#the way you can see so clearly the shift of fog in

[loveisonlyforthebrave8]

kiseki + the moment that tear hits his face chen yi knows

[tojifiles]

WHY SHOULD I BE SAD? (WHEN I COULD JUST FUCK HIS DAD!) ★

ꨄ syn. after your ex-boyfriend cheats on you, you show up at his house only to find out his bum ass isn't there. buuut his dad is, and you see the perfect opportunity to get back— its time for you to move along, goodbye!

ꨄ feat. dilf! kento nanami + fem! reader, pwp, piv, unprotected sēx, improper use of a tie, oral f! receiving), age gap, pússy whipped nanami, choking, hairpulling, voyeurism. mdni.

wc. 3.5k

you knock. three sharp, deliberate raps against the door, knuckles grazing the oak.

the porch light flickers overhead, buzzing lowly as it throws shadows across your bare legs. the hem of your pink velour shorts rides high on your thighs, paired with the matching jacket, zipped halfway down to show a sliver of the white tank top underneath.

you shift your weight to one hip, arms folded tight across your chest, blowing a lazy puff of stray hair that stuck to your glossed lips.

pathetic. you think, glancing around the quiet streets. your (ex!!) boyfriend— still living with his parents like the immature man child he is.

some things just never fucking change.

you shift, scuffing the toe of your sneaker against the welcome mat. welcome, it says in clean, cursive letters. bold of it to assume.

you’re ready to just turn your ass around, already thinking how you were too pretty to be standing on the porch like this for a man who can’t even keep his dick to himself— before the door opens with a soft, weighted click.

and instead of the boy you were verbally (and probably physically) going to skin alive, you got his father.

nanami kento.

he stands framed in the doorway, still in half his work attire. the sleeves of his white dress shirt are pulled up to his elbows, the worn fabric stretching a little too tight over the muscle of his forearms. a navy tie hangs loosely around his neck, brushing ever so slightly against the center of his barely exposed chest.

his honey blonde hair is combed back, a stray hair brushing over the rim of his glasses. he blinks at you once, slow, and you can’t help but blink right back.

he’s hot— hot in that “pays his bills on time” kind of way. in that “he’s obviously bee-keeping age” kind of way. you can clearly see where all the good genes went— definitely didn’t stick with his son.

figures.

“can i help you?” he asked, voice worn around the edges, dragging low across the quiet between you— like he’s been talking all day but you’re the first thing he’s actually looked at.

“i was, uh, looking for your son,” you shrug, voice bittersweet. “but i guess he’s out. . spreading whatever new std he picked up this week.”

nanami’s mouth twitches, not enough to be a smile—not enough to be anything actually, but you still catch it.

“he’s not home, i’m sorry.” he finally says, exhaling through his nose, the sigh barely stirring the thick air between you.

“yeah, me too.” you scoff softly, letting a dry little laugh slip free past your lips before you can stop it.

nanami sighs, glancing out at the empty, paved street, then back at you— standing there in your tiny pink jacket, breath fogging in soft little puffs in the cold, evening air.

and he knows he should shut the door.

tell you to go home, and stop bothering him with his son’s antics.

but instead, nanami looks at you one more time, and the words are already out before he can take them back.

“come inside,” he murmurs, and you blink up at him, surprised. your lashes catch in the dimmed lighting, lips parted because, not gonna lie, you really expected him to scold you for showing up on his doorstep at this hour, not invite you in.

he creaks the door wider with one hand, not moving otherwise.

an invitation, plain and simple— yours if you want it.

and you do.

because why the fuck not.

you step past the blonde man, slow enough to feel the heat of his chest. his cologne hits you next, clean with a weight of something smooth, oaky, the kind that just smells expensive.

the door clicks shut behind you, a low, weighted sound as the house hums low around you — dim lamplight blooming gold against taupe walls, books stacked in corners, the edge of a dark whiskey bottle catching the faint gleam from the kitchen counter.

“can i get you something to drink? wine?” nanami’s voice cuts into the quiet, and you flick your eyes toward him.

his hand curls casual around the fridge door, rolex crowned wrist flexing as he reaches for a bottle without even needing to look.

“what, no vodka shots?”

“i have better taste than that.”

he pours slow — the maroon liquid threading ribbons into thin crystal glasses that catches lamplight like it’s flirting. the air shifts when he crosses back to you, glass dangling easy between his fingers, the stem catching a smear of light as he offers it out.

you take a small sip, the wine breathing sweet against your tongue. it's much heavier than what you're used to, warm enough that it drips slow down the back of your throat and settles thick in your stomach.

you hum low without meaning to, the sound slipping out sticky and soft. nanami sinks next you on chocolatey leather sectional, the seat creaking quietly under the shift of his weight.

“i'm sorry, again.” he says softly, his thumb drags absent over the rim once before he speaks once more. “that boy. . . he hasn't been the same since his mother’s been gone.”

“oh.” you lower your glass, words feeling awkward and clumsy on your tongue. “i’m sorry for your, um, loss.”

and nanami chuckles— the kind you’d expect to hear floating down the halls of some members-only country club.

“she’s not dead— she left. divorced me after she decided marriage vows were more of a suggestion.” he leans back, raising the crystal up to his lips.

you laugh before you can stop yourself — the wine buzzing a little low in your veins now, loosening your mouth, making you just stupid enough to flirt with the edge of it.

“ohh,” you purr sweetly, a little slur of silk in your voice. “so you haven’t gotten laid in a while, huh?”

nanami chokes.

no, like actually chokes.

“w-what?” he croaks, brows pulling inward sharply as his glasses shift down the bridge of his nose.

“gootteeenn laaiidd,” you repeat, dragging the words slower this time.

“like, you know, having intercourse.” you wave one hand vaguely in the air, wrist limp. “fucking, if you will.”

nanami exhales sharply through his nose - you’re really starting to give him a run for his money right now. “i know what getting laid means,” he mutters, tone clipped. “m’not that old.”

a brief silence drapes itself between you— not cold, yet slightly singed around its edges, tensed. after what seemed to be the longest three seconds of his life, nanami finally speaks.

“no. i, uh. haven’t been active— sexually.”

you burst out laughing, wine nearly sloshing over the rim of your glass. “oh my god,” you wheeze, setting down your drink before it spills over. “this isn’t a doctor’s office. we’re both adults here.��

“are we really?” nanami mumbles, umber eyes skimming over your doubled-over state.

“uh, i’m twenty, mind you.”

“that’s comforting.”

you shrug, one leg curling up beneath you as you swirl whats left in your glass, the liquid painting lazy rings up the sides. your head is lighter now, the warmth of it blooming low in your stomach, buzzing under your skin.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” you murmur, head tilting slightly as your gaze drags across his frame. “it’s juust. . . been a while, right? doesn’t have to stay that way.”

you don’t look at him after that. not right away. just take another sip— letting the remainder of the wine coat your tongue and melt there while your words hang.

nanami doesn’t speak at first. doesn’t blink. hell, doesn’t even breathe.

but you feel it. the way the air shifts. the way his eyes remain hot on you. like he’s trying not to picture anything he shouldn’t— and failing miserably.

you’re half his age— he could be your father, for crying out loud!

“you’re drunk.”

“a little,” you admit breathily, voice slurred around the corners like the alcohol is speaking for you. “not enough to lie though.”

his jaw flexes.

visibly.

nanami’s voice drops lower, steadier.

“you’re my son’s girlfriend.”

“ex-girlfriend,” you correct him. “very important prefix.”

“semantics,” he mutters.

“legalities,” you shoot back. “pretty sure that contract expired the second he chose to be community dick.”

and nanami just huffs, closing his eyes, as if you’ll vanish if once he reopens them.

you don’t.

his jaw ticks again— slow.

“you— you shouldn’t be talking like this,” his voice rasps, eyes darkening— not dramatically, like in the movies, but in that slow, irrevocable way. “flirting. with me.”

you blink up at him, doey eyes feigning innocence with such a foxed grace. “awe, why shouldn’t i, mister nanami?”

and uh,

being slumped over his couch not even five minutes later with your legs hanging daintily over his broad ass shoulders definitely wasn’t on your list of possible outcomes.

“k-kennnn,” you whimper, hips rolling up into his face without thinking. your body moving on instinct now. “oh my god—”

his name rolls of your tongue like pure honey. your hips buck into his face, reflexive and greedy, spine arching off the couch like your entire body was trying to climb into his mouth.

“you taste,” he breathes, voice ruined, mouth glistening with the evidence, “so divine.” his lips kiss the words right into your sobbing cunt, a sticky whisper smudged against your folds.

he’s drenched in your dulcetly sweet juices — mouth and chin glazed in spit and slick. there’s drool trailing from the corner of his mouth, pooling where his lips suck around your clit. it’s loud — shamelessly wet — the kind of messiness that echoes off the walls, mingling with your gasped mewls and broken pleas for more.

you're throbbing so much it aches. your legs can’t even stay open on their own— and they don’t have to, not with the way nanami’s palms are splayed into your inner thighs, keeping them spread wiiiidee like it’s his job.

like this is what he clocked out for.

you fist a hand in his hair, yanking him closer and he moans. actually moans into your cunt.

low and guttural, breath catching sharp in his throat as he sinks deeper into you. his tongue licks a wide, deliberate stripe up your cunt, lathering his entire mouth in the wet sheen of your sweetness.

and god, he’s drunk on it.

like he’s starved, but determined to savor every lick, every suck, every trembling twitch of your hips beneath his tongue. nanami wraps one arm around your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, and stays there — nose pressed deep in your crevices, tongue flicking in tight circles, sloppy little suctions in between.

the last time he's eaten pussy like this, was what? back in college? almost two decades ago. yet it's like fucking muscle memory for him, like he's got PTSD.

“that’s it,” he rasps, voice muffled and wrecked, “don’t run. let me taste you, baby.”

your jaw drops. nothing comes out.

because how exactly are you supposed to say even a word with his tongue dragging figure eights over your clit? with his lips sucking bruises into your inner thighs between every flick? with his hands branding their grip into you every time you squirm?

his lips latch around your clit, sucking slow, heavy pulses while the flat of his tongue rolls wide circles around the swollen bud. his head shakes side to side, desperate now, messy, loud slurps filling the room.

you gasp sharply, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his head. “kento—i’m getting clooseee.”

the heel of your foot presses down against the middle of his back, urging him closer, guiding his mouth deeper into you. he groans again, a low, hoarse sound that makes your stomach tighten.

“hah—not yet, sweetheart,” he mutters into your pussy, words muffled by the wetness slicking his lips. “wanna enjoy you a little longer.”

he coaxes softly, voice low. “h-hold out for me. can you do that, pretty girl?” and you nod frantically, even as your body is begging for release.

“atta girl.”

nanami smiles against your cunt and you can feel it—the gentle curve of his lips pressing against your slick, tickling where he’s sucking and licking you raw. his hands stroke soothing down the backs of your thighs, holding you still, thumbs drawing slow circles into your skin.

his tongue flattens again, and you could've sworn you felt him drawing a slow, dragged K against your clit.

he’s just lost in it. in you.

completely, hopelessly enthralled.

you whimper, breath catching in your throat, fat, wet, tears finally pooling at your waterline before streaking down the flushed heat of your cheeks.

“k-kentoo,” you mewl softly, voice sticky with need, breath coming out in short little pants.

“go on,” he cooed softly. “cum for me, sweetheart. wanna feel it on my tongue.”

coiled tight, ready to snap. but his hands stayed firm on your thighs, his tongue pressing a slow, deliberate stroke over your wetness.

your release hits you violently, crashing over you like a rogue wave and you nearly sob. your toes curl into the soles of your shoes, thighs clamping around his head as your hips bucked against his mouth.

your body spasms in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm, slick soaking nanami's chin, his lips, his tongue—and he just took it. drinking you down with soft, broken groans, never once letting up as he licked you through every little tremble.

“that’s it,” his breath is warm as it's breathed against your core. “good girl.”

your body was still trembling, slack with aftershock when nanami finally lifted himself from between your soaked thighs. he wiped his mouth once but it did nothing— his chin was still slick, lips swollen and glistening, the faintest tint of pink glossed from where he’d devoured you.

his hands swept possessively down your sides. palms wide, calloused fingertips dragging over the curve of your waist as he guided you forward.

you gasp softly as he flips you onto your belly, nudging your hips up. your limbs felt weightless, pliant with a deep fatigue.

your knees slide against the leather, the couch creaking beneath you as he arranged you just right—in your hands and knees, back arched, ass lifted.

the cushions dipped behind you, a subtle shifting of weight as nanami knelt up. you hear the slow, metallic “zrrpp” of his zipper lowering, noticing his belt didn’t jingle. 

he’d probably already undone it while his mouth was still between your thighs.

a soft breath hisses through nanami's nose as he fists himself behind you—stroking, just once, the wet sound slick before he presses forward.

“breathe in for me,” nanami enticed, voice steady, one palm braced warm at the small of your back.

his other hand guided himself to your entrance, the tip nudging sweetly between your sobbing folds. “just a little more, sweetheart.”

he eased forward, thick inches dragging into you, stretching you inch by staggering inch.

and it ached, yet in the sweetest way—your hot, slicked walls hugging him so tight, making him curse low under his breath.

“there you go,” he murmured. “such a big girl.”

he wasn’t too long, but god, did his girth make up for it.

a thick, weighted base broad enough to stretch you wide already, the head flaring just slightly as it breached you.

by the time he bottomed out, you were trembling beneath him, hips flush, his pelvis pressing soft against the curve of your ass. stretched full. he paused, both hands gliding down to grip the lush swell of your hips.

his hips drew back, the broad head of his cock dragging slow and heavy along your sensitive walls, before rolling forward again with a deep, deliberate stroke.

“s-sooo, hngh— big,” your voice broke into a sob as your fingers curled into the cushions beneath you. your ass bounced back against his waist, cunt snug around his cock as your moans pitched higher.

the silk of his tie—still looped loose around his own throat, slid free with a soft whisper of fabric. nanami tugged it off carefully, slipping it around your throat instead. the silk hugged the delicate line of your neck as he tied it loosely, gathering the longer end in one hand.

“just so i can hold you steady, heh,” he whispered, almost like he was reassuring himself more than you.

“look at you,” nanami panted softly. “so pretty on my dick— just, hah, imagine what my son would think.”

his breathing was ragged now, heavier with each roll of his hips into yours. the tie pulled snug against your throat every time you rocked back. the next thrust was deeper this time, angling up just right as it punched a sob out of your throat.

“he didn’t know what he had,” he gritted out between strokes, the words dragging rough from somewhere deep in his chest. “i-idiot—threw away something this perfect.”

and if you didn’t know any better, it almost sounded like nanami was angry— jealous even. like the thought of you being mistreated was something he just couldn’t fathom.

his free hand dropped to your waist, steadying you as his rhythm began syncopating. the fog on his glasses was nearly opaque now, slipping low on the bridge of his nose.

and then—

your phone buzzes, followed by your tinny little singsong ringtone, the screen lighting up bright in the dim lighting of the room.

[incoming facetime: 🗑️]

you dazedly blink, barely able to register it through the heat and the fog filling your head.

“p-pick it up,” nanami murmured behind you, voice low, steady, almost too composed. you barely had the coordination, fingers fumbling for the phone. your thumb dragged across the screen, and his face filled the camera.

red. wild-eyed. breathing heavy.

“where the fuck are you? you think this is funny? i’ve been texting and calling all night—”

your face was all he could see at first. hair sticking to your damp temples. your breath shaky. eyelids heavy, barely open.

“answer me,” he barked. “are you with someone? don’t fucking lie—”

you smiled. slow. coy. “oh, i’m with. . . someone.”

“who?” he demanded, voice cracking. “tell me who it is right now, or i swear i'll be both of your asses!”

you tilt the phone. just enough.

the camera catches nanami in his perfect, damning glory— broad chest flushed with exertion, work shirt still open, tie wrapped snug around your throat. his hands heavy on your hips, muscles flexing beneath skin as he fucked into you.

your ex’s jaw dropped. “wait. is that—” his voice pitched. “is that my dad?”

you smiled wider. teeth flashing.

“what the fuck—are you out of your mind?! psycho bitch, you’re fucking insane—”

click.

call ended.

“he’s gonna lose his fucking mind,” you whispered, giggling into your own shoulder.

nanami chuckles deep and out of breath. “let him.”

you feel the way his strokes start to grow heavier, a tremble blooming deep in his thighs, hips snapping forward with less precision now.

nanami’s breath stuttered, grip flexing hard around the tie as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded to your pussy.

“i’m—ah, i’m not gonna last.” he husked, his hips jackhammering into you languidly, making you feel the full thickness of him with every stroke. your slick gushed every time he bottomed out, wet sounds shameless in the otherwise quiet room.

he was so painfully close, yet he wanted to savor this moment. wanted to have this memory seared behind his eyelids long after the night was gone.

your cries were turning breathless, slurred, the pleasure cresting sharp, almost unbearable as you felt that tightness coiling in your stomach once again. “k-kento, please—can’t—”

“don't hold back,” he husked, his breath catching in his throat. “you earned it, sweetheart. let go.”

you nodded frantically, unable to form anything coherent as your release slammed into you hard. violent. white flashes of pleasure detonating in your stomach and ripping through your body.

