[doietopia]

.ೃ࿔*੭ . ₊ i’m growing like a flower ˚ ₊ ꕤ 𓏲･ ˚⊹

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[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ cry for me — l. haechan

pairing: lee haechan x f!reader  genre: smut content warnings: explicit, fingering, overstimulation, crying during sex, crying kink, basically tears makes him hard word count: ~1k  notes: i’m back hehe i’m sorry. i should write an apology letter longer than a few words or wtv but here’s this haechan fic instead

haechan’s favorite version of you is the one that’s coming undone. not the polished, pretty one who knows exactly how to tease him back. not the sharp tongued version with that little smirk he pretends to hate. no, he wants you frayed. breath stuttering. cheeks damp. voice cracked open and raw.

he gets off hardest when your eyes go glassy and your lashes clump together with tears.

tonight he’s got you on your back, wrists pinned above your head in one of his hands. the other is between your thighs, fingers buried inside you, dragging against that spot that makes your whole body jolt like you’ve been shocked. he’s barely moving now. just pressing, letting the heel of his palm grind into your clit while his fingers stay crooked and deep.

you’re shaking. “haechan—please—”

your voice splinters on his name and he groans low in his throat, hips twitching forward against nothing. he’s so hard it hurts, cock leaking against his stomach, flushed dark and twitching every time a new tear slips down your temple.

“look at you,” he murmurs, wrecked. “crying already and i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you try to turn your face away but he catches your jaw, thumb smearing the wet streak across your cheekbone.

“nuh-uh,” he says softly. “eyes on me, baby.”

you obey because you’re too far gone to fight. your lips tremble. another tear rolls. he leans down and licks it from your skin, tongue flat and hot. the salt makes him shudder.

“fuck,” he breathes against your cheek. “you taste so good like this.”

his fingers flex inside you, just enough to make a sob tear out of your chest. your back arches, thighs trying to close, but he wedges his knee between them, forcing you open wider.

“keep them spread,” he says, almost gentle. “let me see how wet my crying girl is.”

you’re soaked. embarrassingly so. every time he pulls his fingers out even an inch, there’s a slick, filthy sound that makes his cock jump. he pushes back in deeper, curls harder, watches your mouth drop open on a broken moan.

more tears. he’s mesmerized.

“god,” you’re so pretty when you cry for me,” he rasps, grinding his palm against your clit in tight circles now, relentless. “makes me wanna ruin you worse.”

your hips buck uselessly. you’re babbling now, half pleas, half his name, all slurred and wet. he lets go of your wrists just so he can wrap that hand around your throat. your pulse slams against his palm like it’s trying to escape.

“haechan—i can’t—i’m gonna—”

“yeah you are,” he cuts you off, voice dark. “you’re gonna come crying. just how i like it.”

he speeds up, fingers fucking into you fast and deep, wet, obscene sounds filling the room. your thighs tremble violently. your hands claw at his shoulders, nails biting skin.

he speeds up, fingers fucking into you fast and deep now, wet squelching sounds filling the room. your thighs tremble violently, your hands scrabble at his shoulders, nails biting skin. and the tears tears stream freely now, can’t hold them back.

he stares so hard like he’s hypnotized.

“fuck—look at that,” he groans, hips rocking like he’s already inside you. “you’re dripping down my wrist, baby. crying so pretty for me.”

your sob breaks into a high, shattered cry when he grinds his palm down hard. your whole body locks up, back bowing, toes curling, thighs shaking. and then you’re coming, clenching so tight around his fingers he hisses through his teeth.

the tears keep falling while you shake it out. silent now, just streaming, mixing with the sweat rolling down your face.

he doesn’t stop there, he rubs you through it, keeps fucking you through the oversensitive ache until you’re whimpering, trying to twist away.

“no no no,” he coos, pinning your hip down with his free hand. “you don’t get to run. not when you look this fucking good.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the way your pussy flutters around nothing, slick clinging to his knuckles. he brings them to his mouth, sucks them clean while holding eye contact, tongue swirling, savoring every drop of your crying orgasm.

then he’s settling between your thighs, cock thick and so hard it’s purple at the tip, beaded with precum. he drags it through your folds, coats himself in you, nudges your swollen clit until you jolt and sob again.

“shh,” he whispers, almost tender. “just a little more, yeah? let me fuck you while you’re still crying.”

he pushes in, inch by torturous inch, watching your face the whole time. the way your brows pinch, lips part, fresh tears welling up as he stretches you open.

when he bottoms out he stays there, hips flush, letting you feel all of his length while you adjust. your walls flutter around him helplessly.

haechan leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “cry for me again,” he murmurs. “i wanna feel you soak my cock while you do it.”

then he starts moving, deep rolls of his hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. every thrust knocks another sob loose. tears slide into your hairline. your hands fist the sheets so hard your knuckles bleach.

he’s panting now, forehead pressed to yours, watching every tear fall like it’s his personal porn.

“fuck—fuck—you’re so tight when you cry,” he chokes out. “like your pussy’s begging me to fill it up.”

you’re past words, just broken little cries and whimpers, body jerking every time he bottoms out. he speeds up, chasing it now, hips snapping harder, wet slap of skin on skin mixing with your sobs.

“gonna come inside,” he growls. “gonna come while you’re crying for me—fuck—look at me—”

your eyes flutter open, wet and dazed and pleading.

that’s what does it.

he slams in one last time, buries himself deep, and comes with a guttural moan, cock pulsing as he fills you, flooding you while he watches fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

he keeps rocking through it, shallow thrusts, milking every last drop while you tremble and hiccup beneath him.

when he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out. he just sinks his weight onto you, mouth finding the wet tracks on your face again, licking them clean, soft and greedy.

“so perfect,” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse. “my favorite thing in the world is making you cry like that. you’re still sniffling, chest heaving while haechan kisses the corner of your eye.

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ wearing lip gloss with nct wish (ot4)

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ sion

the couch beneath you is soft, but you sit perched on the edge, one leg draped lazily off the side, the other folded neatly beneath you. your fingers linger on the compact mirror you just closed, a faint click echoing slightly. the coconut gloss on your lips catches the light, a subtle shine that seems to invite him, and you can almost feel the weight of his gaze fixed on your lips as you press them together with a soft, satisfying pop.

sion doesn’t speak at first, but you can feel the shift in the air that tells you he’s thinking, that kind of slow, deliberate thought that comes just before mischief, and that quiet smile playing at his lips is enough to make your pulse stutter. “don’t even try,” you warn softly, letting your words hang between you.

he tilts his head a little. “try what?”

“getting closer,” you say, glance flicking toward him, the corner of his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile. “no kisses. i just put gloss on.”

he licks his lips, slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. “so?”

“so, it’s sticky and you’ll hate it.” your words are soft, playful, but your chest tightens in anticipation.

he slides until he’s sitting closer, his fingers catches your face with a gentleness that contrasts the heat in his eyes.

“i don’t think you get it,” he says, gaze fixated on your mouth. a corner of his lips quirks up, the beginnings of trouble in his expression. “i like sticky.” one hand finds your knee, as the other strokes the curve of your jaw. when it grazes the corner of your mouth, you shiver, a small breath escaping you. “i like messy.”

you narrow your eyes, though your lips twitch with suppressed amusement. “you’re not serious.”

“oh, i am,” he murmurs, voice low, deliberate, almost tasting the words. before you can even pull back, his hand moves to cradle your chin, tilting your face up, and his lips descend onto yours.

his mouth is warm, insistent, moving with a slow, consuming pressure that makes your breath hitch. you feel the gloss melt between your lips, sticky and soft, and he doesn’t seem to mind, if anything, he deepens the kiss, savoring the texture, the taste. your hands rest at your sides, wanting to touch him but frozen by the delicious tension, your heart hammering in your chest.

when he finally pulls back, it’s only slightly, enough for you to see him: your gloss shimmering on his lips, his dark eyes glinting triumphantly. you blink, breathless, a little dazed, caught between amusement and desire.

he reaches up again, thumb brushing your bottom lip, tracing the gloss with a deliberate, teasing touch. “gonna reapply it?”

