#“...I was going to be with you forever...”

[throwmethroughawindow]

THIS IS SO GOOD I LOVE THE COMEDY AND SMUT FUUUUUCKKKKK

bucky seeing p0rn for the first time after the dating apps don’t work out👀

I'm deadddd, this was so vague so I just ran with it

The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes

pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.3k words

summary | when dating apps fail him and thirst traps become his downfall, bucky barnes finds himself spiraling down the internet’s most unholy rabbit hole—pornhub.

what starts as horrified research turns into full-blown obsession... especially when you, his sharp-tongued best friend, catch him red-handed and make very sure he lives out every filthy fantasy he’s been hiding.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, face sitting, breeding kink dirty talk, roleplay mentions, overstimulation, sexual humor, porn discovery, reader catches bucky watching porn, friends to very horny lovers, reader is a menace, teasing, flustered bucky, dom!bucky, subtle power play, consent is sexy, reader rides his face, doggy style, missionary? i hardly know her, mutual pining (solved by porn), no use of y/n, reader is a problem and bucky loves it, aftercare.

a/n | yeah, I definitely went overboard with this. I hope you freaks enjoy this

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀs��ᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You sipped your drink slowly, already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky glared into his beer like it had personally betrayed him.

“So,” Sam started, barely hiding his smirk. “How was the date with... what was her name again? Velvet? Vixen?”

“Vesper,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And she asked if I’d be into choking her with my vibranium arm before we even finished our drinks.”

You snorted into your glass.

Sam leaned forward, grinning. “I mean... was she wrong?”

“Sam.” Bucky’s glare was instant, but mostly performative. “I just met her.”

You glanced at him over your glass, amused. “What app did you find this one on?”

He groaned. “The same one you said was ‘normal.’”

“No one said it was normal,” you said, raising a brow. “I said it was better than Tinder. That’s not a high bar.”

Bucky leaned back with a sigh, looking thoroughly done with the entire 21st century. “I miss when people met at soda shops and asked each other about their families instead of sending... pictures of their genitals.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Aw, poor Grandpa’s overwhelmed by the sex-positive future.”

“You know what’s not positive?” Bucky muttered. “The fact that I Googled ‘how to get back out of the dating app’ and it sent me to a subreddit with people just as confused as I am.”

You exchanged a look with Sam, both of you clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Have you... considered other ways to meet people?” you asked, trying not to grin. “Like not being a digital hermit?”

Bucky looked between the two of you, deadpan. “I’m this close to living in the jungle again.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Bucky Barnes, the only man who can bench-press a car but can’t survive Hinge.”

Bucky slammed his glass down—not hard, but with enough force to earn a side-eye from the bartender.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “I’m trying to talk to these women like a normal person. I say, ‘Hi, how was your day?’ and one of them responds with—” he fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen, “‘Send me a pic of the arm, baby, I wanna see what’s gonna rearrange my insides.’”

You choked.

Sam full-on cackled, grabbing his chest. “Wait—rearrange her insides? Yo, that’s poetry.”

“She sent a GIF after that,” Bucky went on, staring at the phone like it might explode. “A GIF. Of a hydraulic press crushing a watermelon. What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna die,” you wheezed, nearly spilling your drink. “She wants you to hydraulically press her coochie, Barnes. Come on.”

“I thought she was making a smoothie metaphor!” Bucky snapped. “And then another one asked if I was into CNC. I said I didn’t know what that meant, and she said ‘perfect.’”

Sam wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god—Bucky, you’re gonna end up in someone’s kink diary.”

“She sent me a TikTok about edging,” Bucky added, horror slowly overtaking his face. “I thought it was about gardening.”

You completely lost it, head in your arms on the table. “Please stop, I can’t breathe.”

Bucky scowled. “I’m serious! She said she wanted to edge me for hours, and I said that sounded peaceful, like a nice walk—and she sent back forty-seven emojis.”

Sam gasped between wheezes. “You’re getting sexted in hieroglyphics and you think it’s a hike, I’m begging you to never leave the house again.”

Bucky looked between you both, betrayal written across his face. “I survived Hydra. I survived seventy years of brainwashing. But I will not survive being called ‘daddy’ by a woman who lists her job as ‘freelance foot model and energy witch.’”

“Wait—did she have the crystals?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

He nodded grimly. “She said my aura was ‘screaming trauma kink.’”

Sam actually slid off the stool, wheezing on the floor.

He shut the door behind him with a dull thunk, then stood there for a moment in the silence. The kind that pressed in around the edges when no one else was around. Just him, the creak of the old radiator, and the words “rearrange my insides” still echoing in his head like a ghost.

Bucky sighed, tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair, and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge as if disappointment wouldn’t be waiting there too. One beer left. Great.

He grabbed it, popped the cap off with his metal hand, and made his way over to his laptop.

It sat there on the table like a challenge.

He opened it. The familiar whir kicked on. A sigh slipped through his teeth.

“I fought in two wars,” he muttered to himself. “Survived Hydra. Took down a helicarrier. But this? This is the real enemy.”

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then he typed:

"What does CNC mean?"

Enter.

He leaned forward slowly, reading the top search result. Then the second.

His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth fell open just slightly.

"...Consensual non-consent?"

He clicked the link. Read further.

He leaned back in his chair like he’d just been shot.

“Why—why would anyone want that?” he muttered, scandalized. “That’s just... that’s just assault with permission.”

Still, he didn’t close the tab.

He opened a new one instead.

"Edging meaning (not gardening)"

More links. More acronyms. More trauma.

His face contorted in quiet horror as he scanned descriptions, diagrams, tips and techniques.

His beer sat forgotten on the table.

Eventually, he clicked a link that just said “beginner’s guide to porn kinks.” It was a blog. Fairly clinical. Until it wasn’t.

Then he clicked another.

And another.

Until eventually he wound up on a site with thumbnails—little videos with previews. Titles he didn’t fully understand.

He stared at one.

A girl, on her knees, mouth open, eyes wide.

Title: “Training My Pretty Submissive Brat”

He blinked. Then hovered. Clicked.

The video loaded.

He sat still, very still, as it started playing.

And then...

“What the hell—” he whispered.

The guy was talking. Dirty. Commanding.

The girl was moaning like someone had just whispered state secrets in her ear. She was calling him sir. Begging. Crying out when he—

Bucky slammed the spacebar to pause the video, hand clenched on the table.

He stood. Paced.

‘I shouldn’t be watching this,’ he thought, running his hand through his hair. ‘This is wrong. This is not—that’s not—’

He looked back at the screen.

Unpaused.

A few seconds passed.

He sat again.

Watched. Silent. Rigid.

His jaw clenched. His eyes darted across the screen like he was scanning enemy movement.

Then his hand—his metal hand—tapped the edge of the keyboard.

Paused again.

His chest rose and fell.

“I mean… he’s not hurting her,” he thought. “She’s asking for it. She likes it.”

Beat.

“And she’s loud.”

He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the paused screen like it had insulted him personally.

Then he muttered, “Is that what people want now?”

He reopened the search bar.

"How to talk dirty in bed"

The search results hit him like a grenade.

By the third article, his ears were red. His fingers hovered over the trackpad like they didn’t know whether to scroll or just snap the whole laptop in half.

He clicked another video