“fuckfuckfuckfuuck— ” your lashes batted, tiny choked whines spilling from your mouth as his cock twitched deep inside you, swelling thicker, the heavy weight of it pressing into every sensitive nerve as your walls milked him greedily.

nanami's hips faltered, pace stuttering into a sloppy rhythm as he scrambled, releasing the tie from around your throat with a quick, careful tug as he pulled out.

before you could even whine, you feel the heavy weight of his cock dragging up—resting thick and flushed against the dip of your spine.

his breath is broken into low moans, and you barely had a second before the hot, sticky ropes of his release spilled across your back, striping messy against your skin.

just in time.

nanami’s head bowed, blonde strands falling loose from where they’d slipped behind his glasses. you could feel the tremble in his thighs, rolling through his entire body as his climax overcame him.

and for a moment, all you could hear was both of your breaths—deep, messy, syncing. the air smelled like sex. musk. your juices still wet between your legs.

he lingered there for a second longer, hips pressed forward, until he finally exhaled slow.

“shit,” nanami muttered breathlessly. “did i— was that too much?”

his voice cracked gentle now, worried.

your laugh came out light, breathless, sweet—finding his worriedness nothing short of sweet. “no. not at all. felt so good.”

he hummed, quiet relief softening the crease of his brow as he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

“but i guess uh, father’s day is ruined. oops.”

@ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

[monstersholygrail]

Heads or Tails?

Dragon bf x fem!reader— messy, cock riding, tail fucking, covered in cum, cum eating, after care, cuddles, fluff

You sit on your Dragon bfs giant underbelly, pouting as you look up at his moaning writhing form. Having spent countless hours teasing your bf and getting nothing to show for it except for a body covered head to toe in his thick pre-cum.

Throwing your little tantrum, wanting the pleasure only your Dragon bf can provide, you lightly slap your hand down on him. Gaining his attention even through the haze of lust clouding his mind.

“Want you to shift,” you whine, your pout jutting out further once his eyes fall on you. Gyrating your hips onto the textured skin of his underbelly you show him just how deeply you desire his cock.

You close your eyes briefly and whimper, the rocking of your hips feeling so good. Yet you want more. Getting him all worked up was causing arousal to gush out of you to the point you were dripping down your thighs. Seeing just how he reacted to you and knowing only you can ever get him to this point.

Dragon bf moans in return, the fog in his head only growing stronger. He shakes his head at you, body carefully rocking in time with your own small movements.

“Can’t, my love. I-I just can’t,” he pants out, so clearly not in any state to gather the focus he needs to shift into his smaller dragon form. So here he is, stuck as a ginormous dragon, leaving both of you wanting.

Dragon bf groans, feeling how wet you are as your pussy grinds against him. An idea slowly sifts through the fog and makes its way to the front of his thoughts.

“But I can give you my tail,” he breathes out, a mixture of lust and excitement swirl through his eyes.

With only one finger, Dragon bf drags your little body back up to his cock. Your limbs immediately wrap around it and he growls out his pleasure. Seeing your tiny form around his ginormous girth has his chest not only swelling with pride but also love for his beautiful mate. Knowing you’ll do anything to bring such pleasure to you both.

You angle your hips and wait with bated breath, so turned on you aren’t sure how long you’ll be able to last. And with how much you had teased your Dragon bf who knows how long he’ll last either.

A moment later you feel the large tip of his tail meet your slit. Dragon bf groans, feeling your heat emanating from your core onto his sensitive tail. He shivers and you hold tighter onto his cock, making him hiss.

Dragon bfs tail slides through your folds, gathering up your slickness. You moan, its girth spreading your lips. When his tail is all lubed up, you spread your thighs, allowing him easier access as his tail plunges into your depths, splitting you open just as deliciously as his cock does.

You and Dragon bf both moan, the nerves of your hole and his tail meeting and forming into an explosion of pleasure. Your bf pants, small bursts of smoke spilling out of his nose as he tries to control his fire.

“Please! Fuck me,” you beg, sliding your nails up and down the hard ridges of his length. Dragon bf roars, even the smallest forms of stimulation coming from you drives him to insanity.

“Yes, my mate!”

Without another word, Dragon bf starts thrusting his tail relentlessly into your pretty drooling cunt. Coating his tail with your essence and making a further mess of you both. With your body already soaked with his pre-cum, it makes it far too easy for your bf to push your body up and down his huge length.

Dragon bf moves your body back and forth along his cock, fucking his tail into your sloppy pussy with every downward jerk of your form.

You cry out, your body buzzing with the feeling of the ridges on his dick rubbing against you with every snap of his hips. Dragon bfs tail hitting along every nerve along your pussy walls. You can’t help but clench down and roll back into every movement.

Dragon bf snarls, his claws pricking at your back in the most delicious way as he delicately uses you however he wants. You both get lost in the momentum, the pleasure never ending as it sends sparks down your spine and straight into your cores.

You hold on tighter and tighter to his huge length practically drooling on it as his tail fucks you into oblivion, the furious pounding of his tail as it slips deeper inside you to the point where you can feel him in your throat.

A long mewl escapes you and with one more rut of his tail, your jaw drops and your body seizes. Your climax washing over you like a tidal wave of ecstasy. Dragon bf looks down just in time to see you experience one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

The moment your parted lips fall limply onto his pulsing cock, Dragon bf grunts loudly and explodes. His cum shooting of his dick and spraying all over his underbelly. Once again soaking you with his release. You bask in it, opening your mouth for however much you can get.

Still working through your orgasmic highs, Dragon bf brings you up onto his chest and uses his long tongue to lick his cum off of you. Giving you some interesting ideas about what you could do next time this happens.

“Thank you for being so understanding, my mate,” Dragon bf purrs. He nuzzles his giant snout into the area between your chest and your neck.

You sigh dramatically, reaching up and caressing however much of his jaw that you can. A rush of contentment moving through you as you cuddle with your big Dragon bf.

“Oh, it was nothing,” you tease, a grin playing on your lips. Your bf blows a harsh breath out of his nose, wiping your hair back. Leading both of you to burst out into a small fit of laughter.

[neochan]

need nerd haechan that tries to take his glasses off during sex but the reader wants them on and he keeps pushing them up (nerd! haechan)

haechan is a mess, and it’s driving you crazy.

he’s above you, flushed from the heat between your bodies, his breath uneven as he tries (fails) to keep up with you. his glasses keep slipping, fogging slightly from how close you are, and every few seconds he has to push them up with a frustrated little huff.

“i should—fuck—take them off,” he pants, trying to lift a hand, but you stop him immediately, gripping his wrist.

“no.”

his eyes widen behind his lenses, his lips parting. “w-what—?”

“i want them on.” you tighten your hold on his wrist, keeping him from reaching for them. “they make you look hot.”

his breath stutters and his whole body goes tense like you just said the most illegal thing in existence. “that—that’s—” he lets out a strangled little sound when you roll your hips against him, his lashes fluttering. “oh my god.”

“see?” you tease, dragging your nails lightly over his skin. “sexy.”

his ears are bright red, his brain clearly malfunctioning as he swallows hard. “but they keep moving—”

“then keep pushing them up.” you lean in, lips brushing against his jaw, relishing the way he shivers.

he makes a pathetic little whimper before letting his forehead drop to your shoulder, his glasses slipping again. desperate, he tries to shove them back up, his movements clumsy, his other hand gripping your hip like a lifeline.

“this is so unfair,” he whines, voice shaking.

you grin, pulling him back up so you can look at him properly. his glasses are askew, his pupils blown wide, his bottom lip pink from how hard he’s been biting it.

“you like it,” you whisper, dragging your fingers along his spine.

“n-no—”

but he does. you can feel it in the way his body reacts to you, in the way his glasses keep slipping down, making him push them up again, each time more frantic, more desperate.

you shift beneath him, rolling your hips just right, and his breath catches, glasses nearly slipping off entirely.

“fuck,” he groans, quickly shoving them back into place, his fingers shaking.

you smirk, running your tongue over your bottom lip. “you’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

he glares at you, completely fucked out and blushing. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.” you tug him down, lips brushing against his.

his glasses slip one last time, and this time, when he shoves them up, he does it with a low, frustrated groan—before finally giving in to you, letting himself fall apart in your hands.

[nerdlvr]

both of em' pt.2

(MDNI)

jihyuck x reader , just some light guy on guy kissing yk the usual , like a double blowjob situation , cum eating , bratty switch hyuck , soft? dom ji (soft to you not hyuck LMAO) , reader is just compliant with whatever they want , jerking dicks , tit sucking , pussy eating , kissing everywhere , a lot of spit , requested here !

had you really gone up to not one but two hot guys last night and ask for their numbers? maybe the drinks had fogged your memory, and you made it all up. not even your friend remembers them, i mean, even though she was way drunker than you.

but as you stare at your phone a new group chat containing two random numbers, you think maybe you weren't making things up after all.

993-787-**** : hi, y/n right? this is hyuck

993-787-**** : the cuter one...

767-332-**** : this is jisung... the taller one.

hyuck? : low blow ji, low blow.

jisung? : we're wondering if you're free tonight? unless you didn't actually mean what you said last night.... you did seem pretty drunk

you : yes i was pretty drunk.

you : but yes i'm free.

you : 7712 Neo Avenue. Just knock.

hyuck? : we'll be there baby, 8pm

.

you had watched enough true crime documentaries to know that the first thing they tell you not to do is give your address to strangers. clearly these people had never met hyuck and jisung, cause as they stood at your doorway, breaths heavy, dick prints clear through their sweats, maybe giving your address to these strangers wasn't such a bad idea.

.

they were quick to hound you, hands exploring under your shirt and into your shorts. you knees went weak as jisung kissed your neck softly, a chuckle leaving hyuck's lips as he watched you melt into their arms. he pushed you both onto the couch, your back against jisung's chest as you sat in his lap. jisung was soft, warm, but hyuck was impatient, motioning for jisung to leave your neck alone so he could drag your shirt off. you had no time to feel shy as hyuck positioned himself on jisung's lap, his chest pressed against yours.

"hyuck, what the hell you're heavy!"

jisung pushed the boy's shoulder, a grunt leaving his lips as hyuck shifted his weight,

"why do you even go to the gym, stop whining."

hyuck grabbed your hips pushing you down further into jisung's lap, a soft laugh leaving his lips as he watch jisung's head fall onto your shoulder, his quiet moans filling your ears,

"see? you should be grateful i'm here."

jisung couldn't care less about hyuck's teasing as you ass pressed into his lap, precum seeping through his boxers. hyuck leaned towards your ear, warm breath causing goosebumps to form on your skin,

"keep moving your hips baby, you can do that right? hm?"

you nodded slowly as he placed kisses along your cheek, his hands coming up to cup your breasts through your bra. as your lips parted a soft moan leaving them, hyuck used this opening to slot his lips against yours, his tongue slipping in to explore your mouth. the kiss was wet, maybe alarmingly wet, as spit pooled in your mouth as you both sucked at each others tongues. he let go of your mouth with a soft pop, turning your head to face the boy behind you.

jisung's eyes were glossy, an innocent look on his face as he licked his lips desperately,

"kiss me too."

you leaned into him with a smile, his kiss much softer than hyuck's. he was warm and gentle, tongue hesitantly running across you lips asking for permission. you're mouth opened naturally as hyuck attached his lips to your perked nipple, jisung swallowing your soft moans. his large hands moved down your body and past your shorts, fingers softly grazing your clit. you arched your body into his touch, hyuck's mouth following the curve of your body as he finally got off of jisung's lap to kneel between your legs. jisung's hand were gentle as he pushed your shorts down,

"let's take this off hm? hyuck's waiting so patiently for you baby."

hyuck followed jisung's hands quickly yanking your shorts the rest of the way down,

"patient wouldn't be the word i'd use."

you leaned you head back onto jisung's shoulder your bareness making you shy. your bra had been pulled down enough to expose your breasts, jisung's firm hands holding your legs open as hyuck sat in front of your exposed core.

you winced as you felt hyuck blow cold air onto your glistening folds,

"so wet baby-"

he used his fingers to part your lips, leaning forward to lick a fat stripe up your core,

"and so fucking sweet too."

you heard jisung groan from behind you, the grip on your thighs tightening,

"don't fucking tease hyuck, or i'll get her off myself."

hyuck mumbled a small sorry before diving in to lap at your heat. you gripped jisung's thighs, hyuck's tongue prodding at your dripping entrance. you watched as jisung let go of one of your legs, instead threading his fingers through hyuck's hair and pulling roughly,

"do it right."

hyuck moaned into your cunt as jisung gripped his hair, moving his head along your clit.

"stick your tongue out more- yeah just like that hyuck good boy."

all you could do was moan as jisung rubbed hyuck's tongue against your clit, praising him every time your moans grew louder.

"feels s' good, oh my- hyuck, right there baby."

his soft mhm vibrated along your clit, his slurping growing louder as your legs began to shake.

"keep them open sweet girl, don't want you to hurt hyuck right?"

you nodded not even registering his words as you felt your vision go blurry, the band in your stomach snapping so hard jisung had to wrap his arm around your waist to keep you from sliding down.

you were spent, melting into jisung's grasp not even caring as the two boys laughed at you. you jumped as hyuck slapped the inside of your thigh.

"you don't listen. almost crushed my hea- hello? baby are you listening?"

you nodded slowly head turning to the side to look at jisung. you shook slightly on his chest as he chuckled at your appearance, his lips peppering light kisses around your face,

"you okay pretty? wanna take a break?"

you shook your head. whatever it was you were more than ready to please them. you felt hyuck lift you off jisung's lap, placing you on your knees on the floor. he pinched your cheek, kissing your forehead softly,

"let us know if you wanna stop, because if you don't. i swear-"

you looked up at him with teary eyes,

"don't scare her hyuck. we'll be gentle baby- mostly."

you gulped nervously watching as they pulled down their sweats and boxers in one go, their hard lengths springing free. hyuck was quick to grab his length, stroking it languidly before coming to stand right in front of you. jisung pulled him back clicking his tongue at the shorter boy,

"you got your turn, now you wait."

hyuck's whining was just a distant sound as you watched jisung stand infront of you, his length hard and proud, pink tip flushed and leaking. he grabbed himself, pressing the tip lightly against you lips,

"kiss."

you kisses his tip, hands coming up quickly to hold him. your lips traced down his length, placing kisses on every inch before coming back to gently lick the tip. you grinned as he sucked in a breath, length twitching in your hands.

"so pretty baby, but you'd look prettier with your mouth full. what do we think?"

he looked back at hyuck, the older boy nodding quickly as he gently stroked his own cock.

you parted your lips, tongue cushioning the bottom of his length as he slowly slid into your mouth. you hollowed your cheeks pulling his length out of your mouth before taking him back him, building a slow rhythm.

jisung moaned above you, hands coming to collect your hair, moving it away from your face,

"so sweet angel, but hyuck likes it dirty, so we're gonna have to give him a show, hm?"

his words didn't even process in your head before he was roughly shoving you down his length, his tip hitting the back of your throat. you swallowed around him trying your best not to gag, making him groan loudly. he held your head steady as he began to fuck your face, the back of your throat starting to bruise from the force. you focused on breathing through your nose, ignoring the spit dripping from the corners of your mouth, tears staining your face.

"fuck, fuck you're so hot, jisung please let me get some of this, please."

you inhaled loudly as jisung released you from his length, a string of spit connecting you to his tip. the flow of oxygen was short lived as hyuck's cock prodded into your mouth, your mouth sore from the stretch. jisung guided you along hyuck's length, the sound of spit filling your living room.

hyuck pulled his shirt up, he was breathing heavy, sweat making his honey skin glow,

"fuck baby, so good, doing so good for- shit you asshole!"

jisung had pulled you off his length, chuckling lightly at hyuck's reaction. jisung positioned himself next to hyuck, his free hand coming down to hold both of their lengths together.

"come here baby, i know it's a lot but you can make it work right?"

you nodded, confidence temporary as you attempted to fit both of them in your mouth, it was an awkward smashing of tongue, teeth and tips being the only outcome. but it seemed to be enough for the boys as they both moaned loudly at the feeling.

hyuck turned his head to look at jisung, hand coming up to cup his face, pulling him in for a kiss. jisung didn't complain his tongue working agaisnt hyucks. you moaned at the sight, your hands wrapping around their lengths to jerk them off. all that was heard was spit sloshing and moans as the boys continues to kiss, your wrists starting to burn.

"oh my- i'm gonna cum. ji please tell me you're close, please."

jisung nodded into his neck as he nipped at hyuck's soft skin, light marks starting to bloom.

