#you do NOT put a flute in your mouth

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (2)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: still could not tell you a single thing about this plot but who knows!!!! perhaps I’ll make a whole serious out of it (??). will probably be smutty eventually.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: slightest bit of sexual tension.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

masterlist

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any future chapters :)

***

The party is already in full swing by the time the two of you arrive. Sunghoon beats his driver in opening the car door for you after insisting that you stay put for him to do so. It seems a bit much, especially since Sunghoon has never held the door open for you in this manner, but you’ve learned not to stop him from pursuing what he wants. You feel a bit awkward when he holds his arm out for you to grab as you attempt to exit the car nonchalantly. It’s not commonplace for your boss to assist you in such a manner. 

Your fingers drum against the leather of your bag as the two of you walk inside. For the first time in six years, you haven’t got a clue as to why Sunghoon needs you here. Being his “plus one” usually entails business negotiations or seeking out potential connections. He’s never asked you to accompany him for the hell of it. There’s always work to be done and Sunghoon isn’t above having you put your weeknights into your work agenda. 

The venue is glamorous. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the staff carry around trays of alcohol and expensive-looking appetizers. You decline a glass of champagne but accept a small savory bite with loads of caviar on top of it (you don’t want to guess how much was spent on this dish alone). Sunghoon, on the other hand, grabs two champagne flutes and holds one out to you just as you shove your food into your mouth. 

“I’m good,” you say through a mouthful. Sunghoon chuckles.

“Let loose. You’re gonna be gone in two months. You might as well enjoy the perks while you can.”

“Are you accepting that I want to quit?” 

“Absolutely not.” He pushes the glass towards you until your fingers curl around the long stem. “But I am trying to get you to have fun.” 

“I know how to have fun.”

“You’re always on work mode when we come to these things. You could learn to relax your shoulders and not talk business all the time.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my job, Sir.”

“Sunghoon.”

“That’s my job, Sunghoon.” 

“Not tonight. Don’t think about work. Matter of fact, if anybody talks about anything work-related, direct them to me or give them my email.” 

You look at him curiously. “Since when do you care about how much fun I’m having to the point of burdening yourself with extra work?”

“Since my favorite assistant decided she wanted to quit.” 

You don’t respond. He’s naturally a forward person, but he’s never commented on the nature of your working relationship beyond praising you on a job well done when you’ve clearly earned it. Sunghoon believes in proving oneself without any handouts, especially since his nepotism granted him the work he does now. You know it was significantly easier for Sunghoon to work his way from an intern to managing partner because his family legacy is Park Inc., but all of his accomplishments are on him. It’s why he believes in giving everybody a fair shot and kicking those who don’t perform well to the curb, even if their family is considered “well known.” 

When it comes to your job and the work you’ve done for him, Sunghoon keeps his praise to a minimum. He is polite and doesn’t forget to thank you if you’ve completed a task for him, but he keeps his praise to himself until you do something that truly amazes him. You could probably count all of these stellar moments on one hand, and it took you years of working alongside Sunghoon to stop seeking his validation so much. When you focus on your work and not his praise, you seem to get more tasks done efficiently. But all you’ll ever be to Sunghoon is his assistant. Despite all of the work and knowledge you’ve acquired through your years of working at Park Inc., you doubt you’ll work your way up to become a managing partner like him. 

Lee Heeseung and Park Jongseong, two of Sunghoon’s business partners and closest friends, provide a welcomed distraction when they approach the two of you with champagne flutes of their own. They both look just as prim and polished as Sunghoon in their tailored suits and reflective black shoes. You wonder if their assistants are here tonight.

“Always good to see you,” Jongseong says with a quick hug when he sees you before greeting Sunghoon. 

“Didn’t realize you were coming.” Heeseung looks at your boss. “I thought Hana was accompanying you tonight?”

Sunghoon waves them off. “Nah. Asked my trusty assistant to come with me instead.” Heeseung looks at your hands.

“And you’re…drinking?”

“He told me it was fine,” you said, gesturing at Sunghoon. Heeseung smiles and steps forward to pull you into a short embrace as well, hands kept as a respectable distance while balancing his own drink. “Where’s Jake?” 

“Business trip to Brisbane. It’s doubling as a family vacation since he hasn’t been back to Australia since he started his career,” Jongseong explains. “He’ll be back in a week.” 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung interrupts. “I’m stuck on the fact that you’re actually drinking and not pretending to so people don’t give you a hard time about it.”  

“I told her to let loose and not think about work too much.”

“If she doesn’t, who will?” Jongseong snorts. He turns at you. “Are you going to grace us with your presence on the dance floor, or is Sunghoon making you butter everyone up until they inevitably do what you say?” 

“She’s here because I needed a plus one and she’s here to have fun,” Sunghoon responds for you. Jongseong chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“Well, God knows she needs a night off. You make her work too hard.” 

Sunghoon tuts. “I do no such thing.”

“He can’t be worse than Daon. No could ever be,” says Heeseung.

“I guess you’re right.” Heeseung glances between you and Sunghoon before speaking again.

“If she’s here to have a bit of fun, you won’t mind if I took her to the face floor, would you?” Something unreadable flashes across Sunghoon’s face. 

“No,” he says with his jaw fixed. Heeseung grins.

“Perfect. Shall we?” 

You give Sunghoon your champagne flute and don’t look back, enjoying the idea of entertaining your awful dance skills with somebody you’ve known for nearly as long as you’ve known Sunghoon. Heeseung is charming in all of the right ways and you can see why most of your colleagues harbor small crushes on him. He’s extremely charismatic and good at getting what he wants. It’s a quality you wished you could possess. 

Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back while the other gently holds your hand as he sways the two of you to the rhythm of the music. You’re not one for the theatrics of dancing the night away like Heeseung is, but it’s nice to forego your professional duties and scuff up your heels for a change. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Heeseung says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve made a habit of being on the go when I come to these things.” 

Heeseung tuts. “Sunghoon’s pushing you to your limits, but I can see why you’re the only person he trusts to get things done.”

“I remember the days when he barely trusted me to get his coffee order right.”

“Well, you’ve come a long way since then.” 

Heeseung winks and places one hand on the middle of your back before you find him hovering above you. He doesn’t let you linger for much longer and pulls you back into his chest. The two of you have always had a friendly-yet-playful friendship, but something about him spontaneously asking you to dance and making you break your normal, party-going habits has you blushing. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Sunghoon told me you’re quitting.” Your hand on his shoulder tightens for a moment. 

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be thinking.” 

“You’re not the type of person who can just let things go.” 

“I hate that you know me well.” 

Heeseung winks again. “My assistants and I have learned to count on you more than we can count on Sunghoon. I’d like to believe I know you better than you think I do.” 

“Well…I’ve worked alongside him for so long that it’s making me wonder what else is out there for me, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I am so lucky to have been able to travel and learn alongside him, but it’s never because I want to. I don’t want to be a career assistant.” 

“What do you want to do instead?”

“I don’t know,” you frown. “I’ve spent so long cleaning up after him and catering to his needs that I’ve never spent enough time thinking about what I want to do with my life.”

“He seems choked up about it.�� 

You scoff. “I handed him my resignation letter and he barely acknowledged it.”

“Jongseong told me he picked you up from your apartment.” 

“He accompanied his driver.”

Heeseung waves you off. “Same difference.” 

“And, well…he told me to stop calling him by his title and to start calling him by his name.” 

“Oh?”

“I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t think I could ever address him by ‘Sunghoon.’”

“You call me Heeseung, though.”

You swat his chest. “Yah. That’s because I don’t work for you and you threatened to get me fired if I treated you like a stuffy higher-up.” He grins at that.

“You’ll be missed, you know. I can tell Sunghoon’s starting to spiral about it. He doesn’t call me often to talk about himself, but he spent our entire meeting discussing his weekend golfing plans.” 

“He’ll function without me.”

“I don’t know if he can.” 

As it stands currently, your personal life barely exists. It’s hard to find time to do things by yourself when you’re constantly on call. Sunghoon is respectful of your personal time as much as any high power venture capitalist can be, but you often find yourself sitting with him during late night working hours and in the early morning when he asks for your presence. It’s not a terrible job, certainly not for the pay and how it used to give you a sense of purpose in life, but it’s starting to feel like the days and months are blurring together. You don’t think you could recall what day it is without looking at your calendar. 

Your working relationship with Sunghoon is near perfect. He can be a bit of a charmer when he wants to be and knows all the right ways to get you to say yes, but you can’t say you’ve had a horrible time working under him. Sunghoon is a fair boss who trusts you far more than you trust yourself. He’s given you incredible opportunities to learn and grow as a businessperson, and it’s far more than you can say for anybody else in that office. Sunghoon values his personal time, which leads him to valuing when you take time off (and, to be honest, is rarely ever). That is something you know you’ll struggle to find elsewhere. 

But this job has seen you work over the typical forty hours to the point where you lose yourself in it. You try to balance your time in and out of the office, but it’s hard to keep up a personal life when you care so deeply about your job. The projects you work on are important to you, as is contributing to businesses that have since become successful thanks to you and Sunghoon. It gives you a sense of fulfillment to know you can be part of the reason why a local eatery becomes a celebrated chain restaurant, or why a crowdfunded product becomes internet famous for all the right reasons. It’s your job and it’s your life, but that’s what you’re afraid of.

Sunghoon will never have to wonder what it’s like to worry about paying rent or utilities because his family comes from a long line of extremely successful venture capitalists. He could try his best to blow his fortune and wouldn’t come close to spending a fraction of it. You, on the other hand, budget wisely on your salary in order to be able to afford and maintain the lifestyle you have. Every cent is accounted for and splurging on things is a treat every once in a while, aside from the budget Sunghoon gives you when you travel with him. But even then, you’d consider yourself someone who doesn’t overdo it for the principle of it all.

Aside from having little to no hobbies that require stepping out of your apartment, you don’t meet people. You don’t hang out with anybody regularly enough to build connections or to explore romantic relationships. The people you see on a weekly basis are your elderly neighbors who praise you for being quiet during the nighttime, your colleagues at Park Inc., and Sunghoon. There is no time to settle down. While Sunghoon gets his fair share of taking women home and indulging in sex and dating, you find that you’re the one who he calls when he can’t seem to get rid of people who refuse to leave. The thought of explaining this situation to your date, and having them be okay with being a glorified babysitter, seems a bit far fetched.

You tell yourself that dating shouldn’t be a big deal. It isn’t, right? Not when you’ve learned to become independent and confident in the face of venture capitalist sharks that will eat you for breakfast should you falter. The thick skin you’ve managed to build feels more like protective armor than anything else. People who know you would say they’ve seen an immense amount of growth in how you carry yourself, and while you credit it to working in the environment you do, most of it is because you refuse to let yourself falter, even if for a moment. 

Dating hasn't been on your mind for the past few years. You were young, and you still are, but the years after graduating university were dedicated to figuring out where you belonged. This job at Park Inc. was a great blessing. Having to focus on getting your job done and learning about the business took up more time than you anticipated, so there was no time to think about relationships. You were very much in the mindset of pursuing a career before indulging in boys. Perhaps it’s your hyper independence that led you to push any yearning for romance aside. But it’s bubbling to the surface like a vengeance in the present day. 

And if you’re being honest, you feel incredibly silly. It feels stupid to watch movies or read books and wish you could experience the kind of love that leaves you breathless. You’ve never been one for the theatrics, but what if you were? What if you were the type to meet a guy and fall for him instantly? What would you be like if you were the type of person people naturally gravitated towards? If you were any different, would guys come up to you out of the blue and entertain you until one of you ultimately decided it isn’t worth it? 

You don’t have the time to consider these things beyond daydreams. Your days are filled with project meetings, phone calls, scheduling, and anything else Sunghoon requires of you. It’s gotten to the point where you’re considering asking him to get a second assistant to help you with the tasks you’re drowning in. 

You don’t have the luxury of meeting incredibly handsome men who want everything to do with you as Sunghoon does. People fall at his feet when he looks at them. With his warm brown eyes and devilish smile, he barely has to lift a finger to get people to fall to their knees. You’ve seen it one too many times, whether it be women who lunge at the chance to go home with him or potential clients who want his money for their business. Sunghoon knows how to sweet talk and he knows how to get what he wants without making the other person realize they’re submitting to his will. His charisma is admirable. You wish you could be a little more like that. 

Thinking about how little action you get compared to Sunghoon feels like you’re losing your mind, too. You’ve had shitty dates and failed hookups in the past that leave you wondering if trying is worth it. It doesn’t seem like that’s the type of lifestyle for you, and while you’re not necessarily looking to settle down with the next person you meet, you desperately wish you could meet somebody who doesn’t disappoint you by the time the check arrives. It’s almost aggravating when Sunghoon walks into the office with a post-sex glow to him. It’s irritating when he calls you to take women out of his house and see him in all of his glory (shirtless only—you’re crossing so many boundaries just by helping Sunghoon in this matter but damn, his abs are chiseled by the gods). 

You’d have to be completely blind to think Sunghoon isn’t attractive. Meeting him for the first time felt like you were meeting the child of Aphrodite. His hair naturally fell into all the right places and his suit was tailored to the nines. He was commanding yet soft, and his baritone voice felt like pure velvet the first time you heard him speak. Your knees nearly buckled when he looked at you and you imagine that’s what every woman must feel like when he gives them his attention. You know far too well just how charming and handsome Sunghoon is, and you’ve learned to push these thoughts and feelings to the very back corner of your mind. 

Sunghoon always is, and always will be, off limits. He’s your boss, for starters. In the early days of your career, you’d find yourself fantasizing about him and his otherworldly looks when desperate times called and when bad dates left you wondering what life would be like if you weren’t Sunghoon’s assistant, but someone he took home. It always made you feel guilty and shameful, especially when you’d walk into his office the next day and make any sort of eye contact with him. That feeling ate at you alive to the point where you had to force yourself to view this as a professional, working relationship only. Besides, there was no chance Sunghoon would ever jeopardize himself like that. He takes work too seriously to ever mix it in with his private life. 

Eventually, you learned to tune those feelings out and view him like your superior. Sunghoon’s always been a bit friendly with you, especially as your years of working together grew. You know so much about his family, where he lives, his goals and aspirations, to the point where you think you know more about him than you know about yourself. You’ve seen him stress over big projects and celebrate incredible milestones. You’ve been with him every step of the way for the past six years, and leaving his side is the scariest thing you’ve done in your life thus far. 

You know he’ll be just fine. Sunghoon might have to get to know somebody all over again and get used to working a different dynamic, but it’s not as if you’re irreplaceable. That thought tends to keep you up at night every once in a while. Not a single person has ever made you feel like you’re worth fighting for and nobody has ever gone out of their way to show you how much they value you. It comes easily to Sunghoon to the point where you’d be surprised if people didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Those kinds of things don’t happen for you very easily. Men don’t fall to their knees when they see you and they certainly don’t strike up a conversation with the hopes of scoring your number. You can count on your hand the number of times people have hit on you, and while it’s not a measure of who you are as a person, it does make you feel shitty about yourself when you start to compare your love life with your boss’s. 

So you find yourself here, standing in between Heeseung’s arm, feeling like a shy school girl who got asked to prom for the first time. It’s ridiculous. You’ve known him for nearly as long as you’ve known Sunghoon, and Heeseung has always been friendly in a way a colleague should. He never oversteps nor makes you uncomfortable, but the feeling of his hand on your back makes your mind drift to a scenario in which you’re dancing with the love of your life. It makes you feel small. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

As if on cue, Sunghoon’s voice pierces through your wandering thoughts. 

“After this song, Hoon. I’m having quality time with your assistant.”

The song ends just as Heeseung is done speaking. It feels like the universe might as well be laughing at you.

“Would you look at that? The song just ended.” Heeseung steps away and winks at you before looking at Sunghoon.

“She’s all yours.” 

Sunghoon resumes Heeseung’s position and every fantasy you’ve had of him from the early days of your career suddenly makes their way to the forefront of your mind. No matter how much you try to push them back in their place, these desires keep coming up like a canon of confetti at the end of a concert. Your heart rate picks up slightly and you hope your hands don’t feel as clammy as you think they are.

“Having fun?” 

“I’d hardly count coming to a stuffy event as fun, but I’m not miserable.” 

Sunghoon tilts his head. “You don’t like schmoozing with men who only care about money?” The two of you share a laugh. It’s so easy to let your guard down with him.

“Ha-ha. No, Sunghoon, I don’t typically imagine this as my ideal way of having fun.”

“No?” He pulls you closer to his chest as he brings the two of you deeper into the dance floor. It makes you help in surprise and Sunghoon doesn’t bother hiding his pleasure when he grins. “What do you like to do for fun, hm?”

“I…I don’t know.” 

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “It can’t be all work and no play, you know. That makes Jack a dull boy, or however the saying goes.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m too busy taking care of you, remember?” 

“Ah, yes, and what a wonderful job you’ve done. Come on. Tell me something you like to do when you’re not with me.”

“I like to read, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I like to read. Better?” 

“Much. What kind of books?”

“Depends on my mood. Sometimes I like reading fiction, sometimes nonfiction. I like thrillers a lot.”

“You’re one of those types who likes to see if you can unravel the plot before you get to the end, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Knew it.” He squeezes your hand placed in his. “Anything else besides reading?”

“I like traveling. I don’t do it much unless you request I go somewhere with you. But I like exploring places by myself without the pretense of work.” 

Sunghoon frowns. “You don’t travel much?” 

“No, not with the work I have to do.” You let out a small laugh. “I try not to be too jealous when you take time off work to go to Europe or America.” 

Sunghoon nods once and spins the both of you as the song’s tempo picks up. “You’ll have more time to travel when you leave me, no?” 

“Mhm.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Osaka sounds nice. I’ve only ever been to Tokyo for a few business meetings, but we’ve never had time to go elsewhere. New York sounds like a dream. Maybe I’ll visit São Paulo or Rome if I’m lucky.” 

“That’s quite the bucket list.” 

“I’m an ambitious woman.” He squeezes your waist. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

“You know, this is probably the longest I’ve talked about myself with you.” 

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s usually business talk first thing in the morning, and then whatever you’ve been up to.”

“I don’t ask you what you do on the weekends?”

“Sometimes. Mondays are usually our busiest days, though.” 

He frowns. “I should’ve paid more attention. Maybe that’ll convince you to stay.” 

“You’re funny.” 

The song ends and Sunghoon doesn’t pull away like you think he will. He’s not somebody who generally enjoys spending time with his colleagues more than he has to, and that includes you. Part of you wonders if some innate guilt keeps him dancing with you, but you try not to think about the negative possibilities when you’re with him. 

“What are you going to do when you’re free?” Sunghoon asks as the next song begins. “Are you booking a plane ticket to New York or Osaka?” 

“I don’t know, honestly, but maybe I should. Who knows, I could find the love of my life on vacation and move to a brand new city if it works out.”

“Love of your life, huh?”

You shrug. “Dunno. I’ve been thinking about, err, my love life, or lack thereof, for the past few weeks. I don’t have time to date around when I’m at your beck and call. God, this is weird, isn’t it?”

“What is? Talking about your love life? Or, how did you say it, ‘lack thereof’?” 

“If I’m being honest? Yeah. I’ve seen you hook up with so many women in the years I’ve known you but that’s what assistants are for, right? Helping you out of situations without asking any questions?” 

“I suppose you’re right. You don’t keep to shy away from things all the time with me, though,” he reassures. “We’ve known each other for half a decade. I think that earns you the right to talk about yourself whenever you feel like it.” 

“Seems like I'm crossing a boundary.” 

“I’m telling you tonight that you aren’t. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a boyfriend before.” 

“Nope.” You tilt your head and keep your lips in a thin line when you smile. “Got my hands full with you.” 

“Some would say you’re in a lucky position.” 

He laughs when you roll your eyes. When you try to step away and take yourself out of Sunghoon’s grasp, he immediately pulls you back into him. It catches you off guard and you’re suddenly aware that he’s looking at you with those commanding brown eyes peeking through his bangs. It makes your breath falter for a moment. 

“I appreciate you more than you know. I hope you know that.” His baritone voice nearly makes you knees buckle.

“Thank you for saying that.” 

“I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You look away. “I’m sure you could find someone else who’d be a better fit than me.” 

“Don’t downplay yourself. You’re a fantastic assistant who’s kept my head on my shoulders for the past six years.” 

“Sunghoon…” 

“Say it. Say ‘I’m a great assistant.’” 

“I’m a great assistant.” He grins. 

“Good girl.” 

Yeah. You must be losing it if hearing your boss say that makes you feel a little worked up. Those feelings from when you first met rise to the surface and you struggle to push them down. It doesn’t help that Sunghoon looks like a Greek God among mortals with his chiseled jawline and impeccable skin. You stare at him far too long to realize how long his eyelashes are and how he looks quite handsome when he’s looking at you like he’d do anything to make you change your mind about quitting your job.

Goodness, you think. I’m screwed.    

***

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[nikkento-writes]

cw: mentions of pregnancy, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, PIV sex (missionary), breeding, creampie

Author’s Note: Okay, so I started this three months ago and just remembered it sitting in my drafts waiting to be finished, so this is appropriately titled "No Rush", haha. Enjoy :) divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

“3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!” You hear the muffled cheers of your friends downstairs, clinking their champagne flutes to celebrate the start of 2025. Someone is blowing enthusiastically into a noisemaker, most likely Satoru, while someone else pops another bottle of champagne, most likely Shoko. Soon, the music gets turned up louder and the party below you resumes. Meanwhile, you and your husband have excused yourselves to commemorate this special moment a little bit differently. 

