during all your arguments he’d want nothing more than to bend you over his desk and fuck you until you couldn’t remember your name.

He pumps faster, wanting desperately to release the pent-up frustration. He’s close. His breath quickens, his cum spills out, hot sticky ropes flowing down his hand.

Fuck.

He grabs some tissues cleaning up the evidence of his transgression. Straightening his tie and zipping up his pants, Nanami clears his throat trying to regain some semblance of control. Guilt washes over him.

His work… yes maybe if he focused on that-

But nothing seems to work, he’s bewitched. Intoxicated by you, in all his years working for this company no one had ever challenged him. Questioned his authority, called him a “self-centered bastard” but you… you did all those things. He wanted more, he needed more.

Suddenly the doorknob turns

Nanami sits up in his leather chair, pretending to type away at his computer.

You enter the room, holding another stack of papers. Nanami sighs.

“I’ve told you countless times to knock-”

The stack of papers drops to his desk with a loud

THUMP.

“I revised the contract” You reply placing your hands on the desk, flashing him the fakest smile. He looks up at you, leaning down over the desk his eye flicks down to your slightly exposed cleavage.. A peak of your lace bra showing from under your satin blouse.

Black lace underwear huh?

He clears his throat… Looking back up at you. He pulls the stack of papers towards him, rifling through the pages. Desperately trying to ignore your luring figure looming over him. It’s a marked improvement from the last draft, but where’s the fun in praising you?

“Its… passable” He looks up at you, smirking.

“Bullshit!” You snap, that was it. It was one thing if you made a mistake, but that revision was flawless. Just what exactly was his problem?!

Nanami’s eyebrow quirks up, amused at your outburst. “Did you expect a gold star for doing your job?” He slowly rises from his chair, his hands now also on the desk. Looming over you.

“I don’t need a gold star” You scoff “Especially not from you.”

Every snarky remark, every biting word from your lips ignites something in him. Primitive, possessive, a pull that he can’t seem to escape. He leans in closer, both of your bodies still separated by his desk.

“You clearly need something to adjust that attitude of yours.”

Your heart is running a marathon right now, your arguments were always heated but this… this felt different. You decide to take a chance, your knee comes up to lean on the desk, and your other stiletto-clad leg now dangling off the edge. Your face mere inches from your boss’.

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” You stare into his honey-colored eyes, filled with fire.

And right there, months of profanity-filled disagreements, heated screaming matches.. It all boiled down to this-

Nanami grabs you by the neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His tongue greedily entering your mouth, tasting every corner. He bites at your bottom lip roughly, your eyes flutter shut melting into his firm grasp. Time stops, but starts again when he pulls away, forehead resting against yours. Your mind is an infinite void, millions of thoughts run through it but no words can come out. Did he just? Did you just? Then he speaks.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since you started here.” He manages to get out through labored breaths. His attention moves to your neck, he pulls your head up exposing more of your skin to him, he trails hot open-mouth kisses up and down your throat. Your breath hitches.

“And what about you? You think ahh you’ve been a box of daisies?” He grabs your legs, pulling you to sit on the other side of the desk, the papers and pens once occupying the surface now hit the floor, your legs now on either side of the tall blond. Damn, he's strong-

He lets out a dark chuckle, gripping your hips tight, trimmed nails digging into your skirt.

“You’ve made it almost impossible for me to get any work done.” He continues his attack on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. He kisses and sucks lightly on the delicate skin.

“You’re always so uptight Kento~ I was wondering if it was because you haven’t gotten laid.” You smirk, proud you were still able to quip back despite the growing heat between your legs.

His lips leave your chest and move to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Careful sweetheart, unless you want me to find a use for that filthy mouth of yours.”

Nanami licks the shell of your ear, grabbing your wrists and roughly pulling you up off of the desk. Body now flush against his. One large hand grips your hip while the other reaches under your satin blouse, cupping your breast through the lacy material of your bra. His fingers ghost over your hardened bud.

“You’re the only one reduce me to… this, have me fuckk misbehaving at work” Your hips roll into his, feeling his growing arousal.

“Is that what you tell all your girls?”

He growls at this, craning his neck back down to your chest, biting and sucking at your clavicle. Your hands rake through his hair, tugging, manicured nails scratching at his scalp. He lifts his head just enough to say

“There are no ‘other’ girls” Before continuing his assault on your skin. He lifts your blouse over your head, discarding the lace bra. He groans at the new skin exposed to him, capturing your bud in his mouth.

“Oh? Not even that cute receptionist?” You moan as his tongue swirls around your nipple “I’ve seen the way she looks ahhh at you ”

Nanami rolls his eyes at this, he knows exactly who you’re talking about. Sure she was cute, always making sure to tell him “Good Morning” and “Good Night” Begging to hear about his day, boring him with office gossip. Looking up at him with innocent puppy dog eyes…

He never was a dog person…

He releases your bud from his mouth, looking up at you through his hazel half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t need a pushover. I prefer a woman with a little fight in her” He moves to give your other bud the same treatment “Someone.. who’s going to challenge me.” He mumbles in between kisses.

His large hand gropes the other breast as his mouth works, thumb flicking over the sensitive spot. He leans back up, back to towering over you. He takes in the sight before him, you struggle to catch your breath, glossy lips parted, your pupils blown with desire. He wishes he could replay this image in his mind for the rest of eternity.

“Get on your knees.” He says flatly.

Your eyebrow quirks up in challenge. “Excuse me?”

“Told you… I want to find a use for that mouth of yours.” He looks down at you, his eyes dark.

You slowly sink to your knees, not breaking eye contact with him. His breath catches in his throat, he fiddles with his belt buckle. The sound of the zipper filling the otherwise quiet office. The tent in his briefs now on full display in front of you. He looks at you expectantly.

You tug at his waistband his cock springing free from its confines. You see your boss in all his glory, his blushing pink tip, heavy balls and his perfect curve upwards. It was a masterpiece.

You loll your tongue out, swiping at the precum leaking from his mushroom tip. The salty sweet taste making you moan softly. Nanami shudders at the sensation, moving his hands to the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair.

You slowly take his length into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head. Your hand wraps around the base as you incorporate more and more of his swollen cock past your bruised lips.

Nanami subconsciously spreads his legs, hips twitching as you bob your head at a steady rhythm.

Nanami’s grunts and moans mixed with your obscene gags fill the soundscape of the office.

He roughly grips your hair, taking control of your pace. Oh if you only knew how sinful you looked right now.

Your hollowed cheeks, expensive mascara pooling at the corner of your eyes as tears welled up. It’s all too much.. too fucking much.

Fuck.

Nanami feels a familiar pressure building up in his lower abdomen.

“I-if you keep going like that s-shit I’m going to“ He looks down at you, half desire half concern on his face.

You only encourage him by picking up the pace, spit dripping down your chin as you pump his base and suck his length.

The rubber band finally snaps, Nanami bucks his hips into your face, his strong hand pressing your head flush against his pelvis.

You choke as his seed hits the back of your throat, eyes fluttering shut. If you died right now there would be no complaints on your end.

His breath slows, releasing your head. You come up for air, coughing and wiping the excess drool and cum from the corner of your mouth.

His hand reaches to cup your cheek, stroking it gently, a silent thank you in his mind.

He picks you up with a gentleness previously unknown and sets you right onto his desk,

The roles now reversed with Nanami positioning himself between your legs. Kneeling down, ready to worship you.

He hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling it to the side, humming in satisfaction as he takes in the sight of your sopping wet cunt. Your boss tears his eyes away for a second looking up at you and smirking.

“You did such a good job, it’s only fair I reward you.”

[fushiguruuzzzz]

+ CHAPTER NINE // COOLIO.

series mlist

Tags — mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating, implications that readers mother was cheated on, angst Words — 0.7k

Toge Inumaki was a liar.

Toge Inumaki was a big fat liar because not only had he promised he’d be watching you, but he also said girls never paid him any mind. As you stared at him across the room, through the clumps of people swaying drunkenly along with your music, you could see him contradicting both of those statements. You had to force your voice to remain steady as you watched them, eyes locked onto the frame of the woman clinging to him like she was wrapped around his finger—like he was hers to wrap around. Was he? Well, it wasn’t like he was yours either, but that knowledge didn’t do much to soothe the aching in your ribs.

His back was turned to you. You could only imagine his face, but you figured it was much more attentive than it was when he looked at you. She was pretty by any standards, she just had this… glow to her. She radiated looks and confidence, magnetic and enticing as she batted her lashes up at him. As much as you hated to accept it, you knew Toge was only a man. Thats what you’d always known. That’s why you never bothered with men in the first place, until now, when you’d foolishly believed his eyes weren’t those who wandered.

Ripping your eyes away was a challenge, and had your chest not been resident to the bitter sickness planted by another’s beauty, you’d have been proud.

Her hand was on his arm. She was laughing. His shoulders shook as if he was too—but he remained faceless, expression as unknown as his entire presence felt in the moment. Was she leaning closer? You felt your heart pulsing in your ears, entire body crumpling in time with the beat. There was a sharp ringing in your ears, blocking out the strumming of guitars and the beating of drums. Then her lips were on his and you suddenly felt nauseous and the room was shrinking around you—all you knew was that you needed to get out. It was suddenly a curse that you had this love song to finish, because how could you let such tender things fall from your lips when all you felt inside was anguish? You felt utterly foolish. You’d been warned of these things, told stories like urban legends of the boys and the girls who swooped them up in their claws. You dared to glance back and were met with the same horrible sight, except it somehow felt worse than it had before.

And suddenly, you were your mother in a younger woman’s body. Nothing but a bystander to the downfall of your own romance. Her lips were on his, claiming the place you’d hope to mark as your own. It hit just a little too close to home, so you treated it like home. As soon as the familiar tune of the song ended, you ran. The microphone hit the ground and left nothing but a dull clang in place of your melodic vocals. You darted away so quickly that you didn’t see the way he scrambled away from her, nor the way his mouth opened to call after you. All he was met with was a door swinging shut and the crushing weight of a wrongdoing that wasn’t his, the misfortune of bad timing shattering his bones as well as your heart.

Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji didn’t waste any time in following you. They’d been frozen in place, background characters as the scene unfolded before them. The three shared one pit in their stomachs, growing deeper with the stretch of your absence and the desperate look in Toge’s eyes. His own friends were all the same, lips parted and for once, they were collectively unsure what to do. Only those who remained in the bar knew of your not-quite-lover’s resistance, those who had left only seeing one side. The bad side; the vague, untrue one. The one that would make you hate him, and even he knew that.

Toge lingered there, unable to swallow the lump in his throat as he glanced between where you once stood and his three peers. Shoving his face into his hands, he groaned. He was completely fucked.

Toge was HORRIFIED

Like he actually jumped four feet away from her

He only has huzz when he doesn’t want the huzz

Toge started blasting xxxtentacion full volume and lying starfish position staring at the ceiling

He was also chewing gum. Apparently the entire bottle of dawn dish soap didn’t wash out the taste of sluttery

Yn started blasting sad Lana del Rey and they were twinning from different households

“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars” ass

Nobara went on a hate rant about Toge and threatened to sign him up for the military

I should really start proofreading shouldn’t I. Forgive me if these are booty I peaked as a writer a while ago Christmas break is almost over… 💔 I want to get Kilby girl done before then PLSSSUHHGG I’ll try. Ig…

Taglist — closed 50/50

@anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @adoresia @auroratumbles @sh0ot1ngst4r @soobin1437 @mystic-megumi @cinnamxnangel @lizbix @s3ns4ti0n4l @anonnieghost @s4toruz @gumims @bubybubsters @k4ss11333 @rreveurdoll @kaged-kitty @rwura @aldebrana @hqnge @good-mourning0 @daisies-and-domming @vi0let-writes @dazaisfavgf @hearts4aloise @coolgirl458 @keyaea @jealovsie @sirenla @academiq @mammoanlmao @moonchhu @ichcocat @blubearxy @hayl09 @q2uq2u @potteraep @fiannee @lailakys @jxisnwaol @treeguzzler @yatiimariiee @zayuriluvs @kr1nqu @cloudxox @azinniyaa @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @rottingvxmpire @gradmacoco @spkyssn

[pocketjoong]

Fashionable Fate

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): You go to a launch event for a fashion line and end up seeing your boyfriend there.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING): Model!Hongjoong x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. smut. fashion au. established relationship. nsfw.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS): joong and reader are whipped for each other. some angst. smut. hj giving reader a handjob! Not beta-read. Not even proofread tbh.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT): 3k-ish

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (A/N): I wrote this a LONG time ago and it's been sitting in my drafts for more than a year now... I don't honestly know where I was going with this one so... the ending might seem rushed, idk? Anyways, pls rb if you like it!

You’re glad you decided to attend the after-party for a launch event of a well-known designer. Perched on a stool at the bar, tucked away in the shadows, you find yourself captivated by him. He moves through the crowd with the same ease he wormed into your heart, greeting everyone like old friends, immersing himself in each conversation. It's as if he's the sun, radiating warmth and kindness, creating a safe haven for those around him.