"just a little more baby, come on we're so close- oh my, yes, yes."

spurts of cum adorned for face and chest, loud groans leaving the mouths of the two boys standing in front of you. you licked at your lips the taste of jisung and hyuck mixing together on your tongue.

hyuck leaned down to rub his thumb against your cheek collecting some of the cum,

"dirty girl, look at what a mess you made."

he brought his thumb up to jisung's mouth, shooting him a quick wink. jisung's mouth twisted with disgust, turning his head away from hyuck.

"gross dude, we're not that close."

hyuck shrugged his shoulders popping his thumb into his own mouth before bending down to whisper in your ear,

"don't worry, we'll loosen him up after a couple rounds."

a couple what?

[shybluebirdninja]

Haunted House Hero

Summary: Logan tries to be brave in a haunted house attraction but freaks out more than you do at the jump scares.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Gf!Reader

Note                : fluff

You wrap your arms around yourself, the leather jacket Logan bought you last year doing its best to keep the cold out.

Logan’s beside you, wearing his usual flannel, sleeves rolled up like he’s immune to the cold, even though you know he feels it. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and he's been grumbling about this haunted house since you both got in line.

“They better have somethin’ scary in there. Not some cheap-ass jump scares,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the way it always is when he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You stifle a laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh, come on, babe. It’ll be fun. Maybe they’ll actually get you to flinch for once.”

He glances down at you, eyes narrowing, but there’s a glint of amusement there. “Me? Flinch? Yeah, right. These places don’t scare me. It’s all fake.”

You grin, leaning into his side a little. “Sure, sure. You’re the big, bad Wolverine. Nothing scares you.”

He grunts, clearly not convinced by the haunted house’s ability to impress him, but there’s a hint of nervous energy in the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot as you approach the entrance.

The door swings open with a loud creak, and the two of you step inside. The air changes immediately—stuffy, thick with the smell of fog machines and something vaguely like burnt wood.

It’s dark, too, except for the occasional dim flicker of fake candles and red lights illuminating the path ahead. The place is eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of chains clinking and faint screams.

Logan rolls his shoulders back, pretending like he’s unfazed, but his hand brushes against yours, and you can feel the tension there.

“Stick close, babe. Don’t want you getting lost in here,” he says, even though you know he’s the one who needs a little reassurance.

You bite back a grin. “You mean you don’t want to get lost.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a step forward, leading the way. His body moves with purpose, like he’s walking into some kind of battle, not a cheesy haunted attraction. His flannel sways slightly with each step, and you can see the way his muscles tense under the fabric.

You both turn a corner, and the hallway suddenly gets narrower. The walls close in, decorated with fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons, and you can feel Logan’s posture change—he’s bracing himself, even though he’d never admit it. His breathing’s a little heavier, and you can tell he’s hyper-aware of every creak, every distant sound.

That’s when the first scare hits.

A figure jumps out from behind a hidden door, dressed in tattered clothes, face covered in white makeup, screaming right in Logan’s face.

“Fuck!” Logan shouts, jumping back, his hand instinctively shooting out to grab your arm. His reflexes are faster than the scare actor’s, and for a second, he looks like he’s ready to take the poor guy down.

You burst out laughing, holding onto Logan’s arm to steady yourself. “Oh my god, Logan, did you just—”

“Shut up,” he growls, trying to play it off like it didn’t just happen. He straightens up, taking a deep breath, and glares at the actor who’s already slinking back into the shadows. “They’re lucky I didn’t pop claws.”

Your stomach hurts from laughing so hard, and you have to take a deep breath to calm down. “Sure, babe. Sure. No claws in the haunted house.”

Logan mutters something under his breath, still clearly irritated that he got caught off guard, and continues down the path, but his hand hasn’t left your arm since the scare. His grip’s not tight, just…there. Steadying himself, maybe, or making sure you don’t pull any pranks on him.

As you walk further in, the air gets colder. It’s like they’ve cranked up the AC to make it feel more like an actual haunted mansion, and the temperature drop has Logan rubbing the back of his neck, trying to shake off the chill.

You’re halfway through the house when a low moaning sound echoes through the hallway. Logan stops in his tracks.

“Babe,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s actually starting to buy into the atmosphere. “Did you hear that?”

You can’t help the mischievous smile that spreads across your face. “What? You scared?”

He shoots you a look, but before he can respond, another figure leaps out from the shadows. This one’s dressed like some sort of ghoul, with glowing red eyes and a mask that looks a little too realistic. Logan jumps again, but this time, instead of swearing, he just wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

“I wasn’t scared,” he says quickly, his breath a little uneven. “Just…protecting you.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, grinning like an idiot. “Oh, yeah? Is that why you almost punched that ghost?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking, but you can feel his arm stay around you, like he’s not taking any chances.

The rest of the haunted house is full of the usual jump scares—screaming clowns, sudden loud noises, and creepy dolls—but Logan’s reactions are priceless every time. He tries to act tough, like he’s not affected, but the way his shoulders jump or how his grip on you tightens tells a different story.

By the time you both reach the exit, you’re practically leaning on him from laughing so hard. Logan pushes open the door, and the cool night air hits you both like a welcome relief.

He stops just outside, letting go of you for a second to rub the back of his neck again, looking almost sheepish.

“You gonna make fun of me for this all night, aren’t you?” he asks, glancing down at you with that familiar gruff expression, but there’s a softness behind it.

You smile up at him, sliding your hand into his. “Nah, babe. I’ll give you a break. For now.”

He grunts in response, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips as he pulls you closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders again as you start to walk back toward the parking lot.

“Next year, though, we’re doing somethin’ with actual danger. No more of this fake shit.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

But deep down, you both know you’re coming back next year.

[springtyme]

If you’re still looking for Steve requests, would you be willing to write Steve who’s sick asf but later has a date planned with R but when she sees him she obvs takes him home and takes care of him

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ♡

Steve Harrington x reader || Main masterlist || Steve playlist

summary: Your first date with Steve doesn’t end up going exactly as he had planned.

word count: 2k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐) 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐃𝐚𝐲

“You look like shit,” Robin says deadpanned, her arms crossed as she leans against the counter, her expression half-teasing, half-concerned. 

“Gee, thanks, Rob,”Steve replies, trying to sound normal, but failing miserably as fatigue and hoarseness clings to his voice like a thick fog. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. The fluorescent lights in Family Video seem excessively bright today, and every time a customer opens the door, the sound of the bell makes his head throb and the rush of fresh air makes him shiver.

He had woken up feeling like a truck had run him over, his throat scratchy, head pounding, and every bone in his body aching. Had he woken up feeling like this on any other day, he would have called in sick; but if he did that, it would mean actually admitting that he was sick, and then he would have to call you and cancel your date later, which was absolutely out of the question. 

He had worked out the nerve to ask you out for so long that the idea of backing out now makes his stomach twist with anxiety. He doesn’t understand how he did it so easily in high school. Back then, talking to girls felt like second nature to him, but then he grew up, became less of an asshole and the glitz and glamour of ‘King Steve’ and teenage confidence faded into something far more complicated.

It also dosen’t help the one person he’s been crushing on for ages. Your laughter dances in his memory, a melody that both soothes and torments him. You’re smart, kind, and effortlessly cool; the kind of person who lights up a room without even trying.

Robin raises an eyebrow, the look on her face tells Steve that she isn’t convinced. “Seriously, Harrington, you should just call it a day and go home.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, despite the fact that his body is screaming at him to go home and curl up under a mountain of blankets. 

· · · · ·   

You stand in front of the mirror in the staff bathroom of the café, smoothing down the fabric of your outfit as you check your makeup one last time. Your shift ended a little while ago, but Steve is supposed to come by and pick you up soon after his own shift at Family Video. The anticipation of seeing him makes your heart flutter.

You’ve been replaying the moment Steve asked you out in your head—his slight stammer, the way he ran his fingers through his hair, clearly anxious yet hopeful. It was cute. You could still picture the way his eyes lit up when you said yes, how the corner of his mouth twitched into that adorable smile of his, bright and boyish. 

As you stand there putting on a layer of lip gloss, a soft knock on the door breaks you from your reverie. “Hey, I think your date is here!” Lin, your co-worker, call out, her voice laced with light-hearted mischief. You can hear the smile in her tone.

“Thanks, I’ll be right out!” you reply, capping the tube of gloss and throwing it into your purse, taking a final glance in the mirror before you step out of the bathroom.

As you walk into the main café area, your eyes immediately land on Steve. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand fiddling with his keys, his other holding a bouquet of pink lilies that stands out against the muted tones of the café. The sight makes you smile to yourself.

You navigate through the café, a calm kind of excitement bubbling in your stomach. He catches your eye just as you reach him, but as you get closer, your smile falters slightly. You can’t help but notice the slight paleness of his complexion and how the usual brightness of his honey brown eyes is dulled.

“Hey,” you say, trying to mask your concern with a playful tone as you glimpse the flowers. “Are those for me?”

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers, almost sheepish as he offers you the bouquet, “yeah, they are for you.”

You take the flowers, inhaling their sweet fragrance, and your heart swells. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

His smile is earnest, but you catch the hint of a wince as he shifts on his feet.

“Of course,” he replies, a little too quickly, and you immediately pick up on the way his voice cracks slightly.

You take a closer look at him, worry settling in your chest like a weight. “Steve, are you okay?”

He chuckles softly, attempting to brush it off. “Yeah… yeah, I’m great.”

You raise an eyebrow, not feeling fully convinced, but you smile as he leads you out of the café and into the mild autumn air. The moment you step outside, the sunset casts a warm golden light, painting the world in hues of orange and pink. But despite the beauty around you, your attention stays focused on him.

As you walk side by side towards his car, a comfortable silence falls between you, but it’s punctured by Steve’s occasional cough, each one making your heart sink a little more. 

“Steve,” you say gently, your voice dropping to a soft, yet serious tone. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He force a chuckle, his voice raspy and strained. “Yeah… I’m just a little under the weather. It’s nothing, really.” 

You don’t buy it for a second. You know him well enough to see the way his usually bright eyes are glazed over with fatigue. The way he keeps shivering, despite the mild autumn air. You can see the pale cast to his skin and the way his hand shakes as he reaches for the passenger door to let you into his car.  

“Steve, you’re sick,” you state, your tone firm, your hand reaching out to touch his forehead which is warm to the touch. 

He glances away, and you notice how he rubs a hand over his tired eyes as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion. “I didn’t want to cancel on you. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Your heart flutters, but it’s quickly replaced by a surge of protectiveness. You take a step closer, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze. “Steve, I appreciate that, but I really think you need rest.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but before he can say anything, you interject, “How about this: I take you home, and we can have a cozy night in instead? I can whip up some soup or something.”

The suggestion hangs in the air. You can see the internal struggle on his face—whether he should stick to the plan he’d anticipated or succumb to the reality of how he truly feels. Finally, he nods. “That does sound nice. But can I still take you out on a real date when I’m feeling better?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in his eyes reminds you how much he values your time together.

“Definitely,” you reply, your own smile returning. “Now come on, let’s get you home.” You put out your hand, gesturing for him to hand over his car keys. He hesitates for a moment, looking between you and the keys in his palm, but the warmth in your eyes encourages him. With a resigned sigh, he hands them over.

You slide into the driver’s seat, glancing over at him once you’re both settled in, and your heart squeezes at the sight. He’s leaning back against the headrest, eyelids drooping slightly as he battles against another wave of exhaustion.

“Want me to turn on some music?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood as you pull out of the parking lot.

“Sure, but maybe something a bit soft,” he replies, his voice still strained, though he offers you a small smile. You nod and switch on the radio, letting the soothing melodies fill the car as you drive through the quiet town.

Occasionally, you look over and check on him from the corner of your eye. He’s still pale, and you can see how he shivers slightly in his  seat. Guilt twists in your stomach at the thought that he’d pushed himself just to spend time with you.

The short drive feels like it takes ages, but you finally pull up in front of his house. Steve glances over at you, a hint of reluctance in his gaze. “You don’t...you really don’t have to do this, you know. I can just—”

“Steve, it’s happening. You’re not winning this argument today,” you cut him off playfully, adding a grin to soften your words. He chuckles weakly, appreciating the stubbornness in your tone.

After a second, he nods and climbs out of the car, the effort seeming to cost him. You rush around to help him, looping his arm around your shoulder for support as you lead him inside. Once inside, you help him settle onto the couch, fluffing a few pillows behind his back so he can lean comfortably. “You just sit tight,” you order gently. “I’ll get started on that soup.”

You head to the kitchen, happy to find enough ingredients for a simple chicken noodle. As you chop vegetables and toss everything into the pot, you can’t help but glance back toward the living room now and then.

After a while, the delicious aroma of simmering soup fills the air, a comforting weight that envelops the space. You serve it up in two bowls, bringing them back to the living room.

“Dinner is served,” you announce, adopting a playful tone as you hand him a bowl, the steam swirling up from the broth.

He takes it gratefully, voicing his gratitude before he takes a spoonful of the soup, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a bit. You take a seat next to him, and the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet, the sound of spoons clinking against the ceramic filling the space between you.

“See? Not such a bad idea, right?” you say, giving him a gentle smile as his eyes lock with yours. 

“Not at all,” he replies, his mouth curling into a genuine smile that somehow seems to illuminate the weariness in his eyes. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters nonetheless. “Just wait until I force you to watch a rom-com later.”

“Who doesn’t love a rom-com?” he laughs, but it’s cut short by a rough cough that rattles through him. You frown, reaching over to gently place your hand on his forehead again, your palm feeling the rise and fall of his fever.

“You still need to rest,” you remind him softly, and he nods, a hint of vulnerability crossing his features. He takes another sip of soup, his movements slower, as if savoring not just the meal, but the warmth radiating from your presence.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he murmurs, looking at you with a depth of gratitude that sends your heart racing. “I really didn’t want to let you down.”

“Steve, you could never let me down,” you say earnestly. 

The sincerity in your voice hangs in the air between you, a thread of understanding weaving deeper into the fabric of your relationship. He finishes his soup, and as the bowls lay empty on the coffee table, he leans back a little more against the couch, closing his eyes.

You grab a blanket that is hanging over the armrest of the couch and drape it over the two of you, feeling the warmth radiating from his body touch yours. “I’ll stay here with you,” you whisper, brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Thank you,” he says with a contented sigh, he nestles in further, his hand finding yours on the couch. And as you sit together, the simplicity of sharing warmth, soup, and presence erases the worry as evening turns into night, the world outside fading away.

[hoshifighting]

      minghao + telepathic sex

— you give a try to the soulmate meditation, finding minghao inside the meditation, the barista that you meet everyday before work.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, spiritual setting, another dimension experience, mentions of aura (minghao's aura), destinity, soulmates plot, fingering, doubled sensations, mentions of fluids (oil, cum/precum).

[my spiritualist ass needed to write something like this]

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you’re sitting on your bed, lights off, laptop open, the screen way too bright in the dark room. your friend’s words still echoing in your head, “just try it, y/n. i swear, it’ll change your life.” and you rolled your eyes so hard when she said it, the thought of meditating to a youtube video making you scoff. but now, after a brutal day at work, your head spinning with numbers, deadlines, and your boss breathing down your neck, you figured what the hell. couldn’t be worse than staring at the ceiling and drowning in your thoughts all night, right?

so, here you are, headphones on, listening to this soft, whispery voice telling you to breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. you do it, even though it feels a bit stupid. the voice is saying something about connecting with your inner self or some other woo-woo shit, and you kind of tune it out, focusing more on the slow inhale, exhale.

but then, something shifts. like, for real. your body feels lighter, like you're floating, and your limbs start tingling. your brain’s screaming okay, this is weird, stop, but your body’s already in, pulled deeper into whatever this trance is. it’s like you blink, and suddenly, you're not in your room anymore. everything is... different.

it’s not dark, not light, just this weird in-between, and there’s this warm glow in front of you. the air smells different too, fresh and kind of sweet, like those damn essential oils your friend swears by. it feels real, but not? you glance down at yourself, and yep, still you. but your feet are moving like you’re not the one telling them to, dragging you closer to this light.

and then you see him.

at first, it’s just a silhouette. a tall, lean figure surrounded by this soft, white aura. your heart does that thing where it skips a beat—because, like, wtf is happening—but you keep moving. something about him pulls you in, despite the knot twisting in your gut.

as you get closer, you can see him more clearly. his hair’s a soft, burnt orange, strands almost glowing like they’re lit from within. the kind of hair you’d probably spend hours trying to replicate at the salon, but never really get right. and his face... god, his face. sharp, but soft in all the right places. it’s minghao. minghao? of all people? the dude you’ve seen in the cafeteria, that does your ''the usual'' everyday before work?

you freeze. not because you’re scared—well, maybe a little—but more because what the actual hell. is this meditation or did you fall asleep and end up in some kind of fever dream?