“maybe,” you whisper, voice a little shaky, feeling exposed and electrified all at once.

his mouth curls into something dangerously sharp, predatory yet tender. “don’t bother,” he murmurs, leaning in again, lips brushing yours with a heat that leaves no room for hesitation. “i’m taking it again anyway.”

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ riku

you’re lying on the floor beside him, your head propped up on one arm, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone while he flips through a manga. it’s quiet, until you shift onto your back and stretch, lips parting as you let out a little sigh. the faint shine of your cherry gloss catches the dim light, and suddenly, his page-turning slows.

you don’t need to look to know he’s staring. you feel it. the weight of it. he’s sitting way too close for someone who’s pretending to read, his shoulder nearly brushing yours, the heat of him just a little too tangible.

“no,” you say immediately as he starts leaning in. “nope. gloss.” your tone is playful but firm, warning him off.

riku freezes mid-lean, eyebrows knitting together. “what? why not?” he doesn’t even try to deny it.

“because i just put it on.” you lift your brows, letting a smirk twitch at the corner of your lips. “do you know how hard it is to reapply this stuff without a mirror?”

you roll your head to the side and catch him shamelessly propped up on one elbow now, chin in hand, eyes locked on your mouth like he’s studying it.

“don’t look at me like you’re about to do something stupid.”

a grin tugs at his lips, the kind that makes your stomach tighten. “depends on your definition of stupid.”

you narrow your eyes. “getting gloss all over yourself counts.”

he hums thoughtfully, like he’s actually considering it. “worth it.”

“baby—” you start, but he cuts you off with a soft laugh, already leaning closer. his hand finds the floor beside your head, holding him up as he hovers over you, his hair falling slightly into his eyes. and before you can react, his mouth is on yours. a loud, exaggerated, obnoxious, mwahhh, his grin spilling into the kiss.

your eyes fly open. “riku!”

he pulls back just enough to grin at you, shameless. “what?” he wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb, then sucks it clean, shameless as ever. “you taste too good to ignore,” he says simply, settling back down beside you like nothing happened, smug smile never leaving his face.

his lips brush your ear with a low, a tone that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. “i regret nothing.”

the words linger, sticky as your gloss, with the playful tension that makes your heart skip. even as you scold him with your eyes, your lips twitch against the urge to smile, laugh, and lean in for more.

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ yushi

you’re sitting cross legged on his bed, idly scrolling through your phone, the soft scent of your strawberry gloss still lingering in the air. your mouth shines under the dim yellow glow of the lamp, and it doesn’t take long for yushi to notice. the weight of his attention is settling like a warm pressure on your lips. it makes your chest tighten in the most distracting way.

“stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, voice casual, though your fingers fidget slightly with your phone. you don’t even glance up.

“i’m not looking at you,” he says, though his voice betrays the smile already forming on his lips.

he leans back on his hands, eyes drifting down again, lingering on your lips. his voice drops low, almost lazy, almost dangerous. “your mouth looks like candy.”

it’s not what he says, but how, so calm, so matter of fact, as if stating the obvious. like your lips were always meant to be noticed. heat rises behind your ears, spreading through your chest.

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t get any ideas. i just put it on.”

“so?” he blinks at you, amused and completely unbothered. “i don’t mind.”

“well, i do.” you close your compact mirror and wave it at him. “it’s sticky. and new. and expensive.”

he stays for a second, then moves. slowly, letting you have a moment to stop him. the mattress shifts under the weight of his movement as he crawls closer. your pulse quickens without even trying.

“you’re so dramatic,” he murmurs, one hand brushing your ankle as he leans in, fingers lingering like they’re testing limits. “it’s just a kiss.” his chest is close now, warm, the scent of him mingling with the faint sweetness of your gloss.

“you don’t kiss like it’s just a kiss.” your voice comes out softer than you meant, slightly breathless, lips twitching with a smile you can’t hide.

“sticky, messy, expensive,” he murmurs, eyes flicking from your lips to your gaze. “i don’t care.” and then he kisses you. warm, smooth, certain. his lips press against yours with slow, deliberate intensity, he doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just claims your mouth like strawberry it’s his favorite flavor. all gloss and heat, and you feel the pull in your stomach, the flutter in your chest. his hand slides from your ankle up to rest lightly on your hip, subtle but impossible to ignore. 

when he pulls back, just enough to catch his breath, a slick shine clings to his lips. your own mouth tingles from the heat and pressure, leaving you blinking up at him, cheeks pink, breath coming a little too fast.

“mmm… tastes so sweet,” he says, tongue brushing the corner of his mouth, eyes dark with amusement. “can i have another one?”

your fingers twitch, almost reaching for him, while your heart races with the delicious, thrilling knowledge that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on you.

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ jaehee

you catch him looking. not the casual kind of looking, either. his gaze is locked on your mouth, deliberate, unapologetic, and he isn’t even pretending to be subtle. his head tilts slightly, elbow propped on the table, the tiniest curve of a smile teasing at his lips, like he knows he’s been caught in the act and couldn’t care less.

you click your gloss shut, holding it up between you like a warning flag. “don’t even think about it,” you say, voice light but firm.

“think about what?” he asks, perfectly deadpan, and the contrast between his words and his smoldering gaze makes your pulse stutter.

“this,” you say, gesturing to your lips. “it’s peach flavored. not for sharing.”

he raises a brow, that teasing little quirk that always makes your stomach flip. the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s barely containing a smirk. “shame. peach’s my favorite,” he murmurs, voice low, almost possessive.

you narrow your eyes, leaning back slightly, though the tension between you is almost physical. “well, too bad. i’m not smudging it just because you can’t control yourself.”

he leans in ever so slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, eyes darkening with deliberate intent. his voice softens, almost a whisper. “who says i can’t control myself?”

you hum, arching a brow, teasing but heart already thudding. “your eyes are saying it.”

“then stop looking at my eyes,” he counters smoothly, voice rich with quiet amusement, almost challenging you.

you blink, caught off guard, and he notices. that glint in his gaze sharpens, warms, promising mischief, slow and inevitable. your breath catches without meaning to, the tiny shift of his body closer making your skin tingle.

he doesn’t kiss you then. not yet. he just leans back, smug, silent, letting the moment stretch and thrum between you like electricity. his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, the subtle scent of him lingering in the air, the curve of his lips almost daring you to move closer, it’s enough to make your pulse race.

but later, when your laughter catches you mid lean, when you’ve forgotten to reapply and your gloss has dulled slightly, when you lean toward him without thinking, that’s when he moves. slow at first, letting his presence surround you, then sure, decisive, claiming your lips with warmth and the faint sweetness of peach still clinging there. the kiss is soft, deliberate, full of that quiet confidence that makes your knees go weak.

when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t speak right away. he just licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste, the glossy sweetness still lingering.

“mmm… still tastes like peach,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, leaving you breathless and flushed, chest fluttering, caught between wanting more and pretending you’re in control. 