“Fuck, Kento,” you moan, an iron grip on his blonde hair as he eats you out sloppily into your second orgasm of the night. 

His tongue swirls around you, two fingers expertly pumping in and out of your wet cunt. He moans against you, the vibrations reverberating on your already throbbing clit. “That’s it, sweetheart. Again. Give it to me again.” He bucks his hips slowly, hand wrapped around his hard cock, fucking his fist. Precum leaks from the tip, shiny and glossy, your mouth salivating for a taste. 

You weren’t planning to abandon your own party, but after what Nanami admitted to you in the kitchen just fifteen minutes before midnight, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Want to know my new year’s resolution?” he asked, a sly grin on his face. 

You give him an angelic smile, expecting a normal, totally innocent answer. “What?” 

He leaned in close, pressed himself to you, voice low and quiet for only you to hear. “Get you pregnant.”

It surprised you. While you’ve been ready for a while now, Nanami has always been hesitant about the idea of children. He didn’t want to raise a family while he was still a sorcerer. Even with his recent retirement, you chose not to mention anything about it, not wanting to put any pressure on him. So, when he admitted that to you so casually surrounded by all your friends, you became overwhelmed with emotion, enough to pull him up the stairs to talk about it in the privacy of your bedroom. Talking led to happy tears, happy tears led to affectionate touching, and well…here you are now, getting your pussy devoured by your very eager and horny husband. 

You come for him, melting into the sheets, dazed from the pleasure. You can feel him smile as he gives you a few more licks, pulling his fingers out from you, coated in your cum, licking them clean. “You taste so good,” he purrs, stroking his cock faster. He slaps it against your sensitive clit, smearing spit and slick all over you, teasing the tip into your needy cunt. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” 

Every inch of you buzzes with excitement, yearning for him to be inside you, to be filled up by him. “Your cock,” you answer, voice trembling. 

He bites his lip, pushing himself a little deeper, a wild, hungry gleam in his eyes. “And what do you want me to do with this cock?” 

You swallow hard. “Fuck me. Get me pregnant.”

He growls, unable to resist himself, plunging deep inside you. You wrap your legs tightly around him, latching yourself as close as possible to him. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sloppy against yours, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. The bed creaks noisily below you, both your moans growing louder and uncontrollable while the party downstairs continues to distract your guests. It’s you and Nanami, joined as one, the commitment of starting a family together fueling the both of you into this lustful frenzy.

His orgasm is one of the most intense he’s ever had, cock pulsating like crazy as he releases every drop inside you. He stays in you, kissing you softly now, coming down from his high slowly. “Not yet,” he says, even though you make no efforts to separate from his embrace. He says it with such gentleness, wanting to relish this moment a while longer before returning to your friends. 

You kiss him on the forehead, smiling while you nuzzle your nose to him. “Yeah. No rush.”

[suguwu]

WOULD THAT I: PROLOGUE

The Gojo boy doesn't have a soulmate.

When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.

You forget, but Gojo—

Gojo never does.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

pairing: gn!reader x gojo

wc: 2.6k

notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!

content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate.

You don’t think you’re supposed to know; it’s only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterfly’s wing as it flutters from their mouths.

The servants, however, are louder.

One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings. 

“There’s something wrong with the Gojo heir,” she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. “Those eyes of his—it’s like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesn’t have a soulmark.” 

Another servant hushes her. “Don’t gossip,” she chides. 

“It’s true, though!”

“That doesn’t mean you should repeat it.” 

She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji. 

You return to your coloring book.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Not yet. 

—

There’s a boy in the courtyard.

He’s hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun. 

You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. You’ve never seen him before, and you’d remember him, with his starlight hair. 

“Who’re you?” he asks, not turning around.

You stay quiet.

“I know you’re there,” he says. “You can’t hide from me.”

He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.

It’s the cold burn of a comet’s tail streaking through the velvet night. It’s oceantide, relentless and unyielding. It’s a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.

Then he blinks, and he’s just a boy again. 

“Who’re you?” you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa. 

He lifts his chin. “I asked you first.”

You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly. 

He scoffs. “You’re not even from the main clan.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not part of your stupid clan.”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. “I’m Gojo Satoru.” 

You tilt your head. The servants’ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, but—

“You’re just a boy,” you say. 

He scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.” 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmo’s fire, a lightning strike of blue. “I have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. I’m not just a boy.”

You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. You’re about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.

When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.

The Gojo boy is gone.

—

Your mother is hovering. 

She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadn’t been time to change; she’d pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate. 

“Bow low when you meet him,” she tells you, though she hasn’t bothered to tell you who ‘he’ is. “Understand?”

You nod. 

There’s a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your mother’s nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.

The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji. 

You blink. “What’re you doing here?” you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath. 

Gojo shrugs. “Dunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.”

The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. “Gojo-sama,” she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, “they’re a candidate for you to train with.” 

He eyes you. “Why?” he asks. “They’re not very strong.”

“Hey!” 

“You aren’t, though,” he says. “I can tell.”

You throw yourself at him.

His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. He’s sturdier than you thought; he’s slight, but it’s all lean muscle, even though he can’t be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control. 

By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.

“My deepest apologies,” she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. “I don’t know what came over them.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “The child should be punished,” she says, and your mother stiffens. “I would suggest—”

“No.” 

Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth. 

“I’ll train with them,” he says.

“Gojo-sama—”

“I said I’d train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.” 

The woman sighs. “Yes, Gojo-sama.” 

Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. “You’re weak,” he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, “but at least you’re fun.”  

He’s out the shoji before you can respond.

—

Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadas’ sawing choir. 

“Catch it!” Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. “You’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. “I already caught one. It was easy.”

“You’re annoying.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. “You’re annoying.”  

“You’re the one who came over.”

He rolls his eyes. “We train at your estate.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come we train here? Your estate is probably better.”

He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. “I like it better here.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I just do,” he says, voice flat.

You don’t ask again.

—

“Why are we here?”

Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. “Why are you whispering?”

Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; you’ve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum. 

“We’ve just never trained here before,” you say, taking care to use your regular voice. “So why are we here now?”

He shrugs. “They insisted.”

“Who?”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianist’s fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon. 

You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around him—in the last few months, he’s gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when you’re his age, and he’s too tall to peer over his shoulder—and see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.

“Gojo-sama,” she says. “Please follow me. The elders are waiting.”

He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. “What do they want?”

“They didn’t specify.”

“Ugh.”

“Gojo-sama—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Go tell those geezers I’ll be there soon.” 

You wince right along with the servant. Gojo’s disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down. 

“C’mon,” Gojo says to you. “Let’s get it over with.”

The servant clears her throat. “Only you, Gojo-sama.”

He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. “No,” he says. “They’re coming.”

“They cannot.”

“I said they’re coming.” 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Really.” 

Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, it’s gone, frozen under a layer of ice.

“Fine.” 

You bite your lip, but he’s already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.

The servant turns to you. “This way,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral.

You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. There’s not much to take in; it’s wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.

You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancer’s back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky. 

You step out onto the engawa. It’s still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sun’s sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.

A voice wakes you.

“He’s an insolent brat!” a man hisses. “He needs to be taken in hand!”

“He’s too powerful,” another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. “We can only do what we’re already doing.”

You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; they’re drawing closer and closer.

“It’s not enough.” 

“He’s still young. Maybe we can mold him.” 

The first man snorts. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” the first man says. “Those eyes—that power—and not even a hint of a mark. He’s barely human.”

Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:

“I don’t think he’s human at all.”

Then they’re gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms. 

Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately. 

“C’mon,” he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. He’s heard them, you realize. You’ve never seen him bothered by other people’s opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find the words. 

He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Let’s go before those stupid geezers find me again.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“But my shoes—”

He glances back at you and you drown in blue. 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s go.” 

He doesn’t answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression you’d seen flash across his face before he’d turned around again. You can’t understand it, but you know one thing.

He’s never looked more human to you.

—

The next time you see him, you’re prepared.

You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojo’s arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Give me your arm.” 

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” 

He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.

You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo. 

“There,” you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. “Now you have a mark.”

Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do. 

You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training. 

You don’t know it yet, but it’s your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. You’ve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but you’ve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring. 

Life, ever unmoved, continues on. 

The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. It’s impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle. 

Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes. 

You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist. 

Gojo, though—

Gojo never does.

[orphicmusings]

jealous Viktor 🙏🙏 friends to lovers

“i don’t like the way he’s looking at you.” viktor’s voice floated just past your ear, making you aware of your surroundings as he shoved a glass of something in your hand.

“what’s this?” you asked, having never been to one of these fancy academy gatherings before. as you sniffed the golden flute, wincing at the strong booze quantity your nose measured, he scoffed.

“jayce.” he asnwered, and you looked at him, confused. “jayce made this?” you inspected it closer. “he should stick to his day job. it seems a little strong-“

“he’s plotting something.” he interrupts you with a skeptical murmur, and you follow the trail of his gaze. jayce caught your eye, and quickly looked away. you frowned, feeling your cheeks heating up as you put it together.

“jayce is?” you asked your friend, who had a stern, chiding expression on his usually delicate face. “he’s…interested in me? i had no idea…” you laughed awkwardly, and viktor finally turned his attention to you.

“are you interested?” you felt the heat in your cheeks spread as you shook your head. god, how oblivious can one man be? has he not caught your gaze lingering on his long fingers as he works? the way you follow him around like a puppy at this point, always with a coffee or a glass of water? the way you undeniably reacted so pathetically when he asked you to come to this thing—platonically, no less—sputtering and flushing your answer? you wanted to strangle him.

“no, i’m not.” you respond, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “why?”

his eyes darted between you and jayce, across the room. “no reason.” he mumbled into his drink. you decided to down yours before asking what you were about to ask.

“what would you do if i was?” his thick brows knit together every so subtly at the question, a struggle to keep his face neutral. “i…” he started, fighting to keep his voice nonchalant. “i’d be happy to set you two up.” you rubbed your face in irritation, a bit of your makeup trailing under your fingers.

“you’d be happy to?”

“well…” he tilted his head slightly in confusion. “that is what i just said, yes.”

there was a beat of silence as you took a breath, feeling all too close to him. “go ahead.” you challenged, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. his eyes searched your expression, and you can hear the wheels turning in his brilliant brain as he analyzed your entire face in seconds.

“i….” a pretty pink dusted his cheeks. “i am not sure if i want to.”

you pressed your lips together to hide a smirk. “no?”

“no, i don’t.” he stepped closer. “in fact, it would…” his eyes drifted down to your lips. “inconvenience me very much.”

you spared a glance toward jayce, who was still pretending like he wasn’t looking, and leaned forward to close the gap between you and viktor. he reciprocated almost immediately, catching your face gently in his hands, breathing a smile into your mouth. you pulled away and tugged on his hand, nodding your head toward the coat closet, but he simply pulled you even closer.

“no.” he stated firmly against your neck, quickly suckling a kiss when no one was looking. “want him to see.”

[fairycourts]

THE ART OF FLUTING ✧ JING YUAN

curious about his hobbies, you ask Jing Yuan to teach you to play the flute. you do not expect him be such a... hands-on teacher.

contents ✧ gender neutral reader (no pronouns used), fluff, a lot of physical touch, slightly suggestive, an intimate afternoon. 2.0k words. note ✧ inspired by the official art of him holding a flute and by my experiences with being a flutist! a huge thank you to @petrichorium for beta reading this and helping me make sure he's in character. (thanks plu, ily!)

You ask him on a whim.

“Jing Yuan, can I try your flute?”

He pauses in the middle of disassembling the instrument, having spent the past hour spinning melodies into the warm, afternoon air. “You would like me to teach you?” he asks in confirmation. At your nod, the skin around his eyes wrinkle, eyes forming crescent moons as the curl of a pointer finger beckons you toward him. “Curious little thing.” The words are spoken soft and low, a rumble that sends a shiver up your spine.

Heat rises to your cheeks. You focus on carefully laying a red silk ribbon between the pages of your book before setting it aside. The grass of the garden crinkles softly beneath your feet with every step, bringing you before the General sitting on the wooden veranda, whose golden eyes have not left your form since you asked him the question.

You rock once on the balls of your feet, hands clasped behind you. “What do I do?”

His head tilts, silvery-grey hair falling over one eye. “How will I teach you when you’re so far away, hm?” Cloth rustles as he languidly spreads his legs, thighs straining against the fabric of his pants. Jing Yuan pats at the space between his legs.

Your voice comes out strangled. “You want me to sit there?”

He ignores your question, simply choosing to smile. The honey-gold of his eyes coax and pull until you give in and step against the edge of the veranda. You turn and slowly take a seat, his gaze burning through you, licking a trail of heat up your spine. His thighs bracket yours, warm and unyielding.

“Good,” he says when you are settled, your back a sparrow’s hop away from pressing into his chest. “Shall we begin?”

At your shallow nod, he brings his flute in front of you, arms settling around you closer than what you think is necessary.

The lacquered wood gleams a soft, light brown. Jing Yuan’s thumb brushes over the first hole on the left side of the flute. “This is the embouchure hole.” His voice is a comforting rumble as he explains the basics. “Sound is produced by putting your lower lip against this side”—he touches the side of the hole closest to you—”and blowing a steady stream of air, aiming for the outside wall. Shall we give it a try?”

You look over your shoulder, squinting at him. “That’s it? What about the fingers?”

His tone is fond as he says, “The biggest challenge for novice players is producing a steady, full tone. Let us achieve that first before I teach you the notes. Do you find that acceptable?”

The sparkle of amusement in his liquid-gold eyes makes you a bit shy as you huff and look forward again. “Fine. Let me try.”

He raises his arms, left and right hands properly holding the flute, and brings the instrument to your mouth. One of your hands reaches for Jing Yuan’s arm and he lets you move them without any resistance, muscles shifting beneath your palm as you make him lower the flute just a bit so you do not need to strain your neck to reach it. It takes a few moments longer to comfortably rest your lower lip on the instrument, making sure to not cover the opening.

You take a slow, deep breath. Your shoulders rise as you inhale, staying tense as you pause, then exhale with a whoosh through pursed lips.

All you hear is the barely-there whistle of wind blowing through a hollow tube.

You try again, but the flute makes no sound. One more time, for good measure. The hollow, airy whistle only seems to mock you. Your face grows hot.

Sensing your mounting frustration, Jing Yuan pulls the flute away and holds it off to the side. He frees a hand to comfort you, rubbing you from shoulder to elbow, shoulder to elbow, with slow, warm strokes.

“Do not fret,” he croons. “It takes time for one to make a sound on the flute. When Yanqing first started learning, he spent two weeks practicing before he was able to play a single note.”

“Really?” You don’t recall ever seeing Yanqing with a flute.

“After he made that sound, he declared that he had spent enough time on something other than swordsmanship. I offered to teach him more later, but he expressed little interest.” Jing Yuan chuckles at the memory. 

A small smile graces your lips. You relax a bit, finally leaning into his broad chest as he continues to rub your arm.

“I could impart additional advice, if you wish to try again.”

Frustration eased, you are eager to give the flute another attempt, and you relay that to your lover. He sounds pleased as he begins to explain the different factors that can affect how a player produces a note. His voice rises and falls—a soothing cadence. You become absorbed in listening to him, occasionally tilting your head back to look at him, where his warm gaze holds yours until you grow shy and face forward again.

He removes his hand from your arm, drawing your gaze to him once more. “It is important to breathe from your stomach, not with your shoulders.” A searing heat against your belly makes your breath hitch. You turn to see his hand settle there, thick fingers spread out in a way that only draws attention to his size. You can’t look away.

“Let us practice some breathing exercises. Focus on moving my hand as you breathe.” His voice rumbles through you as his touch binds you together, melting two into one. “Ready?”

Your nod is shallow and so are your breaths. How are you supposed to go through with these exercises?

“Inhale,” he instructs.

You try, breath wobbling as you inhale quickly.

He clicks his tongue in warning. “Slowly. Fill your lungs with air.”

You breathe again, taking care to do so deeply, focusing on the weight of his hand on your belly. It rises and falls with every breath as you grow used to the rhythmic lull of slow, deep breathing.

“Well done,” he all but purrs into your ear.

Surely he feels the tremor that runs through you, with the way you’re pressed against each other. Yet Jing Yuan simply moves on to discussing another aspect of flute playing, giving you a moment to regain composure. “The shape of your embouchure also impacts your ability to make a sound. May you demonstrate how you blew into the flute earlier?”

Nodding, you look over your shoulder and purse your lips into a rosebud, then relax and tell him, “I was blowing like that.”

“I see.” Mirth radiates off him, sparkling in his eyes, and your lips push into a pout. His thumb rubs against your belly in consolation as he says, “I suggest relaxing your lips so they form a horizontal line against the flute. Leave a small opening in the middle, the way you usually do when drinking freshly brewed tea and are cautious about burning yourself.”

You are reminded of the afternoon teas you’ve enjoyed in his presence and your pout turns into a smile as you take in his advice.

A twinge in your neck makes you adjust yourself, pulling one leg up to lean against his thigh, upper body twisting around to face him. One hand rests on his broad chest and his free hand supports your lower back. Earnestly, you try again, making an effort to pull your lips into a tight line and blowing a gust of air through them.

The wind you blow ruffles Jing Yuan’s hair, making more of it fall into his eye. You shoot him a cheeky look before doing it again. Now it’s his turn to pout to your delighted giggles and you blow one more time for good measure.

But the General will not allow himself to be teased endlessly, especially when he has a chance to strike back. A glint crosses his eyes, as if a switch has been flicked. You don’t have time to react as the hand on your lower back disappears, only to come up to grasp your face. His hand is huge, fingers pressing into your cheeks as your chin is cradled in his palm, forcing you to look at him. 

“If you are going to behave in this manner, you will learn the proper embouchure. Understood?”

His firm grip only allows you to give a shallow nod, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat, pulse fluttering like a songbird under his piercing stare.

“Good. Now show me again.” His fingers ease up so he’s simply tilting your face toward him, forcing you to hold his gaze.

Swallowing, you try again. Lips pull tightly in a line, an opening in the middle for air. “Like that?”

“Hmm, not quite.” His thumb brushes over your lower lip, golden eyes tracing the curve of it. “Your mouth is too tight. Soften your lower lip, the same way you pouted moments ago.”

Doing as he suggests, you pull your lips straight while keeping them relaxed, only feeling a bit of tightness at the corners of your mouth. 

Jing Yuan runs his thumb across your lower lip again, feeling the plush give of it under his touch. A pleased smile graces his face at the expression on your face. “Perfect form,” he praises. “Do you wish to try the flute again?”

A shuddering breath escapes your lips, tickling the pad of his thumb that he has yet to move. “Yes, please.”

You turn around in his lap, a bit relieved to escape his observant gaze. But perhaps the heat of his chest at your back and his hand returning to your belly is not much better either.

“Remember to breathe from your stomach,” he says, as his arms settle around you to bring the flute to your lips once again.

This time, as your lower lip finds the curved surface of the flute, the shape of your mouth feels more relaxed and natural. You draw in a breath, slowly and deeply, stomach expanding. There’s a moment of pause, lungs at full capacity– 

Then you blow. A thin stream of air rushes through your lips, passing over the embouchure hole and filling the barrel of the instrument, culminating in a bright, steady note that sings in the quiet of the afternoon air. You blow for as long as there is air in your lungs, pulling away from the flute when the note fades away.

For a few moments, the two of you sit in the newly fallen silence. 

Then, eyes glimmering, you stand and turn, throwing yourself back into Jing Yuan’s arms. He catches the weight of you easily, arm strong behind your back as he holds you against him. He sets his flute down and helps adjust your legs so you sit on his thighs, keeping you steady as you pull back to look at him.

“I did it!” Your expression is radiant, pure excitement shining through.

Pride and affection laces his voice, all warm and rich like the honey-gold of his eyes. “Very well done. You’re a fast learner.”

“I have a great teacher,” you say cheekily.

“If you wish to continue your lessons, that can be arranged.”

A smile of delight spreads across your face. “I’d like that. Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

He dips his head, eyes creasing as he smiles too. “You’re very welcome. Now, I still have some time before my next engagement. Would you like to play some more?”

“Yes!”

You settle back into his lap, his chest strong and broad behind you. Jing Yuan picks up his flute and wraps his arms around you, holding up the instrument yet again. 

The afternoon passes with you blowing long streams of air into the flute as his fingers move to change the notes. Your combined efforts send melodies spiraling through the air, sweet and easygoing. Sometimes the songs are broken up by mistakes that lead to even sweeter sounds of laughter, or fade into thoughtful conversation and teasing remarks, winding together to create the beautiful melody of an intimate afternoon spent between lovers.

note ✧ this is my first time writing for hsr and for Jing Yuan, so thank you for taking the time to read this! I would love to hear your thoughts ^u^

the flute in this fic is the chinese bamboo flute (or dizi), which I have not had the opportunity to try playing! so the flute aspects here are based off of what I do when I play the horizontal flute and the bit of research I did on the dizi. fun fact: like Yanqing, it did in fact take me two weeks of practice and one lesson before I was able to make my first sound on the flute >.< unlike him, I've kept it up for fourteen years now!