“you good?” his voice cuts through the fog, smooth, with that laid-back vibe he always carries. he’s looking right at you now, dark eyes catching yours, like he’s not even fazed by the fact that you just appeared out of nowhere.

you blink. “uh... what is this?”

he laughs, low and lazy, like you’re the one who’s being weird. “soulmate meditation, right?”

you feel your face heat up. oh, fuck no. “don’t tell me you watch those too.”

you stand there, still not quite sure if you’re dreaming or if this is actually happening, when minghao steps even closer. his energy is calm but intense at the same time, and it’s making your body buzz, like the air between you is charged with something you don’t understand. you can feel your feet getting heavier, like the ground itself is trying to pull you down, almost glitching beneath you.

minghao shrugs, the motion casual, like none of this is a big deal. “i don’t need to,” he says softly, not looking at you but feeling everything. his fingers brush against yours, and it’s such a light touch, but it sends sparks up your arm. “you can feel it, can’t you?”

you don’t answer, too caught up in the dimension. it’s like your body knows more than your brain does, and suddenly, you’re aware of every sensation, every beat of your heart, every breath.

“don’t freak out,” he murmurs, his hand sliding into yours fully now. “it’s just the energy here. you’re fine.”

yeah, right, you think. totally fine. but the way his hand fits around yours, it’s like he’s grounding you, keeping you from slipping through the cracks in reality.

“relax,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your palm lightly. “relax your shoulders, your jaw... even your eyebrows. you’re holding everything so tight.”

his touch is steady, calming, and without even realizing it, your shoulders start to drop, your jaw unclenches, and the tension in your forehead eases.

you huff, rolling your eyes, but you do it anyway, letting out a long breath. “i didn’t even know i was that tense.”

minghao chuckles, the sound easy, and you can feel it in your chest. “i could tell. your body’s giving you away.”

you shoot him a glare, but there’s no bite to it, not really.

but he’s right. you’re so damn tense, always are. work, life, all of it piles up until your body’s like a coiled spring, and he noticed on the cafeteria, he did, and here, same thing, and you don’t even notice it anymore. but here, with him, it’s like all of that just melts away. you don’t even know how it’s possible, but you feel... lighter. freer.

he tilts his head, eyes locking with yours, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes your stomach flip. “you know,” he starts, his voice dropping to a soft murmur, “there’s a better way to relax... here too”

your breath catches in your throat, he’s not just talking about meditation anymore—no, there’s a shift in the air, something heavier tugging at your sacral chackra.

“oh yeah?” you ask, your voice coming out a little breathless, even though you try to play it cool. “and what’s that?”

minghao’s smile is slow, he leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your skin, his body lightweight, moving like an angel. “you’ll feel it. just... let go.”

you don’t even have time to respond before his lips are on yours, soft and dense, and everything around you dissolves. the world, this dimension, the ground beneath your feet—it all fades until there’s nothing but him, his mouth, his hands, the heat radiating from his body.

and it’s not just a kiss. no, it’s like every sensation is magnified, doubled, like your nerves are on fire. his hand slides up your arm, leaving a trail of warmth, and when his fingers dig into your waist, you gasp into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders because suddenly, you’re not sure if your legs are going to hold you up.

he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “see? just like that. relax.”

your brain’s spinning, but your body’s already giving in, sinking into the feeling of his touch, the heat building between you. you’ve never felt anything like this—like your body is hypersensitive.

minghao’s hands are everywhere now, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. you’re pressed against him, and the way his body feels, hard and warm against yours, only makes the tension inside you snap, releasing in waves of need.

his mouth moves to your neck, lips trailing down, sucking lightly, and your head falls back, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it. it’s like every touch is amplified, like your body is more in tune with his than it’s ever been with anyone else.

“you’re doing good,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and breathy. “just let go.”

and you do. fuck, you do. your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth works its way down your throat. the heat between your legs is building, and it’s so intense, like nothing you’ve felt before. everything’s heightened—the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way his breath feels against your neck, the way his body presses against yours.

his hands slide lower, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against him. you can feel him hard against your thigh, and a low groan escapes him as he grinds against you. making you call for him.

he cuts you off with another kiss, this one rougher, more desperate, and you can feel the need radiating off of him in spirals. it’s like the air between you is droning, the energy from before now crackling with something more carnal, mundane, something that’s pulling you both under.

“you want this?” he asks, his eyes dark and filled with warmth as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

you don’t even hesitate. “yes.”

everything’s blurred, time slipping away as the two of you become a mess of tangled limbs, moans, and desperate touches. and fuck, it feels good.

you don’t even remember how it happened—one second, you were both tangled in each other, grinding and gasping like it was the only thing keeping you alive, and then, somehow, without even realizing, you were both naked—were you naked form the very beginning?

skin against skin, slick and slippery with something that felt almost like oil, but thicker, warmer, making your bodies glide against each other with every touch. you couldn’t even focus, too caught up in the way minghao’s mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking slow, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

his teeth grazed lightly over your nipple, and you gasped, back arching up, pressing yourself harder against his mouth. your hand was wrapped around his cock, your fingers curling around the thick, bulbous head, and the way he twitched in your grip made your own heat pool between your legs, soaking your thighs in a way that felt obscene.

he moved lower, trailing kisses down your stomach. you could feel every inch of him, the warmth of his breath, the slickness of your own sweat mixing with whatever was coating your bodies, making each touch feel like it was magnified, like it was burning into your skin.

“this... feels insane,” you whispered, your voice trembling, not just from the pleasure but from vibrations. every sound, every moan, every gasp echoed in the strange, otherworldly space you were in, bouncing off the walls—or maybe it was just the ground? you weren’t sure anymore. the whole place felt like it was vibrating, like your moans were traveling through the very air, rippling through the dimensions and coming back to you in curls. it was dizzying, overwhelming, and it made the heat between your legs pulse harder.

his fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit with a kind of confidence that made your head spin, like he belonged his, like he knew everything. his touch was light at first, just barely grazing the swollen bud, but still made you shake like he’d shocked you. your hips bucked instinctively, chasing the friction, and minghao’s breath hitched, a soft chuckle escaping him as his fingers pressed down a little harder.

“relax,” he whispered, guiding your hips down, his other hand gripping your waist, “you’re so tense. just let me do it.”

his fingers circled your clit in slow, teasing motions, not enough to send you over the edge but enough to make you ache, the need building inside of you until it felt like you were going to burst. every flick of his fingers made your whole body shudder, the sound of your slick echoing in the space around you, loud and obscene, like the wet slap of your skin against his was the only thing that mattered.

“fuck, minghao,” you moaned, your voice coming out in a broken gasp, the sound vibrating through the air, making everything feel more intense. the ground beneath you seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your bodies, every sound amplified, the wetness of your slick mixing with his groans, creating this heated, filthy symphony of pleasure.

“good girl,” he muttered, voice low and rough, fingers sliding lower to tease at your entrance before plunging inside. you cried out, the feeling so intense it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. his fingers stretched you, curling just right, finding that spot inside of you that made your legs tremble.

the sensation was heightened, doubled somehow, like you could feel every single ridge of his fingers inside of you, the way they twisted and stroked, pulling moans from your lips like he was playing an instrument. “just like that,” he breathed, his voice guiding you, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your other nipple. “relax into it. let go.”

you did. you let go of everything—the stress, the tension, the worries. it all melted away under the touch of his hands, the press of his body against yours, the sound of your wet skin slapping together. he was moving faster now, his fingers thrusting inside of you with a steady rhythm, and you could feel your orgasm building, that tight coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“minghao—i’m close, i-i can feel it, oh my god!” you gasped, your hips moving on their own, grinding against his hand, desperate for release.

he smirked, leaning down to press his lips to your ear. “come for me. let it all go.”

coil snapped, and your orgasm ripped through you, so intense that you screamed, the sound echoing in the space around you, bouncing back at you like a thousand voices crying out in unison.

your whole body shook, and you could feel minghao’s fingers still working inside of you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm, coaxing it from you until you were a quivering body.

the sounds of your slick, of his hand sliding against your skin, filled the space, amplified by whatever dimension you were in. it was all so wet, so filthy, and yet it felt like everything you needed, everything you’d been holding in for so long.

when it was over, you collapsed back against the ground—if it was ground at all—your body boneless, your mind hazy with the aura of your orgasm. minghao pulled his fingers out of you slowly, carefully, and you could feel the wetness dripping down your thighs, soaking into whatever surface you were on.

he laid down beside you, pulling you close, and you could feel his warmth, his steady breathing, his presence grounding you again. your body felt heavy, but not in a bad way—it was the kind of heaviness that comes with complete release, with finally letting go of everything.

“how do you feel?” minghao asked softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

you smiled, eyes already drooping closed, exhaustion pulling you under. “better. so much better.”

he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, making your view blur a little. “good. now sleep.”

and you did, falling into a deep, dreamless slumber, your body completely relaxed, every bit of tension gone. all that was left was minghao’s warmth, his soft breathing, and the sound of your own heartbeat slowing as you drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you’d ever had.

— // next morning // —

you stumble into the cafeteria, still buzzing from whatever the hell last night was. it’s like you can’t shake the feeling, like it’s clinging to your skin, still there in the way your body feels light but also charged with something—missing something? your head’s all over the place, replaying those moments from the trance, that other dimension—or whatever the hell you wanna call it. but you need coffee, you’re exhausted, barely slept after the... experience, and you’re kinda hoping a caffeine hit will bring you back to reality.

and that’s when you see him. minghao. standing right at the counter like he always does, casual as anything. except something inside you twists the second your eyes land on him. it’s like your body knows before your brain does, the way your stomach flips, the way your breath catches. no. no way. he can’t know, right? you try to shake the thought, telling yourself it was just a dream or something. maybe your imagination is screwing with you, making you see connections that aren’t there.

but then he glances up, meeting your eyes for a split second before he looks back down at the coffee machine. “the usual?” he asks before you even have a chance to say anything, like he already knew.

your heart skips a beat, but you try to play it cool. “yeah... thanks,” you mutter, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels.

while you’re waiting, you can’t help but sneak glances at him. he’s just standing there, doing his thing, but every now and then, his eyes flicker up to you, just for a second, like he’s watching you too. and it’s making you paranoid, like he knows. like he was there. but that’s impossible, right?

the coffee’s ready in no time, and you step up to grab it. your hand curls around the cup, but just as you’re about to lift it, minghao’s hand comes down too, his fingers brushing over yours. the touch makes you freeze, way too similar to the way his fingers had felt last night, the way he had— okay okay, calm down.

“you look well-rested,” he says, voice low, hardly audible over the hum of the cafeteria. his thumb strokes the back of your hand, subtly. “i hope it helped... relaxing like that.”

your heart slams in your chest, and for a second, you freeze. you can’t even speak, your mind going blank as his words hit you. he knows. there’s no way he doesn’t know. the way he said it, the look in his eyes—it’s like he’s toying with you, like he’s waiting for you to admit it.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. your eyes are wide, staring at him in shock, and minghao’s smirk widens just a little, like he’s enjoying the way you’re reacting.

then, without breaking eye contact, he adds, “are you gonna meet me again?” minghao asks, his voice dropping even lower, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “there… or maybe here?” he points to the counter, as if meanings, real life.

you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your mind still spinning from everything. he knows. he fucking knows. and the way he’s looking at you right now, there’s no mistaking it.

you swallow hard, trying to compose yourself, but all you can manage is a small nod. minghao just chuckles softly, his fingers giving yours a little squeeze before he finally lets go of the cup. “good. i’ll see you soon then.”

[theseventhdimension]

hi,

i have a rq for s!10 spencer reid, nsfw, the whole point is that he’s really sloppy while kissing. i have a dim restaurant on a first date in mind, really great chemistry, sexual undertones in conversation. they can end up either on one’s apartment or in the restroom

thanks so much, waiting xx

Loose at the Neck

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Top! Male! Reader

Word count: 2.1k+

DNI: Fem Aligned and Minors

Author's note: Ugh this is such a great idea oh my gosh. I'm.. gonna be so real with you guys, I'm only up to s!9 💔 I looked up some photos of him in s!10 for reference, saw the tie, and got this idea. Hope you enjoy!! :)

It’s times like these where Spencer has no idea if he likes wearing ties or not. Sure, he loves it when you grab it—fist curled tight in the fabric to yank him in for a kiss—but it also takes longer to strip off and just get to you.

But right now? Yeah. He thinks he enjoys them.

Dinner ended a few minutes ago. You’re both tucked away in the darkest corner of a booth at the restaurant Derek insisted was “classy but with potential.” Potential for what, you didn’t ask—but you’re starting to understand. So this is how he gets the girls, huh?

Thankfully, the BAU pays a pretty penny, so neither of you are sweating over the check. The only thing you have to worry about right now is if someone sees Spencer—unbuttoned, flushed—and you, clearly grinding under the low table.

You have him on your lap, his legs straddling your thighs in a position that would look ridiculous if it weren’t so hot. Both of you are hunched down just enough to stay hidden, trying not to rise above the privacy of the booth’s high back.

Spencer loves kissing you. He really does. But every time… he just gets so dumb for it. Can’t think straight. His brilliant mind fogs up, thoughts scattered like static electricity. All he knows is you.

It starts with a brush.

The corner of your mouth catches his when you shift, and that’s all it takes. Spencer freezes for a second—his lips barely parted, his pupils wide like he’s been hit with some kind of chemical high. Then he leans in again, chasing the warmth like he can’t help himself.

His mouth lands a little off-center. His kiss is open, wet, and just shy of desperate. He’s not neat about it—not at all. It’s like he forgets how to kiss with precision, all those sharp edges of his mind turned soft and unraveled under your touch. He sighs into your mouth, then hums, and then groans softly like the sensation is dragging something deep out of him.

It’s messy. His nose bumps yours. His bottom lip drags against your upper one. When he pulls back for breath, a faint string of spit stretches between you for half a second before it breaks, and god, he’s flushed everywhere. Cheeks, ears, even the tips of his fingers where they’ve curled into your shoulders, trimmed fingernails leaving marks through your dress shirt.

“Sorry,” he breathes, blinking like he’s just come up for air. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“You did,” you whisper, grabbing the knot of his tie again, pulling him back in. “You want to apologize?” you murmur, fingers sliding along his jaw to tilt his head up again. “You can do it with your mouth full.”

And he melts. You feel it—the way his spine gives, the way his mouth slackens and turns hungry, the way his long fingers clutch your shoulders through your shirt like you might vanish. He kisses you like he’s never kissed a man before. Or maybe like you’re the only one he's ever wanted to. He kisses like he’s never been allowed to want something this much before. Like it’s hunger, not habit.

And the thing is, you love it.

You love how he forgets himself. How he doesn’t care if it’s too eager or too much. How he falls apart with every touch of your mouth. Right here in the back of some overpriced restaurant, wrecked and panting. His tie’s already loose. His curls damp at the edges. And still—he doesn’t stop. He kisses you again and again, tongue against yours, then your cheek, your jaw, the space just below your ear.

The table creaks slightly as you shift, pulling him closer.

“This is…” he murmurs between kisses, “...probably not what Derek had in mind when he recommended this place.”

You laugh against his lips. “He never should’ve given us the booth in the back.”

Spencer grins, and then kisses you again—hot and open-mouthed, with more tongue than finesse, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Not even dessert, considering he's sweet enough.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are flushed and unsteady. His curls are wrecked from your hands, your shirt is tugged halfway from your waistband, and your lips—his especially—are red and spit-slick.

You thumb at the corner of his mouth, wiping a smear of your own lip balm from his skin. He licks instinctively, tongue flicking out—and it’s done. You’re lost.

“I need you,” he whispers.

The words are soft, but you feel them like they’ve been shot into your chest.

You barely manage to breathe: “Okay. Your apartment or mine?”

He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes flick toward the hallway.

“That’ll take too long,” he says, already climbing off your lap, tugging you after him. “I need you now.”

The tension between you snaps like a rubber band. In a blur, you're both standing—though calling it “standing” is generous when Spencer’s dragging you behind him by the wrist, half-hiding your joined hands in his suit jacket like two teenagers up to no good.

You slip into the hallway unnoticed, heart thundering in your chest. The lighting is dim back here too, golden and quiet, the music from the main room muffled like it’s been swallowed in velvet.

Spencer shoves the door to the men’s restroom open with one hand. It clicks shut behind you a second later.

You spin him and press him hard into the wall. He gasps, lips parted—ready—but you just look at him for a second. Let him feel how much control you’re holding back.

“Now?” you ask, voice rough, just to watch him nod.

“Yes. Please,” Spencer whispers.

You smile, dragging him in for another kiss—hard, hot, claiming. His hands scrabble for your shirt, but yours are already there, gripping his waist, grinding your hips into his until his knees tremble. You keep him pinned, kissing him like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He moans into your mouth, needy and soft.

You barely pull away to mutter against his lips, “You’re gonna have to keep quiet for me.”

“I’ll try,” he pants, eyes wide, voice wrecked.

“You will.”

His knees nearly buckle.

Being a germaphobe, Spencer never imagined he'd willingly do anything in a public bathroom. But then again, he’s never had someone like you.

It's now you realise you haven't even made it to a stall.

