#when the hair is around your throat and tangled around each knuckle as you try to pull it away

[stabknives]

If i dont finish that art piece of gortash all tangled up in Vykrum's stupid floor length hair soon i swear

[scuderiahalf]

brother's prejudice — max fewtrell

pairings. max fewtrell x norris!fem!reader, lando norris x twin!fem!reader

summary. you have always been happy to support lando in any way you can but when he can't give that same support back when your relationship with his best friend is revealed, you're left wondering if your relationship with your twin brother will ever be the same. 4.2k, 18+

playlist. "idfc" by blackbear, "the heart wants what it wants" by selena gomez, "our song" by taylor swift, "it will come back" by hozier, "make me like you" by gwen stefani

warnings. lando's a bit of a dick but he makes up for it, censored oral (male receiving)

masterlist.

. . .

"Do you want me to suck your dick or do you want to watch Markiplier?"

"Do you want an honest answer?"

You huffed, and started to get out of bed. "I'm going to take a shower."

"No, baby, I'm just kidding."

Max grabbed hold of your hand before you even fully got to your feet. He tugged you back onto the mattress, pushed you down and hovered over you.

"You're too late. The moment is gone," you said.

"I'm sorry."

He tried to kiss you but only got your cheek when you turned your head to the side.

"Baby, don't be like that. C'mon."

He kissed your neck and your breath caught in your throat because you were just a girl. You were just a weak girl when it came to Max.

"I love you," he said into the skin of your neck.

"Hm," you pretended to consider it, "Apology accepted. Lay down, drama queen."

You pushed at Max's shoulder and he let you get on top of him. You grabbed a hair tie from the nightstand to pull your hair back with.

Max let his hands slide under your shirt—which was actually his shirt, which was why he was only in his sleep shorts at the moment. He freely let himself feel you up as you tied your hair up, squeezing your thighs and hips, your ass and up to your boobs.

"You've got to stop groping me if you want me to give you a blowjob."

"But you know how much I love groping you."

You laughed and pulled his hands out of your shirt. You intertwined your fingers with his, leaned down to kiss his nose.

"You're really making it seem like you don't want me to suck you off."

"I never said that."

You kissed the knuckles on each of Max's hands before shimmying further down the bed, pulling the blankets with you. Soon, the only sounds in the room were Max's sighs of pleasure and the lewd, wet noises coming from your mouth.

Then, someone with the spare keycard to Max's hotel room unlocked the door and entered without knocking.

"Max, mate, the plane's leaving at ten, not eleven, apparently. I tried texting you in the group chat but—what. The. Fuck."

Thank god Lando was a naturally loud individual, giving just enough time for you to sit up and wipe your mouth, for Max to pull his shorts back up. You both faced Lando with similar caught expressions, still tangled up in bed together but thankfully without your lips currently around Max’s dick.

"Are you actually kidding me? My sister? What the fuck, mate?"

You jumped in to try and defuse the situation before it escalated. "Lando, just wait a second. Let me explain—"

Lando cut you a harsh glare. "I'm not fucking talking to you. We can talk about you acting like a slag later."

You drew back, more than a little hurt at your twin's words and the tone in which he said them.

"Don't talk to her like that," Max stood up for you.

"That's really what you're worried about right now?"

"That you're calling your sister a slag? Yeah, it is."

"What the fuck is going on? You get busy with the one girl that has always been off limits and you think you're some sort of knight in shining armor?"

"Let's just all wait a second. Yeah? Let's just take a breath."

“Shut up, Y/N.”

“Lando, if you think—“

“Please don��t argue, Max—“

“He’s being a fucking dick to you, Y/N—“

“I’m being the dick? You��re shagging my sister—“

“That’s no excuse to talk to her like that—“

“It’s not like that—“

“How long has this been going on?”

“Lando, just listen—“

“Ten months.”

You close your eyes.

“TEN MONTHS!”

The flight back home was going to be a long one.

.

“You really don’t have to come.”

“Do you not want me to?”

“No, I do but… Lando is going to be there.”

“And you don’t trust him not to cause a scene?”

“I don’t know if I trust either of you not to get into a shouting match in front of our parents.”

You were already dressed and ready to go to your parents for dinner. You sat on the bathroom counter as Max finished getting ready. He was fixing his hair, the last step before he would be done, also.

You watched as the gentle, concentrated furrow in his brow deepened to one of anger. “He called you a slag, Y/N. I don’t care if he’s your brother; that’s not okay.”

“He said I was acting like a slag—“

“Same difference.”

“—and he didn’t mean it. He was just caught off guard. I did go behind his back…”

“Don’t paint him as the victim. Admittedly, we probably should have told him sooner but that doesn’t mean he gets it be a dick about it.”

Max momentarily abandoned his hair to squeeze your knee.

“You have to stop making excuses for him.”

“He’s my brother.”

“And he has always walked all over you. When was the last time he properly apologized to you for anything?"

“Max…”

This wasn’t the first time Max had brought this up and every time, you deflected or excused everything Max tried to shine a light on. Lando was Max’s best friend but he was your brother, your twin brother. You had never not known him.

Lando was integral in who you were as a person. You were made as a pair. You grew up as a pair. You had always had each other. He was your built in best friend. You always had his back, no matter what.

If you were a pushover, if you let Lando tease you and speak to you in ways you’d never let anyone else, if you tolerated things from him you that you shouldn’t, then that was your decision.

Max didn’t understand that. He didn’t seem capable of understanding the complex workings of your relationship with your twin. You would do anything for Lando, regardless of what it would mean for you, and you were fine with that.

That was how it had always been: Lando, the showman, and you, the supportive sister. Even back when you were karting together, Lando was out front and you were playing defense to protect his position.

You celebrated his victories more than you ever celebrated your own but that was fine. He was your brother and you loved him.

“Okay, fine. Whatever,” Max relented on that front. “But this is a step too far. He doesn’t get to act like a petulant little kid because I’m dating you. Calling you names and running away to Monaco when he’s meant to be filming with Quadrant. He’s being ridiculous.”

Some part of you knew the punishment of Lando ignoring you for the past month didn’t fit the crime of not telling him you were dating Max. The bigger, more conscious part of you felt like carving “traitor” into your forearm with a steak knife and hoping the pain would make your brother forgive you.

Your messages to Lando had become a wall of blue, full of apologies, begging to let you explain, attempts at striking up a conversation like normal, asking if he had meant to cancel your plane ticket to the Azerbaijan Grand Prix followed by even more apologies and then congratulations on a race well done.

You played with your fingers the whole car ride. Max reached over at one point after you had started picking at your cuticles to kiss the back of your hand and hold it the rest of the way, making idle talk that did nothing to distract you from what you were headed towards.

After Lando found you two in Max’s hotel room and the ensuing argument got heated on both of the boys’ sides, Max stayed with you for a few days. When he finally went back to his and Lando’s London flat hoping to talk things out before filming for Quadrant, Lando had cleared out.

He posted a rather passive aggressive Instagram story a few days later about “real friends” featuring some other F1 drivers all holding padel rackets. Max had not been happy when he found you torn up over it, shedding tears over the fear that you had lost your brother.

You had always been sensitive. Quick to cry, quick to care, quick to get attached, quick to get hurt. Lando poked fun at you for it your entire lives but he was also the first to jump in and defend you whenever anyone else said anything to you.

Lando’s distance over the last few weeks hurt. Like, physically hurt. You would see something that you thought he would find funny and go to text him about it just to remember he was giving you the silent treatment and your chest would hurt for the next several hours as you waited on a reply that never came.

Despite it all, when you saw Lando stood in the kitchen with your mom, the first time you had seen him in over three weeks, you couldn't help but smile.

He was halfway to returning it, as if on instinct alone. Then, he noticed Max at your back and his face fell devoid of any sort of pleased emotion. Your own smile fell, chest starting to ache again.

“Y/N darling, there you are.” Your mom came over to hug you and kiss your cheek, then did the same to Max. “And Max! Your best be treating my girl right.”

"Of course, Mrs Norris."

"Stop it with that; I've told you to call me Cisca."

"Mum knows?" Lando said. "You already told mum? Did she know before I did?"

You drew a sharp breath. It was difficult to talk to Lando when his tone was both wounded and accusatory.

"She called me not long after you boys had your spat," your mom explained, "Told me all about her and Max and I couldn't be more pleased. I always knew you fancied him, Y/N, even back in your karting days."

"Muuuum," you groaned, embarrassed even if Max already knew how long you had been crushing on him.

Max laughed and kissed your cheek. "The Shield fancied me."

"Shut up."

“The Shield” was the cringe-worthy nickname that karting media outlets had given you back in the day on account of how difficult it was to overtake you. So much of your karting career had been defense for Lando but you always felt a little victorious whenever you made a boy mad about getting beat by you simply because he couldn't get around you.

You could have gone far in racing if you hadn't quit after a single season of F4.

Lando gagged at Max's display of affection.

Max zeroed in on him, eyes sharp and mouth opening to call him out. You caught his shirt between your fingers, silently reminding him that he had promised not to start a fight. He looked mighty unhappy about it, but Max let his chest deflate and followed you into the dining room to help your other siblings set the table.

Ten minutes later, you all sat down to eat.

This was not the first time Max had dinner with your family. It had become such a common occurrence that it didn't cross any of your minds that your typical seating arrangement had your dad at one head of the table, your mom at the other, your older brother and sisters on one side, and you, Lando, and Max on the other, in that order, always with Lando between you.

Even dating Max, you didn’t think to sit next to him because that was Lando’s seat. It didn’t even cross your mind that it might not have been the best decision to sit your twin next to his best friend who had gone behind his back to date you for months without telling him but it was too late for that.

Lando was the last to sit down after going to retrieve the forgotten napkins. You considered swapping seats last minute as he hesitated over the dining room threshold, then thought better of making a scene and resigned yourself to a torturous dinner without being able to hold Max's hand through it all.

After getting caught by Lando, you had told your mom about you and Max. She had obviously clued your father in but you weren't sure which of your siblings knew the full extent of what went down when Lando found out.

Oliver and Cisca seemed oblivious enough, even if they were casting confused glances at you, Lando and, Max, trying to figure out why the three of you weren't speaking to each other. However, Flo was keeping an awfully watchful eye on your twin and boyfriend, as though waiting for the show to begin.

Table talk was casual and nearly pleasant. With Lando uncharacteristically silent beside you, and Max refusing to so much as look at his best friend, you couldn't fully enjoy spending time with your family while they were all together.

Max caught your eye behind Lando. He gave you a smile, one you couldn't quite return. Lando leaned back and got in the way of your eyeline to Max. You turned back to your food, continuing to pick at the delicious pork your mom had cooked but not able to enjoy it.

"Max, what of you?"

"Sorry?" Max was about as clueless to the conversation at hand as you were.

"Do you have plans to visit Monaco any more this year?"

They must have been talking about the trip your parents and youngest sister would be taking to Monaco during Cisca's summer break. You had planned on taking time off work to go with them, as well as with Max later in the year, closer to the end of the F1 season to attend a few races and help film some Quadrant content.

"Are you and Y/N going sometime together, possibly?"

It was a harmless enough suggestion from your mother. She probably only wanted to try and get Lando and Max to say a word to each other.

Then, despite having already agreed to house both of you later in the year, Lando said, "They haven't mentioned anything."

You really were not enjoying this dinner.

It was getting harder and harder to have all your siblings in the same place as you all got older. Only Cisca lived at home now and she was going off to uni in Manchester next year.

You missed when being with your family was easy, when you didn't even have to think about it. You missed your childhood bedroom that was now the second guest bedroom, your and Lando's bunk beds long gone.

You missed your brother terribly, even if it had only been about three and a half weeks since contact was cut. You didn't want to lose him to something like this but at the same time, you couldn't imagine letting Max go.

Max made you so happy. Couldn't Lando see that? Couldn't he see how in love you were? Couldn't he accept your and Max's relationship for the sake of not wanting to lose his twin sister and best friend?

You would do anything for Lando. You had given up so much for him. You supported him at every twist and turn of your lives. You just wanted things to be okay again.

"Y/N darling, what’s wrong?"

Your mom’s question was quiet, meant to not attract anyone’s attention. But Lando and Max were both quiet, too, in unsettling amounts from the two of them. They both looked at you just in time to see you wiping at your cheek.

"I'm fine."

Except you weren't fine. You were sad and nostalgic and sick of feeling that way and now you were all teary. You just wanted a nice dinner with your family where the two men you loved most in the world acted normal and you didn't start randomly crying at the dining table.

Lando put his hand on your arm. "Y/N/N, are you alright?"

Like his touch finally shook loose something inside you that you had been holding back since the hotel argument or maybe even longer, you rounded on your twin brother.

"No, I'm not alright! How could I be alright when you're acting like this?"

Lando immediately threw his walls back up, going on defense. "You and Max went behind my back."

"And that means you get to throw a month long hissy fit over it?"

"You've been dating for ten months!"

"It's actually eleven, now, mate."

Lando turned to shoot a glare at your boyfriend. "Shut up, Max."

"Stop being a dick, Lando! Just stop! Yes, we should have told you sooner. Yes, I'm sorry you found out like you did. But that doesn't mean you get to treat me, treat us like this."

"How am I supposed to react?"

"You're supposed to get over the initial shock and be happy that two of the people you care about are happy together."

(On the other side of the table, Cisca leaned closer to Oliver. "When did Y/N and Max start dating?"

"I think he said eleven months ago."

"That long and they haven't told us?"

Flo shushed them both. "Shut up; I'm trying to watch.")

"How am I meant to be happy about you two lying to me for the last year?" Lando demanded.

"I have been trying to apologize and talk to you about that for the last month and you haven't let me! You ran off to Monaco, ditched your Quadrant responsibilities, and left me thinking that I'd ruined things forever. That's such a dick move, Lando! Fuck—"

You were crying again. You wiped angrily at your cheeks, wanting to be taken seriously and get your point across but it was difficult when you had tears running down your face.

"You can't just ditch me like that when things get rough. It's not fair when I've been there with you through everything. I have never not supported you. I have always been there for you. I quit racing so that you wouldn't get passed over. But the second I do something you don't like, you can't give me even an ounce of support in return."

"What do you mean you quit racing so I wouldn't get passed over?"

Your chest went still, blood running cold. Shit. Shit shit shit, Lando was never meant to know about that. You had never planned on telling him. Never ever. Not even when you were old and saggy and there would be no consequences. You were meant to take that secret to the grave.

"That's not what's important. I don't understand—"

"What did you mean, Y/N?"

You gulped. "It's nothing. It was a long time ago, anyway. It doesn't matter."

"Y/N."

.

"Me? You want to sign me?"

The Josef Kaufmann Racing representative grinned at your bewilderment. "Yes, you."

"No way. Are you serious?"

"Completely. It obviously won't be set in stone today and we'll need to speak with your parent or guardian but Carlin would be lucky to have you on our roster next season."

"Oh my god. No way!"

You had been worried about next season as all the 2015 series were nearing their ends and you had yet to have been scouted by any teams. Your contract with Mücke Motorsport was coming to an end after this season but now you had been offered a seat in the next level of racing, at the same team your brother was in talks with, no less.

"Oh, this is great! Lando and I will still be on the same team. You know, my brother and I have always walked about being on the same F1 team. That would be crazy, obviously, but this is just like that but on a smaller scale."

"We'd not be giving your brother a seat."

Your excitement was gone in an instant. "Sorry?"

"Lando wouldn't have the seat in Formula Renault. It would be yours, instead."

"You're offering me... my brother's seat."

"That is correct."

Just like that, you let your career die. "I don't want it, then."

The rep blinked at you. "What?"

"Give the seat to Lando. He's who you want. He's the better driver. He has always finished before me."

"He would not have if you were not defending his position. Josef Kaufmann would rather have you driving for them next year."

"I don't want the seat. Give it to Lando. I was planning on quitting racing, anyway. Sign Lando for next year. He'll do well for you."

.

"Y/N, what the actual fuck?"

You ducked your head. "Don't blow it out of proportion."

"You gave away you entire racing career at the drop of a hat because you didn't want to take a seat that I hadn't even been signed for yet? You— Why would you do that?"

"Because you're my brother."

Behind Lando, Max was staring at you, wide-eyed. All around the table, your family openly stared at you in shock, not quite able to believe the real reason you had suddenly dropped out of racing.

The reason you had given was that you had gotten bored of it. That you had only ever gotten into it because of Lando. That you didn’t want to constantly be in competition with your brother. That when Lando got famous, you didn’t want to be his lesser racing counterpart.

There may have been some truth in those excuses but the whole truth was this: you had been offered the seat Lando was negotiating for and you would not take it from him. You loved racing; you did not love it more than you loved your brother.

“Y/N, I… I honestly don’t even know what to say.”

“You could start with an apology,” Max offered.

“To both of us,” you added.

Max leaned back in his chair. “I’m good back here. Worry about me later.”

“No, she’s right,” Lando said. “I’ve been a real dick to both of you over the last few weeks. You guys didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve always had Max as my chosen best friend and you, Y/N, as my built in best friend but then you guys started getting closer. Then, I found out you’re together and it’s like, what do you need me for if you have each other?”

Any anger you may have been holding onto melted into sympathy. “Aw, Lando—“

“You are so fucking thick, mate,” Max cut in. “You think I’m going to treat my girlfriend the same way I treat your dumbass? I need a platonic best friend just as much as I need a romantic one.”

You laughed at the face Lando pulled.

“If you start referring to us as your platonic and romantic best friends, I’m fleeing to Monaco again.”

“It’s too late. It’s already started, platonic best friend.”

“Eugh, this is terrible. Go back to being awkward acquaintances, please.”

“I love her, mate. There’s no going back from that.”

You loved Max. Wholly and truly you did. How well he got along with Lando was just the icing on the cake, another thing to add onto the list of reasons you were stupidly in love with him.

Your lovesick expression must have been quite obvious because suddenly Lando was shoving your head to the side with a hand over your face.

“Oh my god, don’t look at him like that—I’m gonna barf.”

(Oliver had gone back to his food.

Cisca was still watching, confused. “Wait, so Y/N and Max have been dating for eleven months and not even Lando knew? Why?”

“Apparently, it was an oversight.”

Flo speared an asparagus. “This is better than any TV show I’ve watched all year.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Oliver said.

“I’m the only one enjoying this the correct amount. I’ve been waiting for Lando to stop cockblocking Y/N and Max since 2014. I am allowed to be entertained by their drama.”)

“Can we circle back to the whole quit racing because of Lando thing?” Max asked, “Because what the fuck, babe?”

“You quit racing, too!”

“Because I was burnt out, not because I would rather throw my entire career away than make my brother momentarily unhappy while other teams jumped at the opportunity to sign him up.”

“It’s fine! I mean, look at where Lando is now. Season number five of Formula One! It all worked out in the end.”

.

“Are you really okay with us being together?”

You stood outside with Lando and Max after dinner had finished up. Your parents were loading the dishwasher, Oliver was driving off down the street, and Flo was finishing up doing something with Cisca inside. The three of you were finally able to talk privately.

Lando was quiet for a while after your question. He still seemed a little hesitant but it wasn’t anywhere near how he had reacted in the hotel. He glanced down at where you were holding Max’s hand, then looked away, still thinking.

“You’re not allowed to have sex while I’m in the flat,” is what Lando eventually decided on saying.

Max, unimpressed, said, “It’s a bit late for that, mate.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands.

Lando yelled his displeasure quite loudly. Max just laughed at him, not at all apologetic.

Even if your face was burning, at least you knew things would be okay. You had your brother back. Max had his best friend back. And Lando had both of you back.

The three of you were messy and intertwined but you would be okay.

[bunny-1111]

Eyes dont miss - Theo Nott x reader

Description: When you try to hide your anxiety from your observant boyfriend Theodore, it comes in crashing on you in the middle of the night, and you can't run from it any longer.

TW: anxiety attack

Word count: 1.3k

Fluff, unedited

...

There was little that Theodore missed.

In his eyes, he carried a loaded gun.

Ammo full of meticulous attention to detail.

He had you studied, fluent in you as if you were a language, the twitches in your eyes a verb, the tone in your voice an adjective.

You thought you hid yourself well, well enough to go unnoticed.

But he watched, even when you insisted on being ok.