[musicallisto]

Lando + 35 ( from the domestic prompt list ) please! It would fit him so well 🌟🩷🥹

35. endless giggles — lando norris

EVERYONE KNOWS LANDO NORRIS IS HOPELESS AT STAYING SERIOUS.

You call that Norrising between the two of you. Nothing to do with the explosive rush of panic that courses through his veins when his tires screech at the very first turn, the one that has him cursing at himself behind the visor as Verstappen barrels past. Nothing to do with the red-hot adrenaline that earns him all his detested monickers. No, Norrising is endearing, it's inconsequential, and above all it's fun. It's Lando ranting loudly about an annoying journalist and having them materialize right behind him—their presence betrayed by the half-amused terror in Oscar's widening eyes. It's Lando knocking over the empty champagne flutes at some fancy reception, the noise drowned out by all the animated conversations around—his only witness your gasping mouth. It's Lando milliseconds away from bursting into laughter during the very solemn pre-race national anthem, avoiding Daniel's lethal gaze at all costs with unconvincing sneezes. It's what Carlos lovingly called meter la pata years ago—putting your foot in it. Blundering. Goofing up.

It's Lando's specialty, and it's the F1 75 live event in front of the whole wide world.

You sense him losing grip before he even makes a sound. Though your attention is fixed on the Ferrari team unveiling their livery, your peripheral vision catches his dimly-lit face scrunching up. He rests his elbow against the table to hide the bottom of his face as you shoot him a glare. To the untrained camera, he'd look nonchalant, but you know the glint in his eye better. He's just been overcome with something really stupid.

Then Vasseur takes the mic, all the screens in the O2 displaying his bonhomie, and a soft chuckle escapes your boyfriend.

"Norris," you warn him with a stern whisper, "do not start Norrising on me now."

But Lando leans over to your chair, mouth still hidden away from cameras and eyes glittering with unconcealable delight. This does not bode well.

"He..." But he's cut short by a series of giggles that he clumsily passes off as coughs. "He looks like—" he can't help the laughter now, rattling his shoulders and splitting every word into shaky syllables, "Fred, he looks like the... the evil egg thing from Puss in Boots," he finally wheezes out on the third attempt.

You can't help it—you chortle, something a little too loud between laughter and shock that has neighboring tables glaring over at you, because what the fuck is he on about and why would he say that now but you glance back at the giant screens where Vasseur's jovial, full-moon face sinks into the collar of his suit and Goodness, yeah, he does look like that fuck ass egg.

"He does, oh my God, Lan," you giggle back, hiding your face in your hands—and Lando wheezes, blowing bubbles into his champagne.

This is ridiculous, and stupid, and you're both being horribly impolite, and the alcohol is making it worse and you feel tingly all over from holding back the laughter, but it's uncontrollable, rising into you like a tidal wave and Lando's whiny chuckles next to your ear are the worst kind of torture. He exhales slowly, and you dare hope crisis is averted... until Vasseur turns around, shiny, round head in all its glory underneath the spotlights, and Lando loses it.

Thank God for Lewis Hamilton's first time in red stealing all the attention. You're not sure how either of you could have explained to the press your two figures, groomed and perfurmed and designer-clad, hunched over the table in maniacal spasms.

"Lando, we're gonna get kicked out," you manage to exhale as you try your hardest to hide behind the champagne bucket.

"Don't look at me," he pleads. Like a kid fearing detention, his face red and crinkled from hilarity. "Please don't look at me." And a few seconds later, when he spots Toto Wolff at the next table over raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him, "I need some air."

Right. It's life or death. At least diplomatic life or death.

All too aware of the Twitter captions you'd find under the video of you leaving together unexplained right now—Lando Norris, Girlfriend Can't Be Bothered To Sit Through Ferrari Exhibit; Leave Arena For Own Kind Of Fun!—, you make a show of pursing through your bag, scanning the table, then the floor, and hope to God the place is too dark to distinguish your expression; bitten lip and flushed cheeks are not the best look for someone who's supposed to be frantically looking around for misplaced belongings.

"Follow me," you whisper curtly at him.

He startles out of his chair, scraping it against the floorboards like a thunderstorm, and somehow that makes you laugh even more, so you stiffen your lips, doing your utmost to avoid the bewildered looks from all the guests. You're almost trotting by the time you push open the grand swinging doors of the auditorium, hastily shutting them behind a still-giggling Lando.

A pause, first. Then a glance—just one—and you both erupt into laughter, as if it were escaping from the very marrow of your bones. Lando isn’t even laughing anymore: he’s whining, hands on his knees like he just ran a marathon. When he finally straightens up, breathless and eyes glazed with tears, he sways into your arms, as if to cloak his exhausted body in yours—but you push him away at once.

"I can't fucking believe you!" you exclaim. But you're not mad—not really. He knows it, and he's still giggling, and your indignant mouth melts into a full-toothed smile. "Seriously, you're a bloody idiot. You're the biggest idiot I've ever met. Genuinely—I'm not laughing!" you say between giggles when he shakes his head affectionately. "Do I look like I'm laughing? That was so rude. Everyone is going to say you think you're too good for Ferrari or something."

"Well they already think I think that," he just shrugs, leaning against the wall. "Can't a guy have some fun?"

"You're gonna kill me, Norris," you sigh, and he sighs back, exaggeratedly, beckoning you into his arms. You fall into the familiar embrace, and he kisses the crown of your head, filling his lungs with your sweet scent.

"I don't think I can go back in there," he admits, his voice cracks away from breaking into laughter again.

"It's your event, champion."

"I'm not even champion, so I don't see the point. Wait here a sec?"

"Wait here a sec."

His heart rate dwindles slowly back to a normal rhythm against your ear, and you remain immobile, far from the spectacle, in the empty hallway, so out of place in your fancy clothes—yet exactly where you need to be; crying from laughter with him at some shitty event he only finds bearable because he gets to look at you all night.

"Do not look at me even once when we walk back in there."

"Yeah, and you neither."

© musicallisto, 2025

MASTERLIST / TAKING REQUESTS!

[nhmkhnh]

velvet boundaries. [ii]

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

preface: in a house where she’s your best friend’s mother and you were never meant to be hers, caitlyn makes you unravel one obedient breath at a time.

author's note: smut scenarios is here rahhhh.

wrn: lowercase ;; age gap (c: 39 ; r: 19) ;; explicit content (minors & men dni) list: bratty!reader (at some scenes) ;; dom!caitlyn ;; mentioning another man (just a dream dw!) ;; orgasm denial, edging ;; punishment ;; soft threats & possessive praise ;; jealousy jealousy ;; toy use ;; fingering ;; orgasm denial ;; edging ;; teasing ;; power play ;; dirty talk ;; overstimulation. [lmk in the comment if i missed anything]

navigation.

it was supposed to be innocent. a surprise visit. a sweet gesture. you wore the dress she left for you on the bed that morning—angelic white lace, soft and sheer, cut just a little too short. no bra. no panties. just her.

you knew she had a meeting at her home office. you knew she told you to wait upstairs. but you wanted to bring her a fresh cup of tea—something gentle, thoughtful, obedient.

and yet when you walk in, barefoot and glowing like temptation, her jaw clenches behind her wine-red lipstick.

the other woman in the video call chatters on through the speaker, unaware.

you place the tea on her desk gently. “thought you might need this…”

her eyes trail from your thighs to your trembling hands. she mutes the call with a click.

"did you look in a mirror before walking in here like that?" caitlyn's voice is low, razor-sharp velvet.

you nod, quietly. “i wanted to look good for you.”

her chair scrapes back. slowly.

"you wanted to look good?" she murmurs, circling the desk. one hand ghosts up the side of your thigh. “you wanted me distracted. you wanted me starving.”

she presses you down, suddenly, hands firm on your lower back, bending you over the polished mahogany surface. your breath fogs against the grain.

"cait—someone might hear—"

“let them.”

she pulls the lace up and over your ass, and hums deep in her throat at what she sees.

“no panties,” she whispers, voice honey-slick and filthy. “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

you whimper, trembling as her fingers ghost along your folds.

“mmm. wet already?” she chuckles. “of course you are. my girl gets needy the moment i breathe near her.”

the call resumes in the background. a voice says something about quarterly projections.

but caitlyn’s only focused on the way your thighs shake.

she pushes your legs apart with her boot and leans down.

“stay quiet,” she says, mouth brushing your ear. “or i’ll put you on camera.”

then two fingers press inside you, slow and deep. curl.

you gasp—muffled by the back of your own hand. her pace is cruel. rhythmic. taunting.

“you wanted attention,” caitlyn breathes, curling her fingers again. “you’ll take what i give you.”

her palm slaps your thigh sharply.

"arch for me. let me see."

you do—body trembling, lace twisted around your hips, her name a prayer on your lips.

and when you finally break—soft, desperate, clenching around her fingers with a choked cry—she pulls away and presses a kiss to your spine.

“good girl,” she purrs. “now run along before i decide you’re not done.”

you shouldn’t have worn that dress. not the silk one with the plunging neckline caitlyn specifically told you to save for her eyes only. but you had a point to make.

the gala was in full swing—champagne flutes clinking, high-society laughter echoing, and you glowing on caitlyn’s arm like a secret she was barely keeping. every time you leaned in to whisper something in her ear, your breath brushed her jaw. every time you laughed at someone else’s joke, her hand on your waist tightened.

she was calm. polished. still the perfect woman of power. but her hand never left your lower back. and her eyes? boiling.

you knew she was seething when you bent just a little too far over the hors d'oeuvres table.

so when she caught your wrist in that cool, steel grip and murmured, “come with me,” your heart jumped.

she led you into the marble bathroom—silent, elegant, deadly. locked the door behind you with a quiet click.

then she turned. slow.

“i warned you,” caitlyn said, stepping forward like a predator. “and yet here you are. dripping down your thighs in a room full of strangers.”

she yanked you forward, lips ghosting over your cheekbone. “are you that desperate for me to ruin you in public?”

“cait…” you breathed. “i didn’t mean—”

“yes, you did.” her voice was ice and velvet. “and now you’ll get exactly what you wanted.”

she spins you, palms flat against the cool marble countertop, your chest pressing into it. the slit in your dress parts, revealing your thighs—and the fact you aren’t wearing any underwear.

she exhales sharply.

“of course. my filthy girl.”

her fingers slide between your legs without hesitation, stroking once—slick and shameful.

“you wanted to be bad?” she whispers, dragging her hand up to your mouth. “then taste what bad girls get.”

she presses your own wetness to your lips. you open without thinking, obedient.

she groans—deep, guttural. “that’s it. now stay quiet.”

her leg nudges yours open further. the sound of her belt unbuckling echoes louder than anything in that gilded bathroom.

she doesn’t bother undressing you. just shoves the dress up, pulls your leg onto the counter, and sinks inside you with her fingers—hard and fast.

your hands scramble for something to grip. but she’s already pinning you down, her palm at your throat, her mouth at your ear.

“you’re going to come for me right here,” she hisses. “where anyone could knock. where anyone could hear.”

and you do. pathetically. silently screaming into your wrist while your body convulses around her hand.

when she finally pulls away, she straightens your dress for you—combs her fingers through your hair.

kisses your cheek softly and whispers:

“now behave. or i’ll take you over the dinner table next.”

it was supposed to be a quiet dinner.

caitlyn’s family estate was vast and proper, full of silver cutlery, fine linens, and tension buried beneath polite smiles. you were seated beside her at the long oak dining table, across from distant relatives who sipped aged wine and exchanged dull conversation.

you played the part well. sweet. silent. polished.

but caitlyn knew what you were really like under the surface.

because under the elegant blue dress she’d chosen for you, nestled deep inside your soaked cunt, was a toy—small, pulsing, and entirely under her control.

and the remote sat silently in her palm beneath the white linen napkin.

you thought she’d forgotten about it.

until halfway through her father’s monologue about politics, the toy jolted to life inside you—sudden, strong, and sinful.

your fork clattered against your plate.

caitlyn turned to you, calm as ever, placing a gentle hand on your knee under the table. “careful, sweetheart,” she said, brushing her lips against your ear with the tiniest smile. “you don’t want to make a mess, do you?”

you shook your head, legs trembling under the tablecloth, trying to keep your expression blank. but her hand slid higher.

you bit your lip hard.

she clicked again. stronger.

your thighs squeezed shut. your stomach tensed. you could feel the slickness starting to trail down, and there was nothing—nothing—you could do.

across the table, someone asked, “are you alright, dear?”

“she’s just a bit warm,” caitlyn answered smoothly, stroking your thigh with careful, possessive tenderness. “but she’ll be good for me, won’t you, darling?”

you nodded, barely breathing.

her hand slid up, beneath the hem of your dress, fingers grazing over the toy. she tapped it twice.

the vibration grew violent.

“keep your voice down,” she whispered against your temple. “or i’ll set it to max and have you excuse yourself to the powder room alone—and you’ll come all over your fingers, crying for me, without even getting to taste mine.”

your breath hitched.

and that’s when it hit—your orgasm, brutal and silent, rolling through you as you clenched your thighs under the table and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning out loud. your shoulders trembled. your fingers curled into your lap.

caitlyn never looked away from her glass of wine.

when you finally slumped forward, dazed and ruined, she leaned over and murmured: “you’ll thank me later with your mouth, sweetheart. but for now, finish your potatoes. don’t be rude.”

it started with a pout.

caitlyn had been busy. long work days, late nights, and endless meetings. so tonight, when you sashayed into the bedroom wearing nothing but a silk ribbon tied around your chest and a smirk, you expected to get her full attention.

but she didn’t even look up from her laptop.

“mmm. cute,” she murmured, barely glancing at you. “go warm up the bed. i’ll be there soon.”

your pout deepened. she didn’t even touch you. didn’t even flick her eyes to your bare thighs, to the way you purposely shifted your hips with every step.

you lay back on the bed dramatically, legs spread, touching yourself slowly—loudly—moaning her name just enough that you knew she could hear.

she didn’t come.

so you called out, “maybe i’ll take care of it myself. since someone’s too busy.”

that’s when the chair scraped back.

you barely had time to blink before she was standing at the foot of the bed, sleeves rolled, expression calm—cold.

“oh, is that what we’re doing tonight?” she asked softly, closing the laptop with a quiet snap. “you want to act like a little brat?”

your breath caught.

“cait, i—”

“no. no more words.”

she moved with quiet command—dragging your wrists above your head and securing them to the headboard with her silk tie. you could pull free if you really wanted. but gods, you didn’t want to.

“since you clearly need to be reminded who owns you,” she whispered, crawling up over your body, “we’ll take our time.”

the first orgasm she gave you with her mouth. gentle. slow. just enough.

you came with a whimper, already wrung out.

but when she reached for the toy from her drawer—the wand you loved—you shivered.

“wha—cait, i already—”

“oh no, sweetheart.” her voice dropped. “you don’t get to decide when this is over.”

the toy pressed to your clit again, low setting at first. you arched.

and then she began to edge you.

again. and again. and again.

she brought you to the brink until your toes curled and your legs trembled—then pulled away.

you whined. cried out. begged. but she only smiled.

“my girl wants to be greedy now?” she murmured, licking a stripe up your thigh. “you want to brat? then you’ll suffer for it.”

her fingers replaced the toy, teasing—just shallow thrusts, just soft flicks to your clit while you writhed and gasped under her.

by the fifth denial, you were pleading. tears glistening. voice hoarse.

“please, cait, please—i’ll be good, i swear—i need to come, i need—”

she shushed you with a kiss.

“good girls ask,” she said sweetly, positioning herself between your legs again. “but only my good girls get rewarded.”

then she fucked you with her fingers, firm and unrelenting, mouth on your clit, and you shattered—sobbing, back arching off the bed, stars behind your eyes.

when you finally collapsed, trembling and spent, she crawled up beside you and pulled you into her arms.

“such a filthy little brat,” she whispered, brushing hair from your face. “but mine. all mine.”

it was 3:21 am when you woke up to the weight of caitlyn’s body sliding over yours.

at first, it was subtle — the heat of her skin behind you, her arm slipping around your waist, the shift of the sheets. then you heard her breathing: deep, controlled, trembling like she was barely holding something in.

“cait…?” you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

“i had a dream,” she whispered against your shoulder, lips brushing your skin. “you were smiling at someone else.”

you blinked. “wha…?”

“some stranger had you bent over a table. calling you ‘good girl.’” her voice sharpened. “you let him touch you. kiss you. you let him see everything that’s mine.”

she didn’t sound angry. she sounded shattered. desperate.

“cait, it wasn’t real—”

“i know it wasn’t,” she said, her voice breaking into something almost feral. “but i still need to remind you.”

and before you could say another word, she pushed your thighs apart beneath the sheets, hands gripping your hips like they were handles, mouth hot on your neck.

“let me remind you, sweetheart,” she whispered, voice trembling with possessive fury. “let me show you who you belong to.”

you gasped as she dragged the lace panties you’d worn to bed down your thighs. she didn’t even bother to take them off all the way — just enough to expose what she needed.

“you’re dripping,” she hissed, running two fingers through your folds. “gods, you’d let anyone see you like this? let anyone take what’s mine?”

“n-no,” you whimpered.

“that’s right. because this cunt,” she growled, pushing her fingers in hard enough to make you cry out, “belongs to me.”

your legs shook. you weren’t even fully awake and she was already fucking you—fingers deep, rhythm brutal, her body covering yours like a shield.

and when she pulled her fingers out and replaced them with the toy—thicker, crueler, buzzing right up against your g-spot—you bucked against her.

“stay still,” she ordered. “i’m not stopping until you forget that anyone else exists.”

she held you down, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other pressing the toy deeper and harder into you with each wave of pleasure. your moans were strangled, gasped, muffled into the pillow.

“you’re mine,” she panted against your ear. “mine to touch. mine to break. mine to keep.”

when you finally came—loud, shaking, completely undone—she didn’t let up. she kept going. over and over. forcing you through another orgasm, and another, until you were sobbing her name and clinging to her with trembling fingers.

only then did she stop.

only then did she pull you into her arms and whisper, “i’m sorry. i just… i can’t lose you. even in a dream.”

and you kissed her salt-slicked cheeks and held her just as tightly, whispering again and again, “you won’t. you won’t.”

[itsgivingmami]

When Did You Know? -Rhea Ripley

Summary: “When did you know?” He asks and Rhea raises a brow at him, prompting him to explain. “You wanted to marry her,”

WC: 1905

Warnings: none(if you spot any lemme know)

I’m high, enjoy🍃

Rhea holds a champagne flute watching you from across the backyard, sitting with your sister the two of you are giggling at what ever is in the gift she’s given you. With the way it send a red flush across your face she makes a note to pester you about it later.

“So,” it’s Damian who wanders over and she’s relieved, not that she didn’t love the family and friends invited to your engagement party but someone she didn’t have to be on her best behaviour around was always welcomed. “Enjoying that?” He teases pointing at the flute.

“I feel like I’m going to crush it,” she responds, staring down the offending drink. Damian chuckles and shakes his head following her gaze to you and smiling.

“When did you know?” He asks and Rhea raises a brow at him, prompting him to explain. “You wanted to marry her,”

Rhea looks back to you and you meet her eye, she sees your face soften and smile at her mouthing a small ‘hi’ to her. She winks back to you before your attention is pulled away again. When did she know?

~

The light from the moon came in the open window, a warm breeze flowing into the room making the curtains flutter. The dogs snore peacefully at the end of the bed, practically dead to the world for the next couple hours before the sun rises.

You and Rhea lay in a comfortable silence, your bare legs tangle together under the plum sheets and your torso press together as you lay on her. Your face tucks into her neck as she strokes your hair, relishing in the afterglow content to just feel you and gently drift to sleep.

“I think I can feel my bones,” her eyes snap open as you mumble into her neck, for a moment she wonders if she misheard you? Or maybe you were talking in your sleep? Which she’s never heard you do, but surely that made more sense than you feeling your bones.

“Hmm” Rhea kisses your head, which is probably the safest response at this point, “your bones?”

“Like in my body I feel them if I think about it,” you explain, your hand strokes along her ribcage to emphasis your point. “Do you feel yours?”

You picked your head up to look into her eyes, ready for a serious answer. Rhea on the other hand was fighting her self control trying not to smile at you lovingly. She pulled her lips into a thin line to hide her love for you and pretended to try.

“Not feeling anything” Rhea responds and you pout at her before rolling over with your bare back exposed to her, “you’re upset because I can’t feel my bones?”

“Yes!”

~

“You’re sure you want to meet them?” Rhea asks again, slowing her steps as you walk home from dinner. It’s risky with Rhea growing fame, but the setting sun is too warm to deny and if anyone had recognised her neither of you had noticed walking hand in hand chatting. She had invited you over to her place during dinner, starting to feel guilty that you two always ended up at yours. Now, she was regretting that choice.

“Yes I’m sure,” you laugh as she asks you for the thousandth time, surely they couldn’t be that bad right? “Keep up,” you pull her along not allowing her to stall you any longer.

“I just feel like there might be a better time to introduce you,” Rhea bargains and you roll your eyes playfully turning to face her.

“They’re important to you,” you say while pointing at her, “I want to know about everything you love,” you tell her, she allows her shoulders to relax and grabs your pointing hand bringing it to her lips to kiss it.