You watch in awe as he lights up the room, becoming the centre of attention without even trying. There's something magnetic about him, drawing people in like moths to a flame. An involuntary smile graces your lips when he laughs at something said by the waiter who brings him a flute of champagne. And when he raises his hand to grab the stem of the glass, you suck in a breath when you notice the ring he’s wearing—a jade band encircled by a golden dragon that weaves in and out of sight. It warms your heart how he never takes it off, even when he walks for other brands.

Your eyes follow his hand as he brings the flute to the fullness of his lips and licks them before nodding at whatever the model he’s talking to is saying. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose to complete his fit, he looks regal, like a prince who lost his way and ended up at the wrong party despite being dressed in a satin shirt that is tucked neatly into his pants.

As if aware of your gaze on him, he turns his head, eyes locking with yours effortlessly. His eyes widen a bit as if noticing you for the first time during the course of the night. It probably is, for you had just arrived a few minutes ago and made a beeline for the bar; you needed a drink in your system before you could even think of mingling with the guests in the pretentious world of high fashion—a world you are a part of as well.

He excuses himself, not caring that he just cut off someone in the middle of the sentence and saunters over to you, only stopping mid-stride to put his glass of half-finished champagne on a table. When he reaches you, he smiles. The warmth of his gaze is the sun itself, igniting your soul in a way only he can. The closer he gets to you, the more his walls seem to lower—something that has always been reserved for you and only you. You wonder if he can feel it, the pounding of your heart and the way warmth blossoms in your chest every time you find yourself being the centre of his attention. Maybe he does, after all, if the way his smile gets wider is anything to go by.

“Starlight,” he greets you, bending slightly to slot his lips against yours in a soft kiss. He tastes like chocolate and champagne, and you find yourself chasing his lips when you break away from each other. Hongjoong smiles giddily, pressing his soft lips against yours once more and releasing a pleased hum when you suck lightly at his bottom lip. His knuckles come to graze your cheek when you lean away, a feather-light touch that leaves trails of fire in its wake, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I didn’t know I’d be here, either,” you smile up at him, gazing into his caramel eyes hidden behind the slightly tinted lenses of the glasses he’s wearing. You notice that the crystals stuck beneath his right eye for the runway are still there, “Ella convinced me to go; something about being someplace that’s not my office or our apartment and getting a break from breaking my back at the workstation.”

Hongjoong chuckles, the sound reminds you of the smoothness of silk underneath your touch. Your fingers reach upwards to adjust his collar, a couple of buttons at his chest are undone, and the shirt is a bit too skewed to the left much to your distaste. When you tug at his shirt, it causes another round of fond chuckles to leave his lips, “It’s not your job, not here, not tonight.”

You shrug, moving the collar a bit so that the pendant he’s wearing can be seen properly, “Old habits die hard, mon chéri. I’ll not have you looking less than perfect even in the after-party of another brand. After all, just because you do shows for other brands doesn’t change the fact that you’re the face of La Vie en Rose.”

“Well, there’s no other place I’d rather be, as the face of your brand, your muse, or your lover. I don’t care as long as long as I get to be beside you,” Hongjoong whispers, brushing his nose against yours, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. At that moment, as you drown in his affection while he smiles boyishly, you are reminded that despite your achievements, despite the two of you being a force to reckon with in the fashion industry, you’re just two people in love.

“I’d not have it any other way, Joong,” you smile and then glance down at his hand, which has found a purchase against your waist. “I’m surprised Miyeon let you wear the ring.”

He snorts, finally settling down on the empty bar stool on your right. Hongjoong picks up the whiskey glass you had been nursing before he walked up to you and takes a long sip, humming in appreciation when the smooth taste hits his tongue, “Well, it was either she let me wear it or not get me to agree to the show. The lack of response to her ready-to-wear Fall collection after I refused to model for her show a few months back changed her mind.”

“You're evil,” you shake your head despite the warmth that blossoms in your heart. You know he knows how much it means to you, him not taking off the ring you painstakingly worked on—a gift for your second anniversary as a couple. You still remember the way his eyes teared up when he opened the jewellery box, at a loss for words as he studied the intricate detailing of the ring. But when he noticed the engraving on the inside, the lyrics to what you had dubbed your song, a sob broke free, and he kissed you like there was no tomorrow, thanking you over and over again with each press of his lips.

Hongjoong shrugs, allowing you to pluck the glass from his hand. You look at him from above the rim of the glass as you take a sip, biting back a smirk at the way his gaze lingers at your lips and moves downwards towards your neck as you swallow. When he looks back up to meet your eyes, you can't help but notice how they've darkened considerably.

You wake up to the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the windows. A cursory glance at the digital clock tells you it is past 6 a.m., too early for you to be awake. You can tell it has been raining for a while from the way the windows have fogged up. It’s chilly outside, you’re sure of it, but it’s toasty and warm in the room, mostly thanks to the way you’re snugly wrapped in a thick comforter, your limbs tangled with Hongjoong’s. He’s always warm, your personal little heater wherever you go.

You can’t help but smile at how the morning mirrors the day you met Hongjoong all those years ago; both of you were merely teenagers hoping to make your mark in a cruel world, stumbling through the days in search of your own path.

You walk along the Han River, trying to clear your head after the disaster that was today. You close your eyes to feel the breeze flitting across your face. You slept through your alarm, missed the train and the bus, and spilt coffee all over your white blouse. By the time you finally made it to the office, things went from bad to worse. Most of your designs were rejected, and then your computer crashed while you were writing a report for the head designer. Seven pages of work were gone in an instant.

Just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, the head designer dumped a huge new project on you that ate up the rest of your evening. You ended up staying late, and then the head designer had the audacity to take credit for your work during the emergency meeting with the organisers.

Despite being exhausted and frustrated, you take a detour and walk along the Han River for the sake of your own sanity. Little did you know that decision would come to bite you in your backside. Within minutes, the sky opens up and unleashes a torrent of freezing rain upon you, soaking you from head to toe. With a resigned sigh, you turn back towards the nearest bus stop, hoping to get home before the cold seeps into your bones.

But the universe has other plans. Halfway there, the wind picks up, howling through the trees and sending shivers down your spine. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, trying desperately to generate some warmth. It's no use—you’re shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering together. Suddenly, the rain abruptly stops. You blink in disbelief, looking up to see that mere feet away, raindrops are still falling steadily. Confused, you look up, and your breath catches in my throat.

There, holding an umbrella above his head, is the most gorgeous boy you've ever laid eyes on—and that’s saying something because you work with models all day. Your gaze locks with his, and he gives you a sweet smile.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” his voice is smooth, you note. It reminds you of the warmth and richness of hot chocolate, and it is as sweet as one, too. “I just—you were walking in the rain, and since we seem to be going in the same direction, I’d feel like a horrible person if I didn’t at least do something, especially because you are shivering.”

You tilt your head, blinking up at him in confusion, wondering if people can be this kind. It has been a while since someone was nice to you without wanting something from you. You can’t help but tear up a bit, his kindness making your heart clench after the horrid day you’ve had.

“Thank you,” you say, but your voice breaks, making the boy gasp. His eyes widen, and he stutters out an apology, causing you to clear your throat. “I’m sorry, just—I had a horrible day, and your consideration sort of… made me tear up.”

“Oh? I don’t mean to overstep or anything, but you must work with terrible people if something as trivial as me sharing my umbrella made you so emotional.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Something like that. Though working in the fashion industry makes you kinda mean… especially with all the deadlines.”

“Oh, wow,” you can tell your answer is something he wasn’t expecting. “You work in the fashion industry too?”

“Too?” You frown, staring at him inquisitively.

“I’m a model, I’m still doing smaller shows right now, but I hope that I can walk for big brands one day,” he stares directly at you now that you’re at the bus stop. He can see you better now that you don’t need to worry about walking or getting drenched in the rain. You notice then that his caramel eyes are enchanting; there is a fire in them that you seem to have lost working under the head designer.

Sensing his curiosity, you decide to give him an answer, “I work for Aria…”

The male gasps, eyes shining like the stars in the night sky at the brand name that leaves your lips, “I bet you are very talented to work at Aria. Have you ever thought of starting your own label?”

You smile wistfully, “I have. I still have to learn a lot before I do that, though.”

“Well, I hope you get to do that,” his smile is dazzling, but his lips form a pout as he mulls over his next words. “Um… Would it be weird if I asked you to let me model for your label if you decide to establish your own fashion line?”

It is at that moment that the bus arrives, and you realise it is the one you’re supposed to take. You gasp, gathering everything and boarding the bus. Dropping your things on an empty seat and looking out of the window, you shout, “You’ve got a deal! I swear if you refuse to walk for my label after I establish it, I will haunt you in your dreams.”

The last thing you see is the boy laughing at your words and waving at you.

The sound of thunder overhead brings you out of your memories, and you smile at the male curled up right next to you. In the dim light of the rainy morning, he looks ethereal. His dark hair is messy from the way you had run your fingers through it last night after returning from the after-party. Unconsciously but gently, your fingers begin threading through his hair, eliciting a sigh from Hongjoong. He shifts, moving closer to press his lips against your collarbone before nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck.

“Good morning, mon chéri,” you chuckle, feeling him smile against your skin. “What’s got you all smiley this morning, mmhm?”

“We have the whole day to ourselves,” Hongjoong giggles, his hand brushing against the sliver of the skin of your back that is exposed by your camisole riding up. “I was thinking we could go visit Yeosang’s art exhibition.”

“Isn’t the opening around 6 p.m., though?” You wonder out loud, distinctly remembering the time on the invitations sent by Hongjoong’s long-time friend.

Hongjoong hums, “Yeo asked me to drop by earlier, said he would give us a tour of the place before the event if we want.”

“And you want to, don’t you?” You ask rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

“Please?”

“How can I ever say no to you?” You roll your eyes, shaking your head.

“Oh?” Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, “You can’t say no to me, huh? Even if I do this?”

Hongjoong's lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss. You melt into him, your body pressing against his as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours.

“Especially when you do that,” you breathe after you pull back slightly, forehead resting against his as you catch your breath.

Hongjoong's hands slide down your sides, fingertips grazing over the curves of your waist and hips before settling on your thighs. He pushes the covers down, exposing your bare skin to the cool morning air. You shiver slightly, goosebumps rising on your flesh.

"Cold?" Hongjoong murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

"A little," you admit, smiling coyly up at him.

Hongjoong moves closer, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His hands continue their exploration of your body, sliding up your thighs and underneath your nightshirt. Fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you gasp and arch into his touch.

"Hongjoong..." you moan softly, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you.

He responds by nipping lightly at your earlobe, tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. One hand slips higher, fingers teasing the edge of your panties. You can feel the heat of his palm against your core, and you press yourself against his hand, desperate for more contact.

Hongjoong chuckles lowly, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through your body. "Patience, love," he whispers. “I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

His hand slips inside your panties, fingers parting your slick folds with practised ease. He circles your clit slowly, teasingly, drawing out a breathy moan from your lips. His other hand slides up your camisole, cupping your breast and kneading the soft flesh. Thumb and forefinger pinch and roll your nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

“Fuck,” You gasp, fisting the sheets beneath you. “Just… ngh… like that.”

Hongjoong increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing faster and harder, matching the rhythm of your hips as they thrust against his hand. Two fingers slip inside you, curling and stroking your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

Your head falls back against the pillows, mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy. Hongjoong takes advantage of the position, latching onto your exposed throat and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Each action of his heightens your pleasure, and you're quickly spiralling towards the edge.

“M’close,” you warn him, one of your hands tangling in his silky locks.

"That's it, baby," Hongjoong encourages, fingers pumping faster while his tongue laves against your throat. "Come for me. Let go."

And with a final twist of his wrist, you do. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, muscles contracting and releasing around his fingers. Hongjoong doesn't stop his ministrations even as you ride out the waves of your climax. He continues to stroke and circle your clit, coaxing out every last bit of pleasure until you're trembling and oversensitive. Only then does he withdraw his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth for a taste.

"Delicious," he murmurs appreciatively, eyes dark with desire. “What do you say we indulge ourselves a little before we head out and go see Yeo?”

You smirk, pulling him closer, relishing the feeling of his body against yours. “I love the sound of that,” you purr, your voice dripping with anticipation as your lips meet his in another kiss.

[dimplewonie]

gorgeous — 이희승.

pairing: roommate! heeseung x gn! reader

syn: roomates or not, lee heeseung thinks you're gorgeous. and he doesn't hesitate to let you know.

warnings: slightly suggestive (i think), mentions kissing. not proofread oops

wc: 466.

ri's note🎧: im a jungwon stan i swear 🙏 based off of one of novelbear's prompts! wasn't planning on writing on this acct but...

“how do I look?” you asked the moment you stepped into the room, voice casual as you used the living room mirror to check your appearance. you glanced towards your roommate lying on the couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly. without looking up from the device, he hummed at your presence, mumbling a disinterested “hm?” in response. 

you rolled your eyes at his vague reply, taking a few steps further into the room. the sound of your heel-clad footsteps caught his attention, causing him to finally look your way. 

lee heeseung swore under his breath.

the sight of you immediately rendered him speechless, your figure clouding his thoughts with desire.