He was demanding, a trait both good and bad, his stern demeanour insisting on answers, meeting your same stubborn answer, you were okay. Liar.

When it came to you, Theodore wouldn't allow himself to leave the slightest detail unscathed.

He watched and observed as you drew on your arms during class.

How you picked at the skin around your nails under the table of the great hall during dinner, your twitching hands fiddling as if your fingers depended on it.

How would you chew the gums at the side of your mouth

How he felt your fingers claw a little deeper into his shoulder when he suggested you both turn in for bed.

To Theodore, these things were concerning, though, when he would approach and accuse you of being undeniably going through it, you would deny, deny, deny.

Until you both hit the worst of it, in a cold winter night when you couldn't run away from it anymore. In the still and quiet hour of three am, you pant, in a hot sweat, string in a nightmare until Theo woke, immediately halting you up much to your fright.

As you sat up, the heavy rise and fall of your chest began to set him off too, his own breath hitched watching you fall apart for reasons above him.

His heavy hand polished up and down your back, he meant to be gentle, but he couldn't stop his mind to remember to be tender.

"What's going on" his voice echos through your ears

"Why are you yelling?!" you scream, your hands glued to your head, you wanted to rip your hair out there and then.

"What? Darling, talk to me," he quietly softly. He wasn't yelling, though to you. To you, his voice boomed with volume; just focus, you reminded yourself, come on idiot, stop this, stop it, focus, focus, focus.

Your hands fall in front of your face as you dig your nails into your skin time and time over.

When Theodore's hands take hold of your own, realise the almost bloody palms spread out, lacing his palms into yours.

"Feel my hand, hear my voice, c'mon" he whispered out.

His words cut through the fog like a lifeline, grounding you in their gentleness. Your head spun, reality blurred at the edges, but the steady warmth of his hands kept you tethered.

"Look at me," Theo urged softly, voice barely a murmur, as if afraid to startle you. He didn’t pull you out of the moment harshly, didn’t demand you shake it off. No, he anchored you, the pad of his thumb brushing along the back of your knuckles, each slow pass soothing, steadying.

He kept as much distance as he could, as if you were roadkill like he was gently aiding you off the road.

"Feel that, love?" he whispered, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that was grounding in its calmness. "That’s me. I’m right here. I’ve got you."

You nodded, though the tremor in your hands betrayed you. Theo’s gaze remained unwavering, watching every flicker in your expression, the tiny cracks forming in your armour. You felt his hand drift to your cheek, warm and solid, the weight of it reassuring.

"I—" you started, words tangling in your throat, the shame of it making you flinch. The anxiety had been building for days, creeping up on you like a shadow. You'd convinced yourself you could manage, that you didn't need anyone, but Teddy wouldn't have that.

You weren't clueless. You brushed off his attempts of interrogation, but at this point, you were defenceless.

“You don’t have to explain it all, you know,” he murmured, his voice carrying the hint of a smile, as if he already understood without needing your words. "Just breathe. With me."

He guided you, slow and rhythmic, his own breathing soft and even. You mirrored him, matching his inhales and exhales, feeling the wild storm inside begin to quiet.

“Better?” he asked after a moment, not rushing, just waiting for you. His hand didn’t leave yours, fingers laced like he wouldn’t dare let go. And somehow, that small gesture made you feel safer than you’d felt in days.

You nodded again, feeling your heartbeat slow, the panic that had gripped you loosening, dissolving under his patient watch.

“Theo…” your voice broke a little, shaky and raw, but he just shook his head, his lips quirking up in that way that made you feel seen. Not judged. Not pitied. Just seen.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll always be here, yeah? I've got eyes on you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

And in that moment, you knew he meant it.

Theo's gaze softened even further, though his grip on your hand remained firm, grounding. The quiet between you both was filled with his silent assurances, a warmth that felt like a promise of safety. Your heart felt exposed, raw, but under Theo’s watchful eyes, vulnerability didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like trust.

He shifted closer, closing the small gap between you, his knees brushing against yours as he sat across from you on the bed. “This… whatever it is you’re carrying,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You hesitated, your mind flickering back to the countless times you’d brushed off his concern with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. You’d thought you were sparing him, protecting him from the weight of it all. But Theo was persistent, as if each little gesture you’d thought went unnoticed only made him more determined to understand.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back from the haze of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know?” His voice was calm, unwavering. “Not with me. I’d rather have your truth than your silence.”

A shiver ran down your spine, the walls you’d built up crumbling in the quiet of his words. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over you, like a weight finally lifted.

"I… I didn’t want you to worry,” you whispered, your voice so soft it almost felt like a confession. “Didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it.”

Theo tilted his head, an understanding smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Love, if handling it means suffering alone, I’d rather you not handle it at all.” His tone was gentle, but the conviction in his words was unyielding. "You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a sense of warmth through your chest, leaving you feeling exposed yet comforted in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. Slowly, he reached up, his hand brushing the hair back from your face, his touch feather-light but grounding.

You took a shaky breath, letting yourself lean into his touch, allowing the weight of the moment to settle. For the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to not be okay. Because Theo wasn’t going anywhere. And for him, your honesty mattered more than anything you could hide.

The panic and the anxiety might not be going anytime soon, but you knew neither was Theo.

“Thank you,” you breathed, the words barely audible, but Theo heard. He always did. He listened, and watched and understood, he loved with all his senses. He never missed.

...

A/N, my darlings, I'm back writing again. Requests are open, and if any of you suffer from anxiety, my inbox is always a safe place for you to come and talk about it, or anything in general.

Peace and love,

B.

[annwrites]

⸻ give me your wrists. ⸻

· pairing: dark!jacaerysvelaryon x fem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: jace spoils you in many ways. · tags: cnc, unprotected p in v sex, rope-play, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, oral (f receiving; blink & you'll miss it) · word count: 960

Cool metal slides around your throat, rows of shimmering rubies resting atop your breasts.

Your eyes widen as you stare at yourself in the looking glass. "Jace!"

You swiftly turn around to him, only to find a pleased smirk upon his lips. He knew you would have this reaction. Sometimes you think that's why he does it.

He gently runs his knuckles along your soft, warm cheek. "Yes, my sweet?"

Your hand comes up to caress the jewels. "I don't need rubies. Or—or sapphires, or emeralds, diamonds, or—"

"Pearls, then," he interjects with a raised brow. "No, nevermind that. I already purchased you a string of them. Mayhaps something with amethyst next, then?"

You stare up at him in bewilderment. "Jacaerys, this is too much. All of it."

He firmly grips your chin between his fingertips. "It pleases me to gift you fine things. To spoil you. So let me."

He shrugs. "It is an order. Given by your prince."

You stand, wishing to make him see sense. "The gowns—silk and gossamer and tulle. I cannot so much as wear them outside this room, lest someone suspect. Lest they...lest your mother, or Baela, even, discover I am your—your concubine."

He steps a small step closer, leaning down as his fingers slide along the back of your head, burying themselves in your curls.

"Perhaps I should set her aside, then," he states, leaning down, pressing his lips to your pulse, his experienced tongue flicking against it.

He always does this when you try to have any sort of serious discussion about the potential repercussions for the things the two of you have been doing in his bed.

He distracts you.

With sex.

"You cannot jest about such things," you say, your voice a breathless sigh.

His lips come to hover over your own. "I never stated I was."

He presses his lips to your own then, not wishing to hear further arguments. He desires to have his way with you instead.

Again.

He grips you beneath your thighs, carrying you back over to his mattress—the sheets already covered in the both of you from your early-morning escapades—and he thrusts back inside of you.

He grips your chin in one hand, holding your lips to his as his other fists the soiled sheets while he finds his pleasure inside of you.

His skin slaps against yours, your soft breasts bouncing with every thrust of his long member.

Tears prick your eyes at the feeling of overstimulation.

"Jace," you say quietly, his lips moving back to your neck as your fingers tangle in his hair. "We've been at it all morn. I—Gods—I'm so sore."

He places his lips near your ear. "I'm not nearly satiated, my love."

You whimper, your chin wobbling. "Please."

He kisses your cheek softly, slamming into you, causing you to sob. "Dragons have large appetites. Mine own will require quite a great deal more attention this day."

"How many—mm—more?"

He presses soft kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. "As many as your prince commands."

"I have finished as it is, ah, five times. Please, Jacaerys."

He glances toward the head of the bed, and then back to you. "Do you wish to use our agreed upon word, then?"

You sniffle, considering. And then you shake your head.

"Give me your wrists."

You stare up at him, your lower lip trembling. "Oh, Gods, not again..."

He takes each of them in-hand, slipping them through familiar loops, tightening. He stands, slick cock slipping out of you and bouncing between his thighs as he repeats the same with your ankles at the foot of the bed.

You watch as he begins to stroke himself, a pounding pulse settled between your thighs now.

He runs his thumb along his weeping tip. "Do you not wish to please me?"

A tear slips down your cheek, followed by another. "I do."

"Then this is how you should achieve it. By being at my complete disposal."

He sits on the edge of the bed, slipping two fingers inside your fiery heat, his seed still leaking out of you from earlier.

He arches upward, gently massaging, and your body jerks in response to his touch.

"It hurts, it hurts!"

He ignores your cries as he presses down with his palm, continuing to tease you, fingers slowly easing out and then back in.

"Gods, I don't...ah, I don't think I can take much more."

He leans down, sucking on your clit for a moment before sitting back up. "You've no other choice."

He begins to frantically fuck you then with his long digits, your limbs tightening, pulling against the ropes, but he knows: you are not going anywhere.

Trying to quiet yourself does little good. You alternate between sighs and groans of pain, and squeals of elation.

He circles his thumb over your swollen, pulsating clit and you gasp. "Please stop, not there!"

He ignores your desperate pleas as he continues, your hands twisting around the ropes, your toes curling.

He presses down on your stomach harder and you stare up at him as you cry. "Jace, please!"

"Nearly there. I can always tell," is all he cares to respond with.

You body tightens, your velvet walls quickly contracting.

"Oh Gods, no. No, please! Not again! I can't, not again!"

"Māzigon."

"Gods, please stop!" You scream as you orgasm, liquid spilling from your cunt, further soaking his already damp sheets as the ropes pull taught.

You begin to bawl then. "It hurts so badly. Please, untie me. I am begging you, My Prince."

He leans over you, readying himself. "As I said, it will be as many times as I command."

With that, he submerges himself inside of you, kissing away your tears, mentally making a note to buy you earrings of amethyst as reward on the morrow.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Sprouting Love (m) | knj

As snowflakes dance in the crisp winter air, you and Namjoon find yourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company. The holiday season brings the aroma of freshly baked cookies, the magic of twinkling lights strung through the house, and laughter echoing in your greenhouse where you tend to flourishing plants, lovingly nurtured together. Amid the glow of Christmas cheer and shared moments filled with wonder, perhaps this season will sprinkle a touch of courage and clarity to finally define the blossoming connection between you. Will the magic of Christmas help turn what’s unspoken into something beautifully real?

→ Pairing: namjoon x reader (female) → AUs: non-idol!au, gardening!au, neighbors!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: (enemies to lovers) / neighbors to lovers / friends with benefits to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy (+ a little angst) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 13.7k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex (please be safe), degrading name calling, hair pulling, sexual tension, oral (male receiving), rough but also tender, a lot of kissing, a lot of tension, dirty talk, stupid innuendos, multiple orgasms, praise kink, begging, exhibitionism (unintentionally), impregnation kink, begging, big dick Joonie 👀 + glasses and turtlenecks.  → Author’s note: ahhhh. I know a lot of you love this couple (and I do too!). So here’s another part to it, that’s almost as long as the whole mini series 😂 I hope you like it and happy holidays! 🎄 → Read the spoiler? [text messages]  → Read on AO3? [link] 

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | 

You make the short walk to Namjoon’s house, each step tingling with the thrill of anticipation that never quite fades, no matter how many times you’ve walked to his house. The winter air whispers secrets against your skin, and when you reach his door, your knuckles barely touch the wood before it swings open as if he had been waiting on the other side, sensing your arrival like some instinctual force. 

“Hi, Joonie—” you start, but your words catch in your throat, swept away by the vision standing before you. Namjoon leans casually in the doorway, barefoot on the cool floor, his loose gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. A black wooly turtleneck, soft and perfectly snug, accentuates his lean big frame, the sleeves gathered around his strong forearms. He shifts slightly, and you spot caramel-brown suede patches on the elbows, details that shouldn’t be alluring but are, somehow, because they are his. 

Dear god, send help, you think, as you try to steady the wild flutter in your chest. How does a man make something so simple look so impossibly captivating? His hair is still that soft silver shade, a gentle stormcloud you’ve come to love, its unruly strands tempting you to reach out and run your fingers through them. Over the past few months, he has become more than just a fleeting presence in your life, even if you both refuse to define what you are to each other. You still remember the moment that changed everything—when you gathered the courage to apologize for your reckless behavior, and he, with the ease of someone who understood you more than he should, forgave you. That night at his housewarming party had led to your lips on his, your inhibitions crumbling, and his laughter echoing in your ears long after you both lost yourselves in each other’s warmth.

Namjoon has always had this uncanny ability to stir chaos within you, then anchor you with just a look or a word. No one has ever made you feel this way—unpredictable yet somehow perfectly at peace, like a storm that finally finds its calm. Yet, despite the countless nights tangled in his sheets and countless moments where his presence felt like home, neither of you has dared to put a name to what you share. It’s undefined, beautifully so, even if it gnaws at the corners of your heart sometimes. But for now, this is enough. It has to be.

His voice pulls you back to the present, warm and teasing, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Hi, Y/N. Do you need help with something? Or,” he adds, a smirk tugging at his lips, “do you have an itch that needs scratching?” His eyebrows lift, suggestive and playful.

Your cheeks warm at his flirtation, but you recover quickly, slipping into the playful defiance that has always been your defense. “Well,” you say with a smirk and a giggle, leaning in just a touch, “I am ovulating.” The words hang between you, bold and taunting.

Namjoon’s mouth falls open, and he stares at you, wide-eyed, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in that adorably nervous way of his. “You know I’m not ready for kids, and we’re not even… together,” he stammers, his voice faltering. His statement is like a tiny fissure in the moment, and it stings, the reminder of what you are—or aren’t—but you cover the hurt with a laugh.

“Relax,” you reply, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know I’m on birth control, and it was just a joke.” 

You step closer, so close now that his breath mingles with yours, warm and sweet, the space between you charged and electric. “But,” you whisper, your voice low and wicked, “we could roleplay. I know how much the idea of impregnation turns you on, Joonie.” Your smile is devilish, delighting in the way his cheeks flush a deep crimson, the way you’ve come to know his secrets and use them to unravel him.

“It does not,” he protests, crossing his arms with a mock pout, the hint of a stammer betraying his feigned offense. You can’t help but smile at the way his brows knit together, his sulky act so endearing that it almost pulls a real laugh from your lips.

“Relax, that’s not why I dropped by,” you tease, a playful shrug rolling off your shoulders as your hand reaches out to rest against his chest. Beneath your fingers, you feel the familiar contradiction of his body: the softness of his black wooly turtleneck giving way to the solid, unyielding muscle beneath. God, you think, so soft, yet so perfectly taut, those sculpted pecs.

“It isn’t?” he questions, his eyes narrowing with a glint of something unsaid, a spark of curiosity mingled with heat. But this time, you’ve got more to offer than just teasing banter.

“No,” you say with a warm smile, the sexual tension melting away and leaving something more tender in its place. “I actually wanted to see if you’d come over and help me bake cookies for the local orphanage.” Your voice softens, sincerity peeking through, and a touch of vulnerability brightens your eyes.

You watch how his expression shifts, his features melting from playful disbelief into something far more gentle. First, his eyes narrow knowingly, but then his entire face softens, the warmth in his gaze like sunlight breaking through a heavy cloud. “Yeah, sure,” he says, his voice steady, sincere. “I’d love to.”

A rush of relief blooms in your chest, and you exhale with a beaming smile. “Thank you! Usually, Kookie helps me, but he’s busy today,” you add, lips pursing into an exaggerated pout. “It’s kind of a tradition for me to make cookies and bring them to the orphanage every Christmas,” you explain, your smile growing at the thought.

“Nice,” he replies, his eyes lighting up with a touch of amusement as he gestures at the festive Christmas apron tied snugly around your waist. “Are you going to make them now?”

You nod, your breath leaving in a small cloud in the cold air. “Yeah.”

“I can help now,” he offers, and with that, he steps back into his house, slipping on some cozy slippers before joining you. The snow crunches underfoot as you both walk the short, chilly distance to your house, where warmth and holiday spirit await. The driveways have been cleared, the path to your front door inviting, and when Namjoon closes the door behind him, the cold is immediately banished.

Inside, your kitchen looks like a Christmas explosion. Mixing bowls of various sizes clutter the counter, flour dusted liberally across every surface, with rogue sprinkles even trailing onto the floor. Bars of chocolate lie waiting to be chopped, and the oven hums contentedly, filling the space with soothing warmth. The chaos makes it clear: you’ve already begun the festivities.

“Wow,” Namjoon murmurs, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “I can see why you needed help.” His voice is a mix of awe and playful judgment, and you can’t help but let out a small, sheepish laugh.

You scratch your head, an embarrassed giggle escaping. “Yeah, I always bite off more than I can chew,” you admit, your laughter brightening the room even more. You step toward the counter, already thinking of ways to channel Namjoon’s energy into something useful. “Do you want to chop the chocolate?” you offer.

He freezes, his eyes widening with mock terror, and his deep laugh rumbles through the kitchen. “I better not,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “You know how clumsy I am.” You think back to his infamous accidents: the greenhouse he demolished, the garden beds he obliterated—all unfortunate mishaps that had somehow led to these shared moments, bringing you closer.

“True,” you chuckle, the memory making you squeeze his bicep as you pass behind him. The muscle beneath your touch is solid, reassuring. “Okay, then,” you say, gently guiding him toward the mixing bowls. “If you mix the batter, I’ll handle the chocolate,” you suggest, and he nods, his laughter still dancing in the air between you.

You find your rhythm with Namjoon: a steady, unspoken dance of movements. He mixes the batter with those powerful biceps of his, muscles flexing beneath his sweater as he works the spoon through the thick dough. You try not to stare, but god, how can you not? The sight is distracting, dangerously so, and you have to remind yourself to keep your focus on chopping chocolate, the sharp knife clinking rhythmically against the cutting board. Your hands work swiftly, but your gaze can’t help but drift, lingering over the way his arms tense and move. Damn, you think, heat blooming in your cheeks. You shouldn’t be ogling him like this… but resisting feels impossible.

The kitchen grows warm and sweet, scented with chocolate and flour, the air heavy with anticipation. Namjoon finishes mixing the dough, and together you shape it into perfect, palm-sized portions, setting them onto baking trays. He’s meticulous, and you can’t help but feel a small swell of pride as you watch him carefully pat each ball of dough into place. You slide the first tray into the oven, only one at a time—your old, temperamental oven too unpredictable for more. Patience will have to pay off if it means the cookies will be perfectly golden.

The two of you stand side by side, the silence suddenly thick, almost suffocating. The tension wraps around you like a taut string, ready to snap at the smallest movement. To break it, you grab a couple of glasses, filling them with cold water, hoping the simple action might soothe whatever current crackles between you. But even as you drink, neither of you speaks, the electricity palpable.

Before you can find something to say, a new presence cuts through the tension as Jungkook stumbles into the kitchen, descending from the staircase with the heavy-lidded look of someone freshly woken. His hair is a tousled, endearing mess, dark strands sticking out at odd angles as he drags a hand through them, yawning wide. “Hey, what are you guys doing?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, still rubbing the remnants of his dreams from his eyes.

“Baking cookies,” you reply, smiling at the sight of him, though you can’t help but wonder why he’s only just now waking up when it’s the middle of the day. He looks entirely too soft and adorable, making you feel a small pang of fondness.

Jungkook’s nose twitches, catching the scent of baking chocolate. “Smells good,” he says, eyes lighting up as he takes a few sleepy steps closer to the kitchen counter where you and Namjoon stand—close, but not touching. “Can I have some in my room?” he asks, hopeful, his voice still gravelly with sleep. He looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, a pout forming on his lips.

“No,” you say firmly, fixing him with a stern look. “These are for the orphanage.”