“Okay,” you two begin walking again and you wrap your arms around hers, “they’ll be excited”

As you walk up to her door and she unlocks it she puts her hand on the knob and turns to face you again.

“Don’t you dare ask if I’m sure,” you say and smile as she grumbles at you and opens the door. Up until now you hadn’t felt nervous, instead distracted by quelling your girlfriend’s anxiety about you’re meeting them. Now you were being faced with the reality that if they didn’t like you, how would you and Rhea stay together. She closes the door behind you quietly, her hand touches your lower back and she leans down to your ear,

“Ready?” You take a deep breath, you could do this. She meant to much to mess this up. You nod confidently and you feel her stand back up. “Babies!”

The sound of her dogs is thunderous as they round the corner, you spot Barry first as he slides around the wall and begins to sprint full force down the hall.

“Oi!” Rhea tries but it’s too late, you’ve resigned your fate and brace yourself. His jowels bounce with slobber as he runs, his ears standing up as he leaps directly at you and sending you to the floor on your ass. Luna comes running behind your head to kiss your forehead and Rhea stands frozen. There’s a moment where she’s sure that you’ll be upset and walk out considering her ninety pound menace just sacked you but your laughter stops the thought.

“Hi babies how’re-“ Barry licks at you and you fall backwards giggling and reaching up to pet Luna. “Pretty girl,” you tell her smaller dog as she more politely licks your nose. Rhea could cry watching you meet them, pet them and give them small kisses slobber and hair be damned. She walks over to you offering a hand and pulls you back to standing.

“It was really rough,” you tease, “but I made it.”

~

The pain in her shoulder was searing and she wanted nothing more than to relax without this goddamn sling but compared to the anger in her chest it felt mild. It replays in her head again, walking out with the belt around her waist and leaving it behind in the ring. She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, stubborn tears falling from her eyes as she sat on the end of the bed.

“Baby,” your soft hand comes to hold her jaw and Rhea shakes her head, no matter how many times you go through a rough patch she’s never learned to let you see her cry. Your fingers gently pull her chin up and she’s too tired to fight it, tears fall off her jaw to your hand. You take a step closer to stand between her legs and pull her head into your sternum, the sadness and frustration she’s been holding breaks and she sobs against you. You hold her tight as she cries against you,

“I’ve got you,”

~

It was awful. Ridiculously bad. Downright unholy and probably frowned upon in most countries while being loathed by the majority of people. Except Rhea, your girlfriend loved the way you danced.

Well, “dancing” might be a reach. It’s more, flailing and hair flipping but accompanied by your terrible singing and wearing her t-shirt Rhea found herself drooling at your breakfast island.

“Hungry?” You ask, pausing your… movements to attend to the pan. As you turn around Rhea swallows,

“Starving,”

~

Your sister brings you a cup of tea and a glass of water before sitting on the couch next to you. The front of your head is pounding from crying, you reach for the water hoping to alleviate some of the pain. As you chug the glass water falls from your hair to your shoulders and you shiver.

“What happened honey bee?” She asks gently, her warm hand wraps around your cold one and feeling it close to ice she wraps both in her own.

“We starting arguing about something,” your breath seems to stutter as you speak, “I don’t remember what and then we fought for so long and then she told me to leave,”

You start to cry again and your sister pulls you into a hug, she cooes at you but you can’t focus on her. All you can think about is Rhea.

“Listen you’re not going to believe me,” your sister pulls her sleeve over her thumb and wipes your tears, “but I think you two will be fine,” you scoff at her and shake your head.

“She told me to go, we’ve fought but she’s never told me to go,” you insist, “she doesn’t want me,” you resign. You two are silent as you leans against her, you’re dozing off when a loud knocking makes you jerk.

“Ah-“ your sister hisses holding her cheek and going to the front door. You stand up from the couch to clean up the pillows you’d knocked to the floor. Heavy squeaking footsteps made you turn swiftly seeing Rhea in the door way.

“Rhea,” you say in disbelief looking her up and down, her dark hair is slicked to her forehead and dripping onto the hoodie she’s wearing. Not that it’s bothering her, she’s clearly soaked through and she wipes her face with her forearm.

“I’m sorry,” she starts as soon as she closes to you, “I shouldn’t have told you to go, it’s cowardly and you didn’t deserve it and I wish I could take it back,”

“Rhea,”

“But I can’t so I hope you can forgive me because when you left I felt it, that feeling that I can’t stand that I don’t know where you are or if you’re safe,” she’s pacing while she explains ignoring your attempt at her attention,

“Rhea”

“But I’ll feel it, if you want me too. I would understand after what I just did and what I’m doing now,” it’s clear she’s not hearing you so you take a few steps towards her, she finally looks at you “but I just needed to make sure you were okay because I love you and-“ Rhea had expect you to slap her, punch her, or scream in her face; but kiss her? You pullled away from her lips gently,

“I forgive you,”

-

Rhea sipped her coffee as she exited the shop, she was due back in the center in a few minutes. She sped walked down the street and went to turn around the corner before slamming into another body.

You had expected to hit the ground and braced for it surprised to feel yourself upright, opening your eyes seeing the woman you just collided with had caught you.

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak and the woman gives your a once over making sure you’re steady before she lets go, “I’ll get you a new coffee,”

“You’re sweet,” the tattooed stranger responds, “but I’m late,” she explains, you pat your imaginary wallets hoping to give her cash you don’t have with you.

“What’s your name?” You ask and the look on her face you find hilarious, was that such an odd question? “I owe you a coffee”

“Rhea Ripley,” she answers, walking around you slowly in the direction she needs to go, “ you should dm me pretty runner girl,”

She quickly makes her way across the street and away from you left wondering how you’re supposed to know which profile is hers?

~

Rhea tipped her flute back and finished the rest of the liquid in her glass before looking at Damian and shrugging,

“I just knew,”

[roccoparondi]

Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun. 

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon. 

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother. 

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him. 

You smiled. “Me too.”

[vinnyvamppp]

Runway Walk

"Let me see your runway walk, make your heels click, make the runway talk, c'mon."

A/N: The way... I got carried away with this word count. Can ya'll tell I've been holding back when it comes to Dick Grayson? Thanks to a fellow creator here for helping my creative flow with scrumptious fan art. You know who you are.

Warnings: Door-Knocking Time Pressure Smut™, Canon Violence Mentioned, Porn WITH a Plot, Fingering, Clothing Kink (Suit & Costume Removal), Desk Sex, Switchy Energy, Slight Powerplay, Emotional Tension, Dick Grayson Being Hot, Reader Being Sarcastic, Past History, Smut, Etc.

Synopsis: With twenty minutes to curtain call, a locked dressing room door, and a desk sturdy enough to ruin, you're about to discover there's nothing more dangerous than a man in a suit… especially when you designed it to come off.

Dick Grayson x Fem!Stylist!Reader

WC: 2.7k

The auction was hidden beneath the illusion of extravagance. Above ground, it was a high-profile Gotham fashion event—glittering with elite influencers, foreign investors, and too many champagne flutes balanced on too-thin fingers.

But below the stage, behind mirrored walls and beneath silken drapes, was the truth: a rotating selection of stolen tech, rare weapons, smuggled magic, and “exclusive clientele” that were, apparently, too powerful to touch. And right at the center of it all was you and Dick Grayson. You and him. And the walk that would undo everything.

The first time you saw Dick again after months of silence… He was ten minutes late, annoyingly calm, and wearing the wrong pants.

"Let me guess," you said, not even glancing up from the rack of hand-stitched blazers. "You stopped to rescue a cat from a burning building. Or flirt with a barista. Or maybe both?"

He laughed, that familiar sound that used to rattle your self-control. “You forgot ‘stop a black-market weapons deal in the Diamond District,’” he said, easing into the dressing area with the kind of grace that should’ve been illegal. “But yeah, the cat was cuter.”

You finally turned to look at him. Mistake number one. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, probably on purpose, and his smile had that particular tilt to it: a mix of charm and apology. And those damn eyes. Ocean-blue and too damn knowing. They flicked to your hands, your mouth, your outfit—absorbing everything like he always did.

“What?” you snapped, folding your arms. “Forget what I look like when I’m not yelling at you?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s actually my favorite version.” You held his stare for two seconds longer than you meant to. Then you turned back to the rack. “You’re here to play runway model, not walk memory lane. Get your ass into the fitted pants before I change my mind.” He whistled low. “Still mad I ghosted, huh?”

“I’m not mad,” you said sweetly. “I just find it fascinating how a grown man can leap across rooftops, dodge bullets, and still somehow be deathly allergic to returning a text.” He winced slightly. Not enough to satisfy you, but enough to keep the fire burning.

"Look, I didn’t want to drag you into the mess," he said, softer now. "There were things I couldn’t explain, and I figured it was safer—" You cut him off with a wave. “Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it. You walked away, remember? Just like you always do.”

His smile faltered, then faded entirely. “…You always watch me leave,” he said, almost under his breath. You hated that it hit you. Right where he knew it would. And then he smirked again—pivoting, as always, from vulnerability back to charm. “So what do you think?” he asked, striking a pose in his current pants — the wrong pants, mind you. “Do I pull these off?”

“Not even a little,” you said flatly, snatching the correct pair from the hanger. “Put these on. And try not to break Gotham’s collective brain when you hit that runway.” He took the pants, brushed your fingers on purpose, and leaned just a little closer. “If I do,” he murmured, “you’ll take the credit, right? Since you’re the one dressing me to kill.”

You pretended his words didn't make you shiver, but now wasn't the time.

You stood at the edge of the bustling prep area, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing with last-minute changes. But none of it mattered. Because when Dick Grayson stepped onto that runway, tailored midnight-blue suit hugging every line, eyes cutting through the crowd like headlights, the world paused. It was straight out of a movie.

He moved like he owned the moment. Like the spotlight was just another streetlight to dance under. Nothing in your training prepared you for the sight of him. Every step is fluid, lethal, and smooth as silk. He wasn’t a model; he was a weapon, and he was wearing your design.

You swallowed hard. Goddamn him…

It was a slow burn of motion and magnetism, his body sculpted by shadow and spotlight. The suit— your suit—fits like sin itself. It's a dark navy with obsidian threading, subtle enough for the naked eye but glimmering under a flash. Cut low at the chest, hugging the lines of his torso, a whisper of rebellion against traditional formality. And he’s looking at you. Not the crowd, not the buyers, not the high rollers holding hidden paddles for illegal bids. But you.

As he walks—no, prowls—down the runway, his gaze never strays. Every step was a conversation: Do you see me now? Did you miss this? Are you still pretending you don’t want it?

Your breath catches, your heart racing as if going into a heart attack. The world blurs around the edges. That was until—chaos struck. Just as he reaches the end of the walk, the lights flicker once. A coded signal. You know it immediately; the auction is beginning.

“You didn’t tell me they were selling an energy core designed by WayneTech,” you hiss, dragging him into a side hallway behind a curtain of velvet. His back hits the wall. You’re close, too close, but you don’t back off, rather inching in. He exhales, lips twitching. “Was gonna tell you after the encore.”

“Dick.”

“Hey,” he says, voice lowering. “It’s not like I planned for them to use a fashion show as a front. But now that I’m here… we improvise.” You glare at him in silence. He doesn’t flinch; his eyes slowly flick to your lips. “I saw you watching me,” he says softly. You scoff, but your voice wavers with little confidence. “You were strutting like a damn peacock.”

“And you liked it.”

“…Shut up.”

His smile turns devilish. “You always get like this when you’re turned on and mad at me.” You shove his chest, not hard, but enough to let him know you're not playing. Except your hands don’t leave his suit, and his don’t leave your waist. For a moment, everything stills. Again. What is up with this? Then he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“I only have a few minutes before I have to intercept a buyer in the west wing,” he murmurs. “But if you don’t want to wait anymore…”

You inhale sharply. "Don't tease me," you whisper. "Not unless you mean it." His voice drops. The flirty edge disappears, and what replaces it? A raw and unfiltered longing. “I’ve always meant it,” he says. “You just never let me prove it.”

His hands slowly slide around your waist until your back hits the wall, too. There’s no air between you now. Only months of missed calls and unspoken confessions, but you want to kiss those pink lips. You want to take his damn suit off piece by piece— you designed it, after all.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours, and stops. “Say the word,” he murmurs. “And I’ll forget the mission for one night. Just one.” Your hand's fist is in his lapels. You hate him, but, god, you need him.

BZZZZZT.

His earpiece crackles. Oracle’s voice, cutting in sharply. “Nightwing, buyers’s on the move. You have sixty seconds.” His forehead drops to yours. Frustrated and desperate. “Damn it,” he sighs.

You close your eyes. Try to calm the fire in your blood and the thrill that sent a heartbeat to your core. “…Go,” you whisper. “But you better come back.” His fingers skim your cheek. “Always,” he promises. And just like always, he walks away. But this time? You follow him with your eyes. And when he turns back, just before vanishing into the dark… He’s still watching you.

…

There are exactly twenty minutes until you're supposed to walk onstage and take your bow as the head designer. Which makes this —him— the worst idea. But when Dick Grayson slams the dressing room door behind him and shoves his earpiece deep into his jacket pocket, you know the decision's already been made. He’s out of breath with his cheeks flushed and hair tousled. “That’s it,” he pants. “I’m done pretending I can focus on anything else tonight.”

“You intercepted the buyer?” you ask, stepping back just enough so he couldn't hear your heart rattling within your chest. “Yeah,” he nods. “Swapped the intel. Knocked out two guards. Didn’t get shot. High score.”

“And your reward is barging into my dressing room?”

His smirk goes crooked, and his head tilts. “No. My reward is you looking at me like you’re two seconds from tearing this suit off with your teeth.” You blink and then scoff. “You’re delusional.” He closes the space between you in three long strides. “Then make me hallucinate harder.”

It's exciting, hands in hair, mouths crashing excitedly together. The heat between you is like fabric and friction and fire. His suit jacket—your suit jacket— rustles under your fingers, the tailored lines warping as you grab him and pull. “You're wrinkling my masterpiece,” you mutter against his mouth with a hiss. “Good,” he growls. “Maybe you'll have to make me another one.”

His hands are everywhere. Gliding under your shirt, gripping your waist, then up to your throat, not choking, just holding—possessive, reverent, but lost. When he backs you into the mirror, you gasp, and he drinks in the sound of oxygen. But the moment he reaches behind his neck and tugs hard at something hidden under the collar, you pull back.

And immediately burst into laughter. Because under the elegant suit? The Nightwing suit… is still on. “Tactical layering?” you snort, head dropping. “Seriously?” He groans. “I didn’t have time to take it off.”

“You never have time, Dick. Not to call, not to stay, and apparently not to remove your ridiculous birdsuit.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, breath still shallow. “This is iconic.”

“It’s clingy.”

“So are you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You hook your fingers under the utility belt and drag it down, peeling the skintight suit from underneath the runway outfit. It's an awkward, tangled mess of Kevlar, spandex, and silk lining. “God, there are too many zippers,” you mutter, shoving one sleeve down.

“Bet you say that to all the vigilantes.”

“Only the hot ones.”

He huffs out a laugh, and then you're both quiet, staring at each other, the tension thick with want and everything unspoken. His voice drops. “You don’t have to pretend this is just a quickie, y'know.”

“Then stop acting like it has to be.”

He kisses you again, but slower this time, a little deeper. His fingers trail up your sides, under your shirt, sliding fabric away from your skin. “I want all of you,” he whispers against your jaw. “Not just this. Not just tonight.”

“Then prove it,” you breathe, undoing his suit pants. “Right now. Before they call my name.” He pauses for a moment before flashing a toothy grin.

“Oh. So this is what it's like to date a designer.”

“I’m not dating you.”

“You’re definitely about to fuck me.”

“Semantics.”

The next five minutes are a blur of kisses too hot to be gentle, fingers fumbling with fabric, and you swearing every time a perfectly placed seam rips. His mouth is everywhere—throat, collarbones, behind your ear, whispering things that should not be this tender when he's pressed between your thighs like a man possessed.

“I knew this suit was dangerous,” you pant, rolling your hips against him. “You designed a weapon,” he groans, breath-catching. “I’m just… following instructions,” an excuse hidden behind smiling cheeks.

The desk creaks, another light flickers, and your hair is a mess. His gloves are somewhere on the floor. And through it all, the two of you move together like this has been coming for years. Because it has. This isn’t just a release; it's a reunion of sorts. It's: You left. It's: I still waited. It's: This isn’t over when the zipper comes up.

"How fast can you come?" he mutters, breath hot against your collarbone, as he hikes your leg up onto his hip. You arch toward him. “You offering to set a record?” He grins something sharp and teasing, but there’s heat in his eyes. Not just lust, but aching… and maybe yearning.

His hands slide over your thighs, palms rough from training but gentle now. His fingers barely brush the seam of your panties, and you jolt with just the slightest twitch of your hips. He smiles against your throat—a wicked, reverent thing. "There it is," he murmurs. "Still know every little switch that flips you." Your panties are pushed aside, and he exhales sharply as his fingers stroke over your puffy, slick folds—almost in awe. As if golden gates had just parted for him, and all his desires lay in his wake. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked.”

"You're late," you hiss before getting cut off with a kiss. Your teeth clash as tongues tangle in slippery heat. He slides two digits inside you without warning, and your breath stutters against his mouth. You can feel the desperation in his touch and the urgency in his movements.

His fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that spot deep within that makes you see stars. You moan, your hips bucking against his hand. His hand almost went numb as it basked in the silken warmth of your cunt as its nectar coated his palm. His forearm shifted beneath your weight, every stroke caressing a new inch. Every few pumps—his fingers take a new shape to stretch you out. Every second is being savored. "You gonna let me fuck you on this desk?" he says, voice thick. "Or should I put you on your knees first?" You bite his lower lip. “I’ll decide,” you whisper, pulling him in by the lapels.

He’s thick and hot in your hand when you reach for him. His cock is heavy, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. There's a slight purple hue, like his balls would bust if he didn't have you here and now. He groans low when you stroke him, your thumb circling his head, dragging down the length. His hips twitch against your touch. He chuckles—almost instinctively —as his nerves short-circuit, his eyes twitching. “Bossy,” he murmurs. “Always had a thing for your hands.”

“You're not exactly subtle yourself,” you smirk, squeezing a little harder. Causing him to suck in a breath. His hand tightens around your thigh. His thumb circles your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a rhythm that’s driving you wild. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in your abdomen. Shivers scale your spine, your head slamming back against the mirror as hushed, yet pornographic moans crawl from your lips.

"You gonna sit up here and look pretty, then?" he rasps, stepping between your legs and lining himself up against your entrance. The head of his cock teases at your slick, not yet pushing in—just pressing, waiting. You glance at the clock, and there's seven minutes ‘til curtain. “Hurry,” you breathe.

“You don’t tell me twice.”

He rasps, sinking into you slowly enough to make you claw at the desk, his hips grinding against yours, messy and hungry. There's a slight pop from the ring of muscle, blanketing him in a new warmth. It's thick and deep, stretching you full. You both groan at once. Your hands scramble for purchase at the edge of the desk, the lapels of his suit jacket—anything as he buries himself to the hilt. Makeup products clatter loudly on the floor, yet fall silent between the labored gasps you share. His hands are everywhere. Gripping your thighs, shoving fabric aside, palming your ass hard enough to leave bruises, desperately parting anything in his way.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, causing him to still with his cock pulsing inside you. “Too much?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing your cheek with a gentleness. “No,” you breathe, digging your nails into his back. “Move.” He obeys. The pace starts rough and frantic, almost the kind of thrust born from months of unresolved tension. The desk rattles beneath you, your back arching with each push. His hands grip your hips, then your waist, and then one rises to cradle the back of your head as he leans in to kiss you through it. It's like he doesn't know what to do, yet he does it all so well at once. The silk lining of his jacket burns against your bare skin, sliding rough where your body’s slick and trembling.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against your mouth. You moan, dragging your nails down his spine. “Bet you say that to all your stylists.”

“Only the ones who fuck me like they own me.” You clench around him—hard, juices sputtering—and he gasps. “Shit. Don’t do that or I’ll—”

“Already close?” You tease, sweat beading at your temples. “Grayson, I expected better.”

He pulls out almost completely, letting the tip of his cock rest against the rim, then slams back in hard enough to jolt a moan from your throat. “Keep talking,” he pants, “and I’ll bend you over the chair next.” His thrusts are slow and deep, just to tease, but hungry. His lips find your throat, ghosting over your pulse. Your chest, where one hand cups your breast, mouth latching to a nipple as he rolls his hips against you, every movement built to ruin you. You groan, clinging to one another. “Say it,” he whispers. “Tell me you still want me.”

“Fuck, Dick—”

“Say it.”

You kiss him instead—all teeth and tongue and breathless confession. “I wanted this every night you left.”

His forehead drops to yours. “Never again.” You’re so close. And he knows it. He can feel it in the way your legs lock around him. The way your velvety ridges contract around his cock. The way your pussy kisses every vein, caressing him like he never left. His jaw tightened, truly trying his best to remain quiet.