“do you think i overdressed?” you asked again, hands adjusting the hem of your bottoms, uncertainty visible in your tone. were you kidding?

you looked fucking gorgeous. 

and if he could come up with another word to describe you other than gorgeous, he would. but at the moment, all heeseung's mind was filled up with was nothing other than you and your cute little outfit, your cute shoes, your cute hair, and your beautiful smile.

you radiate confidence and poise, there was no way you wouldn’t command the attention of anyone in your presence. every aspect of you was perfect. you are perfect. and you were causing the man to churn in emotional turmoil, making him go haywire.

heck, he’d be damned if he let you go out to see another man while looking this stunning. so he did what he should’ve done earlier. he couldn’t think of anything else. 

he placed his hands on your hips, abruptly catching you off guard. he rubbed the pads of his thumbs against the exposed skin, feeling the warmth of your curves against his cold fingertips. as you stood face-to-face with him, he gazed back at you with an unreadable emotion, one you couldn’t quite place. but it seemed to hold a familiar glint that past lovers had looked at you with.

on instinct, you could hear the blaring alarms ring in your head and you were about to step back and push him off. but your body seemed to have a mind of its own and almost like putty, you leaned into him, allowing yourself to meld with his hot touch. lowering your body onto his, your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders to stabilize your weak body. wrapping his arms around your waist, a smirk played on his lips as he leaned closer, whispering.

“you look perfect.” and he smashed his lips feverishly against yours, pulling you towards him like a magnet. the kiss was filled with pent up frustration and longing as you gasped against the mouth of your roommate. you were making out with lee heeseung. and you didn’t mind one single bit.

© dimplewonie on tumblr. please do not copy, repost, or plagiarize any of my works. reblogs and comments are appreciated :3

[ginxyy]

A Taste Of Cherry 🍒

You find yourself lost in a haze of anticipation, the kind that swirls around you, electric and intoxicating, as you sit at the corner table of your favorite café. The air is thick with the scent of rich coffee and fresh pastries, but it’s not the ambiance that has your heart racing. It’s the thought of him—Seungcheol—who is just a few feet away, his laughter ringing like music in your ears, effortlessly charming everyone around him. You can't help but admire the way he carries himself, a magnetic presence that draws you in deeper, making your thoughts spiral into a delicious whirlwind of want.

Got my mind on your body. The lyrics echo in your mind, a sweet soundtrack to the intoxicating dance of your attraction. Seungcheol leans back in his chair, the sunlight cascading through the window, casting a golden glow on him. His dark hair falls just right, and you feel your breath hitch as his eyes catch yours, a spark igniting between you that sends shivers down your spine. It’s more than just a physical connection; it’s the way he makes you feel alive, every glance a promise, every smile a secret shared just between the two of you.

You shift in your seat, trying to calm the heat pooling in your stomach, but it’s futile. Every time you catch his gaze, it feels like he’s peeling back the layers of your soul, revealing the raw, unfiltered desire that pulses through you. The taste of the cherry he often teases you with lingers on your lips, sweet and tempting. You’ve fantasized about what it would be like to take a bite—about the rush of flavor exploding in your mouth, the satisfaction that follows, the way it would leave you craving more.

The café begins to blur around you, the conversations fading into the background as you’re drawn closer to him. He stands, stretching slightly, and you can’t help but admire the way his shirt clings to him, outlining every toned muscle. It’s a reminder that beneath that charming exterior lies a passion that burns just as fiercely as yours. The thought of it makes you ache with longing.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice low and inviting as he approaches your table. The world shrinks until it’s just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken tension. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” you reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your heart. He sits down, leaning in closer than necessary, his presence intoxicating. The heat radiates off him, and you can almost feel the pull of his body against yours. It’s magnetic, the kind of connection that sets your skin ablaze.

“Got a taste for something sweet?” he teases, a knowing smile playing on his lips. You feel your cheeks flush, the double entendre hanging in the air like a promise. It’s a game you both play, a dance of desire that neither of you is ready to end.

You smirk, leaning closer, your heart racing. “I think I’ve found the sweetest thing here,” you reply, your eyes locked onto his, daring him to make the next move. The challenge lingers in the air, the chemistry between you simmering just beneath the surface. His gaze darkens, and you feel an intoxicating rush of excitement at the thought of what might happen next.

“Is that so?” he replies, his voice low and sultry, sending shivers down your spine. You nod, unable to look away from those deep, soulful eyes that seem to hold a world of secrets. “What if I want to take a bite?”

Your breath catches, the innuendo hanging heavy between you. The moment feels charged, electric, and you wonder how far you’re both willing to push this tantalizing connection. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, the unknown enticing you closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Then you should,” you whisper, your heart racing as the air thickens with unrestrained desire. Seungcheol leans closer, his breath brushing against your cheek, igniting a spark that dances along your skin. The world around you fades completely, leaving just the two of you suspended in this moment of pure, undeniable chemistry.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends another wave of heat crashing through you. You nod, your pulse quickening at the thought of where this night might lead

The café seemed to exhale a collective sigh as you and Seungcheol stepped out into the cool evening air. The contrast between the warm, intoxicating atmosphere inside and the crispness outside sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the man walking beside you. His hand found its way to the small of your back, a gentle yet possessive gesture that sent heat rushing through your body.

Neither of you spoke as you walked, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was heavy with unspoken words and promises, the tension between you simmering, ready to ignite. The golden hues of the setting sun kissed his skin, illuminating his sharp jawline and the mischievous curl of his lips. You glanced at him, and when his eyes caught yours, it was like being pulled under, his gaze so deep and magnetic you felt you could drown in it.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile, electric tension tethering you together.

“My place,” he said simply, his tone low, almost casual, but the way his hand lingered on your back and the dark promise in his eyes told you there was nothing casual about it.

You swallowed hard, excitement coursing through you. The thought of being alone with him, of finally breaking the barrier between fantasy and reality, was both thrilling and terrifying. But the way he looked at you, as if he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had, made it impossible to resist.

The elevator ride up to his apartment was a study in restraint. You could feel the heat radiating off him as he stood beside you, so close that your arms brushed. The metallic hum of the elevator did nothing to mask the pounding of your heart. You stole a glance at him, and when you saw the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, you knew he could feel it too.

The doors opened, and before you could even register the number on the floor, he was guiding you out and down the hall. The moment the door to his apartment clicked shut behind you, the tenuous thread of restraint snapped.

His hands were on you in an instant, firm and sure as they cupped your face, tilting it up toward his. His lips crashed onto yours, and it was as if a dam had broken. The kiss was hungry, desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you gasping for air. He tasted like coffee and something uniquely him, a flavor you knew you’d never get enough of.

Your hands found their way to his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you tried to pull him closer, though there was hardly any space between you. He groaned into your mouth, the sound deep and guttural, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His hands slid down, tracing the curve of your waist, his touch searing even through the layers of clothing.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire, “how long I’ve wanted this?”

You barely had time to answer before his lips were on you again, trailing down your jawline to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he nipped and sucked at your skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

“Seungcheol,” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him, because the next moment he was lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he carried you through the apartment with a confidence that made your pulse race. The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the golden light casting long shadows across the walls. He set you down on the edge of the bed, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at you. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his hair slightly mussed, his lips red and swollen from your kisses. The sight of him like this—undone, raw, and entirely focused on you—was enough to make your breath catch.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost reverent. The sincerity in his tone made your cheeks flush, and you reached for him, needing to feel him against you again.

He obliged, leaning down to kiss you as his hands found the hem of your shirt. The fabric was gone in an instant, discarded carelessly onto the floor, followed quickly by his own. Your hands explored the expanse of his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, committing every detail to memory. His skin was warm under your touch, his breaths hitching as your fingers grazed the sensitive skin just above his waistband.

“Your turn,” he murmured, his hands moving to the button of your jeans. He looked up at you, his gaze heavy-lidded and smoldering, as if asking for permission even now. You nodded, lifting your hips to help him slide the denim down your legs.

The air between you grew hotter, heavier, as the last barriers of clothing were removed. He took his time, his hands and lips exploring every inch of you, leaving no part of you untouched. Every brush of his fingers, every press of his lips, sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, building an ache so intense it was almost unbearable.

When he finally joined you on the bed, the weight of him above you was grounding and electrifying all at once. His body pressed against yours, every inch of him fitting perfectly against you, as if you’d been made for each other. The way he moved, slow and deliberate, spoke of a control that was slipping with every passing moment.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire. His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his eyes searched yours.

“You,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “I just want you.”

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile at your words, and his eyes darkened with desire. “You have me,” he whispered, his voice deep and rasping. “Every inch of me is yours. I need you to know that.”

His hand slid from your face down to your collarbone, his fingers ghosting over your skin in a way that sent goosebumps racing across your body. He didn’t stop there; his touch trailed lower, his palm flattening against your chest as he leaned in to capture your lips once more. This kiss was different—still hungry, still consuming—but softer, deeper. It wasn’t just passion now; it was something more.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured between kisses, his lips brushing yours with every word. “Wanted you for so long. And now that I have you here…” His voice broke off into a low groan as his hands continued to roam your body, learning every curve, every line, as if committing you to memory.

You gasped as his lips found the sensitive hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Do you know what you do to me?” he said, his breath hot against your neck. “The way you look at me, the way you smile… it drives me insane. I can’t think straight when I’m around you.”

His words sent a thrill through you, each syllable stoking the fire that was already burning between you. Your hands slid over his shoulders, his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself above you. He was so solid, so present, and the sheer physicality of him made you dizzy.

“Seungcheol,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and vulnerability. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low and reverent. His fingers traced your cheek, your jaw, down the curve of your neck. “I don’t think you realize what you do to me. You’re all I think about. Every second of every day, it’s you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.” His lips curved into a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m obsessed with you, and I don’t even care if that makes me sound crazy.”

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him down for another kiss. “I’m yours,” you murmured against his lips, the words coming out unbidden but feeling utterly true. “I’ve always been yours.”

His control finally slipped at your confession. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he shifted, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself more fully against you. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough and desperate.

“I’m yours,” you repeated, your voice stronger now, filled with conviction. “Only yours.”

A shudder ran through him at your words, and his mouth found yours again, his kiss fiercer, more demanding. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting and spreading them as he settled between them, the weight of him grounding you, thrilling you. He took his time, letting his hands and lips explore you with a deliberate intensity that left you trembling beneath him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “So perfect. Every inch of you.” His lips pressed kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest, as his hands slid up your sides, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “I want to make you feel good. I want to make you feel everything.”

And he did. His touch, his kisses, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—it was all consuming. He moved with a precision and care that made your head spin, every touch perfectly calibrated to drive you higher and higher. He wasn’t just taking you; he was worshiping you, treating your body as though it were something sacred.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his hand cupping your face again. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there made your breath catch. “I want to see you. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

You could only nod, words failing you as he continued to touch you, kiss you, love you in ways that left you utterly undone. And when the moment finally came, when the pleasure building between you reached its breaking point, it was his name that spilled from your lips, a broken cry that seemed to echo through the room.

He followed soon after, his body tensing above you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. The weight of him, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, was grounding in its intimacy.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room your shared breaths and the faint hum of the city outside. He finally lifted his head, his eyes soft and warm as he looked at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “I’m perfect.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

And just like that, the fire between you reignited, pulling you both under once more.

You shifted beneath him, your hands pressing gently against his chest. “Let me,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, filled with intent. Seungcheol froze, his lips still hovering over your skin as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he’d give in. But then, slowly, reverently, he leaned back, allowing you to reverse your positions.

The second you straddled him, settling your weight over his hips, you saw the change in his expression. His eyes widened slightly, his pupils blown with desire. His hands instinctively came to rest on your thighs, gripping them like they were his lifeline, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” you murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So undone.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his hands tightening their hold on you. “You’re going to kill me,” he rasped, his voice trembling with barely restrained need.

You smirked, letting your nails drag lightly down his chest, tracing the defined planes of muscle before settling your hands over his racing heart. “Good,” you said, your tone teasing but laced with dominance. “I want to see you fall apart for me, Seungcheol. Let me ruin you.”

He groaned, his head tipping back against the pillows as his hands moved to your hips, his fingers flexing against your skin as if he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or keep himself from losing control. “You already are,” he muttered, his voice cracking.

You rolled your hips experimentally, grinding down against him, and the reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his fingers dug into your skin. “God, don’t stop,” he begged, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, don’t stop.”

The power you held over him in that moment was intoxicating. You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I want to hear you, Seungcheol. Don’t hold back.”

And he didn’t. With every movement of your hips, every kiss you pressed to his chest, his neck, his jaw, he became more and more unhinged. His hands roamed your body restlessly, his fingers trembling as they traced over your skin. He was talking now, his words spilling out in a jumbled, incoherent mess, a mixture of praises and pleas that sent a thrill through you.