[doietopia]

omg i just came back to your page and after reading the f1 racer jeno fic i felt like i almost died by how good that fic was ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ, tysmm too for doing my req and honestlly i'm not the type who usually likes enemies to lover trope but my god did you change my mind!1!1. also just a lil off topic for a sec but i hope you and your sister is doing well now!. -👾

lol i have this habit of turning everything into angst so i end up doing that a lot. but i’m really glad it turned out well. and thank you for worrying, my sister’s feeling better now <3

[doietopia]

hiiii i’m in love with the way you write, especially your doyoung fics, i was wondering if i could request a chenle smut fic? i’m not too picky on the specifics but maybe a basic prompt of it being like a club setting where he’s like watching from across the room as the reader is dancing with another guy and getting jealous? actually that’s like kind of specific lol but honestly i’d love anything written in your style :3

m so so so sorry it took me this long to post, but here it is! i really hope it’s close to what you imagined 🤍 i honestly love writing for doyoung so much, and hearing your kind words means the world to me <3 thank you for making me feel so happy and inspired

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ hate me, touch me — z. chenle

pairing: ex!chenle x f!reader  genre: exes-to-lovers(?), smut, angst, jealousy-fueled desire  content warnings: rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, mirror sex, degradation/praise mix, possessiveness, jealousy, exhibitionism risk (public place), alcohol mention  word count: ~1k  notes: hey anoon i hope this is what you wanted. tmi i actually wrote this draft a long time ago and it was originally meant to be a johnny fic, but i kept putting it off. then, when i saw your request, this plot came back to me, so i tweaked it a little and here we are. we also get yapper chenle hehe.

the club was suffocating. bass rattling your ribs, lights flickering across sweat-slicked skin, people pressing too close. you tried to lose yourself in it, in the blur of bodies and the alcohol burning sweet down your throat. but no matter how loud the music got, you could feel it, his eyes on you. chenle’s gaze burned hotter than the strobe lights, tracking every sway of your hips even as someone else’s hands lingered at your waist.

by the time you stumbled into the bathroom, cheeks hot, lips tingling, you thought maybe the haze would dull it. but then the door clicked shut and there he was, shoulders filling the frame, presence flooding the small space until it felt impossible to breathe.

“cute,” he asked, voice low, dripping with mockery. “grinding on him while staring at me?” footsteps quick, impatient, closing in on you. “tell me, was that supposed to piss me off, or were you just desperate for attention?”

the heat in your stomach twisted, but your eyes met his in the mirror as he came up behind you. chenle’s mouth tilted into a smirk that didn’t hide the bite underneath. his reflection was all sharp lines and gleaming eyes, like he was having fun and seething at the same time.

he slapped his palms down on the counter beside your hands, boxing you in. “don’t play dumb.” his chest pressed against your back, voice low and cutting. “you were staring straight at me while he put his hands all over you. what— were you hoping i’d drag you out right there?”

his fingers slid into your hair, tugging it over your shoulder to bare your neck. he leaned down, lips ghosting just above your skin, close enough to make you tremble but not close enough to satisfy. “be honest,” he whispered, “you wanted me mad.”

then his mouth was on you. warm, and wet. he dragged his lips along the curve of your neck, then his tongue traced down slow, deliberate, until you gasped. his laugh vibrated against your skin. “fuck, you’re easy. wanted me to see what a little slut you are.”

his grip clamped hard on your hip, pulling you back against the solid press of his cock. the rough denim of his jeans ground into you, unbearable, not nearly enough.

“look at yourself,” he murmured, voice dark amusement. “dress riding up, legs already open for me.”

he bit down on your pulse point hard enough to bruise, sucking until you whined. “mmm. perfect,” he muttered against your skin, smirking at the sound. his other hand shoved your dress higher, fingers sliding up your inner thigh, tracing maddening circles until you squirmed.

when his hand finally reached you, his laugh broke soft and cruel. “god. you’re soaked. you’re sick, you know that? getting off on me watching you.” his fingers slipped between your folds, circling your clit just once, slow enough to make your knees buckle. “pathetic little slut.”

you braced yourself against the sink, but he caught your chin, forcing your gaze to the mirror. his eyes locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting. “watch,” he ordered, thrusting a finger inside you. your lips parted, a helpless sound breaking out, and he grinned wider. “look how messy you get the second i touch you.”

he shoved in another finger, pumping them deep, precise, obscene wet sounds echoing in the tiled room. your hips twitched forward, chasing him, and his laugh was low, cruel. “you’re fucking yourself on my hand. unbelievable.”

just as the coil inside you threatened to snap, he yanked his fingers out. your whine echoed sharp, desperate, but he only smirked and spun you around, lifting you onto the sink like you weighed nothing. with a sharp rip, your panties were gone, tossed aside.

“stop me?” he asked, voice flat but mocking.

“no—please,” you gasped.

“thought so.”

he lined up, dragged the thick tip along your entrance slow, watching you squirm, then slammed in with one hard thrust. the stretch made your cry crack open, nails digging into his shoulders.

“fuck,” he groaned, teeth bared in a grin. “so fucking tight. i’ll never get tired of this.”

he pulled back and drove into you again, hard, the sink creaking beneath your body. your dress bunched at your waist, his shirt hanging open, both of you a mess of heat and sweat and sound.

he kissed you messy, biting at your lip, spit and moans tangled between you. “you shouldn’t have looked at me like that,” he growled into your mouth. “now i can’t fucking stop.”

his hips snapped into you, faster, deeper, while his hand shoved down between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit rough and fast. the rhythm was reckless, merciless, making your head knock against the mirror, cold glass biting at your skin while his cock split you open.

“feel that?” chenle panted, his laugh broken. “pussy choking me like it doesn’t want to let go. you wanna cum all over my cock, don’t you?”

you nodded frantically, lost, tears pricking your eyes from how intense it felt.

then it hit, your orgasm ripped through you, your body clenching so hard around him that your cry tore raw from your throat. your walls spasmed around him, pulling him deeper, and he cursed against your neck, thrusts erratic.

“shit—fuck—i’m gonna—” his words broke off into a groan as he spilled hot inside you, teeth sinking into your shoulder while he held you pinned to the sink, buried to the hilt.

the room rang with panting, sweat dripping down temples, the distant muffled thump of the club outside.

you whispered into the charged silence, “it wasn’t about him. it was about you.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you. his smirk was there, but his eyes gave him away, bright, unsettled, hungry.

“don’t kid yourself,” he muttered, sliding out slow, helping you down from the sink with hands steadier than his voice. “you’re insane if you think this fixes anything.”

but still, he tugged your dress back into place, his fingers brushing your thighs like he couldn’t help himself. when your legs wobbled, he caught your elbow, steadied you without a word. he lingered too long. looked at your lips, the bruises blooming on your neck, the mess he’d made of you.

“clean yourself up,” he said, mouth twisted in something between a smirk and a scowl. “i’ll be outside.”

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ maybe i do — m. riku

pairing: riku x reader genre: fluff, light comedy, slow burn tension, soft romance, park date vibes. content: ridiculous amounts of flirting, excessive plushies, kisses. wc: 1.7k note: surprise!!! hehe hehe this is finally seeing the light, i been been dying to post this but somehow i kept putting it off. hope you like it as much as i did!!

you already regret letting riku talk you into the roller coaster.

“i swear it’s not that bad,” he says, grinning with way too much confidence as he drags you by the wrist, weaving through the crowd like it’s a game. “besides, it’s romantic.”

it’s not your first date with riku, but it still feels new, electric in that ridiculous, fluttery kind of way. he always finds a way to make you laugh, or fluster you, or both at once.

“romantic?” you raise an eyebrow, barely keeping up with him as the scent of fried food and cotton candy fills the air. neon signs flicker over your heads. someone screams in the distance, probably from the very ride he’s leading you toward. “how is getting flung through the air at breakneck speed romantic?”

he glances back at you with a smug little tilt to his head. “’cause i’ll be right next to you. and if you get scared…” he leans in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath, “you can hold my hand. or my arm. or my whole body. like, aggressively. i won’t complain.”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach flips anyway. of course it does. he’s too pretty when he’s cocky like this: eyes gleaming under the lights, lips curved just slightly, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. you try to act unbothered, but you know he sees right through it.

you survive the roller coaster. barely. you clutch the safety bar like your life depends on it, your soul leaving your body somewhere around the first drop. riku, meanwhile, is having the time of his life, throwing his arms in the air like he’s on a vacation from gravity and laughing so hard you’re convinced he’s part demon. your scream breaks some kind of personal record. possibly also a few sound barriers.

when it ends, your hands are shaking and your hair’s a disaster. riku looks like he just got a full-body massage.