It’s the wall. It’s always the wall—cold tile against Spencer’s back, your palms braced on either side of his head like you’re caging him in, devouring him whole, the back of his pants pull down slightly, with two of your very own fingers searching his insides for that spot that makes him go wild.

He's moaning and crying out, honestly a little scared that someone will walk in, but the pleasure from his lower half pretty much drowns it out, especially when you reach another hand around to his front to rub his very red tip.

"Mmmmph, fuckk.." He bites down on his lips. "S'mbody's gonna walk in.. in on us.." he moans breathily as you bite down on the junction of his neck.

His eyes cross a little inwards as your ring finger presses down on his walls, dead center on his prostate. Seeing his reaction as you put your head on his shoulder to stare at his pretty face, you know you've found it, and, admittedly, decide to abuse that spot.

Fuck, he wants to scream and cry and cum, but you told him to be quiet. So he will.

you gently run your hands over his torso, your fingers light touches contrasted the way your fingers thrusted into his hole, and it drove Spencer crazy, he wasn’t expecting you to be so rough and gentle at the same time, it was mind breaking and almost too much to handle — but he always handled it, he always took everything like a good boy and you made sure he knew that.

“m’gonna cum- oh fuck-” Spencer groaned, his eyes watering desperately as his hands claw at your wrist, blunt nails leaving little marks in their wake as he tries, and fails, to push your hand away from his leaking tip.

He’s so wet, the loud squelching sound causing his ears to go red, a constant reminder of just how horny you can make him — it’s a bit embarrassing really.

“please—, I can’t- fuck” Reid blabbers on, his eyes rolling back as his thighs quiver, ass clenching around your fingers. he’s close, he’s so fucking close and he’s sure you’re about to make him cum, hopefully for the first time that night.

“c’mon baby, can’t have you cumming this hard without my cock, hm?” you say, and by the time you finally, finally slow down and pull out your fingers, Spencer’s lips are wrecked—red and kiss-swollen, spit-slick.

His curls are damp with sweat, and his tie hangs off-center, rumpled and caught on one of the buttons you half-ripped open on his shirt.

He looks ruined.

And god, he looks good.

You keep him there for a second longer, body flush against his, your breath ghosting over his neck while he gasps softly in the crook of your shoulder. Your hand slips from his hip to cradle the back of his head, grounding him as his knees wobble.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look at him.

Spencer��s eyes flutter open. They’re glassy and dazed, like he’s not entirely sure what dimension he’s in. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths. He licks his lips, blinks once, and then leans forward like he needs to kiss you again just to stay upright.

You stop him with a hand under his chin, thumb brushing his lower lip.

“Breathe,” you murmur. “You with me?”

He nods, but it’s lazy. Distant. Like his brain’s still playing catch-up. “Mhm.”

When you finally let him go, Spencer sags a little, head tilted back to rest against the cool tiles. You reach down to fix his collar, tucking the edges of his shirt in just enough that he looks barely decent again.

He watches you do it, eyes fluttering every time your fingers brush his throat.

“…You are dangerous,” he mumbles, voice low and hoarse.

You huff a quiet laugh, smoothing his tie. “You dragged me in here, remember?”

“I didn’t know I’d survive it.”

You lean in again, brushing your lips over his jaw as you murmur, “You did more than survive, baby.”

The word makes him shiver. You feel it all the way down his spine.

Spencer stares at you, lips parted, absolutely blissed out. “You can’t just call me that after—after that—”

You raise a brow. “After what?”

He whines, quietly, and thumps the back of his head on the wall once. “You know what. You know what.”

You chuckle and offer him a hand. “Come on. Before someone walks in and you have to crawl out the window to save face.”

He takes your hand but doesn’t let go when he stands. In fact, he twines your fingers together and holds on like he doesn’t trust his legs yet. When you open the door to peek out, he ducks close behind you, still breathing just a little too fast.

The hallway’s empty. You pull him out, keep walking until you hit the front of the restaurant again. The maître d’ glances at you both—then quickly looks away. Spencer’s tie is crooked. Your shirt’s unbuttoned at the collar, your hair mussed. You look thoroughly disheveled.

Neither of you says anything until you’re outside, the warm night air hitting your face like a wake-up call.

Spencer blinks up at you, flushed and glowing. “So…”

You smirk. “Still glad you wore the tie?”

He laughs—soft and breathless—and nods, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. Though next time I might just wear a collar and save you the effort.”

You raise a brow. “Careful, doctor. I might take that seriously.”

He shrugs. Innocent smile, flushed cheeks. “Maybe I want you to.”

You stop dead on the sidewalk.

He keeps walking a few steps before turning back, smirking now—full of mischief, eyes glinting in the low light.

You take one slow step toward him, then another.

“I hope you know,” you murmur, catching him by the tie again, “you’re not getting out of my sight the rest of the night.”

“I was counting on that,” he says, breath catching as you pull him close again. “Your place?”

[erikawrites13]

"Beneath the Surface"

Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri Warning - Dom/Sub Dynamics. Tease and Denial. Power Play. Light Bondage. Sensory Play. Mild Humiliation. Praise Kink

It had been a long, exhausting day on the track. The tension of competition still hung in the air like a thick fog. Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri had spent hours battling each other for the best lap times, their rivalry palpable but professional. Yet, when the track was clear and the cars were parked, that professional edge blurred.

Oscar couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d come to beating Lando today. It wasn’t that he hated losing; he wasn’t that type of person. But there was something about Lando’s cocky smile when he pulled ahead that made Oscar itch to take him down—not just on the track, but in a way that was far more intimate. He couldn’t help but imagine what it might feel like to make Lando squirm, to strip away that confident exterior.

And Lando, for his part, could feel it too—the shift in the air between them. The way Oscar’s eyes lingered a little too long. The way his lips barely quivered when they spoke to each other. There was an undeniable attraction there. The rivalry that had once fueled them on the track was now a spark for something else entirely.

It started with a look. A glance that lasted just a second too long. Then a challenge, tossed between them without words.

Lando leaned against the doorframe of their shared hotel room, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. His eyes gleamed with something darker as he watched Oscar remove his jacket, his movements slow and deliberate.

“What’s on your mind, Piastri?” Lando asked, the tone of his voice teasing, but there was something more—something commanding in it. He knew exactly what he was doing, playing a game of control that Oscar wasn’t yet ready to admit he wanted to play.

Oscar looked up, his blue eyes sharp, but a hint of uncertainty flashed through them. “I think you know exactly what’s on my mind,” Oscar replied, voice hushed, though his heart raced a little faster.

Lando chuckled softly, his smirk widening. “I’m not so sure you’re ready for what’s on my mind, mate,” he said, slowly pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer to Oscar. “But maybe tonight you’ll find out.”

Oscar’s breath caught. The energy between them was thick, electrified. There was something about Lando’s playful arrogance that made Oscar feel both eager and frustrated. He wants to see me break, Oscar thought. But I’m not going to let him see it.

Without another word, Lando closed the gap between them, his hand reaching up to trail a finger down Oscar’s chest, lightly grazing the fabric of his shirt. The touch was deliberate, teasing. Oscar flinched slightly, though he didn’t move away. Instead, he swallowed, a mix of anticipation and hesitation settling in his stomach.

“You’re not getting away so easily,” Lando murmured, his voice low and almost a purr. His other hand cupped Oscar’s jaw, tilting his head back gently, forcing Oscar to meet his eyes. “Tonight, you’re going to learn what it feels like to be mine.”

Oscar’s pulse quickened at the intensity in Lando’s gaze, the way he held him so firmly, yet so effortlessly. The touch was possessive. Dominant. And the more Oscar fought it, the more Lando’s control seemed to tighten around him.

“I’m not some prize you can win, Lando,” Oscar said, though the challenge in his voice was softer than he intended. He had no idea why he was still trying to hold on to his pride, but something about the way Lando touched him made it difficult to think clearly.

Lando chuckled darkly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, you are a prize, Oscar. And I’m going to make sure you understand exactly what that means.”

Without warning, Lando pushed Oscar back toward the bed, his hands firmly guiding him. Oscar stumbled, half-surprised, half-willing, and fell backward, landing on the soft mattress. He looked up at Lando, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Lando hovered above him, a playful yet dangerous glint in his eyes. “You think you can challenge me on the track, but this? This is a different game altogether.” He leaned down and kissed Oscar roughly, the kiss hot and demanding, as though Lando was taking what he wanted, right then and there.

Oscar responded, his hands gripping Lando’s shirt, but then he hesitated. Something in him wanted to fight back, to assert some control, but Lando wasn’t going to make it easy. Lando broke the kiss with a smile, his lips brushing against Oscar’s ear.

“No, no,” Lando whispered. “You’re not in control here. You don’t get to call the shots.”

Oscar’s heart raced as he tried to steady himself. “Then what do you want from me?” he gasped, his voice full of frustration.

Lando pulled back just enough to look down at him, studying his face. “I want you to submit to me. I want you to let go of all that pride, all that control you cling to. You’re going to take what I give you, and you’re going to like it.”

Oscar’s pulse raced at Lando’s words, a forbidden excitement stirring deep within him. There was no going back now. The role reversal the power play was too much to ignore. He clenched his fists, determined not to let Lando get under his skin, but his body betrayed him. His breath grew erratic, his chest rising and falling with each wave of adrenaline.

Lando slid a hand down to Oscar’s wrist, effortlessly pinning it to the mattress above his head. The action was casual, but the message was clear. He was in control. Oscar could feel his heart beating harder in his chest, a mixture of fear and something else... something that made him shiver with anticipation.

Lando’s lips quirked into a grin. “You think you’re going to fight me, huh? You think you can win?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but with an edge of command. “Not tonight.”

Oscar’s eyes were wide, his breathing shallow as he realized just how much he didn’t want to fight. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to see how far Lando would push him, and just how much he could take before losing himself entirely.

“Good boy,” Lando said suddenly, his voice full of praise. “I can see you want it. You want to be good for me.”

Oscar’s breath hitched. That one sentence, that praise, sent an unexpected wave of warmth flooding through him. He didn’t even realize how badly he needed to hear it until it was out there, hanging between them like a secret.

“You’re going to obey me tonight,” Lando whispered, his voice soft but laced with authority. “No more resistance.”

Lando then moved his hand down to Oscar’s waistband, pulling at it with slow, deliberate movements. Oscar let him, his mind whirling, torn between the desire to push back and the overwhelming pull of surrender. When Lando kissed him again, more gently this time, he felt a wave of heat spread through his entire body.

Lando leaned over him, his lips brushing against Oscar’s. “I’m going to make you beg for it,”

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers! Please can I request some angsty fluff with Fox and a female reader with this prompt - 24: “Who hurt you?”

Maybe reader got attacked and he found her and tends to her wounds which leads to some feelings being shared? Thanks if you do 😊 I love your work

Medical Feelings 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 1.8k

prompts:

• “Who hurt you?”

Plot: After a risky mission that left you injured, Commander Fox helps nurse you back to health.

Warnings: Safe for work, hurt whump, idiots in love, Reader scared of droids momentarily, needle mention, slightly injured reader, minor blood mention.

Authors note: Sorry for the wait 🩵

“How are you holding up?”

You blink, trying to focus as the voice cuts through the haze in your head. But your vision blurs and swims, the light above stabbing behind your eyes like a viroblade.

“Like someone who’s been hit in the head,” you groan, wincing as you sit up on the medbay cot. The room tilts for a moment and you feel like you may be sick but luckily it settles, and your eyes finally set on the figure perched nearby. Thire.

The mission hadn’t gone as planned. What should have been a straightforward retrieval of intel left you caught in the crossfire. You weren’t a soldier so when the fighting started, you’d been forced to rely on pure luck and very minimal training. Clearly, neither had been enough.

Your memory of the incident was weak as all you could recall was a sharp pain to your head followed by the sight of clankers looming over you before everything went dark.

“You took quite a hit,” Thire says, his voice lighter than the situation warrants as he pulls up a stool to sit beside you.

“I noticed,” you mutter, rubbing gingerly at your temple that felt sticky and as you pull your hand back, a splodge of blood painted your fingertips. A dull ache radiates from where the blow landed, and your entire body feels stiff and battered.

Recovery is going to take a while.

“You know the Commander’s going to want to see you.”

The comment makes you freeze for a beat before you force a painful shrug, hoping to look unaffected. “He’s busy. I doubt he even noticed.”

Thire snickers. “Not too busy for his favourite girl.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting letting him sit down. “Oh don’t start with all that.”

But Thire doesn’t let up, grinning like a loth-cat who’s cornered its prey. “Come on. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. If Fox stares any harder, his visor’s going to fog up.”

“Shut up, Thire,” you grumble, though a reluctant chuckle escapes before you can stop it. The movement makes your ribs ache, and you hiss softly in pain. “And no, I haven’t seen the way he looks at me. It's you lot putting that notion in my head.”

Instantly, Thire’s grin fades, replaced by concern as he notices your pain. “Should I call a med droid?”

“No!” you blurt, a little too quickly. Thire raises a brow, clearly catching on.

“Not a fan of droids, huh?”

You cross your arms, or at least try to; the motion is stiff and awkward. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—”

“Who hurt you?”

The sudden voice freezes you mid-sentence. Both you and Thire turn toward the door at the same time, and your heart stops.

Commander Fox. The visor of his helmet glints under the overhead lights as he strides toward you, exuding that no-nonsense authority he’s known for.

Thire shoots you a smug, told-you-so glance before rising to his feet. “This one took a blow to the head, sir. She has a possible concussion.”

Fox’s attention shifts to the datapad in Thire’s hand. “Why wasn’t this reported to me immediately?”

“I figured you had more pressing matters,” Thire replies smoothly, clearly unfazed by the irritation in Fox’s tone.

Fox huffs, the sound sharp and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder. His gaze snaps back to the datapad, scanning the details. “And why hasn’t a med droid been dispatched?”

You groan, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m right here, you know. Maybe someone could ask me what I want instead of talking like I’m invisible.”

Both men turn toward you at the same time. Thire’s expression is sheepish, though it doesn’t quite mask the amusement in his eyes. Fox, however, is unreadable as always, his emotions hidden behind the stoic facade of his helmet.

Thire clears his throat, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, leave you with the Commander.” He’s gone before you can protest, disappearing through the door with a suspiciously quick pace.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. Fox stands rigidly near the cot, his arms folded across his chest. You can hear the faint tap of his boot against the durasteel floor as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, regretting it immediately when the movement sends another sharp ache down your spine. “I’ve been better.”

His head tilts slightly, a gesture that might be concern. “You should’ve reported your injuries sooner.”

“You think I wanted to end up in here?” you counter, the bite in your voice softened by exhaustion.

Fox doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his broad frame almost casting a shadow over you. For a moment, you think he might argue. But his next words surprise you.

“You’re lucky,” he says almost quietly. “It could’ve been worse.”

There’s something in his tone—a rare softness that catches you off guard, even if it is for a moment. You both seem to snap out of whatever the hold that ensnared you both and you close your eyes, leaning back with a soft agreement of his words.

Fox pauses for a moment, then steps away. You crack one eye open, expecting him to be halfway out the door, but to your surprise, he returns moments later with a medical droid trailing behind.

You suddenly sit up straighter, tension rippling through you as the AZI droid glides closer, a stim injector held in one of its arms.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a droid to see me,” you declare quickly, glancing between the droid and Fox with what you hope is a convincing look of confidence. But Fox is already standing there, arms crossed, and his helmet tilts slightly in a way that screams ‘you’re not fine’.

“The patient requires an injection to reduce inflammation and prevent complications,” the droid announces, already grating on your nerves.

Your heart skips as the droid raises the injector, the gleam of the stim making your stomach twist. You instinctively lean back, trying to put more space between you and the advancing machine.

“No. I don’t want it,” you snap, panic slipping into your voice despite your best efforts.

Fox’s gaze shifts to you, then to the droid. He holds up a hand, “Stop.”

The droid halts mid-motion. “Commander, the patient requires—”

“I’ll handle it,” Fox says firmly.

Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward and plucks the stim from the droid’s arm.

“What are you doing?” you ask apprehensively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead inspecting the stim injector with almost practiced ease. “You need this,” he says finally, his tone calm but resolute under the modulator. “If you don’t want the droid to do it, I will.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you as he pulls a stool closer and sits beside the cot. He’s quiet, efficient, and unbothered by your flustered state as he rolls up the sleeve of your tunic. His gloved fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the injection.

“This will only take a second,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “Just relax.”

You nod stiffly, your pulse racing as he steadies your arm. The sharp pinch of the needle is over in a heartbeat, but the warmth of his proximity lingers far longer.

“There. All done.”

You exhale, tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended.

But Fox doesn’t get up. Instead, his gaze shifts to your temple, where the bruising from the blow to your head.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You look at him, eyes wide. “It’s fine—”

“Sit up,” he interrupts, standing and motioning for you to move to the edge of the cot.

Reluctantly, you scoot forward, your legs dangling over the side as he steps closer.

Much closer.

He stands between your knees, his hands are surprisingly gentle as they cradle your face, tilting it slightly so he can get a better look at your wound.