“You’re—ah—you’re incredible,” he gasped, his voice breaking as you moved against him. “So perfect, so… oh, God… I can’t—” He choked on a whimper, his head turning to bury his face in the crook of his arm, as if he couldn’t handle the intensity of what he was feeling.

“No,” you said, your voice firm as you reached down to pull his arm away, forcing him to look at you. “I want to see you, Seungcheol. Don’t hide from me.”

His eyes met yours, wide and glassy, his lips trembling as he let out a soft, broken sound. “I can’t take it,” he whispered, his voice raw with vulnerability. “You’re—oh, fuck—you’re going to break me.”

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his as you murmured, “Good. I want to break you. I want you to remember this, remember me, every time you close your eyes.”

A shudder ran through him at your words, and he reached up, his hands cupping your face as if grounding himself. “I already do,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re all I think about. All I want. Please, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

The desperation in his voice, the way his body trembled beneath yours, only spurred you on. You picked up your pace, your movements more deliberate now, and the sounds spilling from his lips grew louder, more frantic. He was falling apart before your eyes, his carefully constructed composure unraveling with every second, and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking as his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as if he couldn’t stand the thought of you slipping away. “Please, I need you. I need—oh, God—please…”

You leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss that was both tender and consuming. “I’ve got you,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice soft but commanding. “I’m not going anywhere, Seungcheol. Let go for me. Let me have you.”

And he did. With a strangled cry, his body arched beneath yours, his hands clutching at you like you were his anchor. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and his lips trembled as he whispered your name like a prayer, over and over again, until his voice broke completely.

You slowed your movements, your hands soothing over his chest as he came down, his breathing ragged and uneven. He looked up at you with a dazed expression, his eyes shining with tears, his cheeks flushed, and his lips red and swollen. He was beautiful—utterly wrecked and completely at your mercy—and it took your breath away.

“Look at you,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from his damp forehead. “You’re perfect, Seungcheol. So perfect.”

He let out a broken laugh, his hands coming up to cover his face. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, his voice muffled.

You laughed softly, pulling his hands away so you could kiss him again, slow and tender. “Good,” you said, your lips brushing against his. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

The spark in his eyes reignited at your words, and with a low groan, he pulled you down to him, ready to let you ruin him all over again.

[deonsx]

i saw you were taking requests o((>ω< ))o

i hc yukimiya, kaiser, and oliver to have the comfy but stylish fashion sense(lol), can i request them with reader who has a darker style like goth or vkei?

Hiii dear!! firstly in the event i write the characters I will write and unfortunately just kaiser here (I only write characters whose behavior I understand, so I can imagine them, but I don't have enough information about the others sorry(´-ω-`) lets add sae

Kaiser Michael

Kaiser, ever the center of attention with his magnetic charisma and effortlessly stylish flair, strolls confidently through the crowd. By his side is you the striking contrast to his golden aura. Your dark, layered outfit, inspired by a fusion of gothic elegance and visual kei extravagance, turns just as many heads. Your presence radiates mystery, drawing curious glances wherever you walk together

Kaiser grins, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he leans closer to you “I swear, people are staring at us because of me” he teases, his voice dripping with smug amusement “Or maybe they’re just not used to seeing someone as stylish as me with someone so… darkly radiant”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smirking “Or they’re wondering why a golden retriever is trying to keep up with a black panther” The playful jab makes his grin widen “Touché, mein dunkler Stern”

The two of you pause at a stall selling handmade accessories. Kaiser’s eyes gleam as he spots a black lace choker adorned with a silver crescent moon. He picks it up, holding it toward you “This would suit you” he declares with absolute confidence, then adds with a teasing smirk “But you’d look even better wearing something of mine”

You snort, crossing your arms. “You mean like your ego? Sorry, it’s a bit too heavy for my neck”Undeterred, Kaiser steps closer, lowering his voice “Keep talking, and I might just buy it for you anyway. A perfect gift for my perfect little shadow”

The faintest blush creeps up your neck, and you quickly divert your attention to another stall. But Kaiser follows, his laughter soft but triumphant as he takes his place beside you, unfazed by your aloof demeanor

As the night continues, you find yourself grudgingly enjoying his over-the-top compliments and relentless attempts to get a smile from you. By the time you leave, he’s carrying several small items he insisted on buying for you a delicate ring, a black-embroidered scarf and of course the choker

Sae Itoshi

Sae walks in, exuding his usual cool, detached confidence. Dressed in his signature minimalist yet high-end fashion, he glances around with faint disinterest, his sharp eyes scanning the room for anything worthy of his attention. Then he notices you

You stand near a dimly lit display of abstract sculptures, your goth or visual kei-inspired attire making you an arresting contrast to the sterile white walls and muted tones of the gallery. Your layered outfit is a work of art itself dark lace, leather accents, and intricate accessories that seem to tell a story all their own. The black polish on your nails gleams as you hold a glass of wine, your demeanor composed and enigmatic. Sae’s gaze lingers a moment too long

“Interesting taste” he comments, stepping closer. His voice is low and measured, as if he’s assessing the situation with the same precision he brings to the pitch. You glance at him, arching a brow “The art or me?”

He doesn’t flinch at your boldness. Instead, his lips curve ever so slightly a rare hint of amusement “Both, I suppose. Though one of them is harder to read” You tilt your head, intrigued but refusing to let him rattle you. “Let me guess you prefer things simple, minimal, and predictable”

Sae’s smirk grows “Not quite. I just appreciate when something stands out. Like this…” He gestures toward the piece you were studying a sleek, modern sculpture with jagged, chaotic edges “Or you”

You chuckle softly, meeting his intense gaze “Flattery from a guy like you? Color me impressed”Sae shrugs, his tone nonchalant but his eyes sharper than ever “It’s not flattery. Just an observation”

The two of you fall into an easy, if slightly sharp-tongued, conversation. Sae’s reserved demeanor contrasts with your dark, vibrant energy, but neither of you seem fazed. As the evening wears on, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to your unapologetic individuality, while you find his quiet intensity more captivating than you expected

Before the night ends, Sae leans in closer, his voice softer but no less confident “I don’t usually go to these things, but I’m glad I did tonight. You’re… different”

“Different how?” you ask, feigning disinterest but feeling your heart skip a beat. Sae’s gaze locks with yours, his smirk returning “Let’s just say you’re not as predictable as I expected. I’d like to see more of that”

Enjoy!

[kentobb]

⊹₊⟡⋆ The Bet ⊹₊⟡⋆

Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader x Gojo Satoru

⊹₊⟡⋆ Masterlist ⊹₊⟡⋆

Warnings: Suggestive content.

Chapter 01

You’ve always known your place in the world.

The quiet one. The overachiever. The nerd. Your identity is a sum of academic accolades, a steady stream of perfect grades, and the quiet approval of teachers and professors. They praise your dedication, your punctuality, and your sharp mind. Students tolerate you. You’re useful when group projects roll around or when someone needs last-minute homework answers. Beyond that, they keep their distance.

You don’t blame them. Socially, you’ve always been… lacking. You’re an introvert through and through. Conversation is a hurdle, and parties make you feel like a fish flopping on dry land. But the truth is, you’ve made peace with your solitude. Better to exist on the sidelines than risk rejection by stepping into the spotlight.

It’s a routine you’ve mastered. That is, until Ryomen Sukuna walks by.

You’re moving through the bustling college hallway, textbook clutched tightly to your chest, when the loud voices of the football team cut through the air like static. You don’t have to look to know who they are. The athletes. The popular ones. The untouchables.

But there’s one voice that stands out above the rest, one figure who naturally commands attention.

Sukuna.

The moment you see him, your stomach twists in a way you hate. He’s impossibly good-looking, with sharp features, smoldering eyes, and a smirk that seems permanently etched onto his face. His confidence radiates off him like heat. Girls adore him. Professors cut him slack they wouldn’t dream of giving anyone else. Even guys can’t seem to hate him, not entirely.

He’s everything you’re not. Charismatic, magnetic, popular. And the worst part? He knows it.

You grit your teeth and keep walking, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor. You’ve spent years trying to squash the stupid crush that sprouted in high school, but it lingers like an old scar, refusing to fade. You hate how your heart skips whenever you see him, hate the way your palms grow clammy at the sound of his voice.

Because guys like Sukuna don’t notice girls like you.

The bell rings, slicing through the chaos of the hallway. You quicken your pace, weaving through the thinning crowd until you reach your finance class. It’s your sanctuary. Numbers make sense to you. Spreadsheets and formulas are puzzles you can solve, a language you speak fluently.

You settle into your usual seat—second row, third desk from the left—and arrange your notebook and pens in neat order. The classroom fills up slowly, the buzz of conversation a low hum in the background.

Dr. Aramaki strides in moments later, his presence commanding as he sets his leather briefcase on the desk. He’s a seasoned professor, his gray hair and sharp eyes giving him an air of authority. He launches into the lecture without preamble, writing “Investment Risk Management” on the board in neat, precise handwriting.

You’re already scribbling notes when the door creaks open.

“Sorry, prof. Practice ran late.”

The voice sends a jolt down your spine.

Ryomen Sukuna saunters in, his duffle bag slung lazily over one shoulder. His damp hair glints under the fluorescent lights, and the faint scent of cedar and mint wafts your way as he passes by.

Dr. Aramaki doesn’t even flinch. “Take a seat, Sukuna. And next time, try to be on time.”

Sukuna grins, unbothered, and scans the room. To your horror, his gaze lands on the empty desk behind you.

He sinks into the chair, the legs screeching against the tile. Your heart pounds as his presence settles behind you, a tangible weight.

You try to focus on the lecture, but every movement he makes—every creak of his chair, every muttered comment to the guy beside him—distracts you. You feel his eyes on the back of your head more than once, and it takes everything in you not to turn around.

Then, a light tap on your shoulder.

You freeze.

Slowly, you glance back. Sukuna is leaning forward, his notebook blank in front of him, a pen dangling loosely from his fingers. He flashes you a grin, all teeth and effortless charm.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “What page are we on?”

Your brain stutters. For a second, you forget how words work.

“Uh…” You clear your throat, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes are brighter up close, twin embers smoldering with something unreadable. “Page eighty-four.”

“Thanks.”

He smirks again, and you whip back around before he can say anything else, your cheeks burning.

The class feels like it’s dragging, and for once, your meticulous note-taking has been replaced by idle doodling. Your pen sketches swirling patterns along the edges of your notebook, a habit you’ve developed over the years to keep your nerves at bay.

Dr. Aramaki finishes a particularly dry explanation on risk assessment, then clears his throat, his voice cutting through the hum of the lecture hall.

“Alright, everyone. Listen up,” he says, taking a clipboard from his desk. “For this project, you’ll be working in pairs.”

Excited whispers ripple through the room as students glance around, already scouting for partners. Your shoulders relax slightly. People rarely rush to partner with you, so you’ve resigned yourself to whoever’s left.

“Don’t bother,” Dr. Aramaki announces, raising a hand to silence the room. “I’ve already assigned the pairs.”

The collective groan that follows is almost comedic.

You, however, are relieved. Group projects always devolve into awkward negotiations, and you’d rather avoid the hassle. At least this way, you can stay in your lane.

Dr. Aramaki begins reading off the list, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Gojo and Nanami.”

You hear Gojo’s delighted laugh and Nanami’s deep sigh of resignation. It doesn’t take a genius to guess how that partnership will go.

“Geto and Kawahara.”

The list continues, and you focus on your doodles, trying not to overthink. Whoever you’re paired with can’t possibly be worse than—

“Y/L/N and Sukuna.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You freeze, your pen hovering mid-air.

This can’t be happening.

“Keep in mind that this project is for the end of semester and it’s 80% of your grade.” Dr. Aramaki emphasized.

Your heart sinks as your mind scrambles for an explanation, a way out, something. But no. Dr. Aramaki has already moved on, and Sukuna, seated behind you, doesn’t even flinch.

The rest of class is a blur. You force yourself to act normal, though your hand trembles slightly as you scribble in your notebook. Doodles multiply along the margins, aimless swirls and stars filling every blank space.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of the lecture, you’re the first to start packing up. Your goal is simple: leave before Sukuna says anything.

But, of course, the universe isn’t that kind.

A light tap on your shoulder stops you in your tracks.

You turn to find Sukuna standing there, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering a second too long, and then he says the words that make your brain short-circuit:

“Are you Y/L/N?”

Your jaw tightens. You stare at him, utterly dumbfounded.

How does he not know you? You’ve known him since middle school, sat in the same classrooms, attended the same schook events. It’s impossible to miss someone like Sukuna. Yet, here he is, looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Yes,” you say flatly, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

“Cool.” He nods, completely unbothered. “Give me your number so we can figure this project out.”

The request is simple, but your brain struggles to process it. For a moment, you consider asking if he’s serious—if he really doesn’t recognize you—but you stop yourself. What’s the point?

Wordlessly, you pull out your phone, avoiding his gaze as you hand it over. His fingers brush against yours briefly as he takes it, and even that small contact sends a jolt through you.

Sukuna types in his number, then hands the phone back. “There. Just text me or whatever.”

“Okay,” you manage, still feeling like you’re caught in some bizarre dream.