“i’m never trusting you again,” you mumble.

he stumbles off the ride ahead of you, still laughing. “you looked like a cartoon character. i wish i filmed it,” he teases, handing you a water bottle.

you take it with trembling fingers, trying not to notice how he’s still flushed from the adrenaline, how a few strands of hair are stuck to his forehead.

“i almost died,” you say, eyes wide. “how do you still have a spine?”

he shrugs. “love makes me stronger.”

you almost choke on your water.

to make it up to you, riku shows up with the biggest cotton candy on the planet and handing it to you like an apology bouquet. “peace offering?”

you take it, muttering, “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

he grins. “you think i’m pretty?”

you sigh. you really should’ve known better.

he takes that as an opening, naturally, and leans in to wipe your cheek with his thumb. the sugar melts on your tongue, but he looks even sweeter when he does it.

“you had a bit right there,” he says softly.

you’re almost positive there wasn’t.

he drags you to the carnival games next, where he mysteriously loses at everything, exaggerating every loss with dramatic groans. and you keep winning, because he clearly lets you. you know riku’s good with his hands. he’s coordinated, fast, annoyingly athletic. so the only explanation is, he’s throwing every single round.

“you’re losing on purpose,” you accuse.

he gasps, clutching his chest like you stabbed him. “how dare you question my integrity?”

you squint at him.

“…okay, fine,” he admits, holding out a heart-shaped pillow that says ‘cutie’ in sparkly red letters. “but you look so happy when you win. i’m addicted.”

you scoff. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re adorable,” he fires back, eyes glittering. “i’m just reacting.”

you roll your eyes and try not to smile too hard, while the prizes pile up embarrassingly fast. he hands you a glittery wand, a plush duck, a pink frog with a crooked crown, a tiny stuffed octopus that squeaks when you hug it. your arms are full, but your heart’s even worse, too full, too warm, too easy with him.

“what are you going to do with all this?” you ask, adjusting your grip on the growing pile of plushies.

he leans against the prize booth, eyes trailing lazily down to your hands, then back up to your face. “they’re for you,” he shrugs, like it’s obvious. “proof that i’m willing to humiliate myself in public to win your heart.”

“you already have my heart, idiot.” you pause, immediately regretting how easily it slips out.

riku freezes too, just for a second. then he recovers with a dramatic cough and an even more dramatic wink.

“cool. now i just need your mouth.”

you almost drop everything right then. “excuse me?!”

“for a kiss. obviously.” he blinks innocently. “don’t make it weird.”

you smack him in the arm with the duck plushie. he just laughs like he knew you would.

as the sky darkens, you make your way toward the ferris wheel. it’s the biggest one in the park, lights glowing in a soft rainbow gradient that reflects off the metal rails. the line is shorter now, the crowd thinning. the air’s cooler, a breeze curling around your legs, brushing your hair against your cheek, carrying the scent of churros and fireworks.

the ferris wheel car rocks gently as you climb in, and you settle into the bench across from him, plushies stacked at your feet, jacket still around your shoulders from earlier when you shivered and he gave it to you without a word. the hum of the ride fills the silence between you as the wheel starts to turn.

riku stretches his legs out lazily, arms spread across the backrest, the glow from the ride paints his skin in soft pinks and blues, his profile sharp and unfairly perfect. your heart’s beating too fast again, and this time it has nothing to do with the height.

he glances at you. “what?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

he stares a second longer, like he’s trying to read a page you forgot to close. then, quieter, “you keep looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

he hesitates. “…like you want me to kiss you.”

your breath catches.

you look away, down at the carnival glowing beneath you, little lights like stars scattered across the earth. you can feel his gaze still on you, waiting, but not pushing. you could leave it there. laugh it off. change the subject. but your heart doesn’t want that.

you look back.

“maybe i do.”

he blinks as his expression softens. he leans forward, slow, until his knees bump gently against yours. his fingers reach for your hand, resting lightly on your thigh. your breath stutters when he brushes his thumb over your knuckles, so careful it makes your chest ache.

“then come here,” he says softly.

you shift forward. your knees press between his. your hands slide up the front of his shirt. you’re close enough to feel his breath fan over your lips, warm and laced with sugar and nervousness underneath it.

his lips move gently over yours, unsure at first, but steady. he kisses you slow and quiet, nothing rushed, just the press of his mouth against yours, tentative and warm, and the way his thumb grazes your cheek like he’s scared to press too hard and ruin it.

when you pull back, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“you’re so soft,” he murmurs.

“so are you,” you whisper back.

then his lips twitch into a smile, eyes still closed. “i win.”

you blink. “…what?”

he opens his eyes and taps your mouth lightly with his finger. “best prize of the night.”

you bury your face in his shoulder, groaning. “you ruin everything.” he chuckles and wraps an arm around you.

by the time the ferris wheel slows to a stop, your body still feels like it’s moving. maybe was the height, or the softness of the kiss lingering on your lips. or maybe it’s just riku, his jacket around your shoulders, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours.

you glance at him.

he’s smiling, but smaller now. not the teasing grin from earlier, not the exaggerated, show-off version he wore in front of the games. this one is softer.

“you good?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his fingers.

you nod, lips curving. “yeah. you?”

he hums. “kinda dizzy.”

you blink. “from the height?”

he tilts his head, grinning. “from you.”

you groan and lightly smack his arm, but he catches your hand before you can pull away. brings it to his mouth and kisses your knuckles like he means it.

“cheesy,” you murmur, but your chest aches in the good way.

you keep walking, slower now, to the parking lot where your bikes are chained. everything feels like it’s winding down. like the night is folding itself into something soft and secret just for you.

“this was fun,” he murmurs.

“yeah,” you say. “best fake near-death date i’ve ever had.”

“next time, let’s go bungee jumping.”

“hey…”

“what?” he shrugs. “i’m just saying. i think it’s very romantic.”

you bump his shoulder with yours. he bumps you back. it turns into a mini war for a few steps until he catches you by the waist and pulls you in without warning, stopping in the middle of the walkway. your laugh stutters out as your body collides with his chest.

“ri—”

he’s already looking down at you, eyes gleaming under the glow of the amusement park lights. “so…”

“so?”

“are you gonna kiss me again or should i dramatically trip and fall into your mouth?”

you snort and roll your eyes. “goodnight, riku…”

but you take a step closer anyway, you’re already leaning in when he meets you halfway. his hands find your waist, your fingers curl into his shirt. you lift your chin and kiss him first this time.

this one is deeper. less careful. his hand slides up to your jaw and holds you there like he never wants to let go. people walk past. a group of teenagers laughs a few feet away. someone drops a drink behind you. but nothing exists except the press of his mouth on yours and the flutter in your stomach that refuses to calm down.

when you part, he stays close, his eyes locked on yours, close enough to feel his heartbeat. and you know. you’re in so much trouble.

+ bonus

“riku, i’m not doing this,” you had protested, staring down at the bungee platform like it was the edge of the world.

“yes, you are,” he had replied, grin wide and impossibly confident. “trust me. it’s romantic.”

you rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, but the pull of his hand and that stupid, infuriating way he made everything sound fun won. so here you are, heart still hammering, legs still shaking, adrenaline making every brush of his fingers feel electric.

now, walking past a photo booth, one of those old, tacky ones with peeling stickers and a curtain barely hanging on. riku stops.