“Just one?” he tries again, his expression a perfect picture of adorable desperation. But you hold your ground, shaking your head.

“No,” you repeat, more resolutely this time. Yet Jungkook, mischievous as ever, slides over to the bowls of dough, his eyes gleaming with determination. He reaches out, fingers poised to swipe a handful of unbaked cookie dough. 

Before he can steal his prize, Namjoon’s reflexes kick in. With a swift, almost effortless movement, he intercepts Jungkook’s hand, swatting it away before it can come anywhere near contaminating your carefully prepared batter. You’re grateful for Namjoon’s intervention, and for a moment, the amusement makes the tension between you dissolve just a little.

Jungkook rubs his hand, feigning injury with a dramatic pout, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Namjoon. Something flashes in his gaze—curiosity, awareness—an unspoken question lingering in the air as he watches the two of you. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if he’s caught on to something unsaid, something charged. The look he gives you is knowing, but he doesn’t say a word.

“What are you doing, anyway?” Jungkook asks, his lips curling into a smirk that suggests mischief brewing beneath his sleepy demeanor. His eyes glint with a teasing challenge, the kind only someone who knows how to poke at your soft spots can deliver.

You tilt your head, brows knitting together, confusion settling over you like a mist. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice curious but cautious, already sensing that whatever he’s about to say will unsettle the fragile balance you’ve created here.

Jungkook’s smirk deepens, the troublemaker’s spark lighting up his gaze. He takes his time, savoring the pause, drawing it out like a slow intake of breath before the storm. “I mean,” he drawls, letting the anticipation build before delivering his question, “are you two official now, or what?” His voice cuts through the air, as sharp and casual as a knife slipped between armor.

The question pierces through you, freezing you for a heartbeat. You scramble for words, but they don’t come. Your chest tightens, because the truth is you don’t know. You’re not official with Namjoon, and the ambiguity gnaws at you in quiet moments, whispering doubts you try so hard to ignore. All you’ve shared is laughter, nights tangled together, and moments that feel like home—but nothing labeled, nothing secure. 

Namjoon clears his throat, breaking the tension. “We’re just having a good time,” he says, his voice even, calm, as if those words don’t twist at something vulnerable inside you. “Why should we need to label things?” His question hangs in the air, breezy yet barbed, and it stings more than you care to admit.

Your heart gives a small, involuntary ache, but you swallow it down, as you’ve done so many times before. You’d love nothing more than to put a name to what this is, to solidify the feelings that swim in the spaces between you. But Namjoon’s words remind you where you stand, and you try to tuck those fragile hopes away, out of sight.

Instead, you plaster on a smirk, masking the sting, and turn to Jungkook. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on Jimin instead of meddling in our business, huh?” you tease, your voice light but with an edge of deflection.

Jungkook flinches, his face draining of color for a moment before flushing with a bright, mortified blush. He looks at you like you’ve unearthed a well-guarded secret, and his eyes widen in a way that makes you feel a small triumph.

“Yeah, we know,” you muse, the corners of your mouth lifting with satisfaction. Before the tension can thicken further, the oven timer beeps, and Namjoon turns to carefully pull the tray of cookies from the heat, the warm aroma of melted chocolate spilling into the air. He sets the tray aside to let the cookies cool, and you slide a new batch into the oven, trying to ground yourself in the familiar rhythm.

You grab a warm cookie and wrap it in a paper towel, turning back to Jungkook, who’s still blushing furiously. “Just because I like Jimin,” you quip, “I’ll give you a cookie for him—none for you.” You press the cookie into his hand, a grin curling at your lips. “Make sure to say hi from us. We know he’s up there in your bedroom.”

Jungkook’s blush deepens, his face blooming beet-red as he takes the cookie with reluctant, embarrassed hands. He mumbles something incoherent, then spins on his heel, hurrying back toward the stairs, too flustered to form a coherent protest. You watch him go, his retreat filling the room with a burst of humor that almost—but not quite—eases the ache still lingering in your heart.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in a flurry of flour and laughter, baking batch after batch of cookies. You try to push thoughts of your undefined relationship with Namjoon into the recesses of your mind, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of your work. The cookies cool on wire racks, their chocolate-sweet aroma filling the kitchen and settling over you like a comforting blanket. Carefully, you pack them into glass jars adorned with festive ribbons, each one sparkling with the warm, nostalgic spirit of Christmas.

“Do you want to come with me to the orphanage to deliver the cookies?” you ask, your voice soft yet hopeful. Namjoon glances at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He agrees, and together you load the jars into your car. The scent of freshly baked cookies lingers, weaving itself through the crisp, frosty air as you drive down snow-dusted roads. The landscape is a winter wonderland with treetops crowned with snow, branches shimmering with icy lace, and the streets lined with drifts that sparkle under the pale afternoon light.

When you arrive at the orphanage, the children’s laughter and wide-eyed smiles fill you with a deep, quiet joy. Their faces light up as they receive the cookies, little hands clutching the sweet gifts, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell. Namjoon stands beside you, watching you interact with the kids. There’s something tender in his gaze, something he doesn’t put into words, but it wraps around you all the same.

On the drive back, the silence between you feels serene, softened by the shared experience. Snowflakes begin to drift lazily from the sky, catching in the beams of the headlights. Namjoon turns to you, his voice curious yet gentle. “So you do this every Christmas?” he asks, breaking the comfortable quiet.

You smile, your hands steady on the wheel as you flick the blinker to signal a turn. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice tinged with the sweet ache of memory. “Always. It’s something my mom used to do. When she passed, I wanted to carry on her tradition, to keep her spirit alive in this small way.” The words come out soft, but they hold the weight of years, love, and loss.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Namjoon says, his tone low and sincere. You glance over at him, offering a gentle smile, the kind that carries acceptance and peace. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice a quiet reassurance. “It happened a long time ago.”

He exhales, the breath almost visible in the chill of the car, and he clears his throat, nervous but determined. “Do you want to help me decorate my place?” he asks, his words a gentle offering. “And I’ll help get yours ready for Christmas too.”

A genuine smile breaks across your face, a warmth sparking in your chest. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” you reply. “I’ll need to pick up some new ornaments, though. I know just the place we can go.” The idea of shopping for holiday decorations together, of filling both your spaces with light and laughter, feels like a small but significant promise.

Namjoon’s hand drifts down to rest on your thigh, a quiet gesture of connection that makes your heart flutter. His touch stays there for the rest of the ride, grounding you, warming you, as snowflakes twirl and dance outside the windows.

“Hi, babe,” Namjoon says, and just with that one simple word, he manages to unravel you. The casual endearment sends a shiver of longing through your heart, a tiny thrill that sparks questions you never quite manage to silence—the ones about what you really mean to each other. Your heart flutters like the wings of a restless bird, and even though a part of you wishes he didn’t have this power over you, there’s no denying it. Deep down, you love that he does. You crave the comfort and warmth he brings, even if you sometimes wish it came with the certainty of a label.

“Hi, Joonie,” you reply, your voice soft but bright, as if it alone can welcome him out of the winter cold. A rush of freezing air follows him inside, nipping at your cheeks, and you gesture hurriedly for him to come in and shut the chill away. 

He steps across the threshold, the scent of fresh snow clinging to his coat, and a smile unfurls on his lips, dimples deepening. “I was wondering if you’d show me your greenhouse again,” he says, and there’s a childlike wonder in his eyes, a curiosity that never fails to enchant you. “I’m curious to see what plants you have out there braving the winter. And maybe we could start some seeds for next season?”

His voice is filled with genuine interest, and the way he looks at you—wide-eyed and eager—melts something inside your chest. You can’t help but smile back. Those damn dimples of his, so disarming, so inexplicably endearing. “Oh, definitely,” you say, your eyes lighting up. “I’ve been meaning to sow some new seeds, actually. Peas, chilies, Asian greens—they thrive even in this frozen weather.”

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice soft and sincere, a gentle offering that wraps around you like a warm scarf. The idea of working side by side with him, hands deep in the soil, fills you with quiet joy.

“Do you have time now?” he asks, his words tender, like he’s afraid of shattering the moment.

“Yeah,” you respond, feeling a surge of anticipation as you reach for something warm to wear. You pull on an extra-thick pair of wool socks, a cozy sweater, and then layer yourself in a heavy parka and boots. Namjoon is already dressed for the bitter cold, bundled up but still managing to look effortlessly handsome. Even though you’ll be spending time in the greenhouse, the air there is only a degree or two warmer than outside—it’s a space that holds more promise than heat during the winter.

Together, you make your way outside, your footsteps crunching in the snow. You lead the way, the cold biting at your cheeks, but the warmth of his presence close behind keeps you from feeling the chill too deeply. Sliding the glass door of the greenhouse open, you step inside and usher him in, closing the door behind you. The stillness of the space wraps around you both, the smell of damp earth mingling with the crisp scent of winter.

“Have you thought about getting a greenhouse of your own?” you ask, a playful lilt in your voice. It’s a conversation you’ve shared before, a running joke ever since he accidentally wrecked yours with that wild ball throw months ago. You watch his face for a reaction, and he laughs, a deep, rich sound that seems to warm the chilly air around you.

“Yeah, I think I’d like to get one for the summer season,” Namjoon muses, his voice thoughtful, warm as a patch of sunlight breaking through clouds. “But I’m still not sure. That’s part of why I’m so curious about what you’ve managed to grow in the dead of winter. If I’m going to invest in one, I want to make the most of it, you know?” He pauses, a playful grin curving his lips as he glances at you. “But honestly, maybe I should just keep helping you with yours. It’s more fun together, don’t you think?” 

He tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, wandering deeper into the greenhouse, his gaze sweeping over the lush, vibrant greens defying the frost outside. Even in the shelter of the greenhouse, the air is tinged with the crispness of winter, but Namjoon’s presence feels like a hearth fire—steady, comforting, and a little too warm when you think of how easily he fits into these shared moments.

“I understand,” you say, your voice as tender as the soft leaves unfurling in your garden beds. “And you’re always welcome in my greenhouse, you know that.” You follow close behind him, pointing out the resilient Asian salads thriving in their earthy homes: delicate mibuna, sturdy bok choy, crisp cabbage, and even the spicy thrill of wasabi salad. There’s purple kale, vibrant and defiant against the cold, and winter carrots, their secrets buried until it’s time to harvest.

Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief. “Oh, so you did manage to grow something after I, uh, accidentally destroyed your greenhouse?” He gestures toward the patch of winter carrots, a sheepish look stealing across his face.

You chuckle, the memory of his well-meaning chaos warming you. “Yeah, I did,” you reply, a smile dancing on your lips. “You can even try one if you want.”

With that, Namjoon kneels gracefully by the garden bed. Even through the bulky layers of his coat, the contours of his body are undeniable, and your traitorous mind takes note of the way his dark jeans hug him in all the right places. He reaches for a carrot, pulling at the green stem with gentle strength until a large, brilliantly orange carrot emerges from the soil. As he brushes the dirt away, he raises it to his lips, and there’s something distractingly captivating about the way he bites into it. The crisp snap of the carrot echoes in the stillness, a sound that somehow makes your breath hitch.

“It’s good,” he says, his voice reverent, like he’s savoring more than just a vegetable. “Crisp and sweet.” His words are innocent enough, but heat blooms on your cheeks as your mind wanders to other things that are, admittedly, very sweet.

“So, what are we going to sow?” he asks, watching as you gather trays and soil. There’s an excitement in his gaze, an eagerness that makes your own heart quicken.

“Like I said earlier,” you reply, grinning as you lay out the seedling trays in a neat row on the workbench. “Peas first. They’re hardy, even in this cold, and planting them early means we’ll have a head start on the harvest. We can sow extra so you’ll have some to take home and plant in your garden. They’re amazing because they climb and flourish wherever they’re given even a little support.” 

“And then, chilies,” you continue, your eyes sparkling. “We’ll start them here, but they’ll need to come inside to sprout, where it’s warmer. It’s always good to start them early so they can be transferred outside when spring rolls in. Later in the new year, we can put them in the greenhouse or straight into the garden beds.” You take a breath and continue, “And of course, more greens and salads. They’re slower to sprout in this cold, but they’ll make it, strong and resilient, like little winter warriors.”

Namjoon listens intently, his gaze never leaving you. There’s a peacefulness in the moment, as if the greenhouse holds its breath, cocooning you both in a world of shared ambitions and quiet dreams.

You suddenly realize you’ve forgotten the seeds. “Ah, I left the seeds inside,” you say, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Wait here while I grab them.” Namjoon nods, his eyes following you as you hurry back to the house, the cold nipping at your heels, urgency making you quick on your feet. 

Inside, you snatch up the old tin where you keep your seeds—its surface worn and familiar, full of whispered promises of new life waiting to burst forth from the soil. When you return to the greenhouse, you pause for a moment, caught by the sight of Namjoon. He’s crouched low, his focus completely absorbed by a small bok choy plant, tracing the way its tender, jade-hued leaves meld into deep shadows where the veins run dark. There’s a quiet reverence in his expression, as though he’s marveling at the tiny miracle of survival in the cold. 

“We can get started,” you say, a soft smile warming your face. Namjoon rises, his dimples peeking out as he grins back, and joins you in front of the workbench. You pour soil into a wide basin, mixing in perlite and vermiculite, the earthy aroma mingling with the crisp air. Your hands work with practiced grace, kneading the soil to loosen its texture, giving it life and breath.

“I’ve never added perlite or vermiculite to soil before,” Namjoon admits, wonder flickering in his voice as he watches the small white and gold specks sift through your fingers. You giggle, a sound as light and unburdened as petals drifting on a breeze. Most people don’t bother, but you’ve always been particular about these things.

“Try it sometime,” you encourage. “It makes for the best potting mix—less dense, better drainage, and the roots love it. And always use seed-starting soil. It has less fertilizer, so it’s gentler on seedlings.” Your hands press through the soil, feeling every grain and clump, savoring the dirt wedging beneath your nails. You’ve never cared for gloves; the raw, honest texture of the earth grounds you, as if reminding you that growth is always a little messy.

Namjoon tilts his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “I thought fertilizer was good?” he asks, and for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if his passion for plants runs as deep as he claims. But then again, you know that not everyone shares your level of obsession.

“It is—once the plant has grown a bit,” you explain, meeting his gaze with a patient smile. “Too much, too soon, and it can harm the seedling. Gentle care first, then nourishment.” You gesture for him to step closer, feeling the way the greenhouse seems to shrink around you, warm and cocooned.

He reaches for a packet of seeds—peas, full of promise—and you prepare the seedling tray, filling each cell with your custom soil mix. Using your dibber, you create neat holes for planting. Namjoon leans closer, and together you work in quiet tandem, dropping each tiny seed into its place, the rhythm of it comforting, like a shared heartbeat.

When you finish the tray, you dust your dirt-stained hands together. “Great. Now onto the next seeds,” you declare, and Namjoon dives in to help. His hands move alongside yours, scooping soil, pressing it down gently, but not too tight, and it feels strangely intimate, this act of creating life together.

Namjoon watches you, a hint of mischief curling at the edges of his thoughts. You’re skilled at this, at working with your hands—deliberate, sure, and endlessly fascinating. His mind drifts, unbidden, to the times your hands have moved over him, how your touch has lit up his world in ways that make him blush now, here among tender greens and the scent of new soil. Damn it, he chides himself, this isn’t the time to be thinking such thoughts.

But it’s hard not to, with the memory of your touch and the taste of your laughter tangled together in his mind, like vines climbing toward the light.

He flashes a mischievous grin. “You know, I love getting a little dirty with you in the garden,” he teases, his voice playful and warm as he gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder. You laugh, the sound bright and ringing through the greenhouse, and a rosy blush colors your cheeks as the double meaning sinks in. It’s a shared, private joke, laced with an intimacy that makes your heart skip.

Together, you keep working, your hands growing numb from the cold, yet neither of you want to stop. The chill is creeping into your bones, but the way you work side by side, sowing seeds and exchanging glances, brings a certain kind of warmth all on its own. When the final seed is nestled in the soil and the last tray prepared, you finally shiver. “We should take the chili seedlings inside,” you say, your breath visible in the icy air. “And… do you want to come in for a bit? I could bake a cake and make some hot cocoa.”

Namjoon’s eyes light up, and he smiles wide, the kind that shows his dimples. “I couldn’t say no to that,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice. He grabs the glass door, holding it open for you as you step out, and he follows, closing it behind with a satisfying click.

Inside the house, warmth greets you like an embrace. You shed your heavy parka and boots, and Namjoon mirrors your actions, his movements unhurried, as if savoring this transition from the cold to the cozy. You carry the seedling tray over to the kitchen window, where a grow light waits to nurture the tiny plants. The sun has set, painting the world outside in hues of blue and shadow, but the light inside feels like hope.

Gathering ingredients, you set to work making hot cocoa, the rich scent of chocolate already beginning to fill the air. Namjoon pulls a stool from the dining area and drags it closer, settling down to watch you. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze is intent, as though he’s entranced by the rhythm of your hands as they move. Your fingers skim over a packet of flour, measure brown sugar with precision, and whisk together the batter for a carrot cake with the greenhouse carrots you stored in the fridge. 

Namjoon is captivated. He always is during moments like this—when you’re fully in your element, focused and graceful, your movements as fluid and sure as a melody. His eyes trace your hands, trailing from the way your fingers curl around a spoon to how you tilt your head slightly, concentrating. There’s something magnetic about it, the way you pour yourself into the simplest tasks, as if even the act of baking holds an unspoken promise of care.

But as he watches, the heat in his gaze deepens, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. His body betrays him, a familiar stirring between his thighs. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore—how easily you have this effect on him, even when you’re not trying. But he can’t help it, can’t control how the sight of your hands moving so deftly, so sensuously over everyday things, ignites thoughts he knows he shouldn’t entertain right now. 

He shifts subtly on the stool, grateful for the kitchen counter that hides the evidence of his arousal, while you remain blissfully unaware, pouring the batter into a baking mold with a contented hum. Namjoon bites his lip and takes a steadying breath, trying to refocus on the warmth of this moment, even as temptation tugs at the edges of his mind.

When you slide the cake batter into the oven, the warm scent of spices already beginning to fill the air, you turn your attention back to Namjoon. Something in his expression seems off—or perhaps, not quite off, but different. There’s a tension in the way he sits, his body radiating heat, his eyes darkened with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. 

Curious, you move past the kitchen counter, your footsteps soft against the wooden floor. As soon as you round the corner and see him clearly, you stop in your tracks, your breath catching in a startled, husky “oh.” Your voice wavers, that simple exclamation filled with an undeniable hunger.

Namjoon lets out a low, teasing chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Realizing there’s no use in hiding his desire, he shifts, spreading his legs wider in the chair. The movement makes the strain in his jeans even more obvious, the hard outline pressing against the denim, leaving nothing to the imagination. Heat rushes through your veins, your gaze flickering between his smoldering brown eyes and the undeniable evidence of his arousal.

“You’re so good with your hands, babe,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a sultry, resonant purr that drips with need. “Why don’t you put them to good use and help me with this problem?” His words are thick with desire, and he gestures toward the bulge, which seems to pulse with a life of its own, the denim stretched taut and unforgiving. You can’t help but wonder if the fabric is torturously tight, if he’s even comfortable in those form-fitting jeans.

You step closer, your movements slow, languid, like a feline circling her prey. Your eyes glitter with a mix of playful defiance and unrestrained want. A knowing smile tugs at your lips as you draw nearer, deliberately dragging out each moment to make him squirm. “Hmm,” you hum, batting your lashes provocatively, savoring the power in your hands. You trail your fingers lightly across his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle through his gray turtleneck, and he shudders under your touch.

Circling him, you let your gaze wander over his flushed face, loving how he stares at you like you’re the only thing he needs in this moment. “Jungkook isn’t home,” you muse, your voice a low, teasing whisper, “and the cake won’t be done for a while…” Your finger traces down his torso, each touch featherlight, leaving a trail of anticipation in its wake. “Which gives us plenty of time to deal with this very big problem.”

You finish with a suggestive wink, your hand curling into the soft collar of his turtleneck, drawing him forward. His eyes burn with the kind of desire that makes your knees weak, and you can’t help but marvel at how turtlenecks have never looked so delicious until now. His lips part, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him, your bratty side flaring up, eager to take control of the moment.