The proximity makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly you’re begging he can’t hear it. His touch is careful, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as he examines the cut near your temple.

“This should’ve been cleaned properly,” he mutters under his breath “You clones are always too stubborn for your own good.”

“But i’m not a clone,” you mumble, your voice embarrassingly shaky even though his comment amused you.

“No,” he replies, glancing down at you for a moment. “But you’re just as stubborn.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat when he dips his head slightly, focusing on your injury with laser precision behind his visor. His presence is overwhelming, the sharp, clean scent of his armour mixing with something distinctly him.

“This might sting,” he warns, holding up a sterilising wipe.

You barely register the faint sting as he cleans the wound, too distracted by the way his hands move so deliberately, so gently. His thumbs brush against your skin again, steadying your head as he works, and you find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to.

“There,” he says after a moment, stepping back just enough to toss the used wipe onto the nearby tray. His hands linger on your jaw for a second longer before he finally lets go. “That should help.”

You glance up at him, your cheeks warm, and manage a small, “Thanks.”

He straightens, his imposing frame still far too close. “You need rest,” he says firmly, though his voice is softer than before. “No arguments.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Got it. Rest. Sure.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the charged silence stretching between you.

For a moment, you don’t think about your actions. Perhaps it was the blow to your head that made you act in a certain way. As he was about to turn and leave, you reach out and grasp his wrist.

He looks back, his helmet adorably titling to the side as you gesture him to come back by pulling his arm. And he does.

“Thank you, Commander. You’ve… you have always been kind to me.”

Then, you lean up and rest your forehead to his, eyes closed. His visor made it a little difficult but you heard his shallow gasp pop through his modulator.

But, he doesn’t move back. He lets it happen and only moves when you finally break away, a soft and nervous smile on your lips.

“Thank you.”

“G-Get some rest.” Then, with a curt nod, Fox finally steps back, his presence still lingering long after he’s gone.

And as you lie back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, you can’t decide what’s more distracting: the ache in your head or the memory of his hands on your skin.

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[st4rfckerz]

give into us | gf!sam monroe x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, dubcon, praise, mild knife play, pet names (nothing crazy), dry humping, choking, loss of virginity, breeding kink

summary: you're home alone and you receive a call from an anonymous caller.

it was a brisk october night. the kind where you curl up with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and a scary movie. so that's exactly what you do. you choose to binge a few of your favorite horror movies because you have the whole night to yourself.

you put the old vhs tape into the vcr and start the movie. as the movie began to play, the phone unexpectedly started to ring. the shrill ringing of the old landline phone broke the peaceful mood set by the flickering old tv.

"who could that even be?" you think to yourself before heading to the kitchen to pick up the phone.

“hello?” you answered the phone apprehensively. there's a lengthy pause before an unsettling, breathless voice answers back.

"who is this?" the voice questions. you raise your eyebrows in confusion.

"who are you trying to reach?" you ask, a little perplexed that the person who called you was inquiring who he called.

a slight chuckle was heard on the other end. the caller was so excited to talk with you.

"do you really have to guess who I'm trying to reach?" his tone became very charming. this was the kind of voice that could woo people into trusting him "i've been trying to reach you all night." you hear a hint of desperation.

"ok, come on, who is this?" you ask sternly. you look at your surroundings, not seeing anyone around.

“who i am isn't important, sweetheart.  what you need is a little companionship - i can help with that.” he paused for a moment, the silence stretching between the both of you.

"you just gotta want me.” your body froze at the sound of his words, like though a switch had been flipped, in a way that you were unable to articulate.

"you're crazy." you scoff. you hang up the phone and return to your movie.

"freak." you mutter to yourself.

after a few moments, the phone rings again.

“you keep calling me crazy yet, you’re the one that’s talking to the voice on the other end of this phone.” you could hear the snicker in his voice.

"and you're the one that won't leave me alone." you snap.

"how can i leave you alone when you're wearing those adorable little shorts?" 

you pause for a second and gaze down at your baby pink shorts. whoever this was has been clearly watching you. in a fit of panic, you rush to the kitchen counter and grab a knife.

“your little knife isn't gonna save you doll, might want to think of something a little better,” he taunted, a dark chuckle following soon after. the sound made your skin crawl and you held the phone tightly, fighting the urge to hang up.

"why don't you just show yourself huh? don't be a coward." you can feel yourself getting more scared and nervous.

“show myself?” his voice shifted, any sign of cockiness gone and replaced with a cold, calculating tone. “you keep asking questions like that and you’ll soon find out just how brave i really am.” 

you hang up the phone once more and start dialing 911. the lights suddenly go out. you take a breath to settle your nerves, but the moment you do, a hand is placed around your mouth. your chest is securely wrapped by powerful hands, but you immediately wriggle free and proceed to flee through the back door.

running seems to clear the fog around your brain, the adrenaline coursing through your body helping you overcome the shock of what just happened. you hear footsteps running after you, gaining on you - getting closer and closer with each passing second.

your body slams into the concrete, your head slamming against the hard surface. as stars form and dance at the edge of your vision, you can faintly see a dark figure looming over you.

the mysterious figure holds you down on the ground, but you manage to escape. soon after, you sprint up to your room, lock the door, and hide inside your closet. he slowly began following you, his pace was casual but his movements were calculated and precise. you were his to play with now.

you hear the running footsteps come to a stop right outside your bedroom door. you hold your breath as you hear the handle of your bedroom door rattle and move, someone trying to open it. you stay completely still you can hear footsteps pacing outside your door - whoever this was, is standing out there waiting for you.

after a brief pause, the door to your bedroom crashes open, and the shadowy, cloaked figure slowly makes its way into your room before stopping in front of the closet door.

you keep your hand pressed to your mouth, the silence and stillness in the room giving you goosebumps. you hold your breath as tight as you can, your eyes locked on the closet door.

suddenly the closet door flies open.

"boo."

the masked man pulls you forward and holds you tightly against his body. his chest was flushed against your back. your muffled screams are covered by a big gloved hand. you struggle to fight back, but your hands are flying everywhere, hitting everything all at once. you become even more panicked when you catch the glint of a knife out of the corner of your eye.

“shhh i only want to talk. can we at least speak without you screaming?" his voice was low and husky now, but calm. too calm. it was unsettling.

while his hand is still covering your mouth, you regain your composure as you feel the knife lightly graze your throat.

"good girl," his voice a low purr against your skin.

the glove-clad hand gently pulls away from your mouth and clamps around your throat.

the combination of the cold knife against your skin, hand squeezing your throat, and the adrenaline surge brought on by your fear sent a strange wave of pleasure down to your core, causing you to subconsciously clench your thighs.

"we can either have a civil conversation or things can go a completely different direction, it's your choice." you can feel the knife dragging gently as it moves from your neck to the valley of your breasts. as he's drinking in your presence, he notices your thighs tightly pressed together.

"does this excite you pretty girl?" the knife moves further down your body and slips under your underwear. you shudder slightly at the sensation of the cold blade pressing against your warm cunt. you were fighting it, you were going against your own desire to feel something for him, but he knew. he could sense it.

"fuck you." you say through gritted teeth.

you received no more than a slight head tilt from the masked assailant before being thrown onto your bed and pinned down, completely unable to move. your vision returns in a haze, and as you gain your bearings once more, your eyes lock onto the face of your aggressor. his hand is still wrapped tightly around your neck, but you do manage to move your free hand to remove his mask.

the person you thought would never hurt you appears in your vision as your closest friend.

"sam?" your eyes well up in tears. you couldn't believe this.

"no, no, no, no." you sob. it was impossible to accept what was happening. you would never think he would do something so insane after everything you and sam went through.

“why’d you have to go making things so difficult?” he asks, his voice dropping from the menacing tone he was using to the casual, friendly tone he often spoke in.

"you know i just wanted us to be together.”

"sam you're being crazy right now, ok? now please let me go-" you plead.

"just listen to me!" sam yells, shaking you harshly. your lips quickly clamp shut as you look up at him in absolute horror.

“i-i feel like you’re fighting something inside. you’re scared but underneath that fear, you’re feeling something. can't you feel it?" sam's eyes were wild and blown wide. the only thing you could make sense of amid all the craziness that raced through your head was that he wanted you.

how were you so blind? how could you miss it all these years of knowing him? you were utterly unaware of how he treated you, how he looked at you as though you were the only person on the planet.

"i'm so sorry sam...i just didn't know." tears begin spilling out your eyes. his face softens, his grip loosening around your neck. he touches the tears on your face, wiping them away with his thumb.

“it’s ok, it’s just us now," the intensity in his eyes was almost other worldly. his stare seemed to pull her in like a magnet. "i just didn't want you to have to see me like this, but i need you to understand how much we need each other." sam spoke to you in a sugary tone that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

"i understand but..." you trail off. "this isn't right."

“yes, it is. don’t you feel how right it is? don’t fight this, it’s always been meant to be.” he moves his face close to yours, his free hand lightly brushing your cheek. "i'd do anything for you, i'd kill for you." his vacant stare almost gave you the impression that it had already been executed.

you lock your gaze on his, your eyes pleading.

for a moment, something about his face softens, a sadness passing through his features. then he leans forward, his lips pressing against yours.

it’s the most gentle kiss you’ve ever known, making your body melt against him as if he weren't just chasing you through your house in a mask with a knife.

"sam, i can't..." you speak against his lips. he pulls back from the kiss, his fingers still brushing against your face.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be. give into us. just be mine, you and me together. please.” his smile falls, and he frowns as he watches your expression.

you stare up at him and think for a while.

you'd be lying to yourself if you said you never had feelings for sam. despite the fact that you fantasized about being together and even about him taking your virginity, you never imagined it would get this serious.

this time, when his lips find yours, it isn’t gentle and tender. he devours you in a kiss that says ‘we are one’, his lips moving feverishly against yours as he pulls you against him, making you moan into the kiss.

“there you go.” he murmurs, his voice breathy with desire. heat spreads through your body as you press closer to him, his arms wrapping around your body and pulling you close. his hands find their way to your hair, pulling your head closer to his as he bites your lower lip and sucks it into his mouth.

your hips buck up to meet his, the newfound friction spreading a heat across your body. his mouth pulls away from yours as he lets out a deep groan, his eyes filled with desire.

his breath comes in panting heaves, his eyes moving down your body.

"you don't know what you do to me." his hand move over your body, caressing every inch of you with love and desire.

his fingers find their way underneath your shirt, making you press closer to him for even more friction.

your eyes squeeze shut, enjoying the feeling of sam's prominent bulge rocking against your aching core.

sam's eyes are full of hunger and desire, his breathing coming in shorter and shorter gasps as he locks his gaze with yours.

a moment passes between you and then his lips find yours once more, devouring your flesh as his tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth. you let out a loud moan, gripping his body tight as he continues to kiss you passionately.

sam pulls away again, his eyes searching yours before he speaks, "i need you." his voice a raspy whisper as his eyes drink in the sight of your body.

his mouth finds yours once more, his hands moving to your shorts, roughly yanking them off along with your underwear. his hands grip you on either side of your waist, the heat in his grip only intensifying as you feel him lean forwards, pulling you closer into his body.

you hear sam fumble with his pants before you feel his tip graze against your slick folds before sliding in.

"sam...it hurts," you whine, feeling a sharp sting as he thrusted into your cunt. sam was so big that you didn't even need to see his cock to figure out how big he was. you could just feel it.

"just take it baby, you'll be ok." he says breathlessly. with each stroke, sam becomes more attuned to your body's responses, adjusting his movements to bring you pleasure while respecting your boundaries. the pain begins to fade, replaced by a growing warmth and an intoxicating mix of pleasure and vulnerability. your whimpers of discomfort are slowly replaced by moans of pleasure, surrendering yourself to the desires you never thought you would explore.

"so perfect," his voice is hushed as he continues to whisper into your ear, his lips close to your neck.

"n-need more..." you mewl. the feeling in your body is completely new. given the fact that you had touched yourself countless times before, this sensation was you ever experienced. you can just feel how much he loves and adores you - it almost seems as if you two were made for each other.

"i know you do sweet girl," he whispers, his tongue finding the space between your neck and your ear, licking and sucking the skin with passion. "and i'll give it to you, all of it. you're mine and only mine." you want this, you yearn for more of his touch, and he wants to give it to you.

you begin bucking your hips up to meet his harsh thrusts. sam revels in your reactions, his own sadistic pleasure fueling the intensity of the encounter.

“that’s it, baby, you're doing so good.” he runs a hand along your back, the skin under your shirt growing warm and tingly.

sam's touch intensifies, his thumb pressing firmly against your sensitive clit with an almost aggressive force. the friction between his thumb and your throbbing bundle of nerves sends waves of both pain and pleasure coursing through your body. you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to that elusive climax. every sensation seems to be intensified, amplified by the dark aura that surrounds you.

"sam- m'gonna cum..." you whimper. your fingers grasp the hairs at the nape of his neck, earning a low groan from him.

"come on baby, cum on my cock...make it yours." his breathing was shallow, and his speech was harsh. he places his head on your shoulder. his whimpers and moans grew stronger, indicating that his orgasm was also nearing.

and then, it happens. a surge of pleasure floods your senses, radiating from your core and rippling through your entire being. the world fades away as you succumb to the overwhelming intensity of your orgasm, your cries of delight mingling with the echoes of the room.

sam's movements becoming slow as a low, guttural groan escapes his lips. you feel his thrust become weaker, the fervent grip on your skin tightening for a brief moment. the sound of his release echoes through the room, his cum spills inside you, warmth combining with the heat of your own desires. a primal satisfaction overtakes him, leaving him momentarily spent.

as the ripples of pleasure subside, you find yourself breathless, spent, and oddly satisfied. sam collapses on top of you, fatigue weighing heavily upon him, and he lays his head upon your chest. you can feel his warm breath against your skin, hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own.

the lines that once divided you into predator and prey are now blurred, and you start to see him as more than just a threatening presence, a constant reminder of the thrilling taboo that has bound you both together.

[daisymbin]

Hi!!

Can you please write a drabble for jeonghan using the fluff prompts #23 and #39?

hi love!! I'm sorry again, my mistake 😓 if I had checked my ask earlier that I could ask which prompt so you don't have to wait so long 😢 hopefully this slightly longer fic makes up for it!!!! thank you for waiting 😽🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hannie's m.list

fluff prompt #23: "you stayed up all night taking care of me?" +

fluff prompt #39: "you talk about me in your sleep, you know?"

jeonghan woke up to the soft hum of sunlight filtering through his blinds and the faint rustle of movement nearby. his head throbbed, his mouth felt like cotton, and the events of the previous night were a blur. blinking against the bright light, he groaned and shifted slightly, immediately regretting the motion as nausea crept in.

“you’re awake,” a familiar voice said, cutting through the fog in his brain.

he turned his head toward you, sitting in his desk chair with your arms crossed, looking both relieved and annoyed. your hair was slightly disheveled, and your tired eyes met his.

“morning,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “what happened?”

you raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “you got drunk. like, really drunk. i had to bring you home because you kept whining that you felt sick.”

he winced, his memory offering little more than flashes of the night. “oh.”

you stood up, walking over to his bedside with a glass of water and some painkillers. “and then you wouldn’t stop complaining, so i stayed up to make sure you didn’t choke on your own stupidity.”

“you stayed up all night taking care of me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to unpack.

“someone had to,” you replied, handing him the glass. your tone was matter-of-fact, but the way your eyes lingered on him, soft and full of concern, made his chest feel strange.

he sipped the water, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped. “did i… do anything embarrassing?”

you leaned back against the wall, crossing your arms with a smirk. “oh, plenty. but my favorite part was when you started talking in your sleep.”

jeonghan froze, his hand hovering mid-air. “what?”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah, you talk about me in your sleep, you know?”

his heart skipped a beat. “what did i say?”

your smirk widened. “you don’t remember?”

“obviously not!” he shot back, feeling his face heat up.

you tilted your head, pretending to think. “hmm… let’s see. you said my name a lot, for one. i lost count after the fifth time.”

his stomach flipped. “just your name?”

you leaned forward, your grin turning teasing. “oh, no. you said other things, too.”

jeonghan groaned, covering his face with his hands. “what kind of things?"

last night

you had just managed to guide jeonghan into his bed, his arm slung heavily over your shoulders as he half-stumbled, half-leaned on you. “come on, jeonghan. you’re almost there,” you huffed, trying to keep him upright.

“you’re so strong,” he mumbled, his words slurring. “like… really strong. you could probably carry me, huh?”

“i’m already carrying most of your weight,” you muttered under your breath, ignoring the way his words made your cheeks warm.

as soon as his head hit the pillow, jeonghan let out a long sigh. you thought he’d drift off immediately, but instead, he mumbled, “you’re so nice to me. always so nice.”

you froze, hovering by the edge of his bed.

“you smell nice, too,” he added, his voice muffled by the pillow. “like… flowers or something. but not too strong. it’s just… perfect.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you slowly lowered yourself into the desk chair, unsure if he was fully asleep or just delirious.