“do you want to?”

you glance at him. he’s already tugging the curtain open, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“we look ridiculous,” you mumble, tugging at your hoodie and adjusting the way your hair’s messy from the jump.

but you go in anyway.

inside, it’s cramped, too small for comfort. your knees bump against his, thighs brushing. his hand lands lightly on yours, thumb tracing over your fingers. a jolt of heat shoots through you.

the countdown starts.

first photo, your smiles are wide, cheeks still pink from laughing and screaming moments ago. second, he sticks his tongue out, and you flick his ear, catching him off guard. third, you’re both laughing too hard to face the camera, shoulders pressed together.

in the fourth and last one, he leans in just as the flash goes off, soft lips brushing your cheek. your eyes are closed but you feel it everywhere, breath catching, warmth lingering.

when the photos print, you stare at the last one longer than the others.

“can i keep it?” he asks, already tucking it into his wallet without waiting for and answer. you don’t mind.

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ shy - l. haechan

it wasn’t supposed to lead to this, just the two of you, alone. but the night unraveled slowly.

it was just a casual gathering, just a few of you from the group project, drinks and takeout in someone’s apartment, the usual teasing and banter that always bubbled when haechan was around. loud laughs, music too low to matter, the way his eyes kept finding yours across the room and fingers brushing when you both reached for the same fry.

you didn’t think much of it when the others left. someone had to catch a ride, someone else had an early class. you lingered. so did he.

“so,” haechan says now, leaning against the kitchen counter, swirling the last inch of soda in a cup he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. “you’re just gonna pretend you didn’t spend the whole night avoiding my eyes?”

you scoff, flustered. “i wasn’t avoiding—”

“uh-huh.” his mouth quirks up. “then why’d you blush every time i looked at you?”

“i didn’t—”

he steps forward, slow, casual, like he’s not watching you panic beneath the surface. you back up without meaning to, until your shoulder bumps against the fridge. he smiles, as if he won something.

“you always get like this when it’s just us?” he asks, tilting his head. “or am i special?”

your heartbeat kicks up. “you’re ridiculous.”

“but you’re not walking away,” he says softly. “interesting.”

he takes another step. then another. until he’s close. so close you forget how to think. you open your mouth to reply, but he leans in again, not quite kissing you. just hovering. close enough to count his lashes, to feel his breath ghost over your lips.

“’cause if it’s shyness,” he whispers, voice dropping into something wicked and gentle, “i can fix that.”

his hand finds your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. his thumb slides just beneath the hem, slow and daring, testing what he can get away with.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “or tell me what you actually want.”

[doietopia]

ahhhh that riku scenario was perfect!!!!! the way you write is so elegant?? pretty? poetic?? mature??? idk how to describe it but it's so good!! you're very talented 🥰 i'm so thankful you started writing for wish hyung line omg it's a blessing fr!!!!

anooon tyyyyy 🫶🏼 i have so much to post abt them so don’t go anywhere 👀

[doietopia]

hiii, i took a pretty long time to come back. had a lot going on, my sister had an accident so i was helping take care of her and (mostly) my baby niece. i had to carry and change her since my sister couldn’t do it. but i’m back now!!

anyways, thank you all for the 300 followers!! i love writing and reading all your messages and comments makes me so insanely happy like giggling and kicking my feet type of happy 💌

also i really wanna interact with you all more, so pls talk to me i’m literally right here, don’t be shy 🫶🏼

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ cold feet - o. sion

same thing, every damn night.

you crawl into bed like a little creature of chaos, soft blanket dragging behind you, skin warm from your nighttime routine, pajama shirt hanging a little off your shoulder, and you always start on your side. tucked into your own corner like you’re going to respect his personal space for once.

but sion knows better.

he’s already bracing for it.

“don’t you dare,” he mumbles, already eyeing you with suspicion from his side of the bed, arm tucked lazily behind his head, hair a little wet from the shower.

you look at him with your most innocent face, pillow hugged to your chest like you’ve never committed a single crime.

“me?”

he raises a brow. “you. and those ice block feet of yours. keep them far, far away.”

you giggle. and he knows, knows, the moment he sees that little twitch in your mouth, that barely-there smirk you’re trying to hide, he knows that’s the exact moment he’s doomed.

he closes his eyes like he’s made peace with his fate. and then, five minutes later, just as his breathing starts to slow…

ice.

right against his calves. your feet, sharp little shocks of winter, slipping under the covers and pressing into his skin with evil precision.

he yelps. an actual, involuntary jolt.

“oh my god,” he groans, “why are they this cold. are you a corpse?”

you just wiggle closer, laughter spilling out before you can stop it, your voice muffled into his shoulder. “you’re warm. you’re basically a space heater.”

“i’m not here to thaw you out, babe.”

“yes you are,” you murmur, sweetness curling around each word. “and i’m sure you love it.”

he glares. “i literally don’t.” but his arms are already wrapping around you anyway.

truth is? he does love it. he loves the way you burrow into him without hesitation, cold feet and all, like he’s safe. like your body just knows it’s home when it finds his. he loves the contrast, your freezing toes and your warm breath against his throat. your soft little whines when you finally feel warm enough to relax. the way you always tangle your legs with his after.

he’ll grumble every time.

he’ll complain like it’s the worst thing in the world.

but when he wakes up and your feet aren’t pressed against his calves, he’ll shift in the sheets, searching for you. because without your stupid cold feet at night, it doesn’t feel like home.

[doietopia]

hii i absolutelly love your writing style and i was wondering if you could maybe make a jeno smut fic? cause i would eat that shit upp!! and with the way you write omg that would kill me honestlly 😭. also i just want to and one more thing i loveee all your fic especially jaemin's fic omgg that was so good!1!1! oh and for the jeno smut fic just a lil suggestion again maybe f1 racer jeno??? cause the bttf mv had him dressed as an f1 racer and that killed meee, anyways i'm just yappin to much now but that's all from me. 👾

hiii anonnn👾 here’s your request!!! i had a lil block writing this lol but i really hope your f1 racer jeno dream has been fulfilled 🫶🏼 tysm for reading all my fics and the kind comments

i couldnt find an actual good pic where he looked like a f1 racer so sorry in advance lol

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ overdrive — l. jeno

pairing: f1 racer!jeno x lead mechanic!reader genre: enemies-to-lovers, smut, unresolved tension content: rough sex, dirty talk, hand around throat, exhibitionism risk, praise/degradation mix, anger-laced lust, slow burn snap, control and surrender w.c: ~2.5k notes: mmm, so i basically know nothing about cars or f1. everything i do know is mostly thanks to a friend who’s obsessed with it (i’ll admit leclerc is kinda cute). but yep, don’t take this too seriously, i really don’t know anything about engines at all.

the heat is relentless, already unbearable this early in the day. the garage swelters, thick with the smell of hot rubber and engine oil, even with the bay doors rolled wide open. summer heat clings to your skin like a second layer, thick and suffocating.

the sunlight pours in heavy and golden, dust drifting lazily through the air, settling over metal frames and stacks of spare parts. the car (jeno’s car) sits up, stripped open like ribs in an autopsy. 

and you’re crouched low by the front wheel, sleeves shoved up, hair sticking to the back of your neck. sweat pools at the hollow of your spine, and your fingers are slick with grease as you twist the wrench, tightening a bolt he nearly rattled loose earlier by braking too hard into turn nine. again.

the rest of the world is just the hum of the lights, the creak of shifting metal, until the sound of footsteps breaks through—

“still playing with your tools, sweetheart?”

the weight of his gaze lands between your shoulder blades. you don’t even bother turning, your hands keep moving on muscle memory alone.

“you’re gonna strip that bolt if you keep over-tightening it.”

his voice again. he’s closer now. he crouches just out of your peripheral, that signature smirk audible in the tilt of his voice. it makes your jaw tighten.

“i wasn’t aware the car came with a built-in commentator.”

he doesn’t reply right away. you hear the soft thud of something set down, probably his helmet, before the sound of his shoes shifts closer. the air changes; heavier, warmer, like he’s bringing the heat with him.