“Take off those offending skinny jeans, and maybe I’ll help you out,” you purr, your voice a delicious blend of tease and command. You lean in to press a swift, hungry kiss to his lips, the taste of him lingering as you pull back, and in a fluid motion, you’re down on the cool floor. Namjoon’s fingers are fumbling with urgency, unbuttoning and dragging his jeans and boxers down, setting himself free. His cock springs out, flushed a deep, angry red, heavy and aching for your touch. The sight of him makes your mouth water, anticipation crackling in the air between you.

He lets out a mock pout, breathless yet endearing. “But I thought you liked me in skinny jeans,” he mumbles, a half-smile curving his lips.

You can’t help but laugh, your voice warm and laced with desire. “I do,” you reply, your eyes dancing with mischief, “but they look so damn tight. Besides, I’d much rather see you in loose sweatpants—so shameless, the way they cling to you, showing off that big cock of yours.”

His cheeks flush a deeper pink, but the blush is short-lived. The moment your hand wraps around his thick length, he’s groaning, a low, unrestrained sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His head tips back, and you pull your hand away for a moment to spit in your palm, the motion slow and tantalizing. His breath catches, and then your hand is back on him, gliding over his cock with a slick, practiced rhythm.

You start slow, your touch light, your strokes deep and deliberate, savoring the way he shudders under your hands. Namjoon stumbles backward, his back meeting the counter for support, his knuckles whitening as he grips the edges. You follow him, still on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes, loving the way his brows knit together, his jaw slack with pleasure.

“So good with your hands,” he praises, his voice raw and wrecked, and you preen under the compliment, your lips curving into a wicked smile. His words fuel you, and you tighten your grip, picking up speed, letting your hand work over him with a skill that has his hips stuttering.

“Yeah, I know,” you muse, a playful lilt to your tone, eyes wide and feigning innocence though your actions are anything but. “You’ve told me before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.”

He lets out a breathless chuckle, his chest heaving. “Ah, yeah,” he pants, his voice a beautiful, strained melody. “I know how much you love praise.”

You shrug, your expression one of nonchalance, though your heart is racing. “Guilty as charged,” you admit, your voice softer, but no less mischievous. His praise drives you, makes you work harder to draw out every bit of pleasure, reveling in the way his body reacts, knowing that your hands—and your lust—are the only things holding him together.

He begins to make those sounds—oh, those sweet, broken sounds that send a thrill dancing down your spine and make you preen with pride. The husky groans slipping from his lips are like music, raw and intoxicating, and you drink them in, feeling the power in every shudder of his body.

“Shit, if you keep that up, I’m going to come soon,” he pants, his voice strained and desperate.

A playful smile curves your lips as you chuckle, the sound dripping with mischief. “That was my plan all along,” you tease, your strokes never faltering. “But maybe,” you whisper, your voice honeyed and inviting, “you’d like to fuck my throat a little. My hands are good, sure, but my mouth…” You let the words trail off, your intentions clear in the way your eyes glint with lust.

He groans again, and he swears his heart must be doing wild backflips as he watches you kneel between his legs, looking up at him with those wicked, innocent eyes. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his breath hitching, and you know you’ve got him. 

“Is that a yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes, the very picture of innocence that you most certainly are not.

He nods, his voice nearly a whisper, “Yes, yes it is, babe.”

That’s all the invitation you need. Your mouth opens, and you slowly ease his cock past your lips, wet heat enveloping him inch by inch. He shivers at the sensation, and you relish the tiny, desperate noise that escapes him when you take him all the way to the back of your throat. You hum, sending vibrations along his length, and saliva spills from the corners of your mouth, glistening as it drips down your chin.

Namjoon looks down at you, eyes blown wide, and you can feel the way his cock pulses at the sight—how the vision of you, mouth full of him, drives him wild and hurtles him closer to the edge. His hands clutch at the countertop behind him, knuckles white, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

You work him with a fervor, sucking like you’re drawing the very life from him, your hands pressing into his thighs for balance. Your nails dig into his skin, and the sharp pleasure-pain makes him hiss, a shudder rippling through his frame.

“Oh, babe,” he groans, the sound rumbling deep and sinful, making your core clench around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly. His words are rough, a plea and a praise all at once, and you moan in response, the vibrations making him jolt.

Saliva spills from your lips, pooling beneath you, and you feel the way his cock twitches and throbs against your tongue. Namjoon’s breathing is ragged, each pant a testament to how close he is, how you’ve unraveled him. He’s hanging on by a thread, and you revel in knowing you’ve brought him to this point, trembling and undone.

“Babe,” he gasps, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure, like he’s unravelling from the inside out. His whole body is taut with need, and you feel a thrill course through you, knowing how deeply you affect him.

You pull away, your lips leaving his cock with a wet, teasing pop, and you look up at him, eyes glittering with mischief. “Come on my face,” you whisper, the invitation dripping from your lips like honey, sultry and certain.

He bites down hard on his lower lip, a deep, guttural groan escaping him. One of his hands releases its white-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter, and he wraps his long fingers around his cock, stroking himself to his climax. You watch, utterly mesmerized, as he comes undone. His release is spectacular—thick ropes of hot, pearlescent white paint your skin, catching on your cheeks, lips, and eyelashes. You gasp, tongue darting out in a futile attempt to catch some of his warmth on your lips. The rest splatters messily across your face, dripping down your chin and streaking across your closed eyelids. The whole moment feels heady, unrestrained, and you can’t help but savor it.

Namjoon’s chest rises and falls heavily, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, like he’s run a marathon just to reach this peak. A satisfied chuckle spills from his mouth, and he drags a trembling hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “You,” he says, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lingering desire, “are a dangerous woman.”

A wicked grin blooms on your lips as you giggle, sticking your tongue out to lick the semen you can reach. Your fingers swipe up the rest, and you suck them clean, savoring him like sticky, decadent BBQ sauce on tender ribs. Delicious. The sight makes Namjoon shiver, another groan rumbling from his chest, his eyes never leaving your face.

Just then, the oven chimes, the sound almost absurdly cheerful, signaling that the cake is ready. You rise to your feet, wiping your face with a towel, and make your way over to the oven to retrieve it. Namjoon watches, dazed, as he tugs his jeans back into place, still trying to catch his breath.

Once the cake has cooled, you sit together at the kitchen table, sharing warm slices of carrot cake and steaming mugs of rich hot cocoa. The two of you laugh and talk, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the moment, reminiscing about your favorite Christmas traditions, as the world outside shivers in a cold winter’s embrace.

Namjoon doesn’t often find himself behind the wheel, but today, you’ve let him take charge of his SUV, navigating snowy roads en route to the superstore for Christmas ornaments. It’s not your usual go-to place for holiday decorations, but he’d been so eager, so insistent, that you couldn’t resist. Now here you are, braving the cold with an unusual sense of adventure.

Though Namjoon handles the SUV with a tentative grip, you can’t help but question, as you have many times before, why he even bothered to get a driver’s license in the first place. He never seems fully at ease, and his response—“Everyone has one, and I need it”—always strikes you as a half-hearted excuse. But still, you get it. Out here, where the stores sprawl far and wide, the independence a car brings is a necessity, not a luxury.

He finally pulls into the parking lot, choosing a spot absurdly far from the store’s entrance, the car a lonely island surrounded by an ocean of untouched snow. You laugh, breath misting into the winter air. It’s such a Namjoon thing to do: a cautious maneuver, the kind either born from nervousness about navigating tight parking spaces or, perhaps, the desire to protect his vehicle from rogue shopping carts and careless door dings. But you know him too well—he’s not someone obsessed with material possessions.

Bundled up in your thick coat and scarf, you trudge across the frigid parking lot, boots crunching on the ice-slicked pavement, silently cursing Namjoon’s overcautious choice. The cold gnaws at your cheeks, and you can’t hide the frown forming on your face.

Namjoon notices, and his expression softens with apology. “I’m sorry,” he says, his breath forming tiny clouds in the frosty air.

“It’s fine,” you grumble, though there’s no real heat behind your words. “But I’m driving back.” Your voice holds a note of mock seriousness, and he breaks into a chuckle, the sound light and airy, dissipating into the wintry sky like a whispered secret.

Inside the superstore, the air feels warm and festive, the smell of pine and cinnamon drifting faintly from somewhere. A dazzling aisle dedicated entirely to Christmas ornaments stretches before you, shimmering with glitter and tinsel. You watch in mild disbelief as Namjoon gleefully fills his cart with gingerbread house kits, plush stockings, strings of tinsel, garlands, and ornaments that glitter like captured starlight.

“Don’t you have decorations from last year?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as the cart reaches a borderline ridiculous state, nearly overflowing with festive cheer.

He scratches the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well,” he starts, laughter bubbling up, “I did.”

You cross your arms and turn to him, your eyes narrowing with mock suspicion, silently demanding the story behind this sudden lack of decorations. Namjoon’s laughter grows, filling the space around you, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself, bracing for whatever endearingly clumsy tale he’s about to share.

“I dropped all the boxes with the Christmas decorations while moving,” Namjoon mumbles, his voice soft as a snowfall, almost swallowed by the warm air. His embarrassment paints his cheeks with a blush that’s sweeter than mulled wine, and you can’t help but burst into laughter. Without a second thought, you wrap your arm around his broad frame, a warm, playful gesture that feels as natural as breathing.

“Thought so,” you tease, laughter spilling from your lips, echoing like bells ringing through the icy parking lot.

Namjoon’s blush deepens, a rosy warmth that makes him look endearingly boyish. Still, he continues with his mission, selecting ornaments with the earnest focus of someone determined to reclaim lost holiday cheer. Once the cart is brimming with festive treasures, he pushes it outside, the wheels wobbling and skidding over the snow-dappled asphalt.

“I can’t believe they haven’t cleared the snow yet,” you scoff, tugging open the hatch and helping to load up his haul. Each ornament feels like a little promise of magic, waiting to light up the winter nights.

“Yeah, not the easiest thing to push through,” he chuckles, his laughter a quiet rumble, like distant thunder softened by clouds.

He returns the cart, clumsily navigating the slippery ground, and then hands you the keys with a smile. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you take the wheel and guide the SUV back to his place, where the real magic begins.

Inside his warm home, Namjoon hauls the bags and boxes indoors, and you peel off your thick coat, the heat wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. His house feels almost like your own now, a second heart beating in rhythm with your own. You move easily into his kitchen, making tea with the practiced comfort of someone who belongs there. The kettle sings as you pour hot amber liquid into cups, steam curling like ghostly ribbons.

Namjoon, meanwhile, sifts through his purchases, creating little piles of tinsel, baubles, and gingerbread house kits, organizing the chaos with a delighted gleam in his eye. You join him in the living room, stringing up fairy lights that twinkle like fallen stars, draping garlands of tinsel over every surface. He paints his windows with swirling snow scenes and delicate winter landscapes, and you marvel at his handiwork, secretly wishing he’d come and transform your windows, too.

Christmas music fills the room, and the two of you sing along, voices blending together in a harmony of laughter and half-remembered lyrics. You dance around the room, giggling until your cheeks ache, joy blooming warm and bright against the winter outside. When the final ornament is hung on the tree and the garlands rest perfectly in place, you both collapse onto the couch, still breathless with laughter. Your playful energy lingers, bubbling over into gentle touches and mischievous smiles, and you find yourselves tangled together on the sofa, the festive glow softening every shadow. Time slips away until it’s late, the kind of late that feels heavy with dreams, and you realize it’s time to go home. But even as you leave, Namjoon’s warmth and the laughter you’ve shared linger, lighting up the cold night like the twinkling stars outside.

You take a step back, your eyes wide and brimming with a sense of wonder, marveling at the world you’ve created within the cozy walls of your home. The decorations glow softly, string lights shimmering like constellations, and every garland and ornament seems to dance in the warm embrace of the holiday spirit. Namjoon’s snowy landscapes even grace your windows, delicate swirls of frosted white transforming your view into a winter fairy tale. It feels so perfectly Christmas—Hygge, as the Danish call it, a word that holds all the warmth and comfort of shared moments and quiet joy.

In the corner stands your plastic tree, tall and proud, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments and lights. Its colors catch the twinkle of the lights strung around the room, a joyful echo of Namjoon’s more organic tree. You think back to the way he had explained, with that earnest passion of his, why he chooses to get a real tree each year—to support local farmers and give back to the environment in his own way. You remember laughing and teasing him about the effort, happy with your fuss-free tree, but secretly admiring the way he cares so deeply for the world around him.

“Do you want to come with me to the plant store today?” you ask, your voice soft, floating like the steam curling up from your cup of hot cocoa. Namjoon smiles wide, his dimples deepening, and the warmth of that grin feels like a little burst of sunlight on a winter day. He’s wearing glasses today—big, bold black frames, because he lost his contacts—and with his cozy wool turtleneck, he looks every bit the sexy professor you’ve always daydreamed about. You have to stop yourself from staring, but God, the man is a vision, and he’s right here beside you, yours. Well, hopefully he’s yours—there’s always that tiny flicker of uncertainty, but for now, it feels enough.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he says, his voice rich with warmth.

You drain the last of your cocoa, savoring the sweetness, and soon the two of you are bundled up, making your way across the icy path to his SUV. You take the driver’s seat without hesitation, your hands confident on the wheel. The snow-laden roads have always felt thrilling to navigate, and the car hums softly with the gentle croon of Christmas music drifting from the radio.

The silence between you is comfortable, wrapped in the magic of the season, until Namjoon turns to you, breaking the quiet with a question. “What are you doing this Christmas?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

You flick the windshield wipers on, watching the snow melt away in streaks. “Just spending it with Kookie,” you say, your smile bittersweet. “Without my mom, and with my dad’s Alzheimer’s… well, I just stay home now.” Your voice carries the weight of old memories, the ones that sting a little but still feel precious. You can’t help but think of past Christmases, filled with laughter and warmth, and the ache of their absence lingers, but so does the gratitude for what you still have.

Namjoon shifts, his concern evident. “You’re not going to visit your dad?” he asks, his curiosity mingling with worry, and he quickly realizes it might be a painful subject.

“I do visit him,” you explain softly, your voice gentle, like a snowflake drifting down. “But… he doesn’t remember me as his daughter anymore. It’s hard, sitting there and watching him struggle to place me. But I still go, even if he doesn’t know who I am. Because, well, it matters.” The sorrow is there, but it’s wrapped in acceptance, a quiet strength you’ve carried for years. You catch the sadness in Namjoon’s eyes and smile, a small reassurance. “It’s alright. Really. I’ve made peace with it. And Kookie makes Christmas feel like family again.”

Namjoon’s frown lingers, but there’s something tender in his expression, an unspoken promise that he understands, or at least wants to. And in that shared moment, with snow whispering against the windows and the world cocooned in winter’s embrace, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

“What about you?” you ask, your voice warm with curiosity as you guide the car onto the road leading to your favorite sanctuary—the plant store, a haven of greenery and seasonal enchantment, where Christmas decor shimmers among leafy life.

Namjoon’s eyes light up, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m spending Christmas with my sister, nephew, and my parents. They’re all coming to my place because, you know, I’ve got that big house now,” he says with a laugh that dances in the air. You recall the image of him from months ago, holding that little boy’s hand. You’d once mistaken the child for his own, only to learn he was the devoted uncle, always stepping in to help his sister.

“That sounds really lovely,” you muse, your voice softening with a wistful undertone, like the ghost of a melody from a long-lost song. The ache is familiar: a yearning for the warmth and chaotic joy of Christmases past, for the easy laughter and the irreplaceable comfort of family. A tear slips, unbidden, down your cheek, and you quickly brush it away with the back of your hand, hoping he won’t notice. But Namjoon’s gaze, gentle and perceptive, catches everything.

He reaches out, his hand warm on your thigh, a grounding touch. “Maybe… we could have a Christmas dinner?” he suggests, his voice hopeful. “Just for our friends. Maybe the day before Christmas Eve, since that’s when my family arrives.”

You sniffle, pulling the car into the bustling parking lot, where cars glisten under a light dusting of snow. Unlike Namjoon, who prefers the solitude of the far-off spaces, you park right up front, as close as you can get. “That sounds really nice,” you admit, though your words carry a hint of guardedness. “But, please, don’t turn it into a pity party for me.”

Namjoon nods, understanding shining in his dark eyes. “That wasn’t my intention,” he promises. “I just think it’d be nice for all of us. No pity, just good company and holiday cheer.” His smile is genuine, disarming, and he unbuckles his seatbelt as you cut the engine, the car falling silent save for the occasional thud of snow hitting the windshield.

Stepping out, the cold air nips at your skin, each breath a puff of white mist. The snow falls steadily, blanketing the world in a quiet, crystalline beauty. You hurry to grab a cart, already anticipating the treasures you’ll load into it.

Inside, the store is an odd middle ground between brisk and balmy, chilled enough to keep the plants thriving but not as bone-numbing as the winter outside. The first thing to catch your eye is the dazzling array of string lights, tinsel, and an extravagant display featuring Santa’s sleigh, his reindeer poised mid-flight over faux snow, glistening like diamond dust. Namjoon’s eyes widen with childlike wonder as he drifts toward the scene, marveling out loud at every intricate detail. His awe is contagious, and you find yourself grinning as he disappears into a life-sized gingerbread house, its candy-cane pillars twinkling.

Together, you weave through aisles of holiday magic. You pick up a snow globe with a penguin bundled in a sky-blue scarf, the world inside it swirling with glittering snow. It makes you smile, so into the cart it goes. Purple ornaments catch your eye—rare and radiant, the perfect find for your collection. You toss them in with a feeling of quiet triumph. Your hand lingers on a wooden reindeer, beautifully carved and rich with detail, a rustic piece that seems to carry the very spirit of the forest. You trace its elegant antlers with your fingertips, then place it carefully in the cart.

Namjoon catches your eye, his glasses slightly fogged from the store’s temperature shift, and your heart does a little flip. 

Namjoon stands in the store, eyes wide with wonder, looking at everything like a child waking up to magic on Christmas morning. His excitement radiates, pure and joyful, igniting the air around you with an energy that is impossible to resist. Yes, the store might resemble a festive explosion—every aisle drenched in holiday cheer as though Santa himself had painted the place with his overflowing bag of marvels—but watching Namjoon, awe-struck and glowing, is everything. A smile blooms on your face, gentle yet irrepressible, as your heart picks up speed. It flutters wildly, as if it holds a kaleidoscope of butterflies desperate to take flight. Warmth rises to your cheeks, a blush deepening and spreading, while your mind surrenders to thoughts of him and only him.

A quiet realization unfolds, maybe you should finally have that “where is this going?” talk with Namjoon. Because, damn, you know you’ve fallen hard, hopelessly and beautifully.

Your eyes catch sight of an aisle bursting with rolls of gift wrap, and you drift over, searching for the minimalist designs that you love. Just as you reach out for a roll in understated gold, Namjoon clears his throat, drawing your gaze back to him. There’s that smile, the one that makes your heart skip and your knees feel like jelly. He points upward, and you follow his gesture to the ceiling. String lights twinkle in every hue, casting a soft, whimsical glow. Hanging there, nestled amidst the colorful illumination, is a sprig of mistletoe; vivid green with playful red berries, promising a bit of holiday mischief.

A laugh escapes you, light and melodic. “Oh, so you want a kiss?” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth.

Namjoon chuckles, and the sound feels like a spark lighting up something inside you. “You know,” you murmur, leaning in just a touch, “you don’t need mistletoe to kiss me. I always want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Both of you move at once, lips meeting in a rush that’s tender yet hungry. The world falls away as your mouths meld together, and his hands find their way around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You melt into him, a soft moan slipping from your lips, echoing the need that simmers between you. When you finally break apart, a breathless laugh leaves your mouth, the air between you charged and electric. Namjoon’s gaze is dark and glassy, his desire plain to see, and you know yours must mirror the same intensity.

“Are you done with your shopping?” he asks, his voice husky and threaded with want. His words make you bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly as you nod, barely able to think straight.

“Great,” he replies, his tone velvet and commanding. He takes the cart from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours with a touch that leaves you reeling, and he pushes it toward the checkout. His assertiveness makes your pulse race, a delicious thrill running through you. Somehow, you manage to pay for the Christmas treasures and help load everything into his car, though your mind spins with anticipation. Namjoon returns the cart, his long strides carrying him back to you as snow continues to fall, whispering secrets to the earth.