Yet, the desk thuds against the wall with every frantic thrust, papers scattering, a mug crashing to the floor. It's a riot of noise. Panting, gasping, the cascading sound of skin colliding—and Dick’s voice, low and rough in your ear: "You gonna come for me right here, baby? Gonna soak my cock while half of Gotham waits for your big debut?" At this point, you're driven back against the mirror with each pummel of his pelvis. There was a tension and risk bleeding in every frantic breath that made it impossible to think. The door rattled once, perhaps someone brushing past or trying to enter. You stiffened upon instinct, but Dick's pearly whites beamed against your neck. "You make the prettiest fucking mess, y'know that?" Oh, this fucker. He's trying to embarrass you.

The rhythmic rocking of his hips begins to take a new shape, purely focusing on making you cum. Wet strings of arousal strung to his pelvis, his cock absolutely smothered in combined juices. He could practically taste it. He wished he could take his time with you—spread you open and suck on that clit ‘til you’re limp and shaking, pleading and praising him. But none of that mattered, not as he watched his dick disappear and return wetter than the last.

Just as your orgasm builds and tenses, he reaches between you, rubbing your clit in tight, expert circles. “Come for me,” he breathes. “I want to feel you lose it. Right here. Right now.” He grows frantic as his hips stutter when slamming into yours with desperate but bruising force, and you cling to him, your legs trembling, your climax burning so close you can't form words. Dick buries his face in your shoulder, "Cum for me. Fuck, please — let go — I need to feel you lose it on me," He says, voice ragged.

That mind-numbing restraint snaps within. A sudden heat unfurls within as your body lurches forward into him. Your guttural groan is muffled by his shoulder as you cling to him—pulsing around his cock. He follows with a broken sound, knees nearly buckling and hips still rolling as he spills into you. He purposefully nuzzled himself—hoping he could view it drip out later. His dick felt raw.

Now, it's just silence and sweat and eyes boring deeply into one another. You slide your fingers through his hair, still trying to come down. “…You ruined my underwear,” you whisper. He smiles against your skin. “You ruined me.”

A knock. “Designer to the stage in three minutes!” You both groan. His head drops against your shoulder, and you bite back a laugh. “I have to go,” you whisper. He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. “Can I see you after?”

“Not this time.” He presses one more kiss, softer than all the rest—to the corner of your mouth. “Break a leg,” he murmurs. You adjust your shirt, and he zips up before you toss him his wrinkled suit jacket. He catches it midair, grinning as he helps you fix your clothes, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he zips you up and tucks himself back into the damn suit.

You both look wrecked. Perfect. And as he slips out the back door—one last look over his shoulder, he says, “You're still the best thing I’ve ever worn.” You smile, smitten, before calling out to him. "I know you'll be watching, and you better stay close. Because next time? I'm on top."

A/N: Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! This is my first DC related post.... woooo Dick Grayson the man you are.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[sunsents]

Tsu-tey - The Age of Arrogance (3) (M)

CHAPTER 3

MINI SERIES MASTERLINK

➵ chapter summary: Things become heated between you and Tsu'tey after his awkward apology.

➵ pairing: enemies to lovers, tsu'tey x fem!reader(no use of y/n)

➵ word count: 3k

➵ warnings: mature themes, hints at masturbation, cursing, banter, depictions of injury and blood (very minor)

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

Tsawl Pamtseo Tsko Kllte - a large musical instrument that stands on the ground

tawtute - demon

nantang - viperwolf

skxwang - idiot

angstik - hammerhead titonathere

TSU'TEY POV

Every respectful Omaticayan man starts his day off with a morning hunt to soothe their hunger and provide for their clan. Tsu'tey is no different.

This time around, he's limping to the riverbank to have a nice bath and ease his aching shin with hot water and a message– because clearly, he's underestimated your strength.

As he lathers himself up with herbs, he realizes how he's underestimated you. You, with your strange tawtute words, four fingers, and hairy forehead. The attitude that carried itself so effortlessly and dripped off of your every move and every word made him want to stick his head into a nantang nest.

After the forced apology deep in the forest, and after discoverşing Reytan's efforts of courtship, the following week has been torture. He feels the tiredness and ache drip off his firm muscles with every brush of the makeshift loofa JakeSully weaved for the people. As much as he hated to admit, the strange sky-demon inventions sometimes worked well. He still looks at it with distaste though, even after using it countless times and having made a habit to demand a new one every two weeks.

As the thing brushes against his arm, he thinks back at the last few days and the utter agony of arguing with you incessantly. He was familiar with you now, though the familiarity consisted of arguing and bickering about the most insignificant topics. He passed it off as tawtute arrogance first, but you were adamant about proving you were no longer one of them.

The ball of woven silk glides onto his chest smoothly, and his heart picks off at the thought of your smart mouth. Why was it that you had an answer for everything? Why were so adamant about going against his commands? 

He huffs, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as the water runs down his chest to his abs. It was only yesterday you fought about where the musicians were to be seated in the upcoming hunting festival.

"They should be in the heart of the fun, not up at some pedestal!"

Tsu'tey groans, gritting his teeth. "Why be in the middle? That is stupid and distracting. The people dance in the middle! If we put Tsawl Pamtseo Tsko Kllte in the middle, you will bump into it."

You ignore Jake's weak 'G-guys, I'm sure there's an alternative.' and roll your eyes. "How in god's name do you accidentally bump into a gigantic flute?"

Tsu'tey's face contorts in annoyance. "I refuse to answer your unnecessary questions, tawtute."

You clench your fists."They're rhetorical, you jerk.”

The lingering traces of your gritted voice carry a smirk to his lips– one of many 'fights' he's had with you after his so-called apology. It was easy to anger you; at first, you pushed his buttons just as much as he pushed yours, but after your relationship got into a rhythm where he said something and you made it your mission to counteract it, he started enjoying the strange arrangement. Especially seeing your flushed face and large eyes, peering up at him between your dark lashes. You would always march right up at him with clenched fists and a quip dripping from your tongue, and in those moments, he imagined harshly grabbing your face and pulling you into a heated kiss until your breaths became one.

He groans into the open air, the loofa brushing against his hardening cock ever so gently. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut to calm his urges–his instincts that light a fire inside his abdomen and make him act unlike a respectable man. 

No, ever since you looked at him with those fearful, haunting eyes he ceased to be a respectful man. Those very eyes that slowly became unwilling and sparkling with mirth.

Yearning for a dream-walker mate was never in his plans. He supposes you were one of the people now, but you despised him. Especially after he masked his attraction with spiteful insults.

Then, of course, there was that skxwang who was shamelessly courting you.

Tsu'tey remembers Reytan as a bright kid who was eager to learn how to hunt the biggest plays and where to filet his fish first to appeal to the softest meat. Not as an adult Omaticayan man ready to court a woman and settle down into domestic bliss - with you, no less. 

Reytan would have it no other way, Tsu'tey realized. This past week, his pathetic courting attempts worsened– Tsu'tey could laugh. You didn't enjoy angstik meat, nor did you like scaling through trees as a means of spending time together.

What a failure, surely Tsu'tey could have wooed you much easier. It seemed as though you just needed some affection— some attention and cooing. Tsu'tey smirks, he would turn you into a stuttering, blushing fool if he so wished.

At least that's what he says to soothe his ragged ego. After being saved by you, almost losing his position as Olo'Eyktan, and having to deal with the tasteless fruits of his injuries, his pride is in the depths of Eywa, and pulling it back has proven to be painstakingly difficult.

After rubbing his body clean and ignoring his hardening cock at the thought of you, thoughts he's done his best to deny while his Na'vi instincts buzzed his entire body, he carefully steps out of the boiling water. Glancing around, he quickly gets dressed and makes his way to Hometree in undignified haste.

Like every morning, the people are in a scurry to start their morning duties; the stomach-grumbling scent of fresh fruits and the fumes of sizzling meat; mates scrambling after their little ones to calm them down and perhaps convince them to wear their clothes properly; teenagers rubbing their eyes to rid their tiredness and aching bodies. 

The atmosphere is as lively as always, accompanied by the chirping and squawking of neighboring birds. The chatter resonates around the large community and beautifully accentuates the morning beat of drums and strings.

People greet Tsu'tey as he walks, but he's a man on a mission. His stomach gurgles in warning, and he has no choice but the start a jog fueled by nothing but his hunger. He spots Jake and Neytiri amidst the morning chaos, with Jake trying to weave a new armband and Neytiri sharpening her bows. They're chatting animatedly as they work. Stopping next to Jake, when the man offers him breakfast, he fights the urge to grab his face and kiss his strangely thin lips. 

"Someone's hungry." Jake chuckles, abandoning his poorly done weaving.

Tsu'tey grunts, shoving fruits into his mouth. "I hunted this morning."

"I see."

"The forest becomes prosperous when the cycle reaches hot temperatures." Neytiri chimes in, looking up from her skilled fingers making quick work of the piece of wood.

"Oh, so it's summer now?" Jake asks.

Tsu'tey and Neytiri look at each other. "What is that?"

"Never mind," Jake shakes his head, then picks up his weaving again when Neytiri throws him a look.

Zeir and Takuk soon join their circle of calm conversation and sharing of food. Tsu'tey feels himself relaxing in the calming atmosphere brought on by his trusted aides—something he needed after weeks of stress and restrained sexual desires. He distracts himself by starting a weaving of his own as well but soon realizes it's a pattern you adorn yourself in. As the thoughts of offering the piece of cloth to you surge in from the depths of his heart, his hands start to shake.

Your smell follows the panic, and he realizes you're near. The unfamiliar stench that accompanies you is enough proof that Reytan will follow in your wake and fuel the anger building inside of Tsu'tey.

"Morning party people," you stand next to Neytiri and thank her when she offers you a leaf of food. "Reytan was showing me good hunting spots. I had no idea we had a literal waterfall."

Your eyes sparkle as you dig into your food, completely oblivious to Tsu'tey's thumping heart that demands your attention. How dare you.

Reytan is quick to add on, and Tsu'tey just now realizes he's also here. "Yes, it is quite a young one."

Neytiri and Takuk are quick to join the conversation about Eywa's gift, but the only gift Tsu'tey can think of is the one being weaved unconsciously between his fingers. You're avoiding his gaze and infuriating Tsu'tey for no apparent reason.

Reytan looks at you. "I can show you other places if you want."

You smile. "Of course, I'd love that."

Tsu'tey almost snarls.

The grip on his weaving tightens and the pointed drums of wood are dangerously close to his skin.

"I am glad we are spending time together," Reytan shyly looks down, tail twitching.

You chuckle. "You're a good friend."

Tsu'tey pricks his finger. It was inevitable and strangely grounding. He feels the sting of the sharp tool imprinted on his cut skin. Deep crimson pools on the tip of his finger and slowly drizzles down his veins. With a hiss, he puts the digit in his mouth.

"Tsu'tey!" you gasp, and swat at his hand. Embarrassment causes him to lower his ears and purse his lips— he was getting jealous over a vrrtep and this notion caused the stinging burn on his finger to worsen. His collected and menacing persona was broken by a mere demon– only children got hurt like this. He was supposed to be Olo’eyktan. 

His tail trashes behind him but he does nothing to control it. He needs to make his anger evident. Needs to protest against your will to help him. He doesn't need anyone's help.

You tut at the small cut. "It's small, I'll bandage you up."

"No-"

"Brother, go and get treated. We have an important hunting day tomorrow."

Unfortunately, Jake is right. Grumbling, he follows you into Mo'at's kelku and doesn't glance back at the sullen Reytan watching you walk away.

READER POV

While the kelku is otherwise empty, the intense gaze Tsu'tey has on your face makes you feel suffocated. With a thumping heart and a flushed face, you gently apply a bead of paste with nimble fingers on the small cut.

The silence is loud, filled with your thoughts.

The past week Reytan has been diligently courting you, and you were diligently rejecting his advances. The countless 'no's' and the 'please, I see you as a friend' repeated to the younger man inevitably caused the feelings inside of him to diminish. 

However, they were not completely gone. They would never be fully gone unless you mated with another man, or he was to find someone else, you realize. And as you think this, you glance at Tsu'tey, feel your heart drop, and then swear under your breath.

It wasn't that you didn't consider Reytan, you truly tried. But trying wasn't enough. The attraction you've had for Tsu'tey was undeniable, and seeing the man almost every day made your urges almost impossible to ignore. 

After his apology, you've fallen into a strange rhythm of friendship(?) with the man. You had love for him, this was a given. Did he have love for you? Maybe sometimes when you weren't being particularly nit-picky. He rendered you speechless every day—with abstract strategies, insults with absolutely no filter towards clan members he has distaste, and the way he simply looks.

Determined to argue with him on everything and push his buttons, you had to simultaneously fall prey to his eye contact. Tsu'tey liked to hold intense eye contact, as he was doing now and staring at two gaping holes on your head. You were entirely too focused on his finger, but how interesting could a finger be? Surely not more than him.

No sooner than you could say 'it could be much worse', your stomach takes the reins into her own hands and thunders. The waterfalls were quite mesmerizing, and as you dumbly admired falling water for almost an hour, you neglected breakfast. The gurgling noise breaks the serene quiet of the kelku as you apply a darker ointment around the edges of his finger.

Tsu'tey doesn't say anything, but it's no doubt he heard. If he didn't, your stomach reminds him again. Watching his ears flicker is a giveaway that he's picked up the abominable sound and itching to comment on it. When it happens again (bless your poor heart, was this punishment for the pranks you have been pulling on Jake during your hunting parties?).

Tsu'tey snorts. "Are you okay?"

"Shut up," you grumble, or gurgle.

Tsu'tey cackles, slapping his knee with his uninjured hand. Would a prick even count as an injury, after nearly dying? "Eywa! I thought it was going to rain. I was about to warn the others!"

"Just...shut up." you hiss through gritted teeth, unable to hold your smile at bay. Fuck, as if a stomach gurgle wasn't embarrassing enough, it had to grace your day in front of Tsu'tey.

With tears in his eyes, Tsu'tey's laugh booms around the space. The raspy timbre bubbling from deep within his chest tickles your ears—he laughs with his entire body, chest bobbing and eyes crinkling. Your heart takes flight and flutters around Tsu'tey's laugh before landing right on the left side of his chest.

It was inevitable, his laugh was contagious. "Not another word from you." you giggle.

Tsu'tey gives you a pointed look.

"Speak for yourself." he cackles, his head careening towards your stomach. With his eyes shut and face pinched, he doesn't realize he’s digging his head into your navel and causing you to squirm.

Having never touched his firm skin lest you count saving his life, you merely freeze and hope intimacy is common amongst Na'vi.

Tsu'tey's shoulders stop bobbing. With no warning, his body becomes slack and hot under your soft touch—merely his forehead grazing against your navel. You can feel him take a deep breath when his chest expands and his nose almost flutters.

Short-cutting is an understatement. The soft breath Eywa lets out amongst the sunny afternoon rustles the intricate chimes hung loosely outside the half-opened flap. The breeze peeks inside to rush across your skin gently, to softly raise the hair until it prickles like needles. 

Tsu'tey raises his head, and in doing so, lights fires inside you when his braids tickle your stomach. The beads in the skilled weaving of his hair chime in warning to Eywa—almost butting heads, and the reward is ear-ringing silence.

His eyes slowly roll up, until they settle on you. You think he's lit up from the inside when his freckles glint and eyes glow. He makes it hard to look away as if he's daring you with his intense gaze. You can't, anyways.

Your tail mimics your heartbeat beautifully, swaying from side to side with unintentional thumps on the wooden floor. You watch Tsu'tey's eyes turn half-lidded and hazed as he observes you. The intimacy is settling around your bones and enhancing his irresistible pull. As though he's testing the waters, pushing to see how much you'll let him until you pull– his tail gently wraps around your thigh. Your breath hitches because it's possibly the softest thing you've ever felt, like velvet or fresh grass after fruitful rain.

He pulls you forward until you have no choice but to hold onto his shoulder for support, then look down at him with wide eyes. Your heart beats throughout your entire body as the waves of pleasure run through your veins in deep crimson. 

Cursing his large eyes, you struggle to catch your breath. His hand slowly settles on your hip– Tsu'tey touch is soft and never what you've imagined it to be. He's a callous man with sharp edges that stab if you try your luck, but the man gazing up at you with lidded eyes is nothing but. He's beautiful and warm, you relish.

"Vrrtep..." he breathes a secret whisper, like a reminder. But it does nothing of the sort. Guiding his other hand on your other hip, he can now steer you however he wants and you'd probably let him take the reins with no protest. He mindlessly pulls you again until your knees bump against each other. He's clinging onto you which is an obscene scene. Especially when he was itching to get away from you last week and on his deathbed. Succumbing to his mindlessness, you lean forward when he urges you with the tightening of his tail.

"Tsu'tey, are you okay?"

Jumping away from Tsu'tey in panic, you scramble to gather yourself and the medicinal tools scattered about the floor. Jake struts into the marui with large steps and surveys Tsu'tey. You don't know what he sees because you refuse to look, but it must be something interesting enough to pull out an awkward chuckle from his lips.

Standing straight with heaps of objects clutched in your shaking hands, you struggle to keep your composure. "He's all patched up...I need to go water the uh, waterfalls."

Quickly running out of the kelku causes a gust of cold wind to hit your face and realize the severity of the situation. If Jake hadn't interrupted you, what would he have done? What would you have done?

His lips were right there, and if you had leaned in just an inch-

Stopping your sprint, you kneel to your hunches and hold your head. You've mindlessly run into the forest, hoping to escape your feelings, but they're attached to your heart with a mighty strong grip. You huff out a breath, then stand up. Starting a slow walk, you think about the past month with these new revelations.

Tsu'tey's always been indifferent but the ache of being ignored dulled after two weeks, then merged into hatred. The thin line between aggravation and romantic feelings blurred—well, you don't know when or where, but it did. 

Perhaps your feelings stemmed from the admiration you've had for him or the hidden fantasies you entertained every night with your hand between your legs.

Frustrated, you decide to walk to Hometree and finish your duties for the day early.

[minniesmutt]

hai hai haii bangchan + mamacita 👀

﹙ 🪐 ﹚

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐚

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: BANG CHAN X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: MAFIA!AU, MAFIA BOSS! CHAN, MISOGYNY, GUNS, ORAL (F. REC), FACE RIDDING, UNPROTECTED SEX, ☾ ━━━ WC: 1.2K ☾ ━━━ NOTE: not me listening to MAMACITA when you sent that hbjad ☾ ━━━ send me Chase Atlantic songs and a member to write a blurb about ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     The only person Chan trusted more than his seven friends was his girlfriend. Especially when he needed to give people a little push. Maybe because she was just the right level of crazy to date— let alone join his gang— a mafia boss.

     He had her on his arm at a banquet for the underground world. Security was tight for the event and Chan knew coming in, he was fine if someone tried something. Y/n stuck close to him the whole time. Her arm wrapped with his while she held a glass of champagne in the other. He watched how many other men looked at her as they walked by. It boosted his ego more.

     “Mr. Bang! How nice to meet you finally!” Something he’d heard all night

     “Mr. Lee. It’s nice to meet you as well,” Chan greeted the target, being the cordial businessman he was.

     It wasn’t long before more men he’d spoken to over the phone had joined his conversation, including some sons who were due to take over their father’s spot. He’d proudly introduced Y/n as his girlfriend to the group when asked. Y/n smiled and gave a small wave to the group.

     “How do you manage to pick up such a pretty lady Mr. Bang?” One of the sons asked

     “Pure luck,” Chan answered

     “You have her well trained. Been quiet as a mouse all night.” Mr. Lee joked causing the other men to laugh

     “Maybe you’re just not worth speaking to Mr. Lee. Your fourth wife seems to think so at the moment,” Y/n smiled as she sipped her drink

     “Excuse me?” Mr. Lee looked shocked

     “Obviously not trained enough,” Another remarked

     “You let her speak this way, Mr. Bang?”

     “I prefer she does,” Chan smiled

     Chan didn’t worry about his girlfriend mouthing off. He’d thought it was attractive to watch her do it to others. It’s how things seemed to get done.

     “And you’re the current head of the underworld bosses? Can’t believe you have such a mou—”

     “You can finish that sentence if you prefer glass in your throat,” Y/n interrupted

     The look in her eyes alone kept the men silent for a moment.

     “I believe the council will need to discuss our leadership now,” Mr. Lee said

     “You’re just looking for an excuse to take out Chan, Mr. Lee.”

     “I most certainly am not!”

     “It’s really amazing what a few high ranking members of your family will say with a good drink and a pretty face in front of them.”

     “I beg you’re pardon?”

     “Then get on your knees and beg.”

     Y/n watched as he reached behind and pulled out a gun. Point it at her, which just made security— all who worked for her boyfriend— pull theirs out and surround the group.

     “Thank you, for showing you’re true colors, Mr. Lee. If any of you would like to join Mr. Lee, please feel free too. But let this be a warning not to question my leadership.” Chan smiled

     One of the security guards grabbed the gun from the man while he was escorted to a different room.

     “You let yourself get—” one of the sons started speaking put was cut off by Y/n’s champagne flute colliding with his head

     “Deal with them,” Chan sighed and escorted his girlfriend out of the room. Bringing her back home and carrying her up to their room.

     “Chan!” Y/n squealed

     “What?” He laughed as he walked up the stairs

     “I can walk.”

     “Mm, but I know you’re feet hurt from those heels baby.”