“wish i could tell you,” he mumbled, his voice so soft you almost missed it. “wish i could say how much i…” he trailed off, his breathing evening out as he falls asleep.

you thought he was done for the night, but then, an hour later, he added, “want to take you out sometime. somewhere nice. you deserve that. wanna take angel out on date.”

angel? but that's his nickname for you...

your heart raced and ached at the vulnerability in his voice. you sat there in silence, watching his peaceful face, the weight of his words settling over you.

“you’re too good for me,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “but i’m selfish. i want you to be mine.”

[-]

“so,” jeonghan said now, dragging you back to the present, “what exactly did i say?”

you shrugged, playing it cool despite the way your heart raced. “oh, just that you think i’m nice and smell like flowers.”

he blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process your words. “i said that?”

“mmhm,” you hummed, biting back a grin.

“and…?” he prompted, clearly fishing for more.

“and you said you want to take me out sometime,” you added, your voice casual but your cheeks warm. "on a date." you added softly.

jeonghan stared at you, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. “sounds like me.”

you rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest.

he shifted closer, resting his chin on his palm, his grin playful but his voice quieter. “so, how about it? i’m free this weekend. dinner, your pick. i owe you for, you know, saving my life or whatever.”

“is this how you ask someone out?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“well, it’s not every day i find out i confessed in my sleep,” he countered, a nervous laugh slipping through. “but… you’d say yes, right?”

you faltered, his unusually earnest tone catching you off guard. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

jeonghan’s laugh was immediate, light and relieved. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

“don’t make me regret it,” you warned, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“trust me, you won’t,” he said, his confidence returning. “and for the record, i’d totally carry you to bed if the roles were reversed. just saying.”

“jeonghan!”

he grinned, leaning back against the pillows with a smug expression. if his heart was racing, well, that was for him to deal with later.

his signature smirk firmly in place. "what’s wrong? cat got your tongue, or are you just mesmerized by me again?" he teased, his voice low and honeyed as he moved closer. the confidence he exuded was disarming, but you caught the flicker of something softer in his eyes — a nervousness he couldn’t quite hide.

you rolled your eyes, though your pulse quickened as he closed the distance. "you wish," you muttered, but your breath hitched when his hand brushed against your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“oh, i know,” jeonghan said, his grin widening. yet, as he cupped your face more firmly, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, his playful facade cracked. his throat bobbed in a swallow, and you noticed the way his eyes darted between your lips and your gaze, like he was trying to decide if he was allowed to take this leap.

“you’re awfully quiet now,” he murmured, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. “nervous?”

“are you?” you shot back, emboldened by the faint tremor in his hand.

“terrified,” he admitted, almost inaudibly, before he leaned in.

the first press of his lips against yours was tentative, a soft, testing thing that quickly gave way to something hungrier when you didn’t pull back. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his confidence returned in the way he kissed you—playful, teasing, with the occasional nip at your bottom lip that left you breathless.

you fisted the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself as the heat between you grew. his smirk returned when he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. “i told you, you can’t resist me.” but his pink cheeks betrayed him, revealing just how badly he’d wanted this.

[sunnydbeam]

If Y/N had a bad day or was sick, how would the guys react? Who would be more likely to do something about it? I can only imagine something very wholesome out of this!

So this sat in my inbox for a while, but I finally got around to writing something about it! Sorry for the late reply!

______

"What if?" I: Not at home

Gamma Code AU

• Word count: 4,784 • [ Beta x Reader x Gamma] Platonic or romantic. Fluff. • CW: mild language, mild angst, hurt/comfort.

Link to AO3

______

It’s written all over your face, undeniable and frankly embarrassing that you can't hide it in the slightest. Head bowed, hair disheveled, eyes dull behind exhausted lids – you know full well you resemble a miserable creature starved of motivation and sleep. Yet, you care little that your current appearance is more zombie than human.

Stumbling, you collapse heavily into your chair, burying your face in your hands. The pain is a relentless jackhammer against your skull, making it impossible to keep your eyes open for long. Why on earth did you drag yourself here, knowing deep down this was more than just seasonal allergies? Everyone asked you that, a question you couldn't quite answer.

You lean back, tilting your head against the chairrest. Eyes squeezed shut, you still feel the ambient light piercing your thin lids like needles. An anguished groan escapes your lips.

Three hours left on your shift. The thought is agonizing. You’re far too embarrassed to ask the manager to leave early, not when you insisted coming in was the right decision, despite every sign screaming otherwise.

"Ugh…" you whimper softly.

Time melts into a hazy continuum, but through the fog of discomfort, you're vaguely aware of someone speaking to you. You try to ignore it, but the voice persists, gentle yet insistent.

A subtle movement beside you, then a light pressure on your shoulder, almost like a tentative massage. It's followed by a dizzying whirl as your chair abruptly spins, your eyelids flying open to meet a pair of wide, luminous blue eyes mere centimeters from your flushed face. You yelp, startled, instinctively trying to push back, but large, firm hands immediately clamp onto the chair, steadying it, and preventing you from tipping over.

"I— I apologize! I didn't mean to startle you…"

This time, you truly look. The large, purple robot is kneeling before you, his four arms outstretched, hands gripping the sides of your chair as if bracing against its imminent collapse. He seems to tremble slightly, his usual friendly expression warped into a nervous grimace, a mask of perpetual anxiety as if bracing for a reprimand he hasn't yet earned. But God knows, you don't have the heart for that. Not with Beta.

"Sorry," you murmur, rubbing your temples, the ache flaring. "You just surprised me."

It's not unusual to feel a flicker of nervousness around him sometimes – a primal awareness of your own fragile, fleshy body compared to his powerful frame – leading to exaggerated reactions. But Beta has always been too gentle, too considerate for those worries to take deep root.

Beta tilts his head, those blue optics scanning you like an open book, making you feel momentarily exposed. He knows. He sees your pitiful state and likely has a dozen observations ready. But, to your relief, his expression softens into a subtle, warm smile. His grip on the chair loosens, then releases it entirely. Two hands rest on his knees, while the other two carefully extend towards you, a silent question seeking permission.

"You're not feeling well, are you, sweetie?" His voice is soft, melodic. "That's awful… Are you sick?"

Oh, that robot is impossibly sweet every time he speaks. It still catches you off guard, given everything. You have no illusions about his artificial nature; rather, it’s something in his intuitive, caring manner that's undeniably charming. It's in the way Beta chooses his words so meticulously, clearly intending to evoke warmth without a hint of condescension. He almost always succeeds. Why that matters so much to him, or even to you, remains a puzzle you haven't tried to solve.

But lately, that once-clear line dividing your perception of true life and sentience feels increasingly blurred.

Receiving no verbal response from your foggy mind, his eyes shine brighter with concern.

"You should have stayed home."

"Mm… I know…" You mumble, the admission tasting like defeat.

You grumble under your breath, and Beta offers another small, sympathetic smile.

"May I touch you?"

"… Uh, what…?"

Blinking, puzzled, you watch as Beta carefully removes one glove, revealing the intricate mechanics beneath, and looks at you with a soft, pleading expression.

"Your face," he clarifies, gesturing with his bare mechanical hand.

Though still disoriented, you manage a small nod. The cool, smooth fingertip, tinged with a neon purple, gently brushes against your cheek. You instinctively close your eyes, letting out a sigh you immediately feel embarrassed about. When you cautiously peek at Beta, he doesn't seem fazed, his focus absolute. With immense care, his large hand cups your face, sliding upward to rest against your forehead.

Oh. He's taking your temperature. That makes sense.

A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you, realizing your subconscious craving for simple physical contact.

"You have a high fever, Angel," he observes softly. "I'll take you to the recovery room. I’ve heard they have a very comfortable, fluffy couch and soft blankets, perfect for a nap during break time."

You almost want to laugh at how endearingly he phrased that.

"But first stop, the infirmary," he adds firmly.

Without further warning, Beta scoops you effortlessly into his arms. A small, surprised gasp escapes you, which he seems to absorb as he cradles you securely against his chest, a gesture meant to reassure you. Being carried by a robot is a novel experience, and the distance from the solid ground feels disconcertingly vast.

"They’re going to scold me…" You mutter against the slightly rubbery texture of his hazmat suit.

You hear him chuckle, a sound still strangely localized, not resonating from his chest as you might expect.

"That would be logical," he says, his voice soft, almost playful. "But don't worry too much. I won't let them be too harsh with you, sweetie."

You snort, which turns into an abrupt sneeze, burying your face against him again. A gloved hand settles on the back of your head, fingers gently, tenderly stroking through your hair. He pushes open a door, entering a room bathed in light so jarringly bright you groan, squeezing your exhausted eyes shut tighter. You dissolve into a fit of coughing and sneezing, feeling utterly wrecked by this flu.

Lost in your misery, you're barely aware of the worried glances Beta casts down at you, nor how steadfastly he refuses to put you down while the nurse examines you and dispenses some painkillers. You do get scolded, but Beta keeps his word, defending you with absurdly sweet excuses about you being an exemplary worker, too responsible to miss a day even when clearly unwell. Still, leaving isn't an option now. Not like this, without someone ensuring you make it home safely. You feel perilously close to fainting.

So, Beta proceeds with his plan, heading towards the recovery room, you still cradled in his arms. Some colleagues shoot you curious glances; others stop you both, their voices laced with concern as if there's something inherently unsettling about seeing you carried, vulnerable, by a robot. A few even offer to take over. You have to summon the patience to reassure them, insisting Beta's company is perfectly fine, that there's nothing to fear. Throughout these exchanges, Beta's eyes briefly divert as his head slightly bowed. He never utters a word.

It must be tough, you think fleetingly, being judged simply for being different. Being perceived as some kind of monster.

You know he feels it.

Beta knows that you know.

His gaze returns to you, softening instantly. He pulls you a fraction closer against his chest, his hold firmer now, as if afraid you might slip away, vanish, and he'd never get to hold you again. There's a unique quality to Beta's hugs – laced with an anxious undercurrent, a fear of crushing your fragility, yet overwhelmingly full of affection, as if trying to shield you completely within his embrace.

He enters the recovery room. Your tired eyes flutter open, vaguely scanning the surroundings. To your immense relief, the room is empty. The next thing you know, Beta is gently depositing you onto a plush couch, then hurrying towards some nearby cabinets, searching for the blankets he mentioned. You hear a soft, happy humming sound when he finds them. Moments later, he's back, carefully tucking the soft fabric around you, right up to your chin. You gratefully sink into the cushions.

"I’ve never been in here before," he reflects, his voice quiet. "It’s nice."

"Hm… I don’t come here often either…" You reply, your voice muffled.

He looks down at you, his large frame looming slightly. It’s a touch intimidating, but you bite back the comment, not wanting to make him anxious. Instead, you quickly ask, "Are you going to stay?"

Your face flushes instantly, heat rising that you hope the fever masks effectively. Why did that sound so needy?

Beta smiles, a tender, understanding expression.

"I can, if you want me to."

Somehow, that makes it even more embarrassing. But Beta doesn't laugh; he just seems to find your flustered state endearing. He sits down carefully beside you on the couch. Even seated, he's significantly taller, and his weight causes the cushions to dip, drawing you slightly closer to his side.

A dense, slightly awkward silence settles between you. You can't help but notice the way Beta looks at you – calm, thoughtful, as if carefully weighing his next move. You cough again, your head swimming.

He shifts, and in one smooth motion, you're drawn onto his lap. Four arms gently envelop you, holding you as if you were the most precious, fragile thing in his universe. You don't know why. You don't understand it. But somehow, it feels… right.

Maybe it's like this for everyone he interacts with. A loving robot shouldn't be such an alien concept. But emotions aren't typically associated with circuitry and code, yet Beta… Beta is a being of circuits and code who feels, sometimes overwhelmingly so.

You dislike the word 'machine' when thinking of him.

You remain still, your body limp and weak. But even if you had the strength, you wouldn't fight this. Not when, finally, you feel so at ease. The blanket cocoons you, warm and secure. One of his hands moves soothingly along your back, tracing patterns up to your nape. Long, gloved fingers gently tangle in your hair, massaging your scalp, combing through the strands up to your crown. He leans his face close, murmuring against your tousled hair.

"Shh… You can rest now. You’ll feel better…" He closes his eyes briefly. "Humans feel better when they sleep, don't they?"

It’s strange seeing him so calm, so centered. Usually, he's a bundle of nerves – jumpy, anxious, always seeming to anticipate the worst possible outcome. That’s the Beta you know most of the time. This quiet optimism feels almost foreign, yet it brings an unexpected peace. If Beta is this calm, perhaps it’s because he genuinely feels comfortable with you.

The thought warms your chest.

"We’re going to get in trouble for this…" You sigh, the words punctuated by a sniffle as you battle a congested nose. "They’re already so hard on you…"

Beta’s soft chuckle vibrates slightly against you, somehow. You can't quite gauge if it holds amusement or disbelief.

"They’ll understand," he replies lightly. "Helping is also part of my job description."

"Don’t take this the wrong way," you begin carefully, glancing up at him sideways, "but you’re… way too calm right now."

Beta tilts his head again, his hood dipping slightly, casting his face in shadow. The Beta you’re used to would have likely flinched at the implied scrutiny. He makes a small, strangled sound and looks away, suddenly tense and nervous again.

Ah, there he is.

"I was just trying… uh… I read that staying calm can help others feel calm too," he mumbles, fidgeting slightly. "If it bothers you, I—"

"No, it’s fine! I promise it’s fine. I was just curious…" You interrupt quickly, rubbing your head as the headache threatens a resurgence. You push the pain aside. "Actually… I’m glad to see you relaxed."

A soft, fascinating purple hue washes over Beta’s face. You still marvel at your ability to elicit such a reaction from him; it's simultaneously hilarious and utterly adorable.

You sit in comfortable silence as Beta's hand resumes its slow, circular motions across your back and shoulders, gradually lulling you toward sleep. Your eyelids grow heavy, protesting the effort to stay open. Your body trembles slightly, the fever playing tricks, making you feel chilled despite your internal heat. But wrapped in the blanket, held securely in the arms of someone who cares, the world feels a little less harsh. More comfortable, warmer. And blessedly, you're not facing this alone in the cold silence of your empty home.

Beta glances aside, his expression thoughtful, distant. Perhaps he could make you some tea? Or order it from the café? Honey and ginger, he recalls reading somewhere, is good for a sore throat. And food? What do humans eat when they're sick? Soup is the only thing that comes immediately to his processor.

Lost in these considerations, Beta looks down and realizes you’ve already drifted off. His eyes widen slightly, and a soft, almost silly smile spreads across his features.

Humans look so cute and peaceful when they sleep.

He watches your finally relaxed face with fascination: the way your disheveled hair curtains your closed eyes, your lips slightly parted, breathing slow and even, though still a bit heavy. Your rosy cheek is pressed trustingly against his chest. Beta feels something akin to melting just looking at you as if you are the loveliest sight he has ever seen. And crucially, you allowed yourself this vulnerability, with him. He, a being who often feels like an outsider, is regarded with suspicion even by his creators. But you… You always manage to make him feel accepted, special, as normal as any human among them. Like one of your own.

Beta feels fortunate for that.

He gently traces your cheek with one fingertip, a subtle, exploratory touch, slowly mapping the contours of your face. Up across your cheekbone, towards the delicate skin of your eyelid, his touch feather-light so as not to wake you. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, studying your features – so different from his own – with intense care.

"So peaceful…" he breathes, the sound barely audible. "Precious…"

He notices a subtle shift in your expression – eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks, eyebrows knitting almost imperceptibly, lips forming a vague pout – yet you remain asleep. The robot can’t quite interpret these micro-expressions, assuming humans generally look untroubled in sleep. But suddenly, you no longer look quite serene, and an uncomfortable static prickles through his circuits, a warning that something is amiss. Beta feels an urgent need to fix it.

"Poor thing… You’re in so much pain, aren't you? Your breathing is strained, your body tense, trembling…" he whispers, instinctively tightening his hold, trying to envelop you completely. "What should I do? What ought I to do?"

Panic begins to bubble beneath his calm facade. He's confused, terrified, but desperately trying not to wake you. Truthfully, he's never cared for a sick human before, striving with all his processing power not to overreact. But oh, he was sure your skin wasn't burning quite this intensely just moments ago.

"The infirmary… Maybe we should go back, hm? The painkillers don't seem to be working effectively…"

The robot presses his face briefly against the crown of your head, mimicking a sigh.

"Aha! There you are."

Beta’s head snaps up, gaze darting towards the doorway. Gamma stands there, greeting him with a wide, toothy grin, hands planted firmly on his hips, surveying the scene with mock judgment.

"What's that suspicious package you've got there?" Gamma raises a metallic eyebrow, sauntering closer. Beta offers a nervous grimace. "Yeah, it looks suspiciously alive!"

"Please keep your voice down; they're trying to sleep," the purple robot half-whispers, half-reproves, his anxious blue eyes flicking between you and his newly arrived companion. Gamma claps his hands over his mouth in mock horror, though the sharp grin remains visible beneath.