“Thanks.” He slings his bag over his shoulder again, turning toward the door. “See you around or something.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The interaction lasts less than a minute, but it leaves your pulse racing like you’ve run a marathon. You glance down at your phone, where his name now sits in your contacts list, and something twists in your chest.

You tell yourself it’s just nerves, nothing more. He’s just your project partner.

But deep down, you know that’s a lie.

Sukuna stepped out of the classroom, his expression as unreadable as ever. The hall buzzed with activity, students heading to their next classes or hanging out by the lockers. His eyes landed on his teammates near the far end of the hallway, bickering as usual. He sighed, making his way over, already sensing trouble brewing.

He reached his locker, tossing his duffle bag inside, and glanced sideways at the chaos unfolding next to him. Nanami stood stiffly, his arms crossed like a parent scolding a child, while Gojo leaned casually against a locker, a picture of indifference.

“I’m telling you, Gojo,” Nanami says, his tone tight with frustration, “you need to step up and actually contribute this time. I’m not doing the entire project alone again.”

Gojo leans casually against the lockers, sipping a drink with an infuriating grin. “Relax, Nanami. I bring more to the table than you think.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Nanami snaps.

“Uh…” Gojo says as he thinks.

Nanami glares. “How about actual work?”

Nanami’s glare darkened, but before he could retort, Gojo glanced at his watch and straightened. “Oh, shoot! Gotta go! My Spanish exam starts in five minutes.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “You studied for it, right?”

“Si,” Gojo said confidently, giving him a thumbs-up.

Nanami sighed. “¿Eres idiota?”

Gojo paused, tilting his head in confusion. “Uh… biblioteca?”

Nanami groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sukuna chuckled under his breath. Gojo, completely unbothered, threw up a peace sign and sauntered down the hall, leaving chaos in his wake.

“God help him,” Nanami muttered, shaking his head.

Sukuna smirked. “What’s he even doing in Spanish class?”

“Who knows?” Nanami replied.

The two stood in silence for a moment before Nanami turned to Sukuna, his usual frown softening slightly. “So, who’d you get paired with for the project?”

“The nerd,” Sukuna said flatly, rummaging through his locker.

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “Y/L/N?”

Sukuna glanced at him, closing the locker door. “Yeah. You know her?”

Nanami stared at him like he’d asked if water was wet. “Seriously? She’s been in our classes since middle school.”

Sukuna shrugged, unbothered. “Don’t remember.”

Nanami shook his head. “Of course, you don’t.”

Sukuna leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. “What’s the deal with her? She some kind of overachiever or something?”

Nanami rolled his eyes. “That’s an understatement. She’s the reason the grading curve exists. You’re lucky to have her as a partner. She’s a workhorse. Unlike me, who’s stuck with…” He grimaced. “…someone who thinks ‘Google Docs’ is a streaming service.”

Sukuna chuckled. “Tough break.”

“Tell me about it.” Nanami smirked faintly before glancing at Sukuna. “You wanna switch?”

Before Sukuna could respond, a voice cut in, sharp and amused. “Switch? Nah, Sukuna’s not switching.”

The two turned to see Mahito sauntering up, his signature grin plastered on his face. Behind him was Jogo, his presence as calm and collected as Mahito’s was chaotic.

Mahito leaned lazily against the lockers, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Sukuna doesn’t need to switch. He’s got a system, right?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “What system?”

“You know,” Mahito said, smirking wider. “Your whole thing. Flirt with your group partner, flash that charming smile, get into her pants, and voilà—she does all the work for you.”

Nanami sighed heavily, his disapproval radiating off him. “Doubt is working with this one.”

Mahito turned to him, mock surprise on his face. “Why not? It’s worked on every other girl.”

“Because she’s different,” Nanami replied simply.

“Different?” Sukuna repeated, his voice sharp with irritation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nanami met his gaze steadily. “It means she actually takes her work seriously. She’s strict, focused, and won’t put up with your nonsense. And, quite frankly, you’re not on the same level… socially.”

The words hit like a bomb.

“Damn, Nanami!” Mahito howled, clutching his stomach. “Straight for the throat!”

Jogo chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

“Not on the same level?” one of the other guys echoed mockingly.

“Different social levels! Down bad, Sukuna!”

“Boo! Sukuna, you’re slipping!”

Sukuna clenched his jaw, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. His glare swept over the group, but Mahito wasn’t done yet.

“You know what?” Mahito said, his grin turning cruel. “I bet you won’t even make it through the project without her tearing you a new one. Forget hooking up with her. She’s out of your league.”

Jogo smirked, arms crossed. “I’ll take that bet. $100 says he can’t.”

The hallway erupted in laughter and jeers as Sukuna’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Shut up,” he snapped, slamming his locker shut with a little more force than necessary.

Jogo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What’s the matter, Sukuna? Afraid you can’t pull it off?”

Sukuna turned to him, his smirk dark and sharp. “Fine. You’re on. But when I win, I don’t want excuses.”

Nanami groaned audibly. “This is a terrible idea.”

“An amazing idea,” Mahito corrected, grinning from ear to ear.

As Mahito finished his jab, his laughter echoing in the hallway, the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the noise. The group turned as one to see Geto standing there, his imposing figure leaning casually against the wall. His dark eyes swept over them, calm yet commanding.

“What’s going on?” Geto asked, his tone even but edged with authority. His confusion was evident, though his calm demeanor gave nothing away.

The air shifted immediately. The teasing and laughter died down as everyone averted their gaze, falling into an awkward silence. No one dared to speak up, suddenly reminded of their captain’s presence.

Nanami, who seemed completely over the entire ordeal, sighed heavily. “They’re children,” he said flatly, brushing past Geto without so much as a second glance. “I have better things to do.” With that, he strode off toward his next class, leaving the rest of the group frozen.

Geto tilted his head slightly, watching Nanami’s retreating figure before turning his attention back to the remaining guys.

Mahito gave a half-hearted shrug, but even he didn’t have the nerve to add anything under Geto’s scrutiny.

Geto straightened up and addressed the group. “Practice is at 7 p.m. sharp. No excuses. Don’t make me hunt any of you down.” His gaze lingered on Mahito and a couple of others, making them shuffle uncomfortably.

Finally, his attention landed squarely on Sukuna. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he stepped closer, his presence radiating authority. “And you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “don’t be late. Last time was strike one. You’re not getting a strike two.”

He didn’t wait for Sukuna to respond, deliberately brushing his shoulder against Sukuna’s as he passed by.

Sukuna stood still for a moment, his jaw tightening as he watched Geto walk away. The guys around him stayed quiet, their eyes darting between Sukuna and the captain. Sukuna could feel the tension lingering in the air, but he refused to let it show.

“Who does he think he is?” Sukuna muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Mahito smirked, but the others stayed silent, knowing better than to stoke Sukuna’s temper further.

Sukuna’s fingers curled into fists for a moment before he relaxed, shoving his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t wait for the day he became captain—when he’d finally put Geto in his place.

“Practice at seven,” Geto’s voice echoed from down the hall, as if to punctuate the moment.

Sukuna scoffed, slamming his locker a clang.

[silent-stories]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐒

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The rumble of the tour bus under your feet had become your constant companion, a soft and familiar hum that carried you from city to city, venue to venue. It was the background music to your life on the road with Bad Omens, an unpredictable, exhilarating, and exhausting adventure.

You had never imagined living this way—packing up everything, joining your boyfriend's tour, and trading stability for a life that was anything but ordinary. Yet here you were, sharing the cramped space of a bus with Bad Omens.

The bus was almost home now, strange as it felt sometimes. There was something comforting about the way everyone had their routines and quirks, their habits that made the chaos feel manageable.

Someone always made the worst jokes right as you were about to fall asleep and someone else would be quietly tuning his guitar at the oddest hours, but the guys had made you feel like family since day one, a part of their weird, makeshift little world.

You weren’t just Noah’s girlfriend—you were part of their crew now, someone they relied on for company, conversation, and a shared sense of belonging.

Still, it was Noah that made the madness feel like home. You had always loved him, but seeing him in his element—performing on stage, surrounded by music, his voice sending chills through the crowds—it made you fall for him all over again.

Every night you stood backstage, watching him lose himself in the music, his body moving in sync with the heavy beats and raw energy of the show. The way his voice carried through the venue, reaching out to thousands of screaming fans, always took your breath away.

Tonight, the venue was packed, the energy in the air electric. You stood near the stage entrance, just out of sight but close enough to see everything. Noah moved across the stage like he owned it, and in many ways, he did.

His voice was raspy and powerful, his body slick with sweat as he threw himself into every note, every lyric. The crowd was a sea of bodies, their energy matching his, feeding off every word he sang.

You watched in awe, as you did every night, your heart swelling with pride. He was magnetic, captivating everyone who watched him, but even amidst the chaos, he found you.

His eyes would seek you out between songs, a small, subtle glance that no one else would notice, but you knew it was for you. It was his way of saying, I see you. I’m still with you, even in this whirlwind.

The show reached its end, the final song ringing out through the venue as the fans screamed, their hands raised in adoration.

Noah gave everything to that last note, his voice straining in the best way, before the lights cut out and the band began to exit the stage. You stepped back, waiting for the guys to come through, still riding the adrenaline high.

Noah spotted you immediately as he stepped off stage. His eyes lit up, despite the exhaustion written across his face, and without a moment’s hesitation, he made a beeline for you.

Covered in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, his breathing ragged, he still looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His hands cupped your face, and before you could say a word, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was intense, desperate, as if he needed to feel you, to ground himself in the midst of everything else. You kissed him back, not caring about the sweat or the heat radiating from his body. This was your Noah—wild, untamed, and perfect in his imperfections.

“You were incredible,” you whispered when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

He smiled, a small, tired smile, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“You’d still be amazing, but I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, running your fingers through his damp hair, your heart full. This was the life you had chosen, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

After every show, the bus became a quiet sanctuary. The adrenaline would wear off, replaced by exhaustion, and the guys would retreat to their bunks, recharging for the next city, the next performance.

You and Noah had claimed the narrow bunk in the back corner of the bus. It was cramped and far from luxurious, but it was your little space. A space that, despite the lack of room, felt like a haven whenever you tangled together in the dim light of the bus.

You climbed into the bunk after Noah, curling up beside him, your bodies naturally fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close, and you felt the warmth of his chest against your back.

His breath was slow and steady, a soft rhythm that lulled you into a state of calm. His hand moved lazily across your skin, tracing patterns that made you feel safe, cherished.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” His voice was low and heavy with fatigue, but there was a softness to it that made your chest tighten with affection.

“I just love you,” you whispered, your fingers playing with his, twisting them together under the thin blanket. “That’s all.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering there as the bus rumbled beneath you, the soft sway lulling you both toward sleep. “I love you too.”

The bus continued its journey through the night, the world outside rushing past while inside, everything felt still, peaceful. The small bunk was warm and comforting, the quiet intimacy of being tangled up in Noah’s arms making you forget about the world outside. You drifted in and out of sleep, waking occasionally to feel Noah’s heartbeat steady against your back, his presence grounding you.

Mornings were some of your favorite moments. Waking up next to Noah in a new city, the promise of discovery hanging in the air, always brought a thrill.

Some mornings, before the bus really stirred to life, you and Noah would sneak out into the quiet streets, hand in hand, exploring new corners of the world together.

You’d find hidden cafes, tiny parks, or just walk aimlessly, soaking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. These were the moments that felt like little treasures—private, unhurried, a reprieve from the noise of the tour.

Noah would often pull you close as you walked, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, or his fingers laced with yours, as if he needed the contact, needed to remind himself that you were there. The conversations would flow easily, sometimes deep and meaningful, other times filled with lighthearted teasing.

You’d talk about the future, about dreams that extended beyond the tour, and sometimes, you’d just walk in silence, content in each other’s company.

Eventually, the rest of the day would catch up with you both, and it was back to the venue, back to the rhythm of soundchecks and rehearsals. The bus became a hub of activity again, the guys joking and warming up, but there were always those quiet moments before the show where Noah found you.

He would seek you out, pulling you into his arms for a quick kiss, a whispered conversation before he had to disappear into the spotlight.

It was during those brief moments that you felt your love for him the most—knowing that even with everything else, with the demands of the tour, the fans, the music, he always found time to make you feel seen, loved.

Those little moments became the glue that held everything together, reminding you that no matter how chaotic things got, you had each other.

And so the tour continued, the cities passing by, the nights spent tangled in Noah’s arms, the mornings filled with quiet explorations. It wasn’t always perfect—there were tired days, long nights, and moments where the exhaustion felt overwhelming—but none of that mattered when Noah held you close.

You were on this wild, beautiful journey together, and that was all that mattered.

[mrsmangi]

i’ve been listening to american wedding by frank ocean and it is another song that reminds me of lu. it has that magnetic hypnotizing pull similar to take a slice. both on repeat. also i need to makeout with him to that song under my purple and blue sunset lamp.