You climb into the car, turning it on. The heat slowly creeps in, but the temperature between you and Namjoon is already scorching. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken desires, the kind of tension that crackles and leaves you breathless. He hums along to the Christmas song playing softly on the radio, but your thoughts wander, fixating on his voice, his lips, the memory of the way he kisses you, the way his mouth explores your pussy. You shift uncomfortably, desire making you restless, and you catch yourself before you lose focus on the snow-laden road.

Namjoon chuckles, a low, knowing sound, but he doesn’t move to touch you, though his presence is intoxicating. A part of you craves his hands, his warmth, his everything, but you’re grateful for his restraint. Not while you’re driving, you think, exhaling in a blend of frustration and exhilaration. It would be dangerous, especially on these slick, icy streets. Yet even without his touch, the tension coils tightly, promising a night that will be anything but cold.

You pull into your driveway, snowflakes swirling and dissolving in the twilight air, and as soon as the car engine cuts off, anticipation buzzes through your veins. With a swift click of your seatbelt, you’re out of your restraints and leaning over. You grab the thick collar of Namjoon’s jacket, tugging him closer, your mouths colliding in a heated, desperate kiss. Your lips part, breaths mingling, and a low growl escapes you, primal and hungry, as if you’ve been starving for this moment. You don’t know how long you devour each other like that, your hands fisting his jacket, your heart racing as he groans into your kiss.

When you finally break apart, Namjoon’s chuckle rumbles between you, warm and infectious. “Shouldn’t we… maybe… take this inside?” he teases, his voice husky, eyes glittering with barely restrained desire.

You bite your lip, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah, we should.” Without a second thought, you scramble out of the car, forgetting the mound of Christmas decorations packed in the back. You only have one thing on your mind. Grabbing Namjoon’s hand, you lead him through the cold afternoon, hurrying to escape the winter air and into the sanctuary of warmth inside.

Once you’re in, both of you shed your coats and kick off your boots in a frenzy, laughter echoing in the foyer. His eyes are dark, stormy with arousal, and your pulse quickens, a delicious anticipation settling in your core. “I don’t think Jungkook’s home,” you say, your voice breathy as you nibble your lip, taking his hand again. He lets you drag him up the stairs, his grip firm, electrifying.

Inside your room, you don’t waste a second. You pull him close, your hands cradling his face as you kiss him with a ferocity that makes your knees weak. His hands slide to your waist, guiding you back until your legs hit the bed, and you can’t suppress the shudder that rolls through you.

“Namjoon,” you pant, lips brushing his, “I want you. I need you.”

His eyes burn with intensity as he rasps, “I know. I need you too, baby.” The low, gravelly timbre of his voice sends a wave of heat coursing through you, but frustration boils over. 

“I want your cock,” you admit, desire raw in your voice, making no room for subtlety.

He pauses, then breaks into a chuckle that’s rich and rough, slicing through the tension with ease. “My cock, huh?” he teases, eyebrows arching. “Is that all I’m good for?”

You pull back slightly, heart lurching at the implication, and your eyes widen in disbelief. “What? No,” you insist, voice softening, sincerity bleeding through. You turn your gaze to him, your expression fierce but tender. “Your cock is nice and very good, but it’s you that I love,” you confess, the words tumbling out, bare and vulnerable.

For a beat, there’s a silence that seems to suspend the universe. Your heart stops, bracing for his reaction, hoping you haven’t ruined this, that you haven’t scared him off. But then his lips curve into a smirk, one so full of warmth it melts your doubts.

“Good thing I love you too,” he murmurs, pulling you close again.

You don’t get the chance to respond; his mouth is on yours, urgent and consuming. He presses you down onto the bed, his lips trailing from your cheek to your ear, where his breath ghosts over your skin, sending shivers of delight racing down your spine. You moan, your eyes fluttering shut, breath hitching as he whispers in your ear, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, babe,” he promises, his words sending a molten thrill straight through you. “So good that no one else will ever compare.”

The sheer need in his voice makes you pant, heat pooling between your thighs. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whisper, your hands splaying over his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

“Me neither,” he murmurs, before dipping down to suck a mark into the curve of your neck. The sensation makes you moan, your pussy clenching with anticipation. God, you’re already soaked, desire pulsing through every nerve, and as he lays claim to your skin, you know you’ll never want anyone but him.

He pauses, lips still flushed from the kiss, and pulls back with a soft, playful sigh. “These glasses are in the way,” he mutters, sliding them off and setting them aside. Your immediate frown makes him laugh, a deep, resonant sound that you feel in your chest. 

“What?” he asks, eyes dancing with amusement. “Do you actually like my glasses?”

You bite your lip and nod, a smirk curving your mouth. “Yeah. You look stupidly hot with them on—like some impossibly sexy professor,” you giggle, the words spilling out like a secret you’ve been holding in.

His eyebrows lift, a teasing smile spreading across his face. “Oh?” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again, lips brushing yours with renewed heat.

You giggle, the lightness of the moment threading through your desire. “But can you even see me?” you tease, your voice lilting.

He chuckles, a warm rumble against your skin. “Not very well. You’re just a blurry outline.”

“A sexy blur,” you correct with a laugh, playfulness and arousal weaving together.

He hums in agreement, nuzzling your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire. “My sexy blur,” he whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. But you gently push him back, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I want you to really see me,” you say, your fingers searching the bed until they find his glasses. You carefully slip them back onto his face, adjusting them so they sit just right. “There,” you whisper. “Now you can see me again. My sexy Joon.”

Namjoon grins, the lenses framing his eyes in a way that makes your pulse race, and he slowly straightens, standing at the edge of your bed. His hands move with purpose as he undresses, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal hard planes of muscle and soft, warm skin. When he’s down to his black boxers, his arousal straining visibly against the fabric, you can’t help but draw in a sharp breath, desire crackling in the air between you.

He watches as you sit up, your gaze locked on him, and you lift your shirt over your head, casting it aside. Your bra follows as does your pants and panties, and the sound Namjoon makes—a low, guttural moan—sends a flush spreading over your skin. His gaze drinks you in, dark and reverent.

He leans toward your pussy, his intentions clear, but you stop him with a playful chuckle, pushing lightly at his chest. “Please,” you say, your voice husky, “just fuck me already. I’m ready, and I want you so bad.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen, and he lets out a choked, breathless laugh, shedding his boxers in one swift motion. He wraps a hand around his cock, giving himself a few firm strokes to steady himself, and you lie back, spreading your legs in invitation. Your body trembles with anticipation, your need palpable.

“Hm,” you tease, wiggling your hips with a grin. “I’m ready to open my petals wide for you. Come and claim me.”

He laughs, a delighted sound, his hands warm as they grasp your thighs. “Cute,” he says, but his smile is laced with desire as he lines himself up with your entrance. Just as he begins to push into you, a wicked gleam sparks in his eyes. “I’ve got a pun too,” he pants, his voice thick as he stretches you open, inch by inch. 

“I think it’s time to fertilize this relationship.”

You hold your breath, feeling him fill you, your body arching in response to the exquisite pressure. His words finally register as he settles fully inside, and you gasp, a laugh bubbling up through the haze of pleasure. “Wait—did you just say you want to fertilize me?” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows, your voice breathless and amused.

Namjoon groans, his laugh turning into a deep grunt as he moves, your bodies pressed together, the playful intimacy of the moment making everything feel impossibly right. “Maybe I did,” he whispers, his breath hot on your skin, his hips beginning to move in a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

His breath catches in his throat, a strangled groan spilling out, thick with pleasure. “God, you’re so tight, babe,” he murmurs, voice rough, a velvet rasp that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers grip you with a fervent need, and his hips meet yours in a dance of primal rhythm. His lips brush your ear, whispering sin into the dark. “Yes,” he growls, each word laced with yearning, “I want you to take all my cum.”

A heat unfurls within you, wild and untamed, and a fevered cry breaks from your lips, back arching, body yearning for more. “Fuck yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling, a symphony of need and desire, “fill me, stretch me, make me yours.” He pulls back, a tease of agony, before plunging in again, deeper this time, and a wave of sensation washes over you, stealing your breath, making your world fracture into shards of pleasure. Toes curl, your heartbeat roaring in your ears, and you claw at his biceps, desperate to hold onto something solid.

“Please,” you beg, voice cracking with urgency, “Fill me up. I want to feel you everywhere, for you to watch your cum drip from my pussy—” A shudder courses through you, and you add, breathless and trembling, “And then fuck it back inside, and give me more.”

A groan rumbles in his chest, and you feel his body tense, the delicious twitch inside you betraying how your words unravel him. “Fuck,” he gasps, the curse a melody wrapped in desperation, his thrusts becoming brutal and consuming. His eyes darken, a storm threatening to drown you both. “My perfect little cockslut,” he grits out, voice threaded with awe and possession, “always so needy for my big cock.”

You wrap your legs around him, pressing your heels into his lower back, desperate to pull him deeper. His thrusts find that secret spot inside you, and the world around you shatters. Your cries echo in the room, a crescendo of ecstasy. “Joon-ah!” you cry, voice a broken plea, and he responds, hips driving harder, chasing your unraveling.

“My beautiful little slut,” he pants, voice cracked and shattered, “made to take me. Made to come for me.” His rhythm is relentless, and the coil in your belly winds tight, snapping like a bolt of lightning. Pleasure blooms through you, so vivid it turns your vision to a white, a brilliant blur. Breathless, undone, you tremble, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He catches your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans, and he drives into you, each thrust deeper, leaving you raw and oversensitive. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, clutching as your body convulses, waves of bliss surging through you. You feel yourself unravel completely, and he moves with you, relentless, sending you spiraling further into the pleasure you never want to escape. 

“So good, my love,” he murmurs, a reverent hymn of praise, and your body responds instantly, your core clenching, a desperate, needy flutter. His eyes darken, desire a tangible force between you. “You ready for me to fill you up?” he asks, his voice a teasing growl, and before you can answer, his strong hands grip your thighs, pulling you open wider, pinning you beneath him as he begins to thrust harder, deeper.

“Yes!” you cry, your voice raw, your need laid bare in that single, breathless scream. His hips snap against yours, each movement carrying a delicious, reckless abandon. One hand drifts between your bodies, and his fingers find your clit, drawing tight, wicked circles that send electricity racing through you. The buildup is sudden, overwhelming—a storm surging through you with a force that steals your breath. You’re undone, surprised by your own body’s eager surrender.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, every nerve alight, toes curling from the rush of pleasure. “I’m going to come again,” you moan, and your head falls back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat, every inch of you arched, straining, craving.

“That’s it, babe,” he coaxes, voice raw and full of awe as he watches you come undone. His gaze never leaves you, and he drives into you with relentless precision, chasing his own high as he feels you pulse around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps, his voice cracking with the strain, his own pleasure just out of reach. He’s relentless, a man driven by your shared ecstasy.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, and the words unravel you further. Your head tosses back and forth on the sheets, body a trembling, heaving wreck of sensation. His eyes meet yours, a connection sparking between you, and your breath comes in frantic pants. “Namjoon,” you plead, and his mouth softens, the intensity in his eyes tempered by tenderness.

“I know,” he breathes, his voice a soothing whisper, “I’ve got you.” His thrusts quicken, become erratic, and his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in as he hovers at the precipice. “I’m almost there, babe,” he promises, and with a few more deep, punishing thrusts, you feel him shudder, a guttural groan escaping his lips. His release pulses into you, warmth spilling inside as he cries your name, his face twisting in a perfect symphony of pleasure.

You watch him, utterly captivated—his glasses slipping slightly, his jaw slack with bliss—and the sight alone threatens to push you to the brink again. His movements slow, hips stuttering, his body collapsing gently into yours as the high fades. Still trembling, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s as soft as it is reverent, and you can’t help but giggle, delight spilling over.

He slips out of you, eyes darkening once more as he watches his release trickle from you, and your pussy clench around the emptiness, a final echo of your desire. With a satisfied groan, he flops down beside you, laughter bubbling up between you both. His hand rakes through his tousled hair, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

You turn your head toward him, the world around you spinning with a dizzying, intoxicating mix of something sweet and wild. Your heart pounds in your chest, a cocktail of longing and reckless abandon. You know you have to ask him, and you have to ask now. The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, raw and urgent. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you breathe out in a rush, like you’ve been holding your breath for far too long. 

His eyes catch yours, a grin spreading across his face like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Of course,” he replies, his voice warm and steady, like he’s known all along. 

You smile back at him, and in that instant, the weight you’ve been carrying seems to lift from your shoulders. Your heart feels lighter, like it’s fluttering in your chest, freed from the gravity of uncertainty. He leans in, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His voice is soft, but there’s a sincerity to it that makes your heart ache in the best way. “You’ve got me blooming in ways I’ve never felt before.” 

A laugh bursts from your lips, spontaneous and full of joy. “You’re corny,” you tease, the warmth between you igniting the spark of something real, something tender. 

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that makes your pulse race. “Good thing I love you, you nerd,” you add, his eyes gleaming with affection, the kind of love that feels both easy and electric. 

You bite your lip, feeling a rush of warmth crawl up your neck. “Ouch. Just be happy that I love your bitchy and bratty mouth,” he smirks playfully, his hands moving to pull you closer. 

The air shifts as he sits up on the bed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Speaking of,” he says, voice dropping low with a teasing edge. “Should I clean you off, or give it some time to let my seed settle inside you?” 

Heat rises in your cheeks, the words hanging heavy between you, and you nearly choke on the air. “Please fuck me again, Joonie,” you whisper, the rawness of your need almost too much to take. 

His lips curl into a slow smile as he lowers his mouth to your stomach, kissing you with a reverence that steals your breath away. His lips trail upward, brushing across your breasts, your neck, and finally landing on your mouth in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Then give me a moment,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I’ll be ready to go again.” 

But before you can lose yourself completely in the heat of the moment, your phone vibrates multiple times on the nightstand, the interruption sharp and unwelcome. You glance at the screen, curiosity piquing in your chest, and your stomach sinks when you see the flood of messages. They’re all from Jungkook.

You groan in embarrassment, cringing at the thought of what might be waiting for you in those texts. 

“What is it, babe?” Namjoon asks, his voice laced with concern as he notices the change in your expression. 

“I guess Jungkook was home all along…” you mumble, heat spreading across your face like wildfire. The realization hangs heavy in the air between you, and both of you understand what it means. Namjoon bursts out laughing, the sound full of warmth and affection. He pulls you into his embrace, his lips trailing soft kisses along your neck, inhaling your scent as if he can’t get enough. 

Your laughter bubbles up, the embarrassment melting away in the comfort of his arms, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in your own world of joy and tenderness. 

→ Requested taglist: @callmenoona25 @svnbangtansworld @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @kamilamb @joonlover1207

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex

→ Author’s endnote: I hope enjoyed this one, and please let me know what you liked; you’re always welcome to leave me a comment, a reblog or an ask 🥰 Thank you so much for reading, love you 💜 © @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[woozivrsefactry]

he's working late, cuz he's a boyfriend (part 3 - jihoon drabble series)

tw - overstim, ovulation

The dim light of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across Jihoon’s flushed skin, his hair sticking to his forehead as he panted beneath you. The air was thick with heat, your bodies slick with sweat as you rolled your hips against him, grinding down on his overstimulated cock. your ovulation days always made you a little too crazy with need, and this time you had outdone yourself. Jihoon had already cummed a third time, but you cant stop riding him when it feels so good.

“Y/N,” Jihoon gasped, his voice hoarse and trembling as his fingers dug into your hips. His hands, usually steady and deliberate, twitched slightly as he held on, trying to keep you steady even as his body shuddered beneath yours. “I... I don’t think I can—”

“You can,” you whispered, your voice sweet and encouraging, tinged with need. “Please, please, please, Jihoon. You’ve been so good for me, Jihoon. Just a little more.”

He groaned deeply, his head falling back against the pillow, exposing his throat as you rode him harder. You could feel the tremors in his legs, his muscles taut and quivering as your movements pushed him past the edge once again. His cries were soft, almost broken, as his hands moved to grip the sheets, his knuckles white with the force.

“That’s it,” you murmured, your voice dripping with lust and affection as you leaned forward to kiss his parted lips. “You’re doing so well for me, baby.”

Jihoon’s moan was muffled against your mouth, his lips trembling as he kissed you back, though his body begged for mercy. You felt him spill inside you for the fourth time that night, the heat of his release making you gasp as your walls clenched around him.

“F-Fuck, Y/N,” he whimpered, his body trembling beneath you as his chest heaved with each labored breath. His hands returned to your hips, trying to slow you down even as you kept moving, your body chasing another high.

“I can’t stop,” you confessed, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips continued their relentless rhythm. “You feel so good, Jihoon. I need more, please.”

He bit his lip, his face flushed and shining with sweat, and despite the overstimulation coursing through him, he nodded. “Okay,” he rasped, his voice cracking slightly. “For you... I’ll keep going.”

Jihoon’s trembling hands moved to support your back, his body shaking with exertion as he bucked his hips up into you, meeting your movements with shaky thrusts. The way he looked at you—his dark eyes glassy and filled with unwavering devotion—made your heart clench and your body burn even hotter.

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out as your climax washed over you, your body spasming around him. Jihoon groaned deeply, his hands gripping your waist as he held you close, his own body shaking violently as you pushed him through another wave of overstimulation.

“I love you,” you whispered breathlessly, leaning down to press your forehead against his.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice weak but sincere as he kissed you softly, even as his body continued to tremble beneath you.

The night stretched on, the two of you tangled together, lost in the haze of your shared desire. Jihoon, ever devoted, gave you everything he had, his body enduring every wave of overstimulation for the sake of your pleasure. And as you finally collapsed beside him, both of you utterly spent, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly as you drifted into a blissful sleep.

[rafesgoldrings]

rafe and y/n (gf, whatever u want to be to him) in the car and she js randomly starts being super affectionate and clingy wanting to touch all over him while he’s driving and she eventually gives him road head….but like any other fic where they pull over… she keeps having him drive so she can watch him fall apart while he drives and then she js goes back to innocent passenger princesses

“Baby, what’s gotten into you?” he didn’t mind it, you were just usually one to wait until you got home before doing anything. ‘It’s called safe driving Rafe, stop thinking with your dick for a second” you’d always tell him, but now you were the one rubbing all over his thighs, kissing his neck, whispering dirty things in his ear. “Just want you is all, let me make you feel good baby” your hands moved to undo his pants, pulling his cock out and sinking your mouth down on him “Fuck” he hissed out, the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat taking him by surprise. He’d take one hand and tangle it in your hair, gripping it tightly with each bob of your head. When it started to get too hard to focus, he began to pull over to the side of the road. You pulled away from his cock, mouth releasing him with a loud ‘pop, lips swollen and drool coating your chin. “If you pull over, i’ll stop. Keep driving” an innocent smile on your face as you stayed eye level with his cock and gazed up at him, fingers teasingly circling the tip. He’d keep driving, trying his best to stay focused on the road as your mouth continued working it’s sinful magic around him. You’d start moaning around him, knowing how much he liked hearing you. It always made him come way harder if he knew you were enjoying getting him off just as much as he was. His knuckles would occasionally tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles white and veins bulging. His load unexpectedly shooting down your throat after a few more movements of your head, he fought incredibly hard to not screw his eyes shut, take both hands off the wheel and force your head to stay all the way down until he allowed you to come up for air. He was breathing rapidly, sweat beads slowly rolling down his face, abs tightening as shot his load down your throat and coated it. The pornographic sounds of you taking his cock in your throat and his groans filling the cars silence, you’d keep sucking until there was nothing left, milking him dry of every drop like the selfish slut you were. Then you’d pull away, put his cock back in his pants, sit up in the passenger seat. Pulling down the vanity mirror that Rafe just installed, equipped with LEDS, you reapplied your lipgloss. Once you were finished, you’d push the mirror back up, grab your soft white blanket from the backseat that was kept for you and you alone, before reclining the seat at the exact angle you always had it. You grabbed Rafe’s hand and placed it in your thigh before connecting your phone to the cars bluetooth and playing your car playlist “Oh! Baby can you pleaseeeee get me starbucks? Pretty please with a cherry on top?” your glossy lips in a innocent pout like you didn’t just swallow his seed seconds ago, like you hadn’t just sucked him off and forced him to keep driving. But you were his spoiled girl, he couldn’t tell you no even if he wanted to, so he drove you to starbucks and got your favorite order. The whole ride home consisted of your music, his hand rubbing your inner thigh, and planning his revenge

Tag List (I’m sorry if i’m forgetting anyone, tumblr doesn’t show certain usernames when I go to tag them): @sweetestdesire @congratsloserr @xyzstar @madelynie @outerbankspov @lcvelylies

[fanbasetwo]

shimkongz threesome I begg, ricky being your boyfriend and gyu who’s always liked you a little too much

✦ TWO FOR ONE ┊ RICKY & GYUVIN

001. PAIRING , boyfriend ! ricky × afab reader × boyfriend’s best friend ! gyuvin

002. SYNOPSIS , you didn't know how you ended up in this situation with your boyfriend and his best friend, maybe they planned it... maybe they didn't.. but you didn't mind it now.