     Chan opened their bedroom door before setting her on the bed and kneeling infront of her. He quickly slipped her heels off and set them in their closet. Y/n smiled as he turned back to her. “I’m so glad I get to call you mine,” Chan said as he crawled over her and pressed his lips to hers.

     Y/n moaned into his mouth and pushed his blazer off his shoulder. Their hands roamed the other’s body, pulling off the fabric of the clothing. Tossing them somewhere in the room for someone to deal with later. Y/n managed to get her boyfriend on his back as she grinded herself against him. 

     “Let me prep you baby girl,” Chan said as she kissed down his neck

     “Let me ride that pretty face tonight?” Y/n asked

     “Whenever. Get up here.”

     Y/n moved up his frame. Wet pussy hovering over his face before he pulled her down to his mouth. Tongue sliding into her and coating her walls with his saliva. Y/n grabbed onto their headboard. Rolling her hips against his face, nose hitting her clit while his hands gripped her ass. 

     Y/n moaned into the large room. The tip of his nose hitting her clit with each roll of her hips. “Channie.” 

     Chan moaned into her as his hands had migrated to her hips and helped her rock against him. Her moans were muffled from him by her thighs. Her legs got tighter around his head with each swip of his tongue and nose.

     “Need you inside, Channie,” Y/n moaned

     Y/n peered down at him. Eyes closed as he ate her out. Enjoying the taste of her to the fullest. Chan kept her flush against him as she whined. The knot in her stomach tightening with each motion. Y/n moved her hands to grip his wrists. Holding on to him as he orgasm washed over her. A loud moan ripping from her throat. 

     Chan helped her through the high he set off before letting her off his face. Y/n sat up a bit and caught her breath as he moved her back over his hard cock. Y/n lifted his leaky dick from his stomach, positioning his tip at her entrance, and slowly sinking down. Chan held her hips as she sat down on him. Watching her head roll back as she took his size. 

     “Such a good girl for me,” Chan praised her 

      “Only you,” Y/n hummed as she placed her hands on his chest. 

     Slowly she started bouncing along his shaft. Chan took in the sight of her. Just like he always did in bed. His hands caressed her sides as she squeezed him just right.

       His hands grabbed her hips again as she picked up her pace. Helping her bounce on him as her nails left crescents into the skin. Dragging her nails down his chest. Chan moaned under her as she smiled down at him. Dick twitching inside as she clenched around him for fun. Rolling against him as Chan tilted his head back into the pillow.

     “Fuck baby. ‘M close,” Chan moaned

     “Fill me up Channie. Pretty please.” Y/n begged 

     “Whatever you want.” Chan sat up and pressed his lips to hers.

     Y/n wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her tongue slipping into his mouth and playing with his tongue as his hands gripped her hips tighter. Burying himself inside her as his orgasm washed over him. Whimpering into her mouth as she tried rolling her hips against him.

     He flipped her onto her back, leaning down to her neck, “You’re turn baby.”

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[seospicybin]

TOO HOT TO HANDLE.

PART II

Felix x reader. (s)

Too Hot To Handle Masterlist

Synopsis: You and Felix become contestants in a reality dating show, Too Hot To Handle. (9,7k words)

Author's note: I'm sorry guys but I have to leave you with another cliffhanger. The last part will be posted this weekend, feel free to vent in my inbox and enjoy x

Content warning: This is entirely a work of fiction and not affiliated with real Too Hot To Handle show.

FELIX: I'm just your uh... normal guy. [smiles] Just trying to be a nice guy and do something my mum would be proud of at the end of the day. [snickers] I don't really have any lines, I don't have, like, a strategy to attract girls. Basically, I just walk into a bar and they heard my voice and accent, sorted. I wouldn't say how many girls I've been with [chuckles] uhm... people only focus on the numbers and a gentleman doesn't say. [laughs]

-

Felix has been staring at the surface of the pool long enough that it starts to calm him down. He was nervous a minute ago, waiting for you in anticipation even though he should be relaxed knowing that you said yes to having a date with him.

The date is set in the pool of the villa with a fruit platter and a bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket of ice served at the side of the pool. It's not the first time he's going on a date but his pattern of dating is casually meeting someone someplace and taking them home for a hook-up, that's it.

It's going to be hard to change that pattern, especially when he's been trapped in it long enough that it's comfortable. Going on a date and try not to do any physical touches? Felix already has a hard time imagining it.

"Hi, hello!"

Felix's head snaps in your direction and he almost chokes on air seeing you walking toward him in a crimson-red bikini.

"Have you been waiting long?" You ask.

Felix quickly offers his hand to help you get into the pool, slowly engulfing both of your bodies in the lukewarm water from the chest down. The lights from the bottom of the pool casts a bluish glow on your face and with this proximity, he can see your face up close and observes every facial feature you have.

Felix slightly shakes his head in disbelief. You're so perfect from head to toe that he's having a hard time wrapping his head around it and you're right in front of him.

-

FELIX: She's lush! In that red bikini looking like a forbidden apple and I just want to take a bite.

-

"Aren't you going to pour me a drink?" You're eyeing the two empty champagne flutes.

It's obvious he's too busy lusting over your body that he forgot to be a gentleman. You hold the glass as Felix filled them with bubby wine and pours himself a glass after.

"It's so nice!" You compliment.

Again, Felix has to force his brain to cooperate and actively stop himself from looking at your body, "Huh?"

"The date," you say, picking a grape from the plate and shoving it into your mouth, "I've never been on a date this nice before."

Felix gulps his wine to fuel his guts, "me too," he says, reaching for the grape but you get ahead of him.

"Here," you say, bringing a grape close to his mouth and feeding it to him.

He's more than eager to eat it right from your hand and grins as he chews on it while you refill both of your glasses with more wine.

"Thank you for picking me for the date by the way," you tell him with a smile.

Felix clinks his glass with yours, "thank you for saying yes," he thanked you back.

After taking a sip, you put the wine away and focus on him instead, making him nervous as you tilt your head low and look at him through your lashes. It's the classic trick in the book of seduction but you do it effortlessly with a hundred percent rate of success, making him feel like a special man, the only man in the world.

"I was surprised when Lana told me you asked me for a date," you explain.

The water is still enough that Felix can see you scoot closer to him that your knees bumps with him and it takes everything in him not to put his hand on your thigh, "May I know why you chose me?"

Felix has to force his brain to work extra tonight and rakes his hair to the back as if it would help, "I have my eyes on you on the first day," he admits.

Your lips curl into a smile and it's a familiar one that tells you're not buying his words, "yeah?"

Good thing Felix has just the proof of it, "I'm the one who kissed you at the blindfold game," he confidently spills the truth.

You hold a gaze for a moment then look away to get your wine glass, "I know."

If you know, then why you didn't react the way Felix expected to? You hold your wine glass close to your mouth but not drinking it, "What I want to know is why you didn't make a move on me until now?"

Felix finishes his wine before answering, "I have my reasons," he answers.

Your hand reaches for the fruit platter next to his shoulder and picks a slice of strawberry, "is it because I'm your second choice?"

"No!" Felix immediately denies it.

"The boys talked about which girls they were going for. You are Alex and Jamie's choice, then Jamie partnered up with you so I–I uh..." he stammers as he watches you eat the strawberry, then wash it down with the wine.

-

FELIX: Sitting this close and not able to kiss her? Impossible. She's irresistible, my gosh... [sucks air through teeth]

-

When Felix talked to you in the firepit that night, you have your guard up because he knows you were with Jamie but now, look at you! Your head is slightly tilted and flutter your eyelashes at him. You got game and Felix likes having all of your attention just for him. He's more than eager to give you all of his attention, that wouldn't be hard, you're the only one he's seeing.

Felix licks his lips as his throat got dry from watching you and quickly recovers by splashing some water into the back of his neck, "I think compared to them, I don't think I'd have a shot with you," he furtherly explains.

You stare into his eyes and locked them in an intense gaze, "why? I think you're attractive," you tell him.

He unconsciously reaches for his ear as he gets flustered by your compliment.

"I think you know by now that three of the girls are chasing after you. Shouldn't you be happy?" You share the news Felix already knew. He wants to know something else, something more important, "depends," he says, "If one of the three is you then yes, I'd be happy."

A laugh burst out of you and Felix is elated to know that he's the one who made you laugh like that. There's something else as important he needs to know, "so what's your type?"

You fix the strap of your bikini and Felix reflexively looks at your cleavage, glancing at the soft mounds inside your bikini top, then quickly shifts his eyes back to your face.

"On the paper, no, you're not," you honestly answer.

Felix's smile fades a little but he keeps his disappointment to himself by sipping his drink.

"But I'm attracted to you," you add.

He swallows his drink at once and almost choked on it, the scintillating smile returns to his face.

"The fact that you're not my type but I'm attracted to you... I think that says something," you tell him with a sly smile. You hold his gaze before looking away and it's cute that you can be bold then shy the next minute.

He sees that you're eyeing the fruit platter next to him, "want something?"

You lowly chuckle and shyly say, "I was looking at your biceps actually but yes, okay, I'd like a strawberry, please?"

You always seem to know what to say and how to make his heart flutter, he can't help but softly laugh, flustered. You hold his hand by the wrist and steady his hand as you eat the strawberry right from between his fingers.

Felix briefly feels how your mouth and lips feel like. It's not technically a rule break and he was playing it safe until you did that. He clears his throat to steer his mind back on track, "Uhm... is that what you like about me? My biceps?"

You lick the juice escaping the corner of your mouth with your tongue, "you have a great body but what I like is the freckles," you share.

Felix unconsciously reaches for his face, "Yeah?"

You pull your hand out of the water and touch his chest, "I didn't know that you also have freckles on your chest."

Is it the beads of water slowly trickling down his chest or it's your fingertips that are lightly touching him that make him tingle inside? Felix feels the need to do the same with you. He reaches for the stray hair escaping your messy bun and tucks it behind your ear.

Instead of retracting his hand, he keeps it there, holding the side of your face.

-

FELIX: [Hisses] I want to kiss her so badly.

-

Felix may as well take his chance, leaning in close but doing it carefully as he seeks permission from you. He leans in closer to whisper in your ear with his hand still holding one side of your head, "Should we kiss?"

You put your hand on his thigh underwater and seductively chuckle, hinting that you probably think it's not a bad idea after all.

"I just got out of this thing," you avoid mentioning Jamie in the sentence, then you smile as you say, "I don't want to rush things."

Felix nods in understanding, "That's fair."

However, the hand resting on his thigh tells him otherwise.

-

FELIX: The chemistry we have is electric. I get the feeling that he can't resist me for long.

-

The date ends since it's about to be curfew soon. You and Felix exchange a hug, a long one that he gets to feel your body against him.

"That was a nice date," you mutter with a hand around his neck.

Felix uses the opportunity to draw you closer until your breasts squashed between your chests, "Yeah, indeed."

Being the gentleman he is, he gets out of the swimming pool first, then immediately offers his hand to help you. You take it without complaining, letting him hold you until you got out of the water.

Felix watches as the streams of water trickle down your body and your bikini stick to your skin, leaving so little to his imagination. He grabs a towel from a stack prepared on the lounger and put it around your shoulder.

"Thank you," you thank him, then he grabs one for himself and walks back into the house together.

-

FELIX: She refused to kiss but I’m confident to say the date went well.

-

The date may have ended but the night continues.

You both go straight to the bathroom with water dripping down your bodies and it's empty since everyone else is tucked in for bedtime. The spacious shower stall gives Felix an idea crossed but he's afraid of crossing the line to ask you.

"You can go in first," he offers.

You drop the wet towel and put it on the edge of the bathtub, "how about we shower together?"

Are you reading his mind? Because that's exactly the idea he had in mind. Felix suddenly doesn't know what to do with himself, aimlessly pacing around the bathroom.

"You can use my nice-smelling shampoo," you offer with a playful laugh.

"I can't say no to that," he replies.

Felix has to calm himself as you enter the shower after him, turning your back to him to help you untie the straps of your bikini. He puts all of your hair away and carefully works the knot open, you take it off yourself after. He watches as you hook your fingers around the sides of your bikini bottom and slide it down your legs, putting the bikini aside with your feet.

It's when you turn around to face him that he starts malfunctioning. There's nothing left to imagine now he sees all of you, that beautiful body of yours that he wants to explore if it wasn't for the stupid rules. You step under the shower and tilt your head up to let the water rain down your chest.

Felix has never been this jealous of the water for being able to be all over you.

"Want me to wash your hair?" You ask, taking the shampoo out of your toiletry bag.

Unable to verbally answers, he stifled a nod.

-

FELIX: I don't know how I'm still alive after seeing her phenomenal body [whistles]

-

It's the way you stare up at him with your hands slowly massaging his scalp and standing so close to him that it alarms him that he's rather in danger.

"Is it good?"

He's not sure what you're asking, the way you shampoo his hair or how your body makes him feel. He chooses to compliment you instead, "You're good at this."

"Yeah?" You ask with a grin.

"Mmh, yeah," he tries to distract himself by talking but not long after, he found his eyes looking at your breasts, hung so beautifully on your chest, merely inches away from his chest.

"Time to wash it," you inform, pulling him under the shower and washing all the suds away from his hair while brushing it clean with your fingers.

As you intently clean his hair, Felix braves himself to put his hands on each side of your waist and reminds himself to not go lower than that.

"It smells nice," he comments, opening his eyes from closing it for too long.

You drop your hands on his shoulders then clasped your hands together on the back of his head. With his proximity, your hardening nipples are lightly grazing his chest, raising the goosebumps on his arms.

"You're lucky I let you use it," you say with a sweet smile on your face and your eyes staring back at him. 

This is it. Felix has hit his limits. He can't resist it anymore.

-

FELIX: Oh fuck, I'm in trouble.

-

"I'm glad we didn't kiss on the date," Felix says.

You chuckle right at his face, "Huh? Why?"

Getting bolder, Felix wraps his hands around you and pulls you even closer, "Because now is the right time to do it."

Your teeth faintly biting your lower lip and he can see the lust in your eyes. Once you close your eyes, Felix knows that he just got your permission. The sweet smell of your breath welcomes him as he kisses your slightly parted mouth. You kiss him back with the same eagerness with a broken moan slips out of you between kisses.

Felix expected sparks but what he gets are far greater, fireworks getting off inside his chest.

-

FELIX: The kiss is such a long time coming and I just don't care about the rules at that moment. It feels so right.

-

You pull away first with a gasp and an open mouth, keeping your hands looped around his neck

"Wow. We made that kiss worth the six grands."

Felix grins in agreement with you, except that for him, the kiss is worth more than that. He'd pay with his own money if he had to, it was special, one of a kind. Then another problem appears, Felix craves for it more than before. He leans in for another but you're quick to turn your face to the side, sending his lips landed on your cheek.

"We can't break another rule today," you whisper into his ear.

Defeated, Felix drops his head on your neck and holds you close.

You reach for the faucet and turn it to the side, "How about a cold shower, mmh?" 

-

FELIX: A part of me is glad that she stopped me or else, we would have done everything by now [shamelessly laughs]

-

It was too late to have you sleeping with him last night.

Hopefully, later, he can fix this bed situation so he can wake up next to you and probably, sneaks a kiss or two. Seeing your face and exchanging a secretive smile is enough to gather his spirits to last the day.

Cole is going through his routine and asks everyone the question of the day, "anyone breaks any rules last night?"

He scans everyone to spot any guilty faces and Felix knows that he's safe from his suspicious eyes since Cole is his bedmate.

"You guys are looking guilty over there," Heidi points at Jamie and Mia's bed.

Fuck Jamie, he's so stupid to let you go but smart enough to leave you because you deserve better. Felix is confident that he is that 'someone better'.

Unlike everyone else, Felix can't wait for everyone to know that he kissed you and gets jealous of him.

-

FELIX: Another day, another chance to break the rules [winks]

- 

Too bad that despite his excitement, Felix can't spend time with you as you are being called to the front yard for a workshop with the other girls. He has no other things to do but join Alex working out and at the same time, helping him with some lower body workouts.

"You didn't tell me about your date last night," He says as he's taking a minute of a break between sets.

Felix counts the time and at the same time answering to his question, "It went great, man."

Alex is the one who encourages him to keep trying even when you were still with Jamie.

"Told you," he says with a triumphant smirk and getting up, grabbing dumbbells in both hands.

"Did you do anything?" Alex glances at him to get any hints from Felix's expression.

Felix refuses to answer but the grin on his face gives it away.

"How much did you spend?"

He's bad at lying and it's not like he's talking to Cole, which reminds him to look around, "Just one kiss," Felix answers after steering clear that Cole is out of his earshot.

Alex laughs and puts the dumbbells down, "just get ready, bro."

Surprisingly, Felix doesn't care so much about what everyone is going to say when they know about him breaking the rules.

"As an experienced rulebreaker, do you have any tips?" Felix playfully asks.

Alex laughs again and plops down on the hot sand, "I hate to tell you but the only way is through," he says with a stupid grin.

"Thank you, Dorothy!" Felix jokingly responds.

-

FELIX: I missed her even though I know she's only on a different side of the villa [chuckles]

-

Felix can't hide his smile when he sees you back from the workshop.

Moreover, he doesn't want to be around Jamie. The fact that he left you for someone else leaves a bad taste in him. Or maybe it's just that Felix grows protective of you that makes him feel that way.

"It's so hot. I'm thinking of taking a dip," you tell him.

He glares at you, "And you're not inviting me?"

"Yes. I'm not inviting you," you tell him with a sly smile, walking to the pool while dragging him along behind you.

Seeing your wet body only reminds him of last night, except that you have not even a thread covering that beautiful body of yours. He's standing next to you inside the pool, facing the view of the beach. He should distract himself from looking at your body by starting a conversation, or anything to keep his head occupied.

"So uh... how was the workshop?" He asks.

You turn to face him when he wishes that you didn't, "basically that when we let men into us, we also absorbed everything about them," you answer.

Your hand is floating on the surface of the water and drifting close to him, "it taught us that we should be more selective of the men we let in," you finish.

Can't help himself to touch you, he places a hand on the arch of your back, "that sounds great," he comments.

You nod and prop a hand under your chin, looking at him with a soft smile.

"What's your verdict on me?" Felix asks.

You tilt your head with a questioning look on your face.

He pulls you close and allows himself to place a kiss on your bare shoulder, "will you let me in?"

You shyly chuckle while putting your hand on his shoulder, "We'll see..." you vaguely answer.

-

FELIX: She may have not fully recovered from the previous thing but I think we're off to a good start.

-

You turn him around and jump onto his back, "get me there," you order.

"To the end of the pool?"

You nod, "and back," you continue.

"I didn't know that I have to do lower body workout," he says.

You throw your arms around his neck, "Go! Go! Go!"

Felix hoists you higher on his back and slowly walks to the end of the pool, carrying you on his back.

"Am I heavy?" You lean in close.

"If you're asking of we can do the wheelbarrow position, the answer is yes," he shamelessly pulls a lewd joke.

-

FELIX: It's so hard to not think about sex when she's walking around being the hot temptation she is.

-

The firepit is your favorite place in the villa and it unconsciously becomes his favorite place too.

"We're matching!" You exclaim, spotting the navy blue shirt he's wearing and pointing at the dress you're wearing.

"We're meant to be," he coyly responds.

If only you knew that he took a peek at what you'll be wearing tonight and purposely matches his clothes with yours. You sit next to him on the long sofa, lounging with him under the moonlight with the fire keeping the night warm for both of you.

You're lying sideway facing him and resting your head on his arm, this way, he can see the curve of your body wrapped in a skin-tight dress with thin straps.

He takes this chance to ask the question he's been wanting to ask, "Will you sleep on my bed tonight?" 

Your fingers are busy playing with the button on his shirt.

"For the rest of the retreat too?" He asks again.

You lowly chuckle, "No."

Felix jerks his head away, refusing to believe that you just rejected him.

You look up at him and say, "But you can sleep on my bed."

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and dryly laugh, "Oh yeah, we're going to evict Heidi tonight."

-

FELIX: The bed situation has been sorted, there's one more thing left to do now.

-

Felix runs his hand up and down your arm, "it's a nice dress," he compliments.

"I borrow this from Laura," you share.

The strap accidentally got caught in Felix's bracelet and pulls it down your arm, almost spilling your breast out of your dress.

"Whoops," Felix cheekily responds. He carefully fixes it for you and slides the strap back to its place on your shoulder.

It seems wrong to be this close to you and not kiss you. Not when that's what he thought about all day, the taste and the softness of your lips. Felix tilts your head and seeks your permission with a thumb that tenderly brushes your lower lip.You close your eyes, once again, letting him get what he wants and hopefully, it's what you want too.

Felix doesn't need to worry as you return his kiss with the same eagerness. He can taste your lips with a hint of mint that he believes is coming from your lip gloss. A hand wraps around your neck to keep you still as his tongue pries open your mouth so he can deepen the kiss and tastes you wholly. 

Everything else doesn't matter at that moment, it's just you and him, encased in a breathtaking kiss.

-

FELIX: I'm willing to pay with my own money just to kiss her again [shrugs]

-

"Do I have your lipstick on me?"

You nod as you wipe your smudged lipstick.

"Does it look good on me?" Felix leans in close so you can clean it for him.

"Yes," you reply, intently wiping the lipstick mark you left on his lips with your thumb.

With you still leaning close and your finger brushing his lips, Felix is tempted to kiss you again. You quickly sense his intention and look away to prevent it from happening. One kiss is enough, for now.