-🧁

wait, this song is so fitting for eloping with luigi, omggg. i've never heard it before, but it's so good. my anonn, ur a geniuss 😖💕

Getting married in a courthouse Writing vows in a rush Making out before the judge

—

The courtroom is almost empty, the faint shuffle of papers on the judge’s desk the only sound. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, but you barely notice. Luigi stands close, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“You ready, baby?” His voice is low, rough, his fingers brushing your chin before his hand tilts your face toward him, his thumb grazing your throat. Before you can answer, his lips crash into yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. It consumes you completely.

His hand tightens on your waist as he pulls you closer, like he needs you closer, and the scrape of his stubble against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. His mouth moves with purpose, tasting, claiming, leaving you dizzy and breathless by the time he pulls back.

He slips the ring onto your finger, his movements deliberate, his dark eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s get out of here.”

[keehomania]

come back home (집에 돌아와) – mark lee (마크이)

✧ 16+

you never really knew what it meant to have a home. surely, the idea was simple enough: a place to shelter from the world, a structure that separated you from the cold or the rain. but to you, it was just that—a roof, four walls, something solid beneath your feet. maybe a chair here, a table there, if luck was on your side. if luck smiled, perhaps even a bed. It was the bare minimum, and you learned to make do with it. the word “home” had always felt hollow, devoid of warmth or comfort. your house, with all its peeling wallpaper and creaking floors, was just that—a house.

you existed there, your parents existed there, but it was never more than an intersection of lives that hardly touched. the screaming was normal, expected even. the cadence of their voices raising in anger, the crash of shattered glass, the dull thud of doors slamming shut—it became the rhythm of your childhood, a song you wished you could unhear. at first, when you were young, it terrified you. you were nine, maybe ten, the first time it truly sank in, and you clamped your hands over your ears, tears streaking your cheeks as you cried yourself to sleep. but at least there was a bed, you reminded yourself, even if the sheets were cold and the mattress hard. cold water had a knack for feeling warm when your hands were freezing.

you learned, over time, that cold water felt warm when your hands were freezing. you adapted, hardened yourself to the noise, the tension, the never-ending war waged between your parents. they never divorced. that, too, became part of the routine, the way they lived in the same house but on different planes of existence. they tolerated each other, and you? you tolerated it all.

at nineteen, you left. escaped, really. found yourself in a dingy apartment on the outskirts of hongdae, where the nights were quieter than you expected. so quiet, in fact, that you almost missed the screaming. almost. it never truly left, though. the echoes of their fights lived on in your mind, a constant ringing in the stillness of the night. even when the world outside was silent, the crickets long gone, it was there. but it didn’t faze you anymore. it had stopped fazing you a long time ago.

you met him when you were eighteen, just a few months shy of nineteen, and you couldn’t have known then how much someone could fill the spaces in your life where there had only been emptiness before. mark was funny in the kind of way that made you laugh before he even finished his jokes, like his sheer presence radiated joy. he was sweet in a way that wasn’t forced, his kindness so natural it felt like breathing. but it was his charm that hooked you from the very first glance—there was something about him that was magnetic, a pull you couldn’t resist. he was clumsy, a little ditzy, the kind of person who seemed to trip over his own feet yet laugh about it with the confidence of someone who made falling look graceful. you had sworn, more than once, that he must’ve been a blonde bimbo in a past life, the way he moved through the world with a carefree lightness.

you liked everything about him, even the quirks that might have annoyed anyone else. the way he laughed a little too loud, obnoxious but infectious. the way his fringe had fallen just so over his eyes when you met him, a mess of hair that he never quite bothered to fix. you liked the way he mixed his english and korean, as if his thoughts flowed too fast for just one language to handle. and then there was his scent—the sharp, musky warmth of sauvage that clung to his clothes, lingering in the air after he left like a memory you didn’t want to fade.

what you liked most, though, was how much he seemed to like you. it wasn’t just the way he looked at you or the way his voice softened when he said your name. it was the fact that he embraced everything about you, even the things you were sure no one else would. the first time he came over, your apartment was a mess—clothes strewn across the floor, dishes piled high in the sink, books and papers scattered like debris from a storm. but he didn’t flinch. he didn’t judge. instead, he smiled, wide and genuine, as if the clutter didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“you're way too nervous, dude,” he teased, his voice light and teasing as he stood in the doorway. “it’s adorable, shit, what should i do with you?”

you blushed, avoiding his gaze as his hand ruffled your hair, the touch gentle but enough to send a warmth rushing through you. you fumbled with the keys, your fingers shaking slightly as you unlocked the door. “try not to judge too hard,” you muttered under your breath, stepping inside with him trailing close behind. mark clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if to dismiss your worries. “i’m not judging, promise.”

the interior was as chaotic as you’d feared—blankets draped over the couch in a haphazard pile, magazines tossed onto the coffee table without a second thought. there was a plate from last night’s dinner still sitting on the counter, and you caught sight of a lone sock peeking out from under the tv stand. but mark didn’t seem to notice any of it, or if he did, he didn’t care. he walked in, looked around, and grinned. “feels cozy,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made you believe it, just for a moment.

you both settled on the couch, sinking into the cushions as the quiet hum of the television filled the room. he suggested watching a movie, something light, something to fill the silence without demanding too much attention. but you weren’t really focused on the screen. your gaze kept drifting back to him—the way he sat with one arm slung lazily over the back of the couch, the other holding the remote, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you as if he could feel your stare.

it wasn’t long before he caught you. his lips quirked up into a playful smile, and he leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. “you’re staring,” he whispered, voice teasing but low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “i wasn’t,” you protested weakly, but the blush on your cheeks gave you away.

he chuckled, the sound soft and comforting, before he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his hand lingered for a moment, fingertips grazing your skin as his gaze dropped to your lips. and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift, thickening with tension that neither of you wanted to break.

his lips met yours gently at first, testing, exploring. but the warmth of the kiss grew, deepening as his hand moved to cup your cheek, pulling you closer. the taste of him was intoxicating, the mix of his cologne and something inherently him filling your senses. when he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him.

“god, you taste even better than i imagined,” he murmured, his voice roughened by the kiss, a hint of something darker lingering beneath the surface. you blushed deeper, the heat from his words spreading through you like wildfire.

later, you found yourselves on the balcony, sharing a cigarette as the night air cooled the flush on your cheeks. the city lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow over the streets below. mark stood beside you, his arm casually draped around your shoulders, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you both stared out into the quiet.

he took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling a slow, steady stream of smoke into the night before turning to you. his eyes were soft, but there was a determination in them you hadn’t seen before. “i’ll do anything to make you mine, you know that, right?” his voice was low, serious in a way that made your heart skip a beat. you looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. he meant every word.

your relationship with him unfolded like the slow bloom of a flower, delicate and sweet, each petal unfurling with every day you spent together. it was puppy love at its finest, the kind that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into nervous knots. the kind of love that made the world seem softer, more forgiving.

your dates were simple, but they were everything. late-night walks through the city, hand in hand as the neon lights reflected off the wet pavement. you’d stop for street food, sharing rice cakes or steaming hot dumplings, laughing when the sauce dripped down your chin and mark wiped it away with a grin. he had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel special. like the time he surprised you with a cup of coffee before your early shift at work, the note scribbled on the side of the cup in his messy handwriting—“thought you might need this. see you tonight, babe :)”

it wasn’t grand gestures that defined your relationship, but rather the small acts of care. the way he always carried your bag without you asking. the way he memorized your favorite takeout order and brought it over after a long day. or how he slipped love letters under your door, little notes scribbled on torn pieces of notebook paper, each one messier than the last, but filled with words that made your heart swell. “you make me feel like the luckiest guy alive. can’t believe i get to wake up every day knowing you’re mine.”

you kept every single one, tucked away in a drawer, rereading them when the nights felt too quiet. he was your safe space, your escape from the chaos that had been your life for so long. and slowly, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected. one night, after a particularly rough day, you found yourself curled up in his lap, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you whispered the words you had kept locked away for so long.

“never really had a home,” you started, your voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside. “parents were always fighting. it was constant. screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming. they never got divorced, but they never really stayed together either. i guess i got used to it after a while. but it never stopped hurting.”

mark’s arms tightened around you, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as you spoke. you could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, as if he were absorbing your pain, taking it on as his own. for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just held you close, his breath warm against your skin.

then, in a voice quieter than you had ever heard him use, he spoke. “my dad was the same,” he admitted, his words heavy with the weight of years of silence. “used to hit my mom. me too, sometimes. i don’t think i ever really forgave him for that. he cheated on her. over and over. i remember hearing them fight when i was a kid, and i’d just hide in my room, pretending it wasn’t happening. but you can’t really ignore that kind of thing forever, you know?”

you lifted your head, looking up at him, and for the first time, you saw a side of him you hadn’t seen before. his eyes were dark, shadowed with memories he had buried deep. his usual smile was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “i’m so sorry,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment as if savoring the warmth of your palm against his cheek.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, but you could hear the crack in his voice. “i mean, it’s not okay, but i don’t know. i guess i just got used to pretending it didn’t hurt.” and then, without warning, the tears came. first yours, then his. it was quiet at first, a few soft sniffles, but soon you were both crying, your tears mingling as you clung to each other. it wasn’t the kind of crying that came with sobs or broken words, but a deep, shared grief, the kind that had been bottled up for too long.

you cried for the pain you had endured, for the childhoods that had been stolen from both of you. you cried for the loneliness, the fear, the helplessness of watching the people you loved tear each other apart.

“i didn’t think i’d ever find someone who understood,” you whispered through your tears, your forehead pressed against his. “someone who just—gets it.” mark shook his head, his own tears spilling down his cheeks as he looked at you, eyes red-rimmed and glistening. "you don’t have to go through it alone anymore," he said softly, his voice breaking. “we’ve got each other now. i won’t let you go through that again. not ever.”

he had never seemed more fragile. the boy who always laughed too loudly, who joked about everything, who never took life too seriously—now, he was exposed, raw in his vulnerability, and it broke something in you to see him like this. but it also healed something too. in him, you saw a reflection of your own. every time he smiled at you, every time he touched your hand or kissed your forehead, it felt like a promise. a promise that you wouldn’t be alone anymore. and you believed him.

there’s that saying, the one everyone knows but no one really wants to admit the truth of. something about apples and trees. the apple never falls far, but when it does, it rots. months had passed, and he hadn’t changed. he was still the same sweetheart you met, the same boy who made you laugh at stupid jokes, who scribbled love notes and stuck them in your bag when you weren’t looking. the same boy who held you through the darkest moments and promised he’d never let you feel alone again. you clung to that.

but then, slowly, things started to shift. it was subtle at first, the kind of thing you told yourself not to overthink. his phone, which had always been an afterthought, suddenly seemed to light up more often. notifications during your dates, while you were watching tv, even when you were lying in bed together. each time, he would glance at the screen, the light reflecting in his eyes for a moment before he turned it off, flipping the phone over like it was nothing.

you didn’t want to be that person. the one who asked too many questions, who pried, who doubted. but the feeling gnawed at you, deep in your gut, a quiet ache that you couldn’t shake. “what’s the matter?” you’d asked him once, your voice soft, trying to keep it casual. mark had answered smoothly, barely blinking. “group chat being spammed.”

you believed him. you wanted to believe him. so you brushed it off. you convinced yourself that you were being paranoid, that the ache in your stomach was nothing more than insecurity. but then you caught a glimpse of something. a photo of some girl, just for a split second before the screen went dark again. “who’s that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even, trying not to sound clingy, desperate for him to say something that would calm the storm brewing inside you. “my cousin,” he said easily, his tone so calm it almost soothed the unease in your chest. “she’s coming to hongdae next week.”

you nodded, forcing a smile, swallowing the doubt that still lingered in the back of your throat. you brushed it off, again. but the ache had grown, twisting and knotting in your stomach, especially when you noticed something else. the scent of perfume. not his usual sauvage, that sharp, familiar musk that clung to his clothes. this was different. dainty. fruity. feminine. you didn’t say anything that night, even though it felt like a slap in the face, but you got no sleep. you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the smell of it taunting you, the ache now a full-blown pain, throbbing in your chest.

the final straw came one night when you were at his apartment. he was in the shower, the sound of the water echoing from the bathroom connected to his bedroom. you sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through your hair, staring at his phone lighting up on the bedside table, once again buzzing with notifications. curiosity got the best of you. you didn’t want to be the kind of person who went through someone else’s phone, but the feeling in your chest wouldn’t let you ignore it anymore. so, with shaky fingers, you pulled down the notification bar, and that’s when your heart dropped for the first time in nine years.

four girls. maybe five. their names flashing on the screen, some of them sending attachments you didn’t even want to open. you didn’t need to. the gist was clear. flirting. photos. motel meet-ups. you felt sick, your hands trembling as you held the phone, your pulse roaring in your ears, drowning out the sound of the water still running in the bathroom.

when mark stepped out, a towel slung low around his waist, his hair dripping wet, his usual grin plastered across his face, you couldn’t even look at him. “you okay, baby?” he murmured, approaching the foot of the bed. the scent of him, the faintest hint of sauvage, mixed with the steam from the shower, was almost nauseating now.

you stared down at your bare feet, unable to speak. you felt like you were on the edge of breaking, your throat tight, your hands shaking as you held his phone in your lap. his smile faltered as he noticed the phone in your hands. you turned it on, the messages lighting up the screen once more. his heart sank, and for the first time, you saw him panic. “babe,” he started, his voice breaking, but you wouldn’t let him finish.

with all the rage and betrayal you had kept buried, you slammed his phone against the floor. it shattered, pieces of glass scattering at your feet. the sound of it breaking filled the room, sharp and violent, like the crack of something much deeper snapping inside you. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” he said, his voice rising in disbelief as he stood there, staring at the wreckage of his phone. “at least let me explain.”

you stood, rage boiling in your veins, and before he could reach for you, his hands gripping your shoulders, you met his gaze. the smile he had worn for so long, that same charming smile that had made you fall for him, was gone now. and you saw him for what he was.

without thinking, your hand flew up, and your palm collided with his face. the sound echoed in the silence of the room, and for a moment, neither of you moved. mark was stunned, his cheek reddening from the impact, his eyes wide with shock. you should’ve been afraid. maybe some part of you should have hesitated, but you didn’t. not this time.