003. WARNING(S) , NSFW, MDNI, unprotected sex, fingering, blowjob/face fucking, jealousy, nipple play, kissing a bit, licking precum, creampie, lmk if i missed anything.

004. WORD COUNT , 1.4k

The obscene squelch of Gyuvin's fingers pumping in and out of your sopping wet cunt echoes through the room, intermingling with your strangled whimpers. Your thighs quiver uncontrollably, clamping around his wrist like a vice as he relentlessly drives you towards the peak. The sheets under you are drenched with your juices, the pungent aroma of sex permeating the air.

Gyuvin’s smug grin widens, his fingers glistening with your arousal as he holds them up for Ricky to witness. “Fuck, she's absolutely drenched,” he taunts, his voice dripping with self-assurance. “Is she always this goddamn wet... even with you, Ricky?”

Ricky’s jaw tenses, his hands curling into tight fists, white-knuckled with the effort of restraining himself. The urge to wipe that infuriating smirk off Gyuvin's face, to make him pay for touching what's his, is almost overwhelming. Of course he doesn't want this. Of course you're not usually this wet. This ready, this desperate for anyone's touch but his. Not with him. Never with him.

So why now? Why with Gyuvin? The question gnaws at him, eroding his confidence. Is Gyuvin just more skilled, more experienced? Does he know something Ricky doesn't? The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

You lay there, confused and overwhelmed, your mind reeling. You didn't understand why Ricky brought Gyuvin here, into your bedroom. Into your bed. You clamp down hard on your lower lip, trying to muffle the moans that threaten to burst out of you as Gyuvin stretches you open with a second finger.

A solitary tear rolls down your cheek, and Ricky is instantly by your side. He tenderly brushes it away, leaning in close. “It's alright,” he murmurs, his breath scorching your ear. “You can let go. Feel it. React.”

Ricky's teeth graze your sensitive nipple, sending jolts of painful pleasure through your body. He suckles roughly, tugging and twisting the other peak between his fingers. It's a stark contrast to the gentle, worshipful way he usually touches you when it's just the two of you. Like he's trying to mark you, claim you, stake his territory in the face of Gyuvin's bold advances.

The dual sensations of Ricky's mouth on your breast and Gyuvin's fingers pumping in your dripping cunt are almost too much to bear. You arch off the bed, a long, keening moan escaping your lips. But Ricky and Gyuvin don't let up, working you from both ends with single—minded focus.

“Can I put it in?” Gyuvin asks Ricky, his voice low and rough with lust. But Ricky just shrugs, deflecting the question.

“Don't ask me, ask her. It's her body.”

Gyuvin turns to you, his eyes dark with desire. You bite your lip, torn between the warring sensations of shame and arousal. You glance at Ricky uncertainly, but he's busy biting and sucking at your breasts, your fingers tangled in his hair. The sharp sting of pain mingles with the pleasure, making you gasp.

Hesitantly, you give a small nod, not trusting your voice. Gyuvin grins, wasting no time in shoving his boxers down and positioning himself at your entrance. You're so wet, so ready, that he slides in with barely any resistance, stretching you wide around his thick length.

“Fuck, this pussy is so sweet,” Gyuvin groans, his eyes rolling back in bliss. “Can't believe you were enjoying this for years, Ricky. What a lucky bastard.”

You whimper as he starts to move, each thrust dragging his cock along your sensitive walls. It's not that Gyuvin is necessarily bigger than Ricky, but he's in excellent shape, his muscles rippling as he pistons his hips.

Your mind reels as Gyuvin and Ricky work in tandem, their cocks stretching you to the limit from both ends. One thick shaft pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt, the other filling your mouth, muffling your desperate whimpers. It's almost too much to process, the overwhelming fullness, the obscene wet sounds of their coupling.

Ricky grips your hair, guiding your head as he thrusts shallowly between your lips. “That's it, doll,” he rasps, his voice strained with pleasure. “Such a good girl, taking both our cocks like a champ.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, even as tears leak from the corners of your eyes. The salty tang of pre—cum coats your tongue as you swirl it around Ricky's length, hollowing your cheeks to suck him deeper.

Gyuvin sets a relentless pace, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. The lewd squelch of your sopping wet pussy being pounded fills the room, intermingling with the wet gagging.

It's filthy, degrading, everything you never knew you craved. The taboo thrill of being used like this, sandwiched between two hard, pulsing cocks, sends you hurtling towards the edge embarrassingly quickly.

Your inner walls flutter and clench around Gyuvin's pistoning shaft as your orgasm crashes over you. You moan around Ricky's cock, the vibrations making him groan and tighten his grip on your hair.

“She came too soon...” Gyuvin chuckles breathlessly, his thrusts never faltering. “Guess we know who the real stud is, eh Ricky?”

Ricky's jaw clenches, his ego bruised by the implication. He bucks his hips, driving his cock deeper down your throat until you gag and splutter.

Ricky yanks his throbbing cock out of your mouth, his face twisted in a scowl as he roughly shoves Gyuvin away from you. “Told you not to come inside her,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “Only I get to do that.”

Gyuvin holds his hands up in surrender, nodding quickly. “Understood, man. My bad.” He steps back, giving you both some space as he watches Ricky line up his cock and plunge into your dripping cunt.

You moan wantonly as your boyfriend's familiar length stretches you open, your tongue darting out to lap up the glistening strands of pre—cum that dribble down your chin. The taste is intoxicating, salty and musky, and you can't help but crave more.

Ricky grips your hips tightly, setting a punishing pace as he pounds into you. The wet, obscene slap of skin on skin fills the room, intermingling with your desperate whimpers and moans. “Better?” he pants, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Mmm... you always feel better than anyone...” you murmur breathlessly, and it's not even a lie. No matter how good Gyuvin felt stretching you open, nothing compares to the way Ricky fills you up, hitting all the right spots with each powerful thrust.

Ricky's eyes darken with lust at your words, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. “Yeah? You mean that, baby?” he rasps, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

Your answer is lost in a moan as he drives into you particularly deep, his pelvis grinding against your sensitive clit. The added stimulation sends you hurtling over the edge once again, your inner walls clamping down around Ricky's pistoning cock.

“Fuck, I'm gonna... gonna...” Ricky groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as his own climax approaches. With a final, guttural moan, he buries himself to the hilt inside you.

You watch through hooded eyes as Ricky's hips stutter and jerk, his cock pulsing inside your fluttering walls as he reaches his peak. Thick ropes of cum paint your insides, marking you as his, claiming you in the most primal way possible. The feeling of his hot seed filling you up sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling through your body, drawing out your own orgasm until you're both spent and panting.

As Ricky collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, you catch a glimpse of Gyuvin out of the corner of your eye. He's standing there, his hand wrapped around his own impressive length, stroking himself with a look of utter fascination on his face.

“Fuck, that was intense,” Ricky murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your sweaty brow. “You did so good, baby.” You can only nod weakly in response, too wrung out to form words. Your body feels like jelly, every muscle loose and pliant as the afterglow washes over you. Ricky's softening cock slips out of your abused hole with a wet squelch, a trickle of his cum following in its wake.

Gyuvin clears his throat awkwardly, drawing your attention. “Well, uh... guess that settles it. You definitely prefer Ricky's dick,” he says with a rueful chuckle, though there's no real bite to his words. He seems more impressed than anything.

Ricky grins smugly, rolling off of you to sprawl beside you on the bed. “Damn right she does. What did I tell you?” He reaches out to possessively squeeze your ass, making you squeak.

NOTE FROM SENA , this request is soooooo good! (i had to pause writing the other requests and take this one first because c'mon, i personally love this one a lot 🫶🏻)

© 2024 all rights reserved to fanbasetwo !

[rainandandy]

College AU Rain Carradine X Reader PT 3 - Electric Tension

Pt 3 to my College AU Rain Carradine X Reader fic part 1 part 2

Warnings: 18+ Content, Minors DNI, WLW smut, NSFW, adult language, Dom! Rain, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader receiving),

Word Count: 2813

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem! Reader

Modern College AU Friends with Benefits

Rain’s hand in yours was warm, and her thumb brushing over your knuckles sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, neither of you moved, just standing there in the cool night air, the weight of the conversation still hanging between you. But as you looked into her eyes, that familiar blue that had always felt like it could see straight through you, something shifted. The vulnerability you had seen earlier was still there, but now it was mixed with something else—something that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

“Rain,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she took a step closer, her free hand coming up to cup your cheek, her touch light but electrifying. You could feel her breath on your skin, could see the way her eyes darkened as they flicked down to your lips. There was a tension between you, a pull that neither of you could resist, and before you knew it, you were leaning in, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more urgent.

The moment your lips touched, it was like a switch had been flipped. The weeks of tension, the frustration, the hurt—all of it seemed to melt away, replaced by a desperate need to be close to her, to feel her, to remind yourself that she was real, that this was real.

Rain responded immediately, her hand tightening on your cheek as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing against yours as if she couldn’t get close enough. You could feel the heat radiating off her, the way her fingers trembled slightly as they slid into your hair, pulling you closer, holding you in place as if she was afraid you might disappear if she let go.

You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her even closer, your body flush against hers. The kiss was intense, almost frantic, as if both of you were trying to pour everything you couldn’t say into the way your lips moved together, the way your hands roamed over each other’s bodies. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release, a way to finally let go of all the emotions you had been holding back.

Rain’s lips were soft but insistent, her kiss growing hungrier as she backed you up against the wall of the building behind you. The cold brick pressed against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of her body against yours. You gasped into her mouth, and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss even further.

It was overwhelming, the way she kissed you, the way she touched you, her hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you closer as if she needed you just as much as you needed her. You could feel her possessiveness in the way she held you, in the way her fingers dug into your skin, leaving marks that would fade but linger in your memory.

Your hands found their way into her hair, tangling in the short, dark strands as you pulled her even closer, desperate for more. The kiss was all-consuming, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you melted into her touch.

“Rain,” you gasped when you finally broke the kiss, your forehead resting against hers as you tried to catch your breath. Her name was a plea, a question, a confession all rolled into one, and you knew she understood even without you having to say anything more.

She murmured your name, her voice low and rough, her breath warm against your lips. She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her gaze intense, searching, as if she was trying to figure out what came next. But whatever doubts she might have had seemed to disappear as she leaned in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, as if she was savouring the moment, as if she wanted to memorize the way you tasted, the way you felt pressed up against her. Her hands roamed over your body, sliding under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin, and you shivered at the contact, your own hands gripping her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin.

It was intoxicating, the way she touched you, the way she kissed you, as if she was trying to claim you, to make sure you knew that despite everything, she didn’t want to let you go. And for now, that was enough. You let yourself get lost in the moment, in the feel of her lips on yours, in the way her body moved against yours, pressing you harder against the wall.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, kissing her, touching her, feeling her everywhere all at once. Time seemed to blur, the only thing that mattered was her, the way she made you feel, the way she could make everything else disappear with just a touch.

Eventually, you had to pull away, your lungs burning for air, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Rain didn’t let you go far, though, her forehead still pressed against yours, her breath ragged as she tried to catch it, just like you.

“We… we should stop,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, though you didn’t make any move to pull away from her. The words felt hollow, more like something you thought you should say rather than something you wanted to say.

Rain didn’t respond right away, just kept holding you, her thumb brushing gently against your cheek, a stark contrast to the desperation of her kiss. Finally, she pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her expression softer than you had ever seen it. “Do you want to stop?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. The truth was, you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to keep kissing her, keep touching her, keep feeling like maybe, just maybe, there was more between you than just the casual arrangement you had tried to convince yourself was enough. But at the same time, you knew that continuing down this path would only make things more complicated, more painful.

But when you looked into her eyes, saw the way she was looking at you, the way her thumb kept brushing against your skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to say yes. Instead, you shook your head, your voice trembling as you whispered, “No.”

Rain’s lips curled into a small, almost relieved smile, and she leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was softer, slower, filled with something that felt dangerously close to affection. And as you kissed her back, as you let yourself get lost in the feeling of her, you knew that no matter what happened next, you wouldn’t regret this moment.

Rain pulled back from the kiss, her eyes still locked on yours, her thumb still brushing against your cheek. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, and you could see the struggle in her eyes as she tried to decide what to do next.

Finally, she let out a shaky breath and nodded, her thumb moving to trace the outline of your lips. “Come with me,” she whispered, her voice low and husky.

You didn't need to be told twice. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your body tingling from the intensity of the kiss, and you found yourself nodding, your voice caught in your throat.

Rain took your hand, her fingers tightening around yours as she led you away from the building, back towards her dorm room. The walk seemed to take forever, your minds both racing with thoughts of what was to come.

When you finally reached her room, Rain pushed you inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a bedside lamp that cast a warm glow over the space.

Rain pressed you against the door, her lips finding yours again in a searing kiss that left you breathless. Her hands roamed over your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal your stomach. You could feel her fingers trailing along your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” Rain whispered against your lips, her voice thick with desire. She broke the kiss, her eyes trailing down your body, drinking in every inch of you.

You watched her, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You had never felt so desired, so wanted, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Rain's hands moved to the waistband of your pants, her fingers deftly unbuttoning them before sliding the zipper down. She pushed the pants and your underwear down your legs, watching as you stepped out of them, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra and socks.

“Get on the bed,” she commanded, her voice low and commanding. You hesitated for a moment, unsure, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument. You nodded and slowly made your way to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

Rain approached you, her eyes never leaving yours. She reached out, her fingers hooking into the straps of your bra, pulling it off your shoulders and tossing it aside. You were left sitting there, naked and exposed, your body flushed with desire.

Rain knelt in front of you, her eyes never leaving yours as she reached out, her fingers gently brushing against your thighs before sliding up to your hips. She pulled you towards her, her lips brushing against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses as she moved lower, until her mouth was hovering just above your core.

“Spread your legs for me,” she commanded, her voice low and husky

You did as she asked, spreading your legs wide, giving her full access. Rain leaned in, her breath hot against your skin, making you shiver in anticipation.

“You taste so good,” she murmured, her tongue flicking out to taste you. You gasped at the sudden contact, your hands gripping the sheets as she began to explore you with her mouth.

Rain's tongue danced against your clit, teasing and tantalizing, while her fingers slid inside you, curling to hit your sweet spot. She moved in a rhythm that seemed to be designed to drive you wild, her mouth and fingers working together in perfect harmony.

“Fuck, Rain,” you moaned, your hips bucking against her, desperate for more. She only smiled against your skin, her tongue flicking against you faster, her fingers thrusting harder.

“Beg for it,” she growled, her voice thick with lust.

“Please, Rain, don't stop,” you begged, your voice shaking with need.

She continued, her mouth and fingers working in perfect unison, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building, coiling tight in your core, and you knew it wouldn't be long before you came undone.

Rain's lips found your clit, sucking it into her mouth as her fingers curled and pressed against your G-spot. It was too much, the sensation overwhelming, and you cried out, your body arching off the bed as you came, your orgasm washing over you in waves.

Rain continued to pleasure you until the last shudder had left your body, her mouth never leaving you, her fingers never stopping their rhythmic thrusts. When you finally came down from your high, Rain pulled back, her eyes locked on yours, her expression a mix of satisfaction and desire.

As you lay there on the bed, your body still tingling from the intense waves of pleasure Rain had just given you, the room seemed to quiet down, the only sound being your ragged breaths and the soft hum of the bedside lamp. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, making everything feel distant, almost surreal.

Rain slowly climbed onto the bed beside you, her body warm against your cooling skin. She propped herself up on one elbow, her blue eyes softer now, the usual intensity replaced by something gentler, something that made your heart flutter despite everything that had happened between you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Rain’s fingers traced idle patterns on your stomach, her touch light, almost hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how to begin. You could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she was struggling to find the right words, and for once, you let her take her time.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You turned your head to look at her, your eyes searching hers for answers, for understanding. “For what?” you asked softly, though you had a feeling you already knew.

“For ignoring you,” she replied, her voice thick with guilt. “For pushing you away when you needed me. For making you feel like you didn’t matter.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Rain…”

She shook her head, cutting you off before you could continue. “No, let me finish.” Her fingers tightened slightly on your skin, as if she was holding on to you, grounding herself in the moment. “I thought that by keeping things casual, by not getting too close, I was protecting both of us. But I was wrong. I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the way she was struggling to make sense of her own feelings, to find the right words to express what she was feeling. It was rare to see her like this, so open, so raw, and it made your chest ache with a mixture of hope and fear.

“I want you,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “More than just sex. I want… more. But I’m scared. I’m scared of screwing this up, of losing you if I can’t be what you need.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, a mix of emotions flooding through you—relief, joy, fear, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You reached up, your hand gently cupping her cheek, your thumb brushing over her soft skin. “Rain, I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest with me. We can figure this out together.”

She closed her eyes at your touch, leaning into your hand as if she was drawing strength from it. “I’m not used to this,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m not used to caring about someone like this, to wanting something more. But I can’t stop thinking about you, about how much you mean to me.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t try to hide it. “I care about you too, Rain. So much.”

Rain opened her eyes, her gaze locking with yours, and you could see the vulnerability there, the fear of being hurt, of hurting you. “I don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to lose you either.”

“You won’t lose me,” you replied, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

She nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she leaned down to kiss you, her lips soft against yours, full of a tenderness that was new, unfamiliar, but welcome. The kiss wasn’t like the others you had shared—it wasn’t frantic or urgent, but slow and meaningful, a promise of something more, something deeper.

When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it,” she murmured, her fingers still tracing gentle patterns on your skin. “But I want this. I want you.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with a mix of relief and happiness. “I want you too, Rain. I always have.”

She smiled back, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw hope in her eyes. “Then let’s make this work,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “Let’s figure this out together.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you, a sense that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. “Together,” you agreed softly. Rain kissed you again, and as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. Because for the first time, you both wanted the same thing—each other.

[audhd-author]

Sex Pollen

When Rick accidentally smashes a vial full of potent gas, both him and Y/N become uncomfortably aroused, explicit visions and thoughts plaguing their minds.

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2057 words.

NSFW (18+)

Rough sex, age gap, degradation, praise kink, dumbification if you squint, spanking, marking kink (scratches, biting, hickeys), light restraints, choking, face-fucking, blow job, hair-pulling, multiple orgasms, cream-pies, cunnilingus, fingering, spit play, nipple play.

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The sound of a vial smashing echoes around the garage, your gaze flying towards the source of the noise. From your seat on Rick’s workbench, you see him knelt down hurriedly trying to cover the contents of the vial. “Oh shit.” He exclaims upon seeing the yellow gas beginning to seep through the stained cloth. Wafting through the air, the gas first surrounds Rick before incher closer and closer to your seat. “Rick, what is that?” You ask, your eyes flicking over to your partner who is now hunched over another portion of the workbench with his back to you. His white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench tightens as a muffled groan emits from his throat. 

Turning around, Rick walks over to you, moving your legs apart so he can stand in between them. His hands pull your hips forward, your heat pressed up against his pelvis as you let out a startled gasp. One hand reaches up to your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck as his other hand starts to roam your body, finding all the places he knows makes you weak. 