“wasn’t aware the team hired someone with a god complex.” he says eventually, his voice tilting just enough to make the words drip. there’s a metallic clatter as he leans against a cart behind you, arm cocked lazily against the metal drawers. 

your grip tightens. it would be so easy to throw the wrench at his head. you exhale instead. “look, unless you’re planning to do something useful—”

“—i am,” he cuts in smoothly. “i’m making sure my car doesn’t fall apart under someone who clearly hates me more than she likes her job.”

your jaw flexes around all the things you want to say but know would get you fired. you stand slowly, wiping your hands down your thighs. the grease leaves black streaks over the worn fabric, but you don’t care.

when you finally look at him, he’s already watching you, suit half-unzipped and tied around his waist, undershirt clinging from the heat. there’s a faint sheen along his collarbone, where his tank top hangs too loose.

“if i hated you as much as you think…” you say flatly, “you should be grateful i haven’t let your brakes fail yet.”

his tongue clicks, mock-offended. “for someone who says she can’t stand me…” his gaze flickers deliberately to your hands, then lower, lingering before his mouth curls. “you spend an awful lot of time on your knees in front of my car.”

you blink once, slow. “someone has to make sure it doesn’t fall apart mid-race. can’t trust the golden boy to keep it in one piece.”

jeno chuckles behind you, low and amused. “touched a nerve?”

you roll your eyes, brushing sweaty strands from your face. “try touching the engine instead. or is that too technical for you?”

his smirk deepens, the kind that suggests he’s already thought of five comebacks, all of them worse than the last. 

“you always have something to say,” he mutters, and then he’s stepping forward, crowding into your space until your back hits the car’s frame. “always so fucking mouthy.”

your heart skips, pulse sharp in your throat. he’s too close now, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin.

“you wouldn’t know what to do with me quiet,” you breathe.

his eyes flicker, lingering on your mouth before drifting lower, tracking the slow path of a bead of sweat as it slips just beneath the hollow of your throat. his gaze follows it like it’s got him hooked, then slides to your collarbone, pausing where your coveralls are unzipped just enough to tease. there’s nothing overt, but the gap is a quiet, dangerous invitation. 

jeno tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a challenge. “try me.” his eyes gleam, like red lights about to go green.

you yank your hand back and reach for a rag, but he’s already moving in, eating up the inches between you until there’s nowhere left to go. your back bumps into the nose of the car, the solid warmth of carbon fiber pressing into your hips.

“hmm.” his hum is low, thoughtful, like he’s testing the taste of an idea in his mouth. “you keep standing in front of my car like that…”

his eyes drag over you slowly, deliberate as sin, lingering on the narrow curve of your waist cinched in the coveralls. you can feel the weight of it, how he’s stripping you down without lifting a single zipper.

“…i might just have to fuck you on it.”

the words don’t just land, they settle, thick and heavy in the charged air between you. you’re aware of every inch of your own skin, of the heat curling low in your stomach, of how close his breath is to the corner of your jaw.

you look up slowly, tension flaring like static in your chest. “you’re not funny.”

“i’m not joking.”

before you can answer, he’s on you, closing the last sliver of distance in a blur. his mouth crashes into yours, all heat and arrogance, lips rough and unyielding, tongue sweeping past your teeth with the kind of impatience that tastes like he’s been starving for this. his hand fists in the front of your coveralls, dragging you forward until your spine curves off the car.

then you’re weightless for a moment, his palms gripping the back of your thighs before hoisting you fully onto the hood. the warm metal hums beneath you, vibrating faintly with the residual heat of the engine. his hips slot between your knees like they’ve always belonged there, pressing in with deliberate weight.

his grip on your waist is firm, certain, claiming without needing to bruise. you should push him off. you don’t. instead, your fingers knot into his shirt, dragging him closer until the heat of his chest presses into yours, a hiss tearing from your throat against his mouth.

the kiss is messy, greedy, his teeth catching your lower lip just to hear the sharp breath you let out. the faint tang of motor oil clings to your skin, mixing with the clean burn of his cologne. you can feel the flex of muscle in his shoulders beneath your palms.

his fingers find the zipper at your chest, dragging it down without ceremony, knuckles scraping your ribs as he pushes the fabric off. his palms settle heavy at your hips, thumbs hooking under the cling of your tank top, sliding higher until the skin beneath is bared to the heat of his touch.

he pushes the cotton up, catching the edge of your sports bra, and cups your breast through it, his thumb brushing over the peak in slow, deliberate strokes until your breath stutters. his mouth is already on your neck, biting and dragging, tasting you like he means to leave every second of this encounter printed into your skin.

the next moment, your overalls are shoved down, pooling heavy around your calves. he’s hauling you up again, hands locked under your thighs, forcing your legs around his hips. the hood beneath you is hot enough to sting through your skin, but so is he, every part of him burning, pressing, filling the air until it feels like there’s no oxygen left for anything but him.

his mouth grazes your ear, voice a low rasp against your sweat-slick skin. “you say you hate me,”

“i hate you,” you pant, fingers already tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

he slides a hand between your legs, fingers tracing slow paths through your folds. “then why are you this fucking wet for me?”

“come on, darling… don’t act like i’m the only one who wants this.” he growls, teeth scraping your collarbone. you gasp, desperate hips jerking up into his hand. he grins against your throat.

“knew it.”

without warning, his fingers push inside you, two, deep, fast. your breath catches, shattering in your throat. his other hand locks around your hip, holding you firm, pinning you in place.

your thighs tremble, spreading wide over the car’s warm body. slick with sweat and his touch, your skin tingles. you clutch his shoulders as you grind shamelessly, your moans loud and raw.

“you’re not even trying to hide it,” he pants, palm working your clit in lazy, cruel circles. 

he bites down on your bra strap, yanking it down with his teeth, mouth sealing over your nipple. his tongue circles, rough and demanding, until your head falls back with a soft, helpless moan.

you cry out his name, sharp and urgent in the stillness. he pulls back just enough to hear you. your whimper slips out before you can stop it.

“jeno—”

“say it again.”

you blink. breath shaky. “what?”

“my name.”

there’s no room for games in his tone. his fingers slide out slow just to hear the sound again. you try to chase the friction but he holds you still, smirking.

you clench your jaw, heart pounding.

“say it,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous. “or i’ll leave you like this.”

you hate him. hate how much you want him, how badly. you’d burn this entire garage down if it meant having him.

“…jeno,” you breathe.

with a smudge smirk his suit drops to his hips, revealing skin taut and warm under your greedy hands. your stained palms, press against muscles twitching at your touch. he sucks in a sharp breath when your hand brushes against him through his briefs, already hard, already impatient. then he frees himself, cock flushed and leaking. he wraps a fist around it, slow, deliberate, watching you with eyes wild and blown wide.

you reach for him. but he catches your wrist, voice low and amused. “greedy little thing,” he mutters. “all that attitude. no patience.”

he lines himself up, breath rasping, voice tight.

“fuck,” he breathes, dragging his mouth down your throat, licking the sweat from your skin. “been thinking about this since monaco.”

“you’re disgusting.”

his fingers push your underwear aside, thumb brushing your clit with sinful ease.

“says the one begging to be fucked on this car.”

you don’t answer. you just spread your legs wider.

and then he drives into you, one slow, deep, brutal stroke that steals your breath away. your cry breaks free, raw and unfiltered, as your body arches instinctively, heels digging into the curve of the car beneath you for balance. your hands clutch at the cool metal, searching for something solid to hold onto as the world narrows down to the harsh rhythm of his hips.

he groans low against your skin, his mouth pressing hard to the hollow of your neck, teeth grazing with a hungry edge that makes your pulse spike. each thrust snaps forward with unforgiving force, setting fire to every nerve ending, dragging you deeper into the delicious ache of being claimed.