“what?” you spat, your voice trembling with fury. “gonna hit me? show me you’re your daddy’s son? you’re already halfway there.” you saw the way his fist clenched, his knuckles turning white. but he didn’t raise his hand. he stood there, frozen, his face pale, eyes filled with a mix of shame and anger, but he didn’t strike back. you left right then and there, grabbing your things with shaking hands. you didn’t look back.

the familiar sound of silence weighed heavy on your shoulders, pressing down like an invisible force, suffocating and thick. it wasn’t the comfortable kind of silence you’d once craved, the kind you sought when the world felt too loud, too chaotic. this was different. this was the silence that mingled with the sound of your quiet sobs, echoing off the walls of your apartment. it was too quiet. too still. and in that stillness, the mess of your head overpowered the mess of the space around you.

the apartment was the same disarray it had always been—clothes strewn across the floor, an unwashed coffee mug on the table, an empty takeout container abandoned on the counter. but none of it seemed to matter. not now. not with the turmoil in your chest, the ache that made it impossible to focus on anything but the hollow throb of betrayal that gnawed at your insides.

your phone buzzed on the table beside you, and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. it had been going off for hours now, vibrating insistently, demanding your attention with every essay-length text he sent. you could imagine the words without even reading them—apologies, excuses, desperate attempts to explain away the hurt he had caused. but they were just words, and they meant nothing to you now. he had ruined everything. not you.

you had been a step ahead of him this whole time, guarding your heart as best you could, but that was perfect. he was a step behind you, stabbing you in the back had never been easier. you stared at your phone, the messages stacking up on the screen, the notifications piling on top of each other until it felt like they were mocking you. mocking the love you had given him, the trust you had placed in him.

eventually, you responded. not with the anger or the pain you felt in your chest, but with something colder. numb. a simple message, telling him to come get his stuff the next day. no explanations, no arguments. just the finality of it, the line drawn in the sand.

you didn’t get any sleep that night. How could you, when the shadows of him lingered everywhere? his clothes, his gifts, his belongings—they surrounded you like ghosts, watching over you from every corner of the apartment. even the air felt heavy with his presence, as if you could still smell the faint scent of his cologne hanging in the room, clinging to everything he had touched.

by the time the sun started to rise, you felt hollow. the kind of emptiness that comes after a storm, when everything has been stripped away, leaving only the wreckage behind. that was when you heard the knock at the door, faint but insistent. you knew it was him.

your hands trembled as you unlocked the door, the cold metal of the knob slick beneath your sweaty palms. when you opened it, mark didn’t hesitate to step inside. he barged in, his movements hurried, his breath catching in his throat like he had run the whole way here. his eyes were puffy, red, and swollen, matching your own. his heart broke at the sight of you, standing there in your worn-out pajamas, eyes rimmed with tears. but you? you had nothing left to break. you had already given him everything. your heart, your trust, your love. he had taken it all and shattered it, and now there was nothing left for him to ruin.

“your stuff’s in my room,” you croaked out, your voice hoarse from hours of crying. it was all you could manage to say. you couldn’t even bear to look at him, not directly. you were no longer facing the man you thought you knew. you weren’t sure if you ever knew him at all. but mark didn’t move. he stood there, his breath shallow, his body tense, as if he was fighting some internal battle. you turned your back to him, unwilling—unable—to look at the face that had lied to you for so long. that was when he finally moved.

not toward your room, not to gather his things like you had expected. no, instead, he came for you. you felt his warmth before anything else. his breath, hot against your neck. his arms, familiar and strong, draping around your waist, pulling you close. you didn’t fight it. you didn’t push him away. maybe you were too weak, too tired from all the crying. maybe you just didn’t want to. maybe you wanted to hold on to something familiar, something that reminded you of the love you thought you had.

“i’m so sorry,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper, the sound of it raw and broken. “i don’t deserve you. i never deserved you. i don’t deserve to beg, but you have to know they meant nothing. nobody will ever top you. nobody will ever come close to you. hate me, but please don’t stop loving me.”

you didn’t respond, but you felt the tears start again, the ones you thought had been drained from your eyes. they flowed silently down your cheeks, mingling with his as he pressed his face to yours, his cheek wet against your skin. you could feel him trembling, the weight of his regret pouring from him in waves, and for a moment, you let it wash over you.

he kissed your cheek, soft, tentative, as though he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer still, his lips trailing along your jawline, your temple. you let him, because it was cold. and he was the only warmth you had left. his lips found yours, once sweet and tender, now salty with tears. you didn’t pull away. you let him kiss you. you kissed him back.

“i’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured between the kisses, his voice cracking, “i love you so much. please, don’t leave me.” you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. his hands were everywhere, gripping you like he was terrified to let go, like he was scared you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold you tight enough. that’s what you wanted to believe—that his touch was desperate, that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. so you let him. you let him touch you, hold you, kiss you. because in that moment, it was all you had left.

his hands moved up your body, his touch feather-light as they reached the hem of your shirt. he tugged it over your head, his eyes never leaving yours, and you didn’t resist. your heart was racing, but not with the excitement it usually did when he touched you. no, this was something else—something more frantic, more desperate. you weren’t sure if you were letting him do this because you loved him or because you were just too tired to fight.

you felt the warmth of his skin against yours as his shirt came off next, the soft fabric brushing against your sensitized skin like a lover’s caress. and maybe, just for a moment, you convinced yourself that you could forgive him. that his love was enough to fill the gaping hole that his lies had left in your chest.

you stumbled backwards toward the bed, his arms never leaving your body, your legs giving out beneath you as he laid you down. his kisses grew more urgent, his touch more feverish as he explored your bare skin. you were crying now, your body shaking with each sob that wracked your chest. but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop, not now.

you felt his hands on your pants, the button popping open, and you didn’t protest. the fabric slid down your legs, leaving you exposed, vulnerable. his eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of hope, something to cling to. you didn’t want to give it to him, but your body was betraying you. it responded to his touch like it had been programmed to do so from the very start. his weight settled on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on as if he were the last piece of driftwood in a storm. you sobbed into his neck as he moved inside of you, the friction mixing with the pain in your heart. you weren’t sure if you were crying because it felt good or because it hurt. maybe it was both.

his breath grew ragged, his movements quickening, his eyes never leaving yours. he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, words that once meant everything now sounding like echoes of the past. you didn’t say anything back, just held onto him tighter, letting his warmth and the rhythm of his body fill the cold void that had taken root inside you. and when he finally came, his body shuddering with the force of his release, he collapsed onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his tears mixing with yours.

it hurt like hell, every bit of it. every breath you took was like a punch to your gut, every tear that fell from your cheek felt cold. it was cold, and it was quiet. it was home.

✧

a/n: if ur reading this and ur in a toxic relationship, and when i say toxic, that ranges from gaslighting to physical abuse—this is ur sign that there most definitely is a way out. if ur reading this while and ur ina toxic relationship thinking, this is awful, how could the reader patch things up with him just like that, this is ur sign. the hands that hold you are the ones most capable of harming you and the words that console you will be the fastest to hurt you. a cold touch will feel warm when ur freezing, but sometimes its just better to freeze. know your worth, and even if you dont know it, know that it has never depended on what a man thinks of you, and it never will

[sweetcherryharry]

lunch

based on the song 'lunch' by billie eilish.

pairing: harry styles x reader

from the first moment i listened to the song i NEEDED to write something based on it. tbh it wasn't edited, so sorry if there are mistakes. hope u enjoy!

(masterlist)

I could eat that girl for lunch Yeah, she dances on my tongue Tastes like she might be the one And I could never get enough

The bustling energy of the party swirled around Harry, a kaleidoscope of laughter, music, and conversations. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on Y/N across the room. She stood amidst a circle of friends, her vibrant laughter ringing out like a melody that cut through the noise.

His eyes traced the elegant curve of her neck, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her hands painting vivid pictures in the air.  The way her eyes sparkled with amusement, the genuine joy radiating from her every inch of skin, made his heart quicken.

"I could eat that girl for lunch," he murmured to himself, the phrase echoing a sentiment far deeper than the words implied. It wasn't a physical hunger, but a craving for the essence of her – the wit, the warmth, the intoxicating energy that drew him like a moth to a flame.

The thought of Y/N danced on his tongue, a symphony of flavors that he yearned to savor. She was sunshine and spice, a tantalizing mix of sweetness and intellect that left him wanting more. Each encounter with her, each shared laugh and stolen glance, was a morsel that only fueled his appetite.

As he watched her toss her head back in laughter, a sudden realization struck him. Tastes like she might be the one. The thought resonated within him, a profound truth that he couldn't ignore. It wasn't a fleeting infatuation or a surface-level attraction. It was a soul-deep connection, a recognition that he had stumbled upon something rare and precious.

Their friendship had blossomed over time, a tapestry woven with shared jokes, heartfelt conversations, and unspoken understanding. Yet, from the very first moment their eyes met, Harry knew there was something extraordinary about Y/N. She possessed a magnetism that pulled him in, a captivating aura that left him utterly spellbound.

A slow smile spread across his face, a warmth blooming in his chest. And I could never get enough. The words whispered through his mind, a mantra that encapsulated his desire to delve deeper, to explore every facet of Y/N's being. The thought of spending more time with her, of unraveling the layers of her heart and mind, filled him with an exhilarating sense of anticipation.

I could buy her so much stuff It's a craving, not a crush, huh "Call me when you're there" Said, "I bought you somethin' rare And I left it under 'Claire'"

Harry found himself constantly thinking of ways to make her smile, to surprise her with little gifts and tokens of affection. It wasn't just a fleeting infatuation; his feelings for Y/N had blossomed into something deeper, more profound.

One afternoon, while browsing a vintage market, he stumbled upon a delicate silver locket engraved with intricate floral patterns. It was a piece of exquisite craftsmanship, a rare find that whispered of timeless elegance. He knew instantly that it was meant for Y/N. The locket seemed to embody her essence - delicate yet strong, beautiful yet unassuming.

With a surge of excitement, he purchased the locket and carefully placed it in a velvet-lined box. He imagined Y/N's eyes lighting up as she opened it, the surprise and joy radiating from her face. The thought of her reaction filled him with a warmth that spread through his chest.

He couldn't wait to give it to her, but he wanted the moment to be special, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. So, he decided to leave it at her favorite coffee shop, tucked under the name 'Claire'—a playful code they had developed in the early days of their friendship to protect Y/N's privacy from the ever-present media. It was a secret only they shared, a testament to their unique bond.

Dialing her number, he waited for her to answer, his heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey, Harry!" Y/N's cheerful voice filled his ear, instantly calming his nerves. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of mystery, hoping to pique her curiosity. "And, oh… I might have left you a little something special at our usual spot."

"Really?" Y/N's voice rose with excitement. "What is it?"

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Harry said with a chuckle, enjoying the anticipation in her voice. "Let me know when you get there."

He could practically hear the smile in her voice as she replied, "I'm already on my way!"

As Harry hung up, he couldn't help but grin. The thought of surprising Y/N, of giving her something that reflected his deep affection for her, filled him with a warm glow. This was more than just a crush; it was a craving, one that he knew would never go away.

So now, she's comin' up the stairs So I'm pullin' up a chair And I'm puttin' up my hair

A light knock on his apartment door pulled Harry out of his reverie. A wave of anticipation washed over him as he crossed the room, his heart beating a little faster. He took a deep breath, composing himself before opening the door.

There stood Y/N, her face flushed with excitement, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You wouldn't believe what I just found at the coffee shop," she exclaimed, holding up the velvet box.

"Oh really?" Harry feigned surprise, a playful smirk on his lips. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "Come in, tell me all about it."

As Y/N walked into the apartment, Harry's eyes followed her every move, admiring the way she effortlessly filled the space with her energy. He felt a surge of warmth and affection, a longing to make this moment perfect for her.

"So," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the small dining table, "what did you find?"