Your core burns with arousal, your breathing coming laboured as lust begins to consume your body. “Sex pollen.” Rick’s voice is strained as he finally speaks, turning to face you. The bulge in his pants is impossible to miss as he tries to suppress another groan of desire. The coil in your stomach tightens, unable to pull your eyes away as the tent in his pants continues to grow. You can feel your arousal begin to leak down the side of your thighs as you make eye contact with him. “Rick- I need you.” You breathe, trying to soothe the undying desire burning through your veins. 

The moment the words leave your mouth, Rick crosses the room, smashing his lips into you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush with his. The two of you were often rough in the bedroom but now the urges in both of you were animalistic, carnal. The hunger for each other, overwhelming. A desperate moan escapes you as he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side as his lips attach to your neck. His hips grind into your core, causing more arousal to leak down your thighs as your nails dig into the back of his shoulders. “Fuck, I need you.” Rick groans, his free hand reaching under your shirt to grasp your breasts. “So take me.” You whimper in response as he takes your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A low growl emits from his throat upon hearing your words and within seconds, both of your shirts are thrown across the garage. 

His hands expertly unclasp your bra, his tongue licking up in between your breasts as it joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Sucking one nipple into his mouth, your back arches to him as his tongue runs over the hardened bud. His hands reach down to unbuckle your jeans as he switches his attention to your other nipple. Hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, he pulls the remaining clothing from you. A strained groan escapes him as he sees the layer of arousal glistening down your inner thighs. “Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” He murmurs before dipping his head in between your legs. The tip of his tongue runs up your inner thigh, collecting your arousal. Moans and whimpers fall off your lips as your hands entangle in his hair. Slowly licking further towards your sensitive bud, your body jerks as he finally runs his tongue over it. “Oh- holy shit.” You gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, two fingers running over your entrance, teasing you. 

Your head flies back, a sinful moan escaping you as he suddenly sinks two digits knuckle deep inside you. The moment he curls his fingers to hit the spongy flesh inside you, you could swear you saw stars. His tongue continues its work on your clit, switching between sucking and licking as he begins to slowly thrust his fingers in and out of you. Your grip on his hair tightens as he works you closer and closer to orgasm. Already so desperately aroused, it doesn’t take long before your legs begin to shake uncontrollably as you reach the edge of arrival. However, the wave of pleasure never comes, instead you’re left with an empty feeling as Rick stands up, his hands hurriedly working to undo his belt. Dropping his pants to the floor, your core tightens as he finally frees himself from his boxers, his tip leaking with pre-cum. His hands pull your ass to the edge of the bench, his member pressing at your entrance.

Your arousal allows him to slip inside you with ease and the moment he rubs against your sweet spot, your nails dig into his shoulders, a filthy moan escaping you. The pleasure flooding through your body is intense, every muscle in your body spasming as he stretches your walls around him. A deep groan escapes Rick as you clench around him, his dick twitching inside you before he pulls out, roughly slamming back into you. His pace is inhuman, his hands move your hips against him, forcing himself deeper into you with each thrust. “So fucking tight.” He groans as you wrap one hand around the back of his neck, the other grasping at the edge of the bench. Your breasts jiggle with each relentless thrust, pleasure flooding your veins as a string of moans falls from your lips. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth with his, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Both of you freely moan into each other’s mouth as your tongues intertwine, the coil in your stomach tightening with every buck of his hips. 

His nails dig into your hips as he gets closer to his arrival, low groans emitting from his throat. You could barely think straight and as the familiar wave of pleasure crashes over you, your head goes light as your body shakes uncontrollably. Rick’s name falls off your lips in a sinful scream as your nails scratch down his back. A guttural groan escapes him as your body clenches around him, his hips stalling in movement as he reaches his own arrival. Hot liquid coating your walls, his thrusts finally slow down as he draws out both of your highs, chests heaving with each breath. His hands move to rest on your inner thighs as he slowly pulls out of you, cum seeping out of your hole. Dipping his head in between your legs, your body jerks as he runs his tongue from your sensitive clit to your entrance. Slowly pushing his tongue inside you, he gathers his secretion on his tongue. Standing back up, his hand grabs the sides of your neck as he forces you to look up at him. “Open your mouth.” 

You were quick to follow his order, holding your tongue out as he spits the mixture of your arousals into your mouth. “Swallow.” Not breaking eye contact, you obey, opening your mouth again to show him. “Such a good slut for me, aren’t you?” He smirks, running the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. All you could do in response is nod, your mind unable to form any words, still recovering from your last orgasm. “On your knees.” He says, stepping back to give you space to get down from the bench. Your knees nearly give out on you, buckling as you stand, your hands gripping for the bench as you try to stabilise yourself. Rick’s hand entangles itself in your hair, pulling your head to face him. “Did you not hear me? Too fucked dumb to understand me, huh? On your fucking knees.” He growls, shoving you down onto your knees as he strokes his throbbing member with his free hand. His grip in your hair pulls you forward as your lips part around him. A low groan escapes him as you suck on his tip, your tongue flattening against him. 

Opening your throat, you slowly take the rest of him in. “Such a gorgeous little slut for me, aren’t you darling? Taking all of me down your throat.” He growls, his member twitching in your mouth. You hum in response which earns a low groan from him as his hips buck further into your throat. Slowly drawing himself out, he begins to fuck your mouth, drool beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. His hand flies down to the back of your head when he hits the back of your throat, tears welling in your eyes. “Holy fuck.” He breathes, thrusting harder as you try to fight the urge to gag. Pulling your head back by your hair, he lifts you to your feet, quickly turning you around, your pelvis pressing against the countertop. “Bend over.” 

You’re quick to obey, placing your feet outside of his as your chest flattens against the cool metal bench. A harsh slap sounds throughout the room as his hand makes contact with your left asscheek then your right as you jump at the unexpected touch. Lining himself up with your entrance, he pushes himself in, emitting a soft moan from you. “You’re so fucking tight for me, fucking squeezing my cock.” He growls as he begins to slowly thrust into you. A sharp, hot sting spreads over your ass as his hand comes down against it again, causing a string of moans to escape you. You couldn’t manage a response more than that, the new position adding more depth than before as he stretches your walls around him. 

Running his hands down your sides, he pushes his chest flush against your back, his mouth attaching itself to the crook of your neck. Gently biting down, he runs his tongue over the indents as he begins to slowly increase the pace of his thrusts. His name falls off your lips in a breathy moan as he begins to suck the sensitive skin on your neck into his mouth, a purple hue spreading over your skin. “That’s it, keep moaning my name for me, remind yourself who you belong to.” He groans as his pace increases yet again. Lifting himself off your back, he grabs for your wrists and pulls them behind your back as he bottoms you out. 

Stars begin to cloud your vision as he thrusts up into your sweet spot, your legs beginning to shake. “Fuck, Rick.” You gasp as his hand snakes under your throat, lifting your back up to his chest. His other hand drops your wrists, wrapping around your body as he circles your clit with his index finger. Your head falls back on his shoulder as he continues to thrust up into you, rubbing up against the sensitive flesh inside you as he does. Trailing your hand down his body, your nails scratch along his thigh as he emits a low groan. Your breathing labours further as his teeth gently scrape along your earlobe, feeling another wave of pleasure about to come crashing upon you. 

Feeling you begin to squeeze further around him, his thrusts become sloppier, another orgasm approaching him. “Scream my name.” His voice deep with desire, you come undone at those three words. His name escapes you in a pleasured scream, light-headedness flooding your veins as your body writhes uncontrollably. You can feel yourself pulse around him, causing a shuddered groan to escape his lips as his warm secretion covers your walls. His thrusts begin to slow down as he pulls you closer to him, the both of you gasping for air as you come down from your highs. 

It’s at this point in time that you’re grateful for Rick supporting most of your weight, your legs struggling to bear weight without buckling. A weary smile pulls at your lips as you feel him peppering kisses down your neck and shoulders. His hands trail down to your hips, gently turning you around to face him before he lifts you back up onto the workbench. Grabbing his lab coat off the floor, he drapes it over your shoulders before pulling on his pants. “Interdimensional cable after I clean this up?” He murmurs, pressing his lips against yours as you nod. “Sounds amazing.”

-----------------

[azsazz]

Tonight I'm So Lonely (Part 2)

Cassian x Rhysand's Sister!Reader

Summary: Part 2 to the One-Liner Anon Request: This is so cliche but what about “of course it’s you.” for your writing exercise 😙

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,306

(Part 1)

_________________________________________

You turn towards your brother, eyes sparkling with tears, shining much like the stars framing you from behind. “Why wouldn’t he tell anyone?”

Your name is a soft exhale from your brother's lips, and you fall into his open arms instantly. Clutching him back as tightly as he’s hugging you, you realize that you’ve missed him more than you ever noticed before. Fighting with Rhys and being ignored by Cassian has taken a toll on you, and your eyes slide shut as you try to stop the tears from spilling over. “I don’t know why. Does he know?”

You nod against his shoulder, throat too tight with emotion to speak. It feels like a cavern in your chest, your heart cracking and caving in upon itself, mirror to how you’d felt when your mother had been murdered before your very eyes. 

“I know he knows, Rhys. I can feel him sometimes, even when he thinks he’s blocking me out.” 

Sometimes, when Cassian forgets that you’re his, you can feel every hit he’s taking during a particularly rough training session, the soreness in his bones, the splitting of the skin across his knuckles when he fights. You can feel his utter joy when he’s having a night with Rhys and Azriel, the laughter they share and the dizziness that comes with bottles of fae wine.

But mostly, you can feel how lonely he is. That flicker of pain that could be your own when he catches sight of you and turns the other way. When he sits down the table from you as far as he can so that he doesn’t even have to look at you, the tremble of his soul as it fights from his chest, reaching out to you when he’s trying so desperately to pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” Rhys answers, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Then, “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No,” you answer quickly, pulling away from him. He doesn’t let you go, though, hands planted on your shoulders in a comforting manner. The sight of his glittering crown is obnoxious, and you’d normally snort at him, teasing him for wearing it, but tonight, it gives you an idea. “But I will need your help cornering him.”

***

“I wanted to talk to you before I told anyone.”

“But you haven’t.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Cassian curses, running his fingers through his wind-blown hair. His digits snag on the tangles and he winces, tugging them out instead to work at the belt of his sheath, needing something to fidget with to expel some of this nervous energy.

His heart slams in his chest just being in your presence. He never thought he’d find his mate, never thought it would be his High Lord’s little sister. Someone he’s grown up with and hadn’t looked at as more than a nuisance until the both of you had matured and he’d really seen you for who you are; beautiful and a lot more worthy than anything he can give you. 

Finding you lying in crimson spilt snow was his worst nightmare come true. Each breath was agony and his fingers trembled so hard that the sword he had gripped in firm fingers had fallen to the ground. If Tamlin and his family had still been at the scene Cassian wouldn’t have been able to fight them off, he would’ve gladly accepted his fate too, knowing in that moment that if he didn’t have you around, he didn’t want to be either.

But it hadn’t been until you kissed him that fateful night, when the Night Court had seized the lands they’d lost during the war, that Cassian realized just how much you meant. Long days and nights on the battlefield spent wielding weapons that cut lines through enemy armies, his mind never strayed from you. How you were faring, if you were injured or lying somewhere out on the bloodied field, alone and exhaling your last breath, so close to losing you again.

It terrifies him, the idea of losing something so important not only to him, but to your brother, to the court. 

“It is as simple as that, Cassian,” you argue, “You could’ve just talked to me at any point, instead of running away like a child.”

“You don’t understand,” he chokes, throat tight.

“Then help me understand!” Your chest heaves, cheeks red with frustration. Why won’t he talk to you? Why won’t he tell you what’s going on in that thick head of his? Why is running away from you so much easier than it is to stay?

“I’d rather have my wings torn from my back than to come so close to losing you again!”

Your mouth parts, words caught in your throat. Your chest aches with a thousand wounds as you stare up at him. Cassian’s chest heaves, hazel eyes sparkling with unshed tears. You haven’t seen him looking anything close to this since you’d woken up after the incident and he was by your bedside, begging the Mother to let you stay.

“I—”

But Cassian continues, now that the words have started spilling. “You’re…you’re the High Lord’s sister,” he argues, but it’s weak. He’s trying to convince himself, you realize. He won’t look at you, wringing his fingers together nervously. “And I’m just…me.”

“Oh, Cassian,” you coo, reaching out with a hand to caress his face, to tilt his head to meet your gaze, but he pulls away. “You’re the Lord of Bloodshed,” he scoffs at the title, “One of the High Lord’s Inner Circle, but most of all, you’re mine.”

Something breaks in him at your claim. His body slams into yours so fast you can’t prepare. Large, rough hands cup your cheeks and eager lips meet yours as Cassian backs you into the wall.

It takes your mind a moment to catch up, but when he grunts against your lips you snap into motion. Wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him pulled close, you move your mouth against his. It’s hot and desperate. Your teeth brush against his but the feelings quickly replaced with his tongue swooping against yours as it delves into your mouth to explore.

You meet him, keening with pleasure at the touch. His body shudders and his knees nearly give out, relaxing his body weight into you. It’s comfortable, not at all drowning, it’s everything you’ve been wanting for so long, finally within your reach.

Your bond thrums happily in your chest and you can swear you hear his purring. His cock is heavy in his pants and you shiver at the feeling of it pressed into your body. You’ve fantasized about that cock.

Cassian feels like coming home. Like waking up from the longest nap in the world. You haven’t forgiven him, not in the slightest, but his silken hair feels like heaven as you rip the tie from the back of his head. His muscles feel like opening the most precious Starfall gift, rippling beneath your nails as you rake them down his body.

He groans, hands just as desperate to touch. They slide down your sides in a possessive manner, over the round of your ass and beneath your thighs as he grips tightly and lifts you into his arms with the ease of a warrior.

You curse against his mouth and he swallows it greedily, cock swelling in his tight leathers.

“Say it again,” he breathes against your lips.

“What?” you ask, dazed. You angle your head away but he doesn’t let you go far, trailing kisses beneath your ear to keep you close.

“Say that I’m yours again,” he pleads, and you gasp when he bucks his hips against yours as he walks. “Mine, Cassian,” you moan, digging your fingers into his hair once more. “You are mine.”

[knoepfl]

Frayed Threads of Control

So I thought since we've got a villain (Shigaraki) and a student (Monoma) we either need a teacher or a hero and lucky us Aizawa is both! So here he is! I was inspired by the post of @devotion-disorder so check them out! If you want to see more characters in that room be sure to check out the Masterlist and/or write a comment or request if you want to see someone specific! I'm always open and happy to do them!^^ Anyways.... ENJOY!

Masterlist

---

The room was dim and quiet, save for the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Aizawa Shouta stood motionless, his black hair a tangled mess as his tired eyes scanned the walls. Photos were pinned across every surface—your face beaming in each one. It was a familiar sight, the kind of expression you usually saved just for him.

But you weren’t alone in these pictures.

Every image showed you beside someone else. Laughing, holding hands, gazing at this stranger with the kind of warmth that Aizawa thought was his. The man’s hands rested comfortably on your waist, his arm around your shoulder. The sight of it was enough to make Aizawa’s fingers curl into fists inside the deep pockets of his jacket.

His throat felt tight, but his face remained unreadable. Years as a pro hero had taught him to suppress his emotions, to keep himself steady no matter the situation. But right now? That resolve was slipping.

Slowly. Unforgivingly.

5 Minutes in:

Aizawa stood completely still, staring at the photos with narrowed, calculating eyes. His mind churned, trying to piece together some logical explanation. This has to be a trick. A prank. You wouldn't—

His jaw clenched as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to fight off the unease rising in his chest. “What’s the point of this?” he muttered under his breath. “You wouldn’t do this to me.”

A small part of him wanted to believe this wasn’t real—that it couldn’t be real. But the images were vivid. Too vivid. And that stranger’s face lingered in his mind like a thorn, one that kept twisting deeper the longer he stared.

“Calm down,” he whispered to himself. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

But even as he said it, doubt began to creep in, its weight sinking into his bones.

1 Hour in:

The room felt too quiet. Aizawa’s arms were folded across his chest, fingers digging into his biceps as if holding himself together. His breathing remained slow and steady, but his mind was anything but calm.

He dragged a chair to the center of the room and sat down, elbows on his knees, eyes locked onto the photos with an intensity that could shatter glass. His heart thumped heavily, though he kept his expression neutral—detached, even.

Why does this bother me? It shouldn’t. He was supposed to be in control, wasn’t he? Control was everything to him.

But every time he looked at those pictures, the control slipped. The sight of you smiling for someone else? It made his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He swallowed thickly, shifting in his seat.

Did you really let someone touch you like that?

His hands clenched until his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly. “This is fake. It has to be.”

And yet… what if it wasn’t?

3 Hours in:

The room was suffocating now, the air thick with tension and thoughts he couldn’t silence. Aizawa ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. His usual calm demeanor was unraveling, thread by thread.

He could still see your face—clear as day—in every image. He knew you better than anyone else. The way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. The way your voice softened when you whispered to him in the dead of night. And now that same softness was aimed at someone else.

His breath hitched as an unfamiliar emotion clawed at his chest—something ugly and desperate.

You were his anchor, the person who kept him grounded in a life that often felt like chaos. The idea of you being with someone else was unbearable, twisting his insides until it hurt to breathe.

“Why would you do this?” he whispered hoarsely, gripping the edge of the chair so tightly it creaked under his weight.

Rationality told him these were just photos—edited, manipulated, false. But the images kept feeding the darkest part of his mind. The part that feared losing you. The part that whispered, What if they took you away?

6+ Hours in:

By the time six hours had passed, Aizawa was no longer sitting. He stood in front of the wall, his gaze cold and distant, as if staring through the pictures rather than at them. The calm mask he usually wore had cracked, revealing something far more dangerous underneath—possessiveness born from fear and love twisted together.

His gloved hand hovered over one of the photos, fingers brushing against your image. For a moment, his touch was soft, almost tender. But then his hand curled, crumpling the picture in a fist.

“I won’t let them have you,” he whispered, voice dark with resolve.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly. He wasn’t the type to lash out impulsively, no matter how much this hurt. But he wasn’t above taking control of the situation—any way he could.

If someone thought they could take you from him, they were sorely mistaken.

Aizawa pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers steady as he dialed your number. He knew you wouldn’t pick up—you were probably with them. But that didn’t matter. He would find you. And once he did, he would fix this.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

His lips curled into a grim smile. “We’ll talk soon,” he whispered. “And after that… you won’t need anyone else.”

He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His mind was already working, planning the next steps. He didn’t know if the photos were real or not, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

You were his.

And Aizawa wasn’t about to let you forget that.

The Aftermath:

When Aizawa finally found you, his expression was unreadable, as calm as ever. But the tension in his shoulders told a different story.

“You and I need to talk,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. There was no anger in his tone—just an unwavering certainty that left no room for argument.

Before you could say anything, his hand slipped around your wrist, his grip secure but not painful.

“We’ll figure this out,” he murmured, his dark eyes boring into yours. “But you’re not leaving my side. Not now. Not ever.”

There was no threat in his words—just the truth, plain and simple. You belonged with him. That was all that mattered.

And in his mind, that was exactly where you would stay.

Forever.

---

[little-emerald-snake]

Smutmas Day 16

“My parents are home!” “Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet.” - Sebastian Sallow X F!MC

🔥NSFW 🔞 MDNI

576 words

Warnings: unprotected p-in-v

Sebastian had crawled up the lattice below her window, pleased that she’d opened up after hearing the smaller raps of his knuckles against the glass pane.

Upon helping him inside and kissing him deeply she whisper-yelled to him. “Why are you here? You can’t be here right now. My parents are home!”

He chuckled softly, pulling her close and walking her backwards toward her bed while placing one hand around her waist and another behind her neck. “Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet, hm?”

The backs of her knees hit her mattress as he carefully lowered her down, climbing on top of her and kissing her passionately.

One of her hands slid its way into his hair while her other went to his chest. His lips worked their way down to her neck, causing her to gasp slightly. He nipped gently which caused her head to tip back.

He made quick work of their clothes, and finally with no layers between them he slotted himself between her legs, biting his lip while sliding inside of her.

He fully bottomed out inside of her, letting out a heavy breath in her ear. She moaned in response and he held his palm over her mouth. “Shh, careful darling. Don’t want your father to come up here and catch me balls deep inside of you, do you?”