“i should keep you like this,” he mutters, voice roughening as he moves faster. “bent over this car every time you mouth off.”

the car shifts beneath you, the subtle vibrations resonating through your core with every powerful thrust. nearby, tools rattle softly, forgotten against the storm of sensations overwhelming the garage. his grip slides up your throat, firm but careful, not enough to choke, just enough to claim you, to remind who’s in control.

his thumb presses down, circling your clit in perfect, maddening rhythm with each punishing stroke. the relentless pounding blurs together, sharp and raw, pushing you closer to the edge with every merciless movement.

he fucks you rough, unyielding, the metal groaning under the weight, grease stains trace paths along your thighs, across your stomach, even reaching your jaw where it glistens faintly in the dim light.

you’re stretched thin and stretched wide, every nerve alight, every breath shallow as his body drives into yours without mercy.

“you really gonna come like this?” he pants. “wrapped around me, on top of my fucking car?”

you can’t answer, caught in the haze of sensation. your moans mix with the wet slap of skin and the sting of his teeth on your shoulder. he’s everywhere, burying himself deep again and again until your vision pulses and blurs at the edges.

your whole body tightens, every muscle trembling as the wave builds, cresting with a white-hot explosion of pleasure that crashes through you like static electricity sparking through your veins. heat and sparks ignite behind your eyes, overwhelming and relentless. your cry escapes, raw and desperate, pressed deep against his neck where your lips find skin soft and warm.

that sound, your surrender, is what finally breaks him.

he curses low, the guttural growl vibrating deep in his chest as his fingers dig into your waist with possessive urgency. with one last powerful thrust, he drives deep inside you, his release flooding you in a scorching rush that leaves no space for anything but this moment.

he stays buried, breath ragged and uneven, chest pressed firmly against yours as if trying to steady the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. for a long, heavy moment, you both hang there, breathless, trembling, tethered to the raw aftermath of what just happened.

the garage hums around you. machines, wind, your ragged breath.

jeno slowly pulls back, his fingers dragging a lazy trail over your thigh. both of you still twitch, riding out the tremors of your shared aftershocks. your skin is flushed, your body trembling with the remnants of raw heat, and strands of hair cling damp to your sweat-soaked temple.

then, his voice breaks the quiet, smug, tired.

“bet you thought about this too.”

you hate how true it sounds, how easily your body betrayed every stubborn promise you made. a breathless laugh escapes your lips as you smack his shoulder, sharp and playful.

“fuck you.”

he grins wide, slipping his suit back into place with practiced ease.

“you just did, sweetheart.”

your legs wobble as you slide off the car, thighs glossy, knees weak. he watches you, his expression softened, curious, almost tender beneath that cocky exterior.

“you good?” he asks, quieter this time.

you nod, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

he meets your gaze and nods in return.

neither of you say it out loud, words aren’t necessary, but the unspoken understanding hangs between you like thick engine smoke: 

this won’t be the last time.

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ shy - l. haechan

it wasn’t supposed to lead to this, just the two of you, alone. but the night unraveled slowly.

it was just a casual gathering, just a few of you from the group project, drinks and takeout in someone’s apartment, the usual teasing and banter that always bubbled when haechan was around. loud laughs, music too low to matter, the way his eyes kept finding yours across the room and fingers brushing when you both reached for the same fry.

you didn’t think much of it when the others left. someone had to catch a ride, someone else had an early class. you lingered. so did he.

“so,” haechan says now, leaning against the kitchen counter, swirling the last inch of soda in a cup he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. “you’re just gonna pretend you didn’t spend the whole night avoiding my eyes?”

you scoff, flustered. “i wasn’t avoiding—”

“uh-huh.” his mouth quirks up. “then why’d you blush every time i looked at you?”

“i didn’t—”

he steps forward, slow, casual, like he’s not watching you panic beneath the surface. you back up without meaning to, until your shoulder bumps against the fridge. he smiles, as if he won something.

“you always get like this when it’s just us?” he asks, tilting his head. “or am i special?”

your heartbeat kicks up. “you’re ridiculous.”

“but you’re not walking away,” he says softly. “interesting.”

he takes another step. then another. until he’s close. so close you forget how to think. you open your mouth to reply, but he leans in again, not quite kissing you. just hovering. close enough to count his lashes, to feel his breath ghost over your lips.

“’cause if it’s shyness,” he whispers, voice dropping into something wicked and gentle, “i can fix that.”

his hand finds your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. his thumb slides just beneath the hem, slow and daring, testing what he can get away with.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “or tell me what you actually want.”

[doietopia]

i agree so much with the anon who said you had such a good read of yushi it's crazy!!!!! holding back was seriously incredible i've reread it multiple times and i'm still flabbergasted LMAO if you take requests or ideas would you consider writing a smut for riku hajsbfdkngf literally about anything maybe having to do with jealousy but literally anything is fine hhhh your writing is too good!!!

hey anon! thank you for taking the time to say this. wait you’ve reread it multiple times?? i'm so happy you liked that much😭

and YES i totally take requests!! i’ve been playing around with some ideas with him (actually he’s my bias in wish), so here it is! hehe. i added angst (i couldn’t help it). thank you again for being so sweet!! i hope you enjoy this too

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ like you mean it — m. riku

pairing: volleyball captain!riku x cheerleader!reader genre: angst, smut, jealousy-fueled reunion, emotional tension content: locker room sex, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, emotional vulnerability, jealousy, possessive undertones, hurt/comfort, slight roughness, filthy talk wc: ~2.1k notes: two idiots in love who don’t know how to talk about their feelings so they fuck about them instead

the gym’s still buzzing at the end of the practice. you’re in your uniform, high ponytail messy and slipping, cheeks flushed from the last set, thighs burning, lungs still catching up, but it feels good. there’s laughter around you, voices fading into the corners of your mind as you lean against the bench, stretching lazily.

sion’s next to you, teasing you about missing the beat on the final cheer, and you nudge his arm, rolling your eyes, smiling despite yourself. it’s harmless.

except, riku is watching.

he’s across the court, near the net, towel slung around his neck, fingers idly tossing a volleyball in the air and catching it with the same hand like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

his eyes are pinned to you, waiting for you to look at him, and when your gaze finally drifts over, he flashes that signature smile. all charm, all teeth. fake as hell.

he hasn’t looked away since the whistle blew and he’s not trying to hide it. eyes flicking over your legs, the curve of your back, the way your lips curl when you smile at someone else. he’s always been good at pretending he doesn’t care. brushing things off with a snort and a joke. but this, this is different. it sits under his skin.

you look away. because screw him.

screw the way he vanished right after the game. no calls. no texts. no explanation. like you didn’t spend the night before in his bed, tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t pull you into his sheets, his breath hot against your ear when he panted “you know you drive me insane, right?” while grinding into you slow and desperate, whispering things he clearly didn’t mean.

like none of it ever mattered.

so you laugh a little too loud at something sion says. it’s not funny, not really, but the way riku’s gaze burns into you makes the petty win worth it. even if your skin’s still prickling from the memory of his hands gripping your waist, his mouth on your neck, the low groan in his chest when you kissed down his stomach. even if you feel his absence in every place he touched last.

you don’t look back this time. but you feel him. watching.

the changing room is empty when you get there. your teammates are long gone, you’re sitting on one of the benches, in no rush. unlacing your shoes slowly, cooling off, skirt bunched slightly too high as you lean forward. 

you don’t hear the door open, just the soft click of it closing. his footsteps echo across the tile. your chest tightens. you don’t need to turn around to know.

“you forgot to stretch.” his voice is low.

you look up slowly.

riku’s leaning against the lockers, his shirt clings to his chest in uneven patches, soaked through along the collarbone and ribs. sweat shines along his throat. his hair is a mess, dark strands curling where they’re damp, a few sticking to his temple. breathing uneven like maybe he ran straight here. or maybe he’s just pissed.

his eyes never leave yours.

you lift an eyebrow. “worried i’ll pull something?”

he shrugs, “just don’t want your little boyfriend sion getting extra duties.”

you snort, “jesus, riku.”