Y/N eagerly opened the box, revealing the delicate silver locket. Her eyes widened with delight as she traced the intricate patterns with her fingertip. "Harry, it's beautiful," she breathed, her voice filled with awe.

"I'm glad you like it," Harry replied, his heart swelling with happiness at her reaction. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile like that, to be the reason behind her joy.

"I love it," Y/N corrected him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

As she reached for the locket to fasten it around her neck, Harry noticed a few strands of her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Without thinking, he gently tucked them behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. A moment of shared understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions that hung in the air.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he realized that this was more than just friendship, more than a mere crush. It was something deeper, something undeniable. He wanted to be the one to make her smile, to cherish her, to be her safe haven in a chaotic world. And as he gazed into her eyes, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make that happen.

Baby, I think you were made for me Somebody write down the recipe Been tryin' hard not to overeat You're just so sweet

Weeks had passed since the night of the locket, and the once unspoken feelings between Harry and Y/N had evolved into a palpable tension that hung in the air whenever they were together. Their friendship remained strong, but an undercurrent of longing and desire pulsed beneath the surface.

The pair –along with their group of friends– were illuminated by the dim lights of the bar, a lively mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic pulse of music washing over them. Harry leaned against the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze fixed on Y/N right next to him.  She was close, their knees occasionally brushing against each other, sending sparks of electricity through him.

"Baby, I think you were made for me," Harry finally blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. The alcohol had emboldened him, giving him the courage to voice the sentiment that had been echoing in his mind for months.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. The playful banter on her lips faded as she met his gaze, a flicker of recognition dancing in her eyes.

"Very funny," she retorted, her voice barely a whisper above the din of the bar, though her tone wasn't as lighthearted as her words suggested.

Harry leaned in closer, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Who said anything funny? I didn't." His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down her spine.

A moment of silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken desires. The music seemed to fade into the background as their world narrowed to just the two of them, their bodies mere inches apart.

"Why would you say that?" Y/N finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. "That I'm made for you —I mean?"

Harry's hand found hers on the bar, his fingers intertwining with hers. He took a deep breath, the warmth of the whiskey emboldening him further. "Because it's true," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think we both know it."

He paused, his thumb gently caressing her hand. "We fit together, Y/N," he continued, his eyes searching hers for a sign of reciprocation. "In a way that I've never experienced with anyone else."

Y/N's heart hammered in her chest. She had felt it too, the undeniable connection that sparked between them every time they were together. The way their laughter intertwined, the way their thoughts seemed to align effortlessly, the way their silences were never uncomfortable but filled with an understanding that transcended words.

"I...I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But I do understand what you mean– I also feel like you're meant for me."

A wave of relief washed over Harry, his heart swelling with happiness. He squeezed her hand, a silent reassurance that he understood her unspoken feelings. "You don't have to say anything," he whispered back, his eyes filled with love and adoration.

At that moment, words were unnecessary. Their shared gaze spoke volumes, a silent symphony of affection and desire. Harry leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a tentative, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with longing, a culmination of months of unspoken desires and a shared understanding that had deepened with each stolen glance and whispered conversation.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down their spines. It was a moment of pure bliss, a confirmation of the undeniable connection that had drawn them together from the very beginning. As they pulled apart, their eyes met again, filled with a newfound understanding and a shared secret that only they knew.

"Finally!" one of their friends cheered from across the table, breaking the spell that had momentarily enveloped them.

Harry and Y/N turned towards the sound, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a shared secret. A wave of laughter erupted from their drunk group of friends, a joyful celebration of the love that had finally blossomed between them.

I'll run a shower for you like you want Clothеs on the counter for you, try 'em on If I'm allowеd, I'll help you take 'em off Huh

As the night went on, the air between them grew thick with unspoken desire. Every stolen glance, every accidental touch, ignited a spark that threatened to consume them both.

"Stay with me tonight?" Harry whispered, his voice husky with desire as he leaned in closer.

Y/N's eyes met his, a silent question in their depths. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded, her heart pounding with anticipation.  While she had been to Harry's apartment many times before, it had always been as friends, platonic. This time felt different.

With a final lingering kiss, they reluctantly rose from their seats, their hands intertwined as they made their way towards the exit. The world outside seemed hazy and distant, their focus solely on the promise of intimacy that awaited them in the quiet sanctuary of Harry's apartment.

As they stepped inside, Harry kicked the door closed behind them. He turned to Y/N, and without a word, they melted into each other's embrace. His hands found her waist, pulling her close as his lips met hers in a passionate kiss. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, her body responding to his touch with a fervor that surprised even her.

They moved as one, their kisses growing deeper and more intense as the pent-up desire between them finally found an outlet. The world narrowed down to the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her skin, the sound of their breaths mingling in the quiet apartment.

But as Harry's hands began to roam lower, Y/N gently pulled away, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of desire and hesitation. "Harry," she whispered, her voice breathless, "maybe we should slow down."

He looked into her eyes, understanding dawning on his own. He nodded, a tender smile gracing his lips. "Of course," he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the outline of her lips. "Whatever you want."

The tension in the room shifted, morphing from fiery passion to a gentle intimacy. They stood there for a moment, their foreheads resting against each other, breathing in unison. The unspoken understanding between them deepened, a silent promise of a night filled with love and tenderness, a night where they could explore each other's souls as well as their bodies.

"I'll run a shower for you like you want," he offered, his voice barely a whisper, a gesture of care and intimacy.

Y/N nodded, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of shyness and excitement. The anticipation hung in the air, thick and sweet.

Harry led her to his bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the water temperature to her liking. He laid out a fluffy towel and a set of his clean clothes on the counter, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Clothes on the counter for you, try 'em on," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And if I'm allowed, I'll help you take 'em off."

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. "We'll see," she teased, her eyes locking with his, the air between them crackling with electricity. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless.

She's takin' pictures in the mirror Oh my God, her skin's so clear Tell her, "Bring that over here" You need a seat? I'll volunteer Now she's smilin' ear to ear She's the headlights, I'm the deer

A warm glow from the bathroom light spilled into the hallway, illuminating Y/N as she emerged, wrapped in a towel. Her damp hair curled around her shoulders, her skin luminous in the soft light.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, marveling at her natural beauty. He longed to reach out and touch her, to trace the delicate curve of her skin with his fingertips. 

But more than that, Oh, I just wanna get her off, he thought, the primal urge surging through him like a tidal wave.

Y/N caught his gaze in the mirror, a sultry smile playing on her lips. She let the towel drop, revealing her silhouette against the soft glow. "What do you think?" she purred, her voice husky with invitation.

Harry's eyes darkened with desire. "Come over here," he commanded, his voice low . He patted the edge of the bed, a silent invitation for her to join him.

Y/N walked towards him, her movements slow and deliberate, each step a tantalizing promise. She perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his.

"Need a seat?" Harry offered, his voice thick with anticipation. "I'll volunteer."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I think I'd rather have you."

Harry's smile widened, a predator's gleam in his eyes. "And you shall," he murmured, his hand reaching out to caress the side of her face.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, all pretense vanished. The air crackled with electricity, their connection undeniable. Y/N was the headlights, blinding him with her beauty and allure. And Harry was the deer, caught in her irresistible pull, ready to surrender to the passion that consumed them both.

I've said it all before, but I'll say it again I'm interested in more than just bein' your friend I don't wanna break it, just want it to bend Do you know how to bend?

"I've said it all before in other words, but I'll say it again," Harry began, his voice low and husky, "I'm interested in more than just being your friend."

His eyes searched hers, a hint of vulnerability flickering beneath the desire. "I don't want to break what we have," he continued, his hand cupping her cheek. "I just want it to bend, to evolve into something more."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "Do you know how to bend?" he asked, his voice a soft whisper.

Y/N's heart fluttered in her chest. She knew exactly what he meant. The question wasn't just about physical intimacy; it was about their relationship, their connection, their willingness to take a leap of faith together.

A soft smile bloomed on Y/N's lips, her eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored his own. "I think I do," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

With a shared look of understanding, their lips met once again, their kiss deeper and more passionate this time. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken truths and a mutual desire to explore the uncharted territory of their relationship.

Harry's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as their bodies melted together. Their kiss was a symphony of longing and desire, a dance of lips and tongues that ignited a fire within them both.

Time seemed to slow down as they explored each other's mouths, savoring the taste of forbidden fruit. Harry's hands roamed over Y/N's back, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened. She felt a sense of liberation, a freedom to express the emotions she had held back for so long.

He knew it was just a hunch, but as he held her in his arms and had her taste dancing on his tongue, he knew just one thing; she is the one.

[qosbaez]

Quick || Rhea Ripley x Damian Priest

Summary: The adrenaline high is almost too much and they can’t keep their hands off each other. So what if they’re late to the press conference?

Warnings: Smut, just a lil bathroom quickie

The roar of the crowd was still echoing in their ears as Rhea Ripley and Damian Priest stormed down the corridor backstage at Bash in Berlin. The thrill of their victory over Liv Morgan and Dominik Mysterio pulsed through their veins, a heady mix of adrenaline and euphoria that had them both grinning like maniacs. The match had been intense, every move, every counter executed with precision, and now that it was over, the energy coursing through their bodies had nowhere to go.

Damian stole a glance at Rhea, his eyes darkening with something more than just the adrenaline. She was radiating power and confidence, her chest heaving as she caught her breath, a smirk still playing on her lips. There was something about seeing her like this—fresh off a victory, her muscles tense with exertion, sweat glistening on her skin—that made him want her even more.

Rhea caught the look in Damian’s eyes and felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew that look all too well. She felt it too, the pull, the magnetic attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface since they’d first stepped into the ring together. But now, it was almost unbearable. They had a press conference to get to, but the last thing on their minds was answering questions about the match. They needed each other, and they needed each other now.

Damian’s hand found Rhea’s, and without a word, they veered off the main hallway and ducked into a random bathroom. The door clicked shut behind them, and the sound of their rapid breathing filled the small, dimly lit space. Rhea was on him before the lock was even turned, her hands fisting in his braided hair as she pulled him down to her level. Their lips crashed together in a heated kiss, teeth and tongues clashing as they poured all the energy and pent-up frustration from the match into each other.

Damian’s hands roamed over Rhea’s body, feeling the strength in her arms, the curve of her waist, the muscles still taut from the match. He backed her up against the cold tile wall, and she gasped into his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders. They didn’t have time to be slow or gentle—not that either of them wanted that right now. This was about urgency, about feeding the fire that was burning them from the inside out.

“Press conference in ten minutes,” Rhea breathed out, but there was no real concern in her voice, just a playful challenge.

“That’s plenty of time,” Damian growled, his hands slipping down to grab her thighs. In one swift motion, he lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing herself against him. The feeling of being held by him, of being at his mercy, sent a rush of heat through her body.

They both fumbled with their gear, Damian’s fingers working quickly to free himself while Rhea shifted her hips to give him better access. The anticipation was killing them, but the moment he finally slid inside her, they both let out matching groans of relief and pleasure.

Damian didn’t waste any time, thrusting into her with a rough, unrelenting pace that had Rhea biting down on her lip to keep from crying out too loud. The bathroom walls weren’t exactly soundproof, and the last thing they needed was someone walking by and hearing them. But the risk only added to the excitement, the knowledge that they could be caught at any moment making everything feel even more intense.

Rhea clung to Damian, her nails digging into his back as he drove into her over and over, each thrust pushing her higher and higher. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her head falling back against the tile as she let herself get lost in the sensation. She could feel the tension building in her core, that familiar coil winding tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

“Damian,” she gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m close.”

“I know, baby, me too,” Damian replied, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. But the way Rhea was moving against him, the way her body was tightening around him, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

With a few more powerful thrusts, he pushed them both over the edge. Rhea came first, her body shuddering against his as she bit down on his shoulder to stifle her cry. The feeling of her climaxing around him was enough to send Damian tumbling after her, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep inside her, his release hitting him like a tidal wave.

For a few moments, they just held each other, both of them breathing heavily, their hearts pounding in sync. The high from the match, combined with the intensity of what they’d just done, left them both feeling dizzy and euphoric.

Finally, Damian eased Rhea back down to the ground, his hands lingering on her hips as they both tried to catch their breath. Rhea looked up at him with a satisfied smirk, her hair slightly mussed, her cheeks flushed. Damian leaned down and kissed her again, this time slow and lingering, a promise of what was to come later when they had more time.

“Think we can make it to the press conference without anyone noticing?” Rhea asked, still a little breathless.

“We’ll just tell them we got a little lost on the way,” Damian said with a grin, reaching down to help her adjust her gear.

Rhea laughed softly, the sound full of mischief and satisfaction. “Let’s go, then. We’ve got a victory to celebrate—and then we can finish what we started back at the hotel.”

Damian’s eyes darkened with anticipation, and he nodded. “I’m looking forward to it, babe.”

They left the bathroom, slipping back into the chaos of backstage as if nothing had happened, but the knowing looks they exchanged said it all. The adrenaline of the match might have started the fire, but they both knew it wasn’t anywhere close to being extinguished. And once the press conference was over, they had all night to let that fire burn as hot as they wanted.