She clenched around him, causing him to bite gently into her shoulder to stifle a groan. He thrusted into her, groaning at the tightness gripping around him.

She always felt good but since it had been a while away from each other she was oh so tight around him. He bucked into her, flinching when the bed creaked below them.

She adjusted them a little to the side as breathy moans left her mouth. The squeak disappeared and his teeth left her shoulder. “Oh, Merlin. Your pussy is so fucking tight. I-I’m not gonna last long.”

She sighed in pleasure, reaching between them to roll her finger over the sensitive bud of her clit. She let out a small gasp, tightening around him again. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he held himself up on his elbows, frantically trying to hold himself back from orgasm while plowing his hips into her.

She tipped her head back, eyes rolling back as her heels dug into his lower back. He felt her tighten impossibly around him and groaned as low as he could against her sweat slicked skin. “Gonna fill you so full…”

After coming down from the high they laid in her bed, tangled up in each other till she heard her mothers voice from downstairs calling her for dinner. Her eyes widened as she shot up from bed, frantically throwing on clothes.

She turned to Sebastian who was still laying in her bed, naked under her sheets. He looked up at her with a smirk and she shook her head. “No, you can’t stay up here during dinner. Y-you have to go…”

He shook his head, grinning mischievously. “No I don’t think I will. I think I’ll wait right here and when you’re done eating I’m going to fuck you again. Longer this time, like you deserve.”

She turned very red, throwing on a sweater before leaving her room to head down to dinner. Sebastian crossed his arms behind his head with a wide grin on his face as he relaxed back onto her pillows.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Would Blanche let me give him head?

Tw: Well, blowjob, seggs, description of bullying, cum eating, violence

Short answer, Yes. Long answer:

You would have to win him over, though. He's ridiculously shy when it comes to anything outside platonic love and attraction. As charming as he is, Blanche actually never had anyone express genuine desire to bed him. He was by no means ugly, but his whimsy and quaintness made others label him as this unromancable, unfuckable weirdo.

Blanche is almost as if he has a built in magnet for bullies, the closest to a love confession that he got was when the people around him dared each other to ask him out, as a joke. It's funny to them because Blanche is not at all an eligible candidate as a bachelor. The idea of sleeping with him is humorous, hilarious, even. They weren't laughing anymore when all of them experienced the metallic taste of his brass knuckles driven deep into their skulls.

He experienced this treatment for the majority of his life, following him all the way to adulthood and even during his time living as a hermit in his cottage. They just can't fuck the old man and they kept tormenting him because of it.

He yearns to be the romantic gentleman he would see in love films, he yearns to be treated like someone valuable like a protagonist of a steamy romance novel. Alas, he was hurt and used for so long, that he blocked that longing out entirely from his mind, to save him from the unavoidable heartbreak. Unfortunately, even when he is expecting nothing, he still gets let down.

It's not a surprise that he's wary with the notion of romance and erotic attraction. It's already drilled into his being that he isn't desirable carnally. It's an automatic no to anyone who thinks it's a great idea to 'prank' him again.

But you... you're different. You're so special and so lovely to him. Bringing up the idea of sucking him off made Blanche freeze in place momentarily, letting all those horrible, horrible memories flood back in. However, he reminded himself that you wouldn't hurt him, you're his beloved friend. His only, one true friend. It should be okay, right?

He's apprehensive at first, but with enough patience and convincing, you could make him sit down at least. Blanche would drape his hair over the back of his chair, letting it pool on the floor. He would nervously bite on his thumb as you slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

Blanche felt like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, how could it not? The only person he loves is on their knees at his crotch level, offering to do something so dirty, something unthinkable. Yet so... intimate.

You would stop when you saw him crying, eyes red and wet. His eyebrows would be knitted together and his lower lip trembles in anticipation. Upon asking what's wrong, he would break out into a sob, covering his shameful face with his hands. He would grow hot and his ears would resemble hot embers, he is so, so ashamed.

"I-I'm sorry, my darling. I'm just- I'm Just... embarrassed." And it was too overwhelming for him to see a growing bulge on his crotch, he had never felt this vulnerable before. Not even after being called all kinds of derogatory slurs by hundreds of people in real life and online. This is a different type of humiliation that somewhat felt nice, because it was with you.

He would draw in the sharpest gasp and widen his beautiful, deep blue eyes when you took him in your mouth. Swirl your tongue around his length, let it touch the back of your soft and slimy throat and enjoy the delicious whines, whimpers and mewls that would escape his mouth.

His moans would be like music to your ears, it's so pathetic and needy. Blanche would have his fingers tangled within your hair, not to force you against his length, but to try and slow you. You would bob your head up and down, occasionally catching a glimpse of his messy, teary face. It almost seems like he's in excruciating pain, but whenever you stopped to ask him if he's hurting,

"No! N-no, not at all. It felt so good, I-I can't describe it. It felt so good..." Drool would drip down from the corner as he watched you with a daze. He would let out a cry when you went back to mouthing his throbbing cock, leaked with excess amounts of precum.

Blanche would convulse as if you passed electricity through him, his eyes would roll back into his skull as he's overcome by immense bouts of forbidden pleasure. His fingers would grow weaker and weaker, at one point even slipping off your head and dangling limply on his sides. More tears, mucus and drool would streak down his once clean and dignified face.

At his climax, his entire body would contract and Blanche would let the loudest, most lewd, most improper moan rip out from his vocals. His copious amounts of cum would take you by surprise as it fills you up to the brim, it's so powerful that some would come out of your nose if you didn't open your throat properly before blowing him.

It will take him half a minute to unload everything, making a mess all over your neck, chest and floor. It would almost look like the bedroom is flooding with semen, some even got soaked up by his curly hair nearby.

It will take another few seconds to recuperate, slowly snapping out of this euphoric bliss that he experienced for the first time in his lonely, lonely life. You would be wiping your eyes to remove the cum that temporarily blinded you.

"O-oh! I'm truly sorry, darling..." He would lean forward, cupping your cheeks and helping you clean your face up from decades of pent up frustration and desperate yearning. "I'm so sorry... oh, look at you. I'm terribly sorry for this..." He would frown, now being brought to tears due to guilt. He would be flicking as much of his semen away from your face. Blanche noticed that you're still holding quite a substantial amount between your tongue and teeth, he would bring a cupped hand next to your chin, expecting you to spit it out.

"My dear, don't-" He would be wide eyed when you decided the remaining load in your mouth, grinning happily and even showing that there is nothing in your mouth. Blanche could only dream to have the tomatoes growing in his garden to be as scarlet as his face right now.

Because of his clean diet, his jizz actually tasted... nice? It's mildly sweet and has a very mild smell to it. It's smooth, creamy and generally pleasant to eat.

"You..." He would be at a loss of words as he processed what you did. Upon realizing what the implications are, that you have a part of him inside you willingly, and in unimaginable amounts too... His cock would find a new burst of energy to spurt one last load of cum, soiling his trousers, chair and your face again.

He would then cry out apologies before hastily wiping away more spunk away from your already painted countenance.

You had to assure him that you're okay, you enjoyed it too, only then he will let out a shaky sigh of relief before looking you with eyes filled with so much love and adoration. He quickly tucks his member back into his underwear and zipped it out of sight, before it could do further damage,

"Thank you, my love. Thank you..." He leans forward to press numerous kisses onto your face, initially not caring that he's also coating his lips with his spunk. Only when it seeped into his mouth did he cringe and shudder.

"Ah, icky." Blanche would laugh, and so would you. He nuzzles his nose against yours and continued giving you kisses while you kneel in front of him.

His eyes would land on the disaster that he created while ejaculating, darting from your drenched form to the floor, and to his soiled hair too. Blanche would nervously chuckle while trying his best to wipe your face using the napkin he tucks into his other breast pocket. "Yucky, yucky." He would mumble lightheartedly to himself while he stares at you with the brightest twinkle in his downturned eyes.

"You're such a blessing to me, I love you." He whispered, urging you to come and sit on his lap, despite knowing that he would get his cum onto his waistcoat too. He tries his best to clean you up, but it's already staining everything. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He would love you up in his arms, showering you with praises and kisses for hours if you let him. You would be as giggly as him, as his fluttering lips would be ticklish. In the end, he would bury his face in your shoulder while he holds you close.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess. I got a bit too excited, y-you made me feel things I never felt before. It was... It was so good. I-I don't know what to say except thank you." He would murmur softly before you felt a certain dampness on your clothes, he's crying again.

"You're so good to me, my rose. You're my one and only, I love you." Blanche then presses a long, tender kiss on your lips. You close your eyes and he closes his teary ones, both of you melting into each other and enjoying the warmth.

He would slowly pull away and tenderly massage your jaw, it must have been straining when you did that for him. He isn't one to brag about his size, but he could clearly see that he was too big for you.

"I can't express enough how grateful I am. You're such a wonderful angel in my sad, sad life... How could I ever repay you, my love?" He caressed the side of your face, occasionally picking out hair that clung to your skin. "Would you like me to..." He trailed off, looking away embarrassed.

You got what he meant, you said yes. But only if he's comfortable with it.

"Of course, I am, my dear." He pressed his cheek against yours, hugging you as if you're his beloved stuffed toy. "But... I'm not, I don't- I don't have much experience doing such things."

He held your face and looked into your eyes, you could see uncertainty and nervousness swirling in those ocean blues.

"Will you teach me, darling? I would love to please you too. You have shown me a world that I couldn't even dream of experiencing. I am forever indebted to you and I-I'm having a hard time coming up with methods to show you my unyielding gratitude."

[carryonafi]

nothin’ but noise.

calum hood x reader; SMUT!!🔞

WE FINALLY HAVE A CALUM BLURB!! there’s so many more projects and stuff that i have in the works but school has been kicking my ass, yada yada all the excuses you hear from fanfic authors— but enjoy this!! no plot, just calum being a munch🤍

words: 1.6k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You never thought you could describe a man’s sound as beautiful, but that's all you were getting when you stared up at Calum Hood through your eyelashes. His hands were tangled in your hair, gathering it up in a makeshift ponytail as he choked back whimpers of gratitude. Head bobbing up and down, slowly… carefully, just to prepare yourself as you held your thumb tightly and took him all the way in. He hit the back of your throat, eyes welling up and becoming glossy as you tried to blink the tears away. Calum tipped his head back, one loud gasp followed by a much softer moan slipping past his full pink pout. Wetted with saliva, his lips were parted in shallow breaths and ragged inhales. He cursed under his beautiful sounds as you came back up, eyebrows knitted together. You made eye contact with him again, pulling all the way back until the tense string of spit connecting your lips to his tip broke off and left a trail down your chin. Your hand made quick work of his base, swallowing thickly and catching your breath due to your previous lack of control.

Calum sighed your name, sounding so far away… but he was right there, On the brink, he sat, but your slick palm wasn't enough. “Oh, god.” He gasped once your thumb dug into his slit and swirled around the pre-cum.

“Wanna finish like this, Cal?” You asked, voice raspy and coated with your need to look down on him. His hands were still fisted in your hair, big brown eyes staring non-harmful daggers into your own. He rolled his hips into your hand in response, feeling his stomach flutter with the name you gave him. His tattooed chest rose and fell with each staggered breath he took, supplying himself with limited oxygen yet enough to push his flushed tan skin.

“Do I have other options?” Calum stammered, desperately moving his hips in time with the slow pumps of your hands since your pace hadn’t come to a complete stop yet.

“Inside me?” You paused, admiring how his eyes lit up just at the thought of filling you to your brink. “Mm, you’ll have to switch places with me if you want that, though.” His eyes seemed to brighten even more, a honey golden stare looking back at you instead of darkened chocolate lust. You giggled, stopping everything you were doing just to crawl up his body while hovering over his much more muscular frame. “You think you can do that, make me feel good, Cal?” You drew out the syllables of his name, patronizing but so, so sweet. Calum gave you an eager nod and within seconds he was trying his lips down your body just after flipping your positions. He was excited, buzzing to get a taste of you and it was apparent in the way he didn’t do his usual routine of hickeys all down your skin and caressing your thighs. His lips were over your clothed heat, pressing the flat of his tongue to the spot which pulled a moan from your throat. Your turn, your turn to have your knuckles in his hair tightening with each swivel of his tongue. Calum’s fingers tucked between the fabric of your panties and the smooth valley of your inner thigh, he was about to push them off to the side, but you took it upon yourself to hastily wiggle your hips and get them off of you as quickly as possible.

His next moves were predictable, but oh, were they fast. He dove in immediately and dragged a stripe along your core with his tongue, dipping into the folds, then swirling your clit and closing his lips around the bundle of nerves. Calum’s actions were already sending you into a spiral, another gasp as your hips lifted towards his mouth and you laid your head down on the satin pillows. Your eyes closed as he repeated this process, kissing, sucking, lapping up your fluids. It made you a mess of endless moaning and tugs on his soft frizzy hair, eliciting more from him which sent vibrations coursing through your veins.

At one point, you opened your eyes and looked down. Your arousal made you lightheaded and weak, just barely lifting your head enough to see him completely enveloped in you. This only made your head spin more, he looked up at you the same way you did to him just a few moments earlier with a hint of innocence in his hopeless brown eyes. Calum separated himself from you, though he was dying to go back for more. He just needed to see you unravel, he knew you loved how he looked like this, his hair a thick mess only tamed in your fingers, chin shiny with liquid and lips glistening with the same substance. His poor little pout, so kiss-swollen and pink from pleasuring you. As he gave you his puppy eyes, he used his fingers to rub in gentle circles on your sensitive bud so he could feel the shake of your thighs which were hiked up over his shoulders. “Love havin’ you like this.”

“Love when you’ve got tears in your eyes like that, ‘n your makeup starts to smudge… so fucking pretty.” Calum leaned in, turning his head to the side to mumble against your thigh between open mouthed kisses. “The prettiest.”

“I need you, now.” You just barely spoke over a whisper to Calum, who had stopped with his hand now as well and gave you the warmest smile. It looked no different to the ones he gave you when you woke up in the morning, or when he looked you in the eyes after a long day of recording… innocence for such an act.

“Weren’t you the one telling me I needed to do this first?” Calum hummed in response, knowing he had completely won you over again by the way you only nodded and tried your best to pull him back up towards you. It felt like a blur when your lips met, moving quickly against each other in a haste to adjust your positions so he could line up with the slick of your entrance. Nothing could compare to that feeling, hips flush as you desperately egged him on to hurry up and stop playing his games. One swift thrust had you both gasping for air, Calum was a bit louder than you… yet he was muffled by his lips pressed to your neck. He was the one hovered over you, your legs wrapped around his waist as if he could get any closer than he already was. This wasn’t going to last very long for either of you, but the anticipation kept you on the edge.

“Calum!” One simple whine of his name and he was moving, making you squeak with the unexpected change. His hips moved rhythmically, hitting endless beats like he was listening to a metronome designed specifically for you in his head, and it only took him a few seconds to find the most sensitive spot deep in the pit of your stomach. It was heavy, thick tension as you drawled his name and made the most pleasurable whines regarding how fucking good he was taking care of you. Your ecstasy never seemed to stop, but the warmth of his sweaty, sweet brown waves kept you grounded. You needed to feel something other than the repeated abuse of your g-spot as he pounded, Calum wasn’t afraid now. It had taken him so long to just loosen up a little bit and let the vulnerability come out as well as the dominating persona. You were finally getting the most of it and enjoying every bit. Finally, finally, his perfect face lifted from the crook of your neck and he admired the look on your face. Everything he loved, your lips forming a perfect O and wide glossy eyes shielded from the light by his shadow.

“Come on, come on… can feel you. So close.” He encouraged, followed by a string of sweet promises pushing you to finally tip over. Not even a few seconds passed, but you were coming undone right beneath him. Calum breathed out like it was his own orgasm, whispers of “Yeah, yeah. Fuck, baby.” all mixed together behind the sounds of your desperate moans and the ringing in your ears. Your body tensed, pulsing, clenching around Calum which brought him over with no warning. He panted, furrowing his brows as his hips stilled and you could bask in the uncomfortable feeling. It didn’t bring you too much euphoria, but felt so deep. So fucking deep.

Both of you left breathless, your arms hung loosely around his neck as he brought you own from your highs with kisses to your cheek and the corner of your mouth. Everything was slow now, you could hear Calum’s heartbeat so hard it sounded like it would burst through his chest… though yours probably sounded the same way. When he came up from his job of giving you kisses, he gave you a lazy smile that made you giggle. It was so contagious he had to as well, rolling over to lay on his side. His one arm tucked underneath your body while the other was tossed over your stomach.

“Now you wanna play the baby and be held, huh?” You teased, but you couldn't be too upset. Calum looked very content with his head on your shoulder and his perfect little nose pressed to your skin. He hummed out an affirmative answer, eyes closed as he was already starting to slip out of consciousness. What more could you want other than Calum, and his perfect sounds, and perfect hair, and perfect face… possibly to have this every day? It wasn’t guaranteed yet, so that was the only thing you could wish for.

[gil-galadhwen]

How about number 30 for the smut dialogue prompts?

Elrond x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary & warnings: NSFW. Elrond has a meeting he's been fretting over so while he's out, you tidy your shared rooms and prepare his favourite foods. Yet when he returns, your kindness kind of turns him on 👀

Word Count: 700+

***

I Will Never Get Enough Of You

Elrond has been worrying about the meeting with foreign nobles for the last few days, and any amount of reassurance from you has failed to soothe his troubled mind. Still, you wanted to ensure that regardless of the meeting’s outcome, Elrond would return home to calm and comfort so before he was due back, you lay out his favourite foods, open a bottle of Lindon’s finest wine and light candles to give your shared rooms a soft, cosy feel. You consider running him a bath as well and while you’re examining the bottles of oils that line the shelves in the bathing chamber, you hear the front door slam so hard you’re sure it must have come off its hinges.

Tentatively, you move to the doorway, anxiety wreathing around your throat as you try to think where the closest weapon might be - if this is an intruder, you need to act quickly. To your relief, there is no intruder. Instead, Elrond stands by the dining table with his hands braced on the back of one of the ornate chairs, his head bowed over it.

Relief washes over you at first, followed quickly by dismay. Had the meeting truly gone as bad as Elrond feared? 

“My lord?” 

Elrond releases a sigh and straightens. The top of his embroidered jerkin is undone revealing his chest down to his navel which is flushed along with his cheeks. His damp hair curls over his forehead in a way that makes your heart flutter like a trapped moth inside your chest.

The look he pins you with makes other things flutter too.

“Did you do this?” He gestures to the lit candles and covered tray on the table, the wine ready to be poured and fine, silver cutlery polished so that it gleams.

“Yes, I…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I thought you would like to have dinner on your return, but if it is not necessary then I will–”

He holds up a hand halting your words, then smiles kindly.

You relax a fraction as Elrond rounds the table towards you. He steps closer and closer until your back is against the frame of the doorway.

“I am without words to properly convey my gratitude,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle against your warm cheek. 

“You may thank me in any way you wish,” you say, boldly wrapping your arms around the herald’s neck.

He raises an eyebrow at that. “I would say we should eat now but there appears to be other things I should like to feast on first.”

There is a beat of silence while you look at each other, your breaths mingling and eyes dancing with intent and promise.

“Is that so,” you say with more confidence than you feel, even though Elrond’s desire for you can easily be felt through the thin fabric of his clothing.

His lips are on yours before you can blink. Elrond is usually so measured yet he kisses you with a fervour you’ve never experienced from him before and it is blistering. 

You make quick work of each other’s clothing, both of you mapping out each other in bruising kisses, licks and touches while he holds you fast against the door frame. You wrap a leg around his waist and whimper at the firmness of him pushing against the softest parts of you.

Elrond curses under his breath, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I have had the absolute worst day and yet one look at you and I…” He shakes his head as though in disbelief.  “I am blessed beyond the call of the Valar for you, my love.”

“Elrond, please,” you beg, your hips moving, coaxing him to where you need him most.

He pushes forward and you both moan as he fills you up. His grip on your leg wrapped around his waist tightens as he opens you wider and takes you even deeper.

You kiss him feverishly, your fingers tangling in his hair as his thrusts become urgent. He shifts his angle just enough so that he hits the spot he knows makes you melt.

“Meleth nîn,” he murmurs against your collarbone as you both near your climax. 

“I will never get enough of you.”