-

FELIX: I just can't stop... oh, my God! I don't want to stop.

-

It's only about time that Lana comes and announces the damage you both did.

Before that, you fix your dress and hair, leaving nothing that will give anyone the impression that the two of you have kissed. Felix holds your hand as you both make your way to the cabana and sit on the smaller sofa on the side of the room. He leans in close to the side of your head and softly asks, "Are you nervous?"

You take a deep breath and answer, "Yeah."

It would be a lie to say that he's not as nervous. This is his first time being on the hot seat but he knows what to do, he has his defense at the ready.

"It'll be fine," he comforts you while tucking a hair behind your ear.

The sweet smile you give him puts him at ease. Then you take his hand, clasped it together with yours, and rest it on your lap.

"Hello, everyone!" Lana greets with her computer voice.

"Hello, Lana banana!" Heidi being the loudest of us greets her back.

"There have been breaches of the rules," Lana announces.

Cole brushes his hair to the back in frustration and leans back on the sofa, "I'm so done with y'all."

Felix decides to own up to his mistakes and comes forward, "We kissed. Twice," he concisely admits.

Felix glances around and sees that Jamie is grinning, probably going to enjoy that he's not the one about to get shouted at. Instead of that, there's a moment of silence and he's not sure if it means good or bad.

"Well, if it's you guys..." Laura says, flipping her hair to the back, "I think you deserve it."

Alex nods, agreeing with her and Felix appreciates that Alex has his back like a good friend he is.

"I agree," Maeve adds with a smile shot at you.

-

FELIX: Whoa, what was that? That is not the reaction I was expecting we'd get [eyes widens]

-

"I feel like... you guys are building connections so..." Heidi gives her opinion.

Felix lets out a quiet sigh of relief and smiles at everyone, "Thank you, guys. We appreciate it," he says, shaking your clasped hand in giddiness.

He looks at you and you look back at him with a sweet smile. He feels more certain about his choices, this is right, you are right for him.

"But that's not all..." Lana drops a sudden announcement.

-

FELIX: Oh... fuck off, Lana!

-

"We have reached the middle of the retreat. However, certain individuals haven't shown the growth we wanted," Lana continues.

Felix feels your hand holding him tighter and he puts his other hand on you, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand.

You put your head on his shoulder, "Is she sending us home?" You meekly ask him.

Considering that he has broken the rules that automatically put both of you on Lana's naughty list, his heart races in his chest. Felix doesn't want to leave yet. Now that he's with you, he wants to stay for as long as he could.

"I'll be sending home two people."

"Two? Right now?" Cole gasps in pure shock.

You nuzzle your head further into his neck, "what the hell," you softly murmur with a restless sigh.

Felix lets go of his hand to put his arm around you. He can't say much because he's not in a good position to know for certain that it's not you or him Lana going to send home.

"Oh, fuck!" Heidi sighs into her hands.

The situation turns even more bleak as everyone got hit by the realization that they can get kicked out at any moment and they should have taken the rules seriously.

-

FELIX: I'm absolutely shitting it.

-

"Come on, Lana! You can't be serious," Cole says with a nervous laugh.

"The guests leaving the treat are..."

Felix hears your panicked whine on his shoulder and reflexively pulls you closer to him, knowing that you seek comfort from him.

"Daniel and Aly."

"Oh, my God!" You mutter, slung your hand across his shoulder.

Everyone is in complete shock while a few of them kind of figured that they're the ones who have been fooling around the retreat and not taking the process seriously. Despite all of that, it'll be a loss not having them again in here. Felix cherished the time he spent with them even though he doesn't know them on a personal level.

"Since arriving at my retreat, you have ignored my rules, dismissed my teachings, and failed to grow. And pursued your own desires at the expense of those around you."

Everyone gets quiet as Lana explains the reasons why she sends them home tonight.

"Daniel and Aly, you must now leave my retreat."

-

FELIX: I think Daniel had a problem following the rules and always chose to be selfish.

-

"Love you," Aly mutters to you as she hugs you.

You sniffle and say back to her, "Love you, Al!"

Besides Maeve, Felix has seen you hang out with Aly a few times so he understands that it must feel like you're losing a friend. That only proves what a caring person you are and he's lucky to be with you.

After watching them leave, you turn to hug to seek comfort from each other.

-

FELIX: I hope they continue to grow outside of the retreat. I wish you all the best, Daniel and Aly! [smiles]

-

It's bedtime and he feels bad if he has to evict Heidi, he turns to Cole, kindly asking him to sleep with her.

"Don't let me down, okay?" Cole warns before taking his pillow with him to Heidi's bed.

He saw you're chatting with Maeve in the make-up room and that explains why it's taking you long to come to bed. He's listening to everyone else talking about Daniel and Aly leaving one bed unoccupied for the night.

When you finally appear, you're smiling as you make your way to his bed. You toss the cushion onto the floor to make some space on the bed while he's puffing your pillow for you, then puts his arm out for you to rest on.

Felix doesn't wait to kiss you on the cheek, "you smell so good," he says.

You smile and say, "I'm pretty sure it's the moisturizer."

-

FELIX: I'm sharing a bed with her and she smells so good [hisses air through teeth] It's not going to be easy tonight!

-

There is not an ounce of privacy in the villa but as time goes on, Felix has come to the point that he stops caring about it.

The lights are out and as you turn to your side, your body instantly molds against him. Felix almost lets out a lewd groan the moment your ass is rubbing against his crotch. His self-control is being put to the test tonight and he's most likely to fail at it. He plants soft kisses along your shoulder and up the column of your neck, "I'm so happy that we're sharing a bed," he whispers into your ear.

Felix hears you softly giggling and if only you knew how much he likes hearing your giggles.

You slightly turn your head to the side, "Me too."

He plants his mouth on your neck again and tries not to think about kissing your lips that are mere inches away from his.

"Mmh..." he hums as he plants his nose in your hair and the smell of your shampoo brings him back to that night he showered with you. He hums again but it comes out as a low growl with the deep voice he has.

You look over your shoulder and gently grips his chin, "let's not break any more rules," you lowly say.

He nods and hastily kisses the nape of your neck, "mmh... 'kay."

It's like his hands have their own brains, they start to roam around your body, feeling your clothed body all over. Well, he can vividly picture it in his head without looking, you're wearing a white, thin tank top with boxer shorts that barely cover your body.

"You're so beautiful," he seductively says into your ear.

Sensing that he's close to danger, you take his hands and clasped them with yours to prevent them from wandering around. Felix sighs in defeat, then breaks into laughter as you caught on to his bad intention.

You laugh along and turn to softly kiss him on the jaw, "Goodnight."

He returns it with a long kiss on your cheek, "Goodnight, babe."

-

FELIX: [sticks tongue out] It's clear that she has better self-control than me [laughs] 

-

You look adorable with your hair tousled, barefaced, and disoriented like an angel who has just fallen from heaven.

"Morning," he forgot that his voice is even deeper in the morning and slightly surprised you with it.

You sleepily smile at him, "Morning."

You reach for his head and slip your hand in his hair, lazily scratching at it.

Felix is smitten, he can look at your face for hours without getting bored. If only he could kiss you while he's at it, it would be perfect. He notices that your tank top slides to the side, almost exposing your breast. He immediately helps you fix it before anyone can see it.

Cole is calling for Felix across the room, "Are we good, bro?"

He chuckles knowing that he's asking whether he broke rules or not, "Nothing happened. I promise you," he assures him.

-

FELIX: I had the hardest yet the best sleep I had so far in the retreat.

-

"How are things going, my friend?" Killian asks.

Felix leans back on the sofa and looks at the beach with its postcard-worthy view.

"We've been good if that's what you're asking," Felix playfully replies then shot a glare at Cole.

"I have no problems with you breaking rules if you like each other," Cole defends his strict policy about rulebreaking. He stares at him and with a serious face asks him, "Do you like her?"

"I do," Felix replies without a beat.

He smiles out of the blue like a fool in love he is, "I started to notice these little things about her and find them cute."

Cole and Killian break into laughter in unison but Felix is too happy to feel offended and laughs along with them.

"Oh, boy!" Cole exclaims, enjoying making fun of him too much.

-

FELIX: [Covers face with hands] I like her so much it's so stupid. I don't know if she likes me back, I'm sure she is but... [shrugs] no, I actually don't know.

-

Seeing that you're done giving your daily interview, he begins searching for you in the house.

Instead of you, he bumps into Maeve and she knows right away he's looking for her best friend.

"She's in the bathroom," she informs.

"Thank you!" He quickly mutters to her, heading to the bathroom, seeing you standing by the sink and lathering your body with sunblock. It's time that he returns the favor you've done to him once.

"Need help?"

You smile the moment you see him standing in the doorway, "yes, please!"

Felix enthusiastically takes his position behind you, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder before lathering the skin with sunblock. Not that he's no longer attracted to your body, unfortunately, he will always be but he's getting better at controlling his impulses.

Sure it's tempting to untie your bikini and with everyone out of the house, you and him could have another round in the shower. He takes a deep breath when the urge comes up and reminds himself that he shouldn't break any rules, he's aiming to form a genuine connection with you to get a green light

He slips his arms under and around you, "you're so beautiful, babe."

You giggle in response and look at his reflection in the mirror, "Thank you!"

Without warning, he lifts you and carries you out of the bathroom like a sack of potato, sending you squealing, "I'm taking you with me everywhere.”

-

FELIX: Things are going better between me and her. We're happy with each other.

-

Knowing that none of you break the rules, Felix can relax when it's time to get to the cabana. He's sitting next to you, putting his arm around you and fiddling with the strap of your bikini, twirling it around his finger.

"Hello, everyone!"

"Hello, Lana!" He half-heartedly greets her back. From the sound of her ever-the-same computer voice, Felix gets the feeling that she's going to share the good news.

"I'm about to initiate my test."

-

FELIX: Oh shit. I was wrong to think that it was going to be good news.

-

"With the help of two new arrivals."

With Daniel and Aly left, it only makes sense that Lana brought new contestants into the retreat. Felix should have seen it coming and now, he's just nervous, afraid that it's going to be what he thinks it is.

"The first new arrival is Poppy."

Everyone starts to guess what she looks like just from her name.

"The second new arrival is Josh."

Now this is what Felix fears the most: what is Lana going to do with them? Because if it would be like the last time, Felix dislikes the idea.

"Two of you will be going on private dates with the new arrivals."

-

FELIX: Whoever this new guy is... I don't feel threatened. At all.

-

This is not good.

Things are looking up for him and Lana decides to stir things up by sending new guests which he's sure, not only going to change the dynamic in the house but possibly, cause some chaos too.

"They have selected the guests they are most attracted to from the choice of those in relationships."

Did Felix accidentally manifest it into reality? 

-

FELIX: Josh, my guy, you'd better not step on my toes.

-

"Josh has chosen to go on a date with..."

Felix's heart is beating out of control, it's like his body is telling him that his worst fear is about to come true. He closes his eyes and tries to be cool if it's you who gets chosen.

When Lana calls your name, his heart leaps and he closes his eyes.

"Of course!" He mutters under his breath. He didn't intend for you to hear it but he's a bit upset about being put in this situation.

-

FELIX: I trust her. It's this new guy that I don't trust.

-

Felix looks at you to see your reaction. You seem to be at a loss for words and turn rigid next to him. Unlike him, you probably didn't expect to get picked.

"You may now leave to get ready for your dates."

He pulls you into a hug and reluctantly lets you go, "See you later," he says and manages to put on a smile for you.

"Bye," you say to him.

He watches as you leave to go on a date with someone else.

-

FELIX: If she goes for this new guy, I'm not going to lie... [licks lips] I'll be absolutely heartbroken.

-

"How are you feeling, Felix?" Maeve asks from the end of the sofa, curious about his feelings about this situation as if his face didn't tell how worried he is right now.

"It's not easy," he answers, "I trust her but I can't lie, there's a little part of me that's worried."

Maeve gently pats him on the knee, "Well, Lana said it's a test so..."

She shifts on her seat to put her feet up, "it wouldn't be easy."

Felix's head is in overdrive. There are so many thoughts inside his head and most of them are not doing him good.

"Yeah..." he half-heartedly answers.

"But I know her and I'm sure she'll stay faithful to you," Maeve tells her.

Considering that it's coming from your closest friend in this retreat, Felix decides to hang on to those words. At least, after this, he'll know whether he can trust you or not.

-

FELIX: This guy chose her for a reason and that makes me restless [drops head into hands] 

-

The boys agreed to wear matching black shirts tonight. Felix just picked whatever piece of clothing he has in white color and put it on, having no energy to dress up for tonight.

Killian offers him the extra black shirt he packed with him, "You can wear mine, mate!"

Cole can only laugh seeing him so restless as they're hanging out by the fire pit and talking about the new guy when that's the last thing he wants to talk about.

"Are you nervous?" Jamie asks.

Felix knows that Jamie tries to take a dig at him, "not really," he coyly answers.

If only he knew that Felix is so close to losing it.

-

FELIX: My head is all over the place right now... I refuse to show it. I don't want to show my weakness.

-

Felix tries not to think too much about it. However, when you show up linking your arm with the new guy, he slouched down on the sofa to hide himself.

"Ooh... she's smiling," Killian quietly informs him.

He tries so hard not to look no matter how much he wanted to. He doesn't want to see you're happy with someone else.

"This is not good, man!" Cole adds, putting Killian's words deeper into him.

Felix covers his eyes as if it would stop him from facing reality. Cole aggressively pats his knee and not stopping until he snaps his head his way.

"They're coming this way!" He informs.

"Oh, fuck!" Felix curses under his breath and sits straighter on the sofa.

Good thing that with the job he has as a model, he knows how to put on a good front even though he's dying inside. He takes a deep breath and put on a straight face.

"Hey, everyone," you greet them as you descend the stairs to the firepit.

"This is Josh," you introduce.

Instead of parting ways, you decide to sit next to each other on the sofa across from him.

-

FELIX: Fucking hell, man?!

-

Jamie decides to be the one breaking the awkward silence, "How was the date?"

Josh nods with a smile on his face, "it was good."

The answer doesn't quite give Jamie the satisfaction, so he turns to you for another answer.

"It was nice. I think we got on well," you answer and glance at Josh.

"I've chosen her for a reason and I enjoyed the date. I think I'm going to try, get to know her better," Josh adds after you.

It takes everything in him to not go at him or snatch you away, out of this retreat. Felix starts to heat, inside and outside.

-

FELIX: Josh is a nice-looking guy and I can see that he's on a mission. Well, he's going to be a big problem to me [gulps air]

-

"I'm sure you guys have a lot to talk about," Cole kindly put the conversation to an end.

"Josh, right? We'll introduce you to the girls," he gets up, indirectly telling everyone to come along as well so you and Felix can talk.

Once they left, you walk over and sit next to him. He takes your hand resting on the space between you and him, "it's nice to have you back," he says with a smile.

You lean on the sofa and sit facing him, "yeah?"

He swallows air before asking you the question he's been dying to know.

"How was the date? Really?" He asks and nervously gulps air, it's like no matter how much air he takes, he stays breathless.

"Well, I did tell him about you," you begin.

That's a good thing but it's too early to celebrate yet, "yeah?"

"But he said he doesn't care," you continue with an awkward laugh.

-

FELIX: Oh, Josh, man, I'll never let you step on my toes.

-

You fiddle with the end of your hair before looking him in the eyes and continue talking.

"Josh is a nice guy but..." you put all of your hair to the side, "we didn't do anything."

Felix can't help but let a smile blooms on his face hearing your words.

You playfully grab his biceps and squeeze on them, "No one was going to change my mind."

The smile grows wider on his face and he can finally breathe for the first time.

"I know we have something great going on and I don't want to throw that away," you say with a soft smile that matches the gaze.

But Felix has one more question to assure him that he's made the right choice, "Does this mean you like me?"

Your forehead wrinkles in confusion, "Of course, I like you. I wouldn't have tried if I don't."

-

FELIX: Tonight, I am the happiest man on this retreat. Possibly the luckiest too [grins]

-

Ecstatic, he throws himself at you, sending both of you toppled onto the sofa. He rests his head on your chest and lets you brush his hair like you always do, "You're sweating," you tell him.

Felix laughs his embarrassment away, "I tried to stay confident but I was struggling."

You coo at him and brush his hair to the back, "Well, I kind of want to make you sweat a little."

He puts his arms around you and nestles his head in your neck, "I'm glad to have you back, babe," he says.

He gets carried away that he leans in to kiss you to abruptly stops as he remembers Lana's rules and gasps in shock, "Oh, fuck!" 

You cradle his head and kiss him on the cheek to compensate for it.

-

FELIX: I can't believe I'm about to thank Lana because this test only brought us closer, stronger. So thank you, Lana! [Blows a kiss to the camera]

-

The two new arrivals don't make a significant change except that the empty bed is now occupied.

Yeah, he's happy that Alex also stays with Laura and proves to everyone that he has a connection with her. However, Felix is too over the moon to even think about everyone else. His cheeks hurt from smiling non-stop and now he's about to spoil you with cuddles as you climb onto the bed.

Cole warns the new arrivals that he's watching even though his eyes are closed, earning a series of laughter from everyone.

The lights are out but with his heart full to the brim, Felix can't sleep. He touches you all over and places kisses on the skin he can land his lips on. He likes you so much and he always thinks that just saying it is not enough. He wants to show you with actions.

-

FELIX: We've been good lately so I don't see why we can't spend a little money [smirks]

-

Felix waits until the night got late.

When he deems that everyone is fast asleep, he begins by disrupting your sleep with slobbering kisses on your neck and face. His hand is placing fluttering touches on your body and once in a while, squeezes on the flesh.

He doesn't stop until you wake up from your slumber and when you do, he whispers into your ear, "Baby?"

You turn your head on your pillow and look at him with half-shut eyes, "why are you still awake?"

Instead of answering you, he kisses the nape of your neck, knowing that it's your sensitive spot.

"I like you so, so, so much," he whispers into your ear and emphasizes the words to you.

You lowly giggle, then tangle your hand in his hair, softly tugging at it, "I like you too, baby."

Catching you off guard, he turns your head by your chin and crashes his lips against yours.

-

FELIX: I'm so happy she chose me and I want to show her that [raises an eyebrow]

-

Felix gives you no time to stop him. He distracts you, keeping your mouth busy while he slides his hand down, swiftly sliding his hand inside your silk shorts. You whine against his lips as his hand makes contact with your sex, so soft and warm.

"Shh..." he hushed you.

Felix touches you as he would to a delicate flower, doing it so carefully and with so much tenderness. You pull the duvet to cover you and muffle any noises that may come out of you even though you have planted your mouth on his neck.

Felix hovers his head above you, watching your face in the dark as your breathless moans echo under the cover. He traces your fold, fingers lightly circling your clit and applying gentle pressures when he knows you're getting closer to coming undone, "Close?"

"Mmh," you hum in answer.

He keeps doing the same thing with more intensity and adds more speed to it. From the way your cunt pulsates under his touch, you're on the brink of your release. He kisses you whole to contain your moans and stops moving his hand once you hit your high, feeling your hand clawing at his shoulder.

As it gets suffocating staying under the cover, he retracts his hand and put the duvet away. He hovers above you and tenderly caresses your face with his knuckle. 

"I'm so happy that you're with me," he tells you just in case, what he just did, did not quite deliver the message to you.

You put both hands around his neck and pull him close, sending him collapsing on top of you. You turn your head to only give him a chance to capture your lips in a rapturous kiss.

Felix doesn't even think about the money at that moment. All he thinks about is you, you, and you.

-

FELIX: Let's think about the money later, when it's time.

-

It's his bad behavior last night that makes you act super careful today. You're sitting on the far end of the sofa even though he's patting the space next to him.

"Why are you sitting so far away, babe?"

You shrug and adorably pout, "I'm setting uh... a safe space?"

He laughs at your excessive effort to not create another damage to the prize fund, "Come here!" He insists.

"I wouldn't do anything," he promises, "at least not in here."

You refrain from coming at him and remain where you are, shaking your head at him. Felix eventually comes to you and puts you on his lap.

"I didn't mean to break the rules," he explains, "I wanted to show you how much I like you."

You're poking his freckled cheek with your index finger, "we have to be good from now on."

He nods in agreement, "I agree."

You hold his chin and turn his head to face you, "I'm serious!"

"I'm serious," he convinces you.

You cover his mouth with your hand, "then stop pouting your lips at me."

He chuckles and puts your hand away, "My lips have always been like this."

You put his hand to cover his mouth this time, "From now on, you have to talk to me like this."

He refuses to obey, then puts his hand away, "No, I don't want to."

You try to get away from him but he's quick to hold you down, not letting you off his lap.

"Where are you going, mmh?" He's tickling your neck with his nose.

-

FELIX: Lana called us to the cabana and I am shitting it because of what we've done last night.

-

"Somebody better not ruin my good mood," Cole says once he's seated.

Felix shoots an uneasy glance at you and you turn his head away, avoiding looking him in the eyes. Nothing wouldn't change, he's ready to defend himself and you for what he did.

"There has been a breach of the rules."

Lana doesn't dillydally, she goes straight to business, and by business, he means putting him at a stake and about to set him on fire.

Heidi looks at everyone and coo, "Who's been bad?"