“what?” he shrugs, feigning innocence. “you two looked pretty cozy.”

you move to walk past him, but he steps into your path. doesn’t touch you, but your bodies share heat now, the air bending around him. too close. too tense.

“look,” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back. “i’m trying really hard not to be a dick right now.”

“…are you?”

his jaw ticks. his gaze lowers, dragging slowly down your body, your untucked top, your exposed thighs, the tiny sheen of sweat on your chest, then his eyes are back on yours, darker now.

“you were all over him,” he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow. “we were talking.”

“you touched his arm.”

you tilt your head, dry. “so what, is that illegal now? we’re all friends.”

“not the way we’re friends.” 

riku pulls back a little, just enough to see your face. and even though he’s still half-smiling, there’s something unsteady in it now.

“you like making me jealous or something?”

he waits a beat, then leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“’cause if you do… you should at least let me fuck you after.” his thumb drags along the edge of your skirt as he says it, low and daring:

your breath hitches. “riku…”

you reach for his wrist, but he catches your fingers, lacing them with his and bringing your joined hands up between you. the gesture feels too tender for how mad he is. and too intimate for two people pretending this is just about sex.

he leans in and kisses you.

his lips are hot, impatient, pulling sounds you didn’t mean to make. it’s messy. desperate. angry about needing you this much. his mouth crashes against yours with everything he’s held in. and when you kiss him back, when you lean into him, mouth open, tongue sliding against his, he groans deep and raw into your mouth.

“i hate it,” he breathes between kisses. “seeing you with someone else.”

his voice cracks on “else.” and he looks away, like even saying it feels pathetic.

“makes me feel stupid.”

“you’re not,” you whisper, hand coming up to his jaw, thumb brushing the flushed skin under his cheekbone. he leans into the touch before he realizes it. soft. boyish. nothing like the riku who fucked you a week ago.

your hands find the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath. his skin is hot and damp, muscles tight under your touch. you run your palms up slowly, feeling him shudder.

then his hand slips down, fingers dragging between your thighs with a kind of reverence. he cups you through your panties.

he groans.

“fuck. you’re soaked.”

your head slams against the lockers, breath catching. “you took too long.”

his mouth twitches, crooked and dizzying. he sinks to his knees.

“then let me catch up.”

he pushes your skirt up with both hands, palms skimming your thighs, firm and slow, like he needs to feel every inch. he presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh. then your left. mouth damp and warm, lingering. your panties are tugged aside, and the cold air hits you hard enough to make your legs tremble.

“this is what i was thinking about all practice,” he murmurs. “every time you jumped. every time you smiled.” he presses a kiss right beside your entrance “i thought about getting you alone like this.” your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging gently.

his tongue drags slow and flat from your entrance up to your clit, and you shudder, fingers tangling in his hair. he groans softly against you, like he missed this too, humming at the taste of you after practice, sun-warm, a little salty.  

he eats you like he’s starving and you’re the thing he’s been denying himself. deep, lazy strokes of his tongue leave you shaking, head spinning. his hands hold your thighs wide, thumbs digging into the backs of your legs.

when your hips roll forward against him, seeking more, you can’t help it. not when he sucks your clit between his lips, he just moans and presses closer, like he wants to melt into you. your head falls back, hitting the locker with a soft thud, and your moan spills out without warning.

you come hard, thighs clamping around his head, your body bucking against his mouth. he groans like it turns him on just as much, lapping you through it, tongue still working, slower now but no less intense. when he finally pulls back, his mouth is shiny, lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes dark and blown out.

you’re still catching your breath, one hand flat against the locker to steady yourself, the other tangled in his hair. you feel wrecked, skin damp, limbs loose, heart in your throat. but it’s not enough. not after the week of silence. not after the burn he left in you when he disappeared like nothing happened.

“get up,” you breathe.

he blinks up at you. plump lips parted. “what?”

“get up.”

you grab his collar, yank him up roughly until he’s chest-to-chest with you. then you kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth, the heat of his tongue sliding against yours, and you whimper into it. your legs are weak, skirt bunched high, panties shoved to the side, but your voice is steadier than it should be.

“you wanna win me back?” your mouth ghost his. “prove it. fuck me like you mean it.”

he groans softly, forehead pressing to yours.

and then his mouth finds your neck, hot kisses dragging over your skin as his hands find your ass, lifting you up in one motion. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as your back hits the lockers again with a soft clunk, your breath knocked from your chest as he presses closer, harder.

“you think i don’t mean it?” he mutters into your neck. “after the way you sound when you come for me?”

he grinds into you once, twice, letting the friction pull a helpless sound from your throat. you gasp, feeling the length of him through his shorts. his cock is already hard, straining against his shorts.

he pulls back just enough to fumble with his waistband, groaning when he finally frees himself. his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hot and already leaking.

“you sure?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“please,” you breathe.

he slides in with one slow, devastating thrust. you cry out, as he stretches you inch by inch. he holds still for a beat, letting you adjust. watching your body trembling with the effort of taking him all at once.

“fuck, i missed this,” he breathes. “missed how warm you are. how wet.”

you whimper as he bottoms out, your walls fluttering around him. holding still for a moment like he’s trying not to come already. your fingers grip his shoulders, digging into the damp fabric.

“shit,” he groans. “you’re perfect like this. fuck— every time.”

you whimper, clenching around him involuntarily. he groans low in his throat, pulling back just enough before snapping forward again, and the sharp sound of skin against skin echoes in the quiet room. your broken moan shudders out of you, forehead tipping forward against his shoulder again as he picks up pace, each thrust harder, deeper, needier, filling you completely.

“you were waiting for this, huh?” he breathes against your jaw. “acting all sweet on sion like you weren’t dripping for me.”

his rhythm starts slow, deep, punishing thrusts that make your body jolt, but it doesn’t stay gentle. it’s not that kind of night. not after the silence. not after the jealousy. not after your voice in his ear saying fuck me like you mean it.

his mouth finds your neck, biting lightly at the skin just below your ear, sucking until you squirm.

“say it,” he growls into your ear. “say you missed me.”

you whimper, biting your lip to muffle the sound. he thrusts harder.

“baby—”

“i missed you,” you choke out. “fuck, riku, i missed you—”

he groans, fucking you faster now, arms flexing under your thighs to hold you up as he fucks you into the locker, loud, wet, desperate sounds echoing off the tiles. he’s everywhere, inside you, against you, in the press of his chest to yours and the sting of your nails against his skin.

your second orgasm builds fast. faster than you expect. the angle, the stretch, the way his hand slips between you to rub your clit. circling it with quick, practiced pressure.

“you close?” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “wanna feel you come again.”

you nod, frantic. “please—don’t stop—” and he doesn’t.

you come again with a cry, hips jerking, walls clenching tight around him. he swears against your skin, voice cracking.

“fuck, fuck—i’m gonna—”

his thrusts lose rhythm. one, two more, and then he’s spilling inside you with a low moan, pressed deep, arms tight around your waist. his arms loosen just slightly, letting your legs down gently, but he stays inside you, bodies still tangled, breath still caught somewhere in the space between your mouths.

you blink up at him.

his forehead falls against your collarbone, body trembling slightly. you stay like that for a moment. wrapped around him. still full of him. the echo of him pulsing deep inside you, like your shape remembers him too well.

“i don’t know what this is,” he says, barely audible. “but it’s not nothing.”

“then don’t treat me like it is.”

[doietopia]

Why don’t you tag “nsfw, minors dni” on your smut? Likeeeee….. weird. Especially for someone scrolling riize x reader who doesn’t wanna see that. Predatory

okay. i usually don’t add a “nsfw / mdni” warning in the body of posts under 1k words, but i always tag smut clearly and my blog already has a label stating it’s mature content. i’m not super strict about tagging, although i’m open to adjusting stuff if someone lets me know respectfully. that being said, jumping to call someone “predatory” over this feels like a huge and unfair reach. thanks for the aggressive advice though.