"I was wondering what I saw flickering on the security cameras."

"W-what?" Beta stammers, optics widening.

Gamma muffles a laugh. "Kidding! I don't have access to the cameras. Though, I won't deny, catching this would have been pretty damn funny." The neon-green robot teases, but his usual antics fail to truly rattle Beta this time. Gamma's gaze sweeps the room, landing on the couch with keen interest. "Whoa, didn't know we had one of these here. Quite the find." He stops beside the couch and crouches down, folding his tall frame close to the ground, an attempt to seem less imposing, even though you're asleep. He looks at you and tilts his head, his grin softening into something gentler.

"So," he asks, his voice lowered to an even, quiet tone, "what’s the issue? Sick or something?"

Beta adjusts the blanket around you, his expression pensive as he looks down at your sleeping form before nodding.

"I just thought… it would be nice to keep them company," he murmurs nervously, bracing for a potential reprimand. "I apologize if my absence caused any inconvenience."

"You're adorable," Gamma laughs, a genuine sound that makes Beta blush faintly purple again. "Relax. I'll tell them you were on a recharge cycle. No problem."

Beta looks genuinely, pleasantly surprised.

"Th-thank you."

"Uhm… Consider it a favor. Now you owe me," Gamma replies with a cheeky green smirk, eliciting a small sound of indignant surprise from Beta. "Seriously, though, you could have invited me. You two look ridiculously comfortable over here; I'm getting jealous."

The purple robot looks away, face flushing deeper, shoulders tense. Two of his hands fidget nervously with the edge of the blanket covering you.

"If… if you want to…"

"Aw, hell yeah. My actuators were getting a little stiff anyway." Gamma straightens up, looking down at you with those inscrutable, mismatched eyes. His smile softens once more. "Yeah, probably the only human around here I wouldn't actively wish a headache upon, y'know?" He strolls over to a nearby water dispenser, carefully filling a flimsy disposable cup, holding it with exaggerated care as if terrified of crushing the tiny object. It looks absurdly small in his large hand, but he manages to return without spilling a drop, simultaneously wheeling a small side table closer with one foot. He makes a show of checking an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Anyway, looks like we've got about an hour and a half before the café gets swarmed by hungry organics. Might as well take advantage of this wonderful couch and leave all the grunt work to Alpha."

"He’s going to be furious," Beta points out hurriedly, apprehension coloring his tone.

"Pretty sure he can handle it. Besides, that sounds like a 'future us' problem," Gamma responds dismissively, shrugging with a sly, cat-like grin. He settles onto the couch next to Beta, leaning in towards you, almost as if intending to scoop you up himself. Instead, he props his head on one hand, studying your face intently, whispering conspiratorially near your hair, "What's one or two wasted hours of productivity when you've got another eight thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight left in the year to catch up?"

Gamma places the cup of water on the small table, his mismatched eyes scanning your curled-up form with an expression that borders on tenderness. One long finger gently prods your cheek, lingering for a moment. His smile widens, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Ah, see? Infrared vision is remarkably useful for diagnostics~"

Beta looks at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"I— I hadn't considered that!"

"That's because I'm the genius."

Gamma idly plays with a strand of your hair, tousling it slightly before smoothing it back. There's a subtle tension in his movements, suggesting a desire to be careful not to wake you, yet simultaneously wanting you to somehow know he stayed too, offering his own form of company. "Fever's dropped. Perfect, perfect."

Beta lets out a quiet sigh of relief at that, pulling you closer, protectively against his chest. Gamma watches him for a long moment, head tilted.

"So… you gonna hug me like that too, or do I have to beg?"

Beta would have choked if his respiratory system worked that way.

"I… Umm… I—I don’t know… I mean…" Beta seems utterly mortified, flustered beyond words. "W-why would you want to…?"

His reaction seems disproportionately funny to his companion.

"The real question is… " Gamma leans in, raising his eyebrows dramatically, " Why wouldn’t I want to?"

Beta makes a muffled, strangled noise, and Gamma finally bursts into unrestrained laughter, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. He wants to wake you now, eager to see the inevitably perplexed expression on your face when you find yourself sandwiched between two massive robots cuddling you like a shared teddy bear. So funny.

And, admittedly, adorable.

"Maybe I should—" Beta starts.

"Leave it to me."

Without any warning, Gamma grabs Beta firmly by the shoulders and gives a sharp tug. The motion jostles Beta's hood back, causing his purple rays to flare outwards, inadvertently smacking Gamma right across the face.

Gamma lets out an exaggerated yelp of pain, the sudden noise jolting you awake, while Beta dissolves into mortified sobs and a rapid-fire barrage of apologies.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Damn, Beta, you pack some serious hidden weaponry there!"

Meanwhile, you blink, consciousness returning like a slow-motion wave crashing over you.

You have never felt so utterly confused and disoriented in your entire life. Your small, blanket-wrapped body feels like the filling in a very strange, very large robotic sandwich. They’re being careful, you register dimly, not crushing you, but their towering figures loom over you as they seem to bicker about the recent assault, momentarily oblivious to your awakening.

"W-where the hell am I…?" you murmur, voice thick with sleep and confusion.

"In the paradise of my arms, obviously," Gamma replies instantly, his grin back in place, the earlier slap forgotten. Beta, however, still looks borderline traumatized by the incident. "Surprise!" Gamma continues cheerfully. "Decided I wanted my own human plushie too, but Beta here wasn't sharing. Rude."

The poor purple robot just gives you an anxious, apologetic look, optics wide, seeming perpetually on the verge of tears. You feel your face heat up again at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Guys… this is… really strange…" You mumble, rubbing your temple. You do feel marginally better, though. The sleep, despite being punctuated by vague fever dreams, was surprisingly deep. You have hazy recollections of gentle pressure, comforting weight, large hands holding you with unexpected tenderness, and soft, murmured words that felt like a warm shield against the discomfort. It was strangely restorative. “You two are lucky that I trust you both enough.”

Beta is now a complete mess of embarrassment, looking like he wishes the floor would swallow him whole. Gamma, conversely, seems utterly unfazed, laughing heartily. He gives your head a few friendly pats like one might pet a dog.

"You're welcome!" he teases.

Beta shyly holds out a small pill and the cup of water Gamma had placed on the table earlier, avoiding direct eye contact. As you take them, he fidgets nervously with the edge of the blanket still draped over you.

"P-please drink this… before you go home."

You feel a pang of sympathy for him now.

Offering a small smile, you swallow the pill. It scrapes slightly against your still-raw throat but goes down easily enough. Gamma makes a sound like snapping his fingers.

"Alrighty! Now that our precious human is awake, I think it's high time you drank your magic robot tea and then skedaddled home to sleep in your own soft, warm bed, instead of being draped over the hard, cold chassis of two poor robots desperately craving validation and affection."

You raise an eyebrow at him, unable to tell if he's being serious or deeply sarcastic. Beta’s immediate, unbridled reaction, however, strongly suggests the latter might hold a kernel of truth.

He practically throws you into Gamma’s arms, scrambling off the couch and dashing towards the café area, calling back, "I’ll go get the tea!”. All you see is a purple and yellow blur disappearing around a corner, his two flexible grabber appendages flailing behind him like overexcited tails, narrowly missing several chairs.

An awkward silence descends as you realize you are now solely in Gamma’s lap. You sniffle, then sneeze, fumbling in your pocket for a tissue.

"What a weird day…" You whisper, mostly to yourself.

The silence stretches in response.

When you look up, Gamma’s mismatched eyes are fixed on you with an intensity you’re not accustomed to seeing from him. They gleam, a deep, assessing green; they seem to judge, penetrate, yet hold you captive, making it impossible to look away. His hand comes up, fingers firmly grasping your chin, tilting your head back slightly. His thumb traces the faint line of a scar near the right corner of your lower lip, a mark barely visible but not missed by his scrutinizing gaze.

"What was the point," his voice is suddenly low, resonant, cutting through the quiet room, "of dragging yourself here when you knew you’d only be inefficient?" The reproachful tone lands like a physical blow, stinging your chest. "Suffering, far from home? Why? Nobody pins a medal on you for martyrdom. Are you some kind of masochist?"

His words slice deeper than you expected, hitting a nerve you didn't know was exposed.

"I didn't come here… intending to be a burden," you manage, your voice trembling slightly. "I just…"

But the words die in your throat.

Gamma remains silent, his gaze unwavering, first on the tiny scar, then locking onto your eyes, waiting. All you can do is stifle a sob, hot tears welling up unexpectedly.

It must be the lingering fever, you tell yourself, or perhaps the accumulated exhaustion from the preceding days. But a sense of powerlessness washes over you – the dizziness, the melancholy that descends when you contemplate the tangled mess of past choices, the things that might have been, the decisions made and unmade. It hurts with a sharp, selfish pang because you know, deep down, that your actions often stem from a desperate search for something, anything, to fill the echoing void in your existence. Because, subconsciously, you ignored all logic and dragged yourself here, yearning for mere crumbs of the connection that feels so distant in your life. Because buried beneath layers of denial, you knew they wouldn't leave you alone. Because you crave the simple, fundamental comfort of affection and care.

Because at home, there's no one.

It’s a selfish desire, isn't it? To simply matter to someone. And even if this fragile connection feels illusory at times, who is the universe to deny you the right to cling to those who are here, offering solace, even if just for a fleeting moment? Who is to deny you the right to feel content and at peace?

Gamma’s intense gaze softens. His gloved thumb gently brushes against your damp skin, wiping away a stray tear tracking down your cheek. A small, conciliatory smile touches his lips.

"Foolish human," he grumbles, but his eyes now hold a mischievous glint, something that strongly resembles affection. "You’re damn lucky we all trust you enough."

Fresh tears spill over, fueled by embarrassment and a confusing surge of relief. Gamma lets out a chuckle.

"Thank you… guys…" You manage between sniffles.

"Yeah, yeah. Now you owe me," he repeats, the teasing tone returning.

You snort, a watery smile finally breaking through. Whether any of this is 'real' in the conventional sense… You find you no longer care to dissect it. Whatever this is, whatever complex web of programming and emerging sentience is unfolding around you, it’s already more than you ever dared to ask for.

"B-Beta is taking a long time…" you murmur after a moment, wiping your eyes.

"Maybe he hasn't decided on the optimal tea blend yet," Gamma opines dryly, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Meanwhile, unseen by either of you, the tall purple robot remains partially hidden. Peeking cautiously from behind a large column, a steaming cup held carefully between two large hands, his default expression of faint anxiety is starkly contrasted by the sweet, gentle smile slowly blooming across his face. Blue eyes gleam with an undeniable light as they fixate on you, a soft blush coloring his cheeks.

"If only you knew, Angel," he breathes to himself, adjusting his hood, "that all of us share the same dream… and someone just like you is the only data stream appearing in them."

______

[missy4176]

Facing Betrayal

Kim Dokja x Reader

Kim Dokja is not a man who wears his emotions openly, but when someone betrays you, there’s a subtle, chilling shift in his demeanor that only those closest to him would notice. His dark eyes, usually calm and calculating, become sharper, almost like the edge of a blade. His lips press into a thin line as he processes the situation, his mind already running through dozens of scenarios and countermeasures. Kim Dokja doesn’t believe in wasting time on futile displays of anger; he knows that real strength lies in controlling it, shaping it into something that can be used effectively.

When you first come to him, shaken by the betrayal, he listens to you without interrupting, his gaze steady and unyielding. You might expect him to lash out, to curse the one who wronged you, but that’s not Kim Dokja’s way. Instead, he moves closer to you, his presence a quiet but undeniable source of comfort. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, his touch warm and grounding.

“I’m here,” he says softly, his voice low but firm, a quiet promise that you’re not alone in this.

Kim Dokja understands betrayal better than most. His life has been shaped by countless deceptions, some so deep and intricate that they would have broken anyone else. But not him. He’s learned to take the pain and turn it into something else—something that drives him forward rather than holding him back. And now, as he looks at you, he’s determined to do the same for you.

His mind works quickly, calculating the best way to protect you, to ensure that this betrayal doesn’t cripple you. He’s already thinking three steps ahead, mapping out every possible outcome and how to navigate them. There’s a cold, ruthless edge to his thoughts, but it’s tempered by the warmth he feels for you, by the need to see you safe and whole.

Kim Dokja is not the type to offer empty reassurances. Instead, he helps you see the situation for what it is, guiding you through the fog of hurt and anger until you can think clearly again. He won’t let you wallow in despair; he knows that’s a luxury neither of you can afford. Instead, he’ll make sure you’re prepared for what comes next, ensuring that you’re not just a victim of betrayal, but someone who can rise above it.

In the days that follow, Kim Dokja stays close, never straying far from your side. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he shows his support in the little things—making sure you eat, checking in on you, offering quiet words of encouragement when you need them most. He’s a steady, unwavering presence, and it’s this quiet strength that helps you begin to heal.

When it comes to confronting the one who betrayed you, Kim Dokja’s anger is a cold, calculating force. He doesn’t lash out recklessly; instead, he channels that anger into a precise, almost surgical strike. He dismantles their schemes with an efficiency that’s terrifying in its effectiveness, leaving them with no doubt that they made a grave mistake by crossing you.

But even in his anger, Kim Dokja never loses sight of what’s most important—your well-being. He ensures that the consequences of the betrayal don’t fall on you, that you’re protected from any further harm. And when it’s over, when the dust has settled, he’s there to help you pick up the pieces and move forward.

Kim Dokja might not be the most expressive partner, but in moments like these, his love for you shines through in the way he stands by you, unyielding and steadfast. He’s your shield, your sword, and the quiet strength that helps you rise above even the deepest betrayals.

[literaila]

hi… gojo reassuring reader cause of past drama and she beats herself up over it 🙏🙏

“do you think—“

“not intentionally.”

“ha,” you say, looking up at him. “very funny.”

satoru grins down at you, his eyes soft at the edges, fingers running up and down your shoulders. “yeah, i know.”

you shake your head, looking away. your eyes focus on the wall across the room and you open your mouth again. “i just think… maybe i’m too—“

“perfect?”

“satoru.”

“what? that wasn’t what you were going to say?”

“of course not.”

“really? cause i was just thinking about it, you know. how did i get a wife that was so perfect, so—“

“i’m being serious.”

satoru pokes at your collarbone. “so am i.”

“you’re not listening,” you sigh, turning back to his chest. to your only comfort. the only thing you’ve ever taken solace in.

and satoru is there too, you guess.

“well, you never listen to me,” satoru pokes you again, playfully, but you don’t respond. “okay, okay. i’m listening.”

“are you?”

“yes,” satoru enunciates. “i want to hear all about it.”

“do you?”

“yeah, of course.”

you don’t speak for a moment because there really isn’t any need to. satoru is here, happy, and your kids are in bed, and everything is stable, but it’s just…

“do you ever feel like you’ve done something wrong?” you ask satoru. “like you’ve changed something you weren’t supposed to, or… shifted something and there’s no way to get back?”

satoru hums. “like you’ve chosen the wrong path, or something?”

“no, just, more… there wasn’t supposed to be a path. or there was only supposed to be one, and now it’s disappeared and the directions are all wrong. it’s like i’ve skipped something.”

satoru is looking down at you. he’s getting sleepy—you can tell. the two of you always fall asleep here, in each other’s arms, avoiding something that keeps yelling in your face.

it’s quiet tonight, though. whatever that means.

satoru licks his lips. “but you’re content, right? you’re happy.”

“i’m happy,” you whisper to him, and it doesn’t even feel like a lie. “i am. with you. with the kids.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, and you hear just the twitch of doubt in his voice.

you look up at him, his eyes, the wrinkles forming around his mouth. “i’m happy, satoru. that’s why i don’t understand,” and you can’t help it when your eyes get glassy, when your brain gets fogged enough to feel lost.

satoru sits up, just the tiniest bit, trying to see you more clearly.

“i don’t know how to get it back,” you tell him, voice shaking. “i don’t even know what it is.”

and you close your eyes, but satoru catches you before the tears can fall. he kisses between your brows, fingers dancing on the edge of your cheek.

he breathes out, nodding. “it’s okay. it’s okay if you don’t find it.”

“satoru—“

“you can come back to me. i’ll always be here. if you can’t find it, then i’ll look with you. and if that doesn’t work, then we’ll come back here.”

you open your eyes and satoru is already smiling at you.

“i’ve got really good eyes, you know,” he nudges your forehead with his chin and you laugh. “i’ll look with you.”

“yeah, i know.”

“it’ll be hard, but we can worry together. and megumi can worry too—he’s good at that.”

“don’t bring him into this.”

“i’m just saying.”

“satoru,” you murmur but its full of something much more. you haven’t gotten used to voicing your thoughts, to allowing that spill of emotion to drip onto anyone else—but it’s easy with satoru, because he doesn’t need it to understand.

“i still think you’re perfect,” he tells you.

“you shouldn’t.”

“yeah,” satoru leans down, his breath hot as it meets yours. “maybe not.”