Felix remains calm despite his heart feeling like about to jump out of his chest. It's always better, to tell the truth fast than prolong the pain.

"We kissed last night," Felix blurts out.

"Again?" Laura asks with eyelids fluttering.

He takes a deep breath before coming up with his first defense, "I was so happy last night and got carried away, it felt right in the moment to do so."

Cole gives him a death glare, "Was that it? Just a kiss?"

Felix hates to disappoint him but he can't lie, he doesn't have a good poker face.

"Something else also happened last night," Felix's voice goes lower than it already is.

"Oh, no..." Killian exclaims next to him.

Lana takes control of the situation, "Last night, the two of you kissed multiple times."

Cole's eyes widen and are about to pop out of their sockets.

"But that's not all they did," Lana continues.

Here it is, Felix squeezes your clasped hand and braces himself for what's about to come.

"They're engaged in a prolonged, manual gratification."

-

FELIX: I'm not sorry for what I did but I admit I feel bad for letting everyone down by being selfish.

-

"You have cost the group a total of $33.000."

Felix turns to you, seeing you wince in both pain and disappointment. But he appreciates that you don't blame it all on him even though it wouldn't happen if he didn't lead you to it.

"I'm speechless as to how much we've lost money this fast," Heidi says with her voice heavily tinted with disappointment.

"The prize fund stands at $86.000."

Everyone gasps in shock and face-palm hearing the announcement.

Cole shakes his head and sighs, "We lost more than half of the money, fuck... sake..."

-

FELIX: Hearing it makes it real and I genuinely feel bad.

-

"Today, I asked you to respect my rules but instead of building deeper and meaningful confections, you have continued signs that you may not be here for the right reasons."

Felix's heart drops and his head goes straight thinking that he'd be sent home tonight. He holds your hand tighter because this probably would be his last to do so.

"Therefore, I'm setting you the ultimate test."

Oh? He can breathe a little knowing that it's not elimination.

"To see if you can adhere to my retreat rules under the most trying of circumstances."

You slightly shift on your seat and scoot closer to him.

"Tonight, you will spend the night alone in the private suite."

-

FELIX: I'm screwed. I don't trust myself, that's the problem.

-

It doesn't take a genius to know that everyone is too haste to pull a conclusion: that Felix will fail.

"To be honest guys, I've always been the one who initiated it but not tonight," Felix makes a promise to himself and everyone.

"I'll not break any rules," he states and hopes that no one hears how his voice is quivering at the end of the sentence.

"If you did, that would be the most disrespectful thing you do to us," Cole says.

Felix raises his hand as if he's making an oath, "I promise."

"Please make your way to the private suite!" Lana orders.

-

FELIX: The pressure is on but it's the only way to prove that we have a real connection.

-

You jump onto the bed the second you both entered the private suite.

"Oh, it's so nice," you sigh, laying on the bed with a sheer dress on and looking at him with dreamy eyes.

"Stop looking so sexy," he says, getting on the bed and lying next to you.

The bed is much softer than the ones in the shared bedroom and covered in silk sheets. He looks around and sees sex toys, condoms, and even lubricants provided at the side of the bed.

"What do you want to do first?" You ask with a sultry voice.

Felix is not sure if you're being playful or trying to seduce him. Either way, he decides to play along with you, "First, I'll take your clothes off."

"Yep."

He glides his hand down your curve, "Then I'll give you head."

"And I’ll return the favor after," you continue with a sly smile.

That gets his eyebrow raised in excitement, "And after that…"

"And after that?" You repeat his words then bite your lower lip.

This is a dangerous game but Felix wants to test his limit, sees how far he can go, "We'll do some more foreplay, use a sex toy or two," he's eyeing the selections of sex toys on the bedside table.

You delightfully hum and turn over to lay on your stomach, "And after that?"

He takes a deep breath as he can vividly imagine it in his head in real-time, "Sex, " he lowers his hand to the curve of your ass, "Lots and lots of sex," he shamelessly adds.

You locked in an intense gaze with him and purposely lower your voice as you ask him, "What are you waiting for then?"

-

FELIX: Lana, what makes you think it's a good idea to put me in a room with her and not do anything? [Shakes head in disbelief]

-

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[darsynia]

Steve Rogers, #58 forever kisses, in a fixed MCU where he doesn't go back in time because what that never happened what am I even talking about. Please and thank you😊

I was SO PROUD OF MYSELF today when I was almost at the kiss and it was 500 something words! *head in hands* Thank you so much for this request!

To Hold, Steve Rogers/girlfriend!Reader, fluff with a naughty twist, 950 words

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS | BUCKY BARNES

Excerpt:

“Earth to Sprinkles and Captain Vanilla! Kiss or get off the pot!” Tony says. 

Startled, you and Steve blink at him as if you’ve just woken up. Steve watches his friend put his wizened hand back into its sling. That’s the first time he’s seen Tony use that hand since everybody came back, and Steve opens his mouth to apologize--

“Aht! Was that a ‘yes?’ You two going to kiss or what? Consider it a gift for me, even if I don’t get to watch.” The self-appointed (and well-earned) Savior of the Freaking Universe grins at them and points over his shoulder with his undamaged hand. “It’s a warm night, I’m sure the cloakroom is empty right now, unless Strange and his pet had a fight.”

TO HOLD

The suit is uncomfortable. Steve’s not sure whether his suit jacket is a bit too tight or if he’s just too warm in such a high-importance social event. Tony’s the honored guest, Steve and the rest of the Avengers are just here for support and encouragement. Truth be told, Steve’s glad he hadn’t been the one going face-to-face with Thanos. Stark’s armor did what it was meant to, and he isn’t sure his own healing factor would have been enough.

The thought of saving the world but not being able to reap the benefits  makes Steve tighten his grip on the two champagne flutes he’s carrying. He stops, pulling in a deep breath (one that tells him it’s the dress shirt that’s too tight), and when he opens his eyes, Steve’s gaze immediately zeroes in on you.

You’re stunning tonight, smiling up at something Thor’s saying to you, but he can see you’re not fully comfortable either. Your left hand is jittering at your side, squeezing and clenching as if you wish he were there to tuck it into his coat pocket.

Steve hasn’t let you do that tonight. Not yet, anyway. He smiles to think of what’s to come, and right at that moment, you look over. When your eyes meet, he holds up one of the glasses, and you nod, the tension easing out of your lovely form now that you know where he is. He weaves his way toward you without dropping eye contact, dipping his head down in a chivalrous gesture while holding out one of the drinks for you to take.

Thor reaches over and snags the other. “Ah, champagne! I haven’t had any yet, thanks, Rogers!”

You expertly suppress a laugh, opting for a deep sip from your own before you murmur, “I think Dr. Foster has just arrived, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Blast, I’ve already finished this off,” Thor expresses, scanning the room. Steve points Thor toward the bar, and while he’s distracted giving directions, you sidle up beside him and slip your hand into his jacket pocket.

Steve freezes, his whole body attuned to your gasp of recognition and understanding. 

“Really?” you whisper. He looks down at you and sees your eyes swimming with joyful tears.

“Clint says he’s your bowman for hire if finding it in my pocket isn’t romantic enough,” Steve whispers, but you shake your head vehemently, wiping off your cheek with your free hand.

“No. This is perfect, and you knew that. Neither of us likes a spectacle.”

The two of you stare at each other with ever-increasing happiness for a long minute until a leather-clad male hand snaps in the heated space between you.

“Earth to Sprinkles and Captain Vanilla! Kiss or get off the pot!” Tony says. 

Startled, you and Steve blink at him as if you’ve just woken up. Steve watches his friend put his wizened hand back into its sling. That’s the first time he’s seen Tony use that hand since he got back from the fight, and Steve opens his mouth to apologize--

“Aht! Was that a ‘yes?’ You two going to kiss or what? Consider it a gift for me, even if I don’t get to watch.” The self-appointed (and well-earned) Savior of the Freaking Universe grins at them and points over his shoulder with his undamaged hand. “It’s a warm night, I’m sure the cloakroom is empty right now, unless Strange and his pet had a fight.”

“Thanks, SFU,” you say, emphasizing the last two letters.

“Keeper,” Tony says in a singsong voice as Steve walks in the direction of the cloakroom.

It’s as empty as Stark had suggested, but the reality of what just happened (what will happen at some set date in the future -!) is finally sinking in. Steve pushes the cloakroom door shut and then slips his hand into his pocket where yours is still closed around the ringbox.

“Do you want me to get down on my--” he starts, but you stop him with your lips, pulling his head down to you with both hands at his shirt collar. Your lips are inviting and electric; the power of your grip translates the loving shock of the moment along every nerve ending. He can never get enough of you, the way you can be both shy and bold in moments like these, shaking in anticipation of his next touch. Your tongue against his always feels like it’s painting your love on the canvas of his heart, and he’s just so grateful you’ve found each other.

Many minutes later, when your outfit is in nearly irreparable disarray and his shirt is halfway unbuttoned, Steve pulls out the ring box. You set your hand atop his before he can open it.

“Before I see it, YES, in case you missed that part.”

“What if I told you Tony helped me pick out the ring? What if it’s an inch-wide ruby, diamond, and sapphire shield?”

“I’d wear it with pride, if it meant I could be yours,” you tell him, but your expression of mischief has him narrowing his eyes.

“Go on,” he prompts, enjoying your shiver at his commanding tone.

“Well, I know you get annoyed when Stark calls you Captain Vanilla, so I just thought…” With a wickedly enticing grin, you lean in and whisper, “I just might not always wear it on my hand.”

Steve is helpless not to picture a jeweled shield nestled between your legs, and he growls his approval, cupping your face with both hands as he takes your mouth with reckless abandon.

As you arch up, fingernails scrabbling against his biceps, he resolves to visit a jeweler the next day.

[i4oba]

nct dream as… / times of a day 𓈒✳︎🚃

[— might be a little suggestive here and there!]

✰ 6:45 am .. jaemin

helios, through the half lidded eyes of yours was there to greet both of you at the same time—you could feel its hands coming near your bare body, the rays of the sun hugging your shape perfectly, casting such beautiful silhouettes behind, you and jaemin blending all together in your hazy state. you could feel the weight of his arms on your waist, hugging you so tight, sweet nothings leaving his lips, barely above a breath, hoarse voice laced with sleep. his scent, the sweet fragrance is dizzying, the warmth of him engulfing you just as much as helios’ breath of the morning; the sky is rosy, as if it was blushing while taking its time to fully wake up, faint shades of orange and yellow dancing through it endlessly. it’s such a beautiful way to start a day, with your lover all over you, deeply ingrained in your existence.

✰ 1:20 pm .. chenle

with the fierce determination of hermes, an arm slung around your waist; you were there—sun burning the uncovered skin of your shoulders, sweat making its way down on your temples as you took a look at the beautiful postcard in your hands, quickly snatched from a souvenir shop you passed barely twenty minutes ago. with such beautiful words and phrases, cursive letters and the scent of blooming flowers, you handed it over to your lover, hands aching to intertwine. he takes it, honest smile on his face, mumbling something along the line of “i’m the luckiest guy around”, wanting nothing but strolling around the foreign city for the rest of the day, stopping just for a minute in front of a pastry shop. there are freshly baked croissants!

✰ 3:25 pm .. jisung

was it all just a coincidence or did he know about all of it, you cannot be quite sure of but you, in fact enjoyed the way he pulled you straight into the sudden dancing flashmob. the sun was shining, birds singing endlessly along with the folk music played by a kind-looking band of teenagers, flute and harp harmonising together with the occasional sound of the guitar; you did not know how to dance or what kind of dance you should think of, but your lover pulled you closer to himself and took the lead, precise moves following one another as you felt yourself become a gracious nymph all of a sudden, trapped in a human’s fragile body. “honey, you’re doing so great,” jisung beamed happily, hands travelling lower on your skin, smile so wide and heartwarming. “i love you, so much,” he mumbled into your ears, voice losing the battle against the beautiful music.

✰ 7:05 pm .. jeno

with dionysus musing in your ears, you take a sip of the rich, sweet red wine your lover poured a few seconds before. the important event you two should have gone to long forgotten, with absolutely lust filled intentions you touch jeno’s rosy lips, tugging at his messily made tie, thighs rubbing against each other as you pulled him closer to yourself. the voice of dionysus slowly fading, you could feel the inviting hands of eros, guiding every movement of yours with extra care, fully planned with a hint of sinful acts. you sighs against your boyfriend’s mouth, not caring about consequences, reputation nor anything else, as you put his hands on either side of your hips. you wanted him—you needed him at that exact moment, the taste of his lips intoxicating, almost too permanent.

✰ 8:50 pm .. renjun

with lips slightly parted, tongue darting out to wet them quickly, renjun focused on the way your bare body looked behind the canvas. he couldn’t keep his eyes off of your curves, the way your hands did such a bad job at hiding yourself, timid reflection making it all too complicated to even think about anything but you. he felt drunk, as he watched your neck, the beautiful thighs of yours, wanting nothing more than to look deeply into your eyes and touch you, touch you everywhere he can and everywhere you’d let him to do so; you were everything and even more, compared to helen of troy, magical and enchanting, alluring. “can you please finish that painting, my junnie…” you mumbled quietly, shaking your head slightly. “i need you.”

✰ 10:45 pm .. haechan

“you should never come back to this studio, man, taeyong will kick your ass,” you laughed so hard, tears were about to fall out of your eyes, replaying the freshly made song of your boyfriend. he was a self proclaimed master producer but the thing is—it was rather funny than good. of course you appreciated his effort in making a lovesong for you, to confess for the hundreth time and once more. you were his muse supposedly and even if it was unlistenable, you loved it. at least more than taeyong, who would be furious if he knew you two were there, late into the night, making out on the couch of his studio until your lips were swollen, out of breath and with only one thing in your mind: love, love and love. you would never do anything else, even if it meant taking the risk of battling twelve times like heracles.

✰ 11:35 pm .. mark

being faced with the rolling credits after god know’s how many movies being watched, you slowly rested your head on mark’s shoulder. you reached out for his hand so you could take it in yours, not caring about silly actors’ and actresses’ love affairs or the world ending in front of you. all that mattered was the two of you, the adoration you felt for him, how he needed to have you close to him. his hair falling into his eyes, you tried to brush it away from there cautiously, caressing his cheek ever so lightly. you’ve never wanted to kiss him more than you did at that moment, every rational thought vanishing from your brain at the beautiful sight of him, as if he was the long lost son of the oh so wonderful aphrodite. “do it, love. kiss me and i’m yours,” was all he said quietly.

[pinkaditty]

another snippet except it's two different fics this time (haku kusanagi x reader; subaru kagami x reader)

hi hey yea its me again everyone eat this 2 hopefully tide u over bc i feel bad abt not making as quick progress as i thought i would. i fear i've been brainrotting over these so bad that my brain cannot bring myself 2 write bc im so tortured by The Visions™.

i have no timeline 4 when the fics will be posted but im off work all of next week so yk what that means!!!!!!!!! hopefully they'll be posted next week or so... i apologize 4 the delay <3 thank u all 4 ur patience!

Links 2 the first parts in case u haven't seen them:

Victim: Part One; There's a Snake Under Your Bed! (Perv!SlightYan!Haku Kusanagi x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

Victim: Haku's POV Bonus

Visions: Part One (Yan!Perv!Subaru Kagami x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

Sneak Peek of Victim: Part Two; There's a Hawk at Your Window!:

There you were, at his window, staring like a hawk. He swallows, strained, watching your gaze like a deer caught in headlights. He’s frozen, unable to move. He feels his mouth go dry as he breathes heavily, trying to control his heart pounding with nerves. Why did this feel… petrifying? He felt more than watched, he felt tracked. Hunted, even. For how long had your gaze been following him and for how long had he not noticed? There was something predatory in the way your eyes didn’t move from his form, unblinking, undisturbed. A shiver runs down his spine. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears now, a strange feeling between fear and apprehension and mysterious arousal filling his senses. You doing this was odd, but, something in him was actually-

He’s snapped out of his stupor by you knocking on the window again, your gaze returned to normal, your expression confused. He blinks, his mind catching up to reality. What even was that? Your expression seemed normal now, the predatory feeling dissipating immediately. No more fear, no more apprehension. An odd numbness remained instead, along with the arousal, still swimming in his abdomen. He shakes his head. Maybe he’d been seeing things. He glances down at his topless form, debating putting on a shirt, but at your second set of hurried knocks, he decides you’re far more important anyway.

He marches over to the window, letting his face spread into a lazy grin. Regardless of whether you were staring at him or not, he was always happy to see you. He unlocks it and slides it open, his smile widening when he sees you’re only in your pajamas.

“Gotta say, Juliet, I really don’t think this is how the book went.” Haku’s smile is nothing short of lovestruck, resting his arms on the windowsill and gazing out at you. He notes your gaze wandering over his bare skin, and makes no effort to hide himself, his smile transforming into a teasing grin. He props his chin up in his hand, lifting an eyebrow at you. “I’m supposed to be sneaking to your window, aren’t I?”

His heart feels warm at your fond sigh, the sound sweeter to his ears than any melody he’s ever played on his flute. You move closer to the window, reaching up with your hands to place them on the windowsill. “Yea. Sometimes though, a girl’s gotta take initiative.” Your smirk only serves to warm his heart further. You then hold your arms up towards him, tilting your head. “Help me up?”

He mimics your fond sigh from earlier, reaching down to circle his arms around your back. He’s very glad he decided not to put a shirt on before coming to the window. His hair and chest were still damp from his shower, and some light droplets of water drips onto your shoulder as he holds you. He purposely lets his breath trail behind your ear, reveling in how you try to suppress a shiver. “Hold on,” he murmurs in your ear, tightening his grip around your sides as he prepares to pull you up. He feels you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as much as you could from this angle. He slowly lifts you from the ground, carefully pulling you inside, ensuring your pajamas don’t get caught on the window. When he’s pulled you in, he moves one arm further down your body to hold your waist as he gently sets you down, keeping his arms around you a moment longer than necessary. 

He pulls away once he’s sure you’re steady, keeping his left hand on your waist and pretending to brush away dust from your chest so he can feel the plushness of it for only a moment. “Alright, princess.” He moves back to the window and slides it closed again, locking it. “To what do I owe this late night visit?”

Haku couldn’t believe his luck. Here, in front of him, was the object of his desires, in a room alone with him, in her pajamas, with him topless. This could go a million ways, and he was really trying not to make it obvious where his mind was headed.

Sneak Peek of Visions: Part Two:

He pretended to bury himself in a project, as most Hotarubi students do, hoping you’d recognize that he wanted this to go no further. The “project” technically wasn’t an excuse, especially since he was working on his own recovery. His voice was still rough from overuse, his skin was still covered in bruises and hickeys and your fingerprints, and he still had trouble walking in a straight line if his mind so much as wandered to an implication of that night. He constantly felt distracted, so much so that, if he even chose to go to class, he would end up staring aimlessly at the walls or through windows. He would try not to let his thoughts find their way to you, but they always did. Anyone who noticed thankfully chalked it up to his poor excuse of a project, but the balance was still disturbed. Things were still wrong. He couldn’t find his previous footing any longer. He has to resist the urge to knock on your door again, and plead for some form of freedom. 

It’s becoming frustrating to him. This was not the plan. 

He was not supposed to flinch. He was not supposed to falter. He was not supposed to break. And yet, here he was. He flinched every time he heard your voice, trying his best to shoo off the memory of how your voice transformed into moans above him. He faltered every time you made eye contact with him, quickly glancing away and hoping you wouldn’t consider his silence impolite. There were more cracks forming in his facade than before, rapidly spreading throughout his body, threatening a nearly inevitable break. He was flinching. He was faltering. He was breaking. This was not at all appropriate, not in the slightest. He had thought that, from indulging once, his mind would finally be clear of it. But the bruises wouldn’t go away, clear evidence of his disobedience and ignorance and straying sight. The proof of his desires, littered over him in bright color, red and blue and purple. The ghost of the taste of you remained on his tongue and the sounds you mutually made at your bodies entwining replays in his ears like a broken record. At night, he’d have to resist the urge to press on his bruises, attempting to reignite the pain and pleasure you’d so masterfully enacted on him then. He’d never been so far gone.

He was supposed to be good at resisting temptation. This was supposed to be a slip up to remind him of his role to play, and the rewards that come with discipline and self-control. And yet, his brain always seemed to stop at the same question: why did the indulgence feel so good? So liberating? If the indulgence was forbidden, by his own hand no less, how long had he deprived himself for the slightest bit of leeway to feel like heaven itself? Would it feel like that every time he gave in? 

Indulgence had not been the cure-all he’d expected. How could he be such a fool? Of course, temptation was never to be followed. Desires were never to be fed. Indulgence was the opposite of control. There had to be a way to salvage this. There had to be.

these r, ofc, not the final versions and when i post the completed fics these parts may be edited. either way, please enjoy!!!!!!! i promise ill get the fics out soon i swear im just sooooooooooo insane about these and when i get insane about a fic i almost can't write it LMFAOOOO so hold on everyone! i promise i will do my best 2 make it up 2 u all!!!!!

as always........... let me know what ur thinking!!!!!!!!! i love tagged reblogs and comments and asks detailing what u liked!! likes r also appreciated!!!!!!

okok im going 2 go rest now ive been sitting at my laptop 4 hours. but i've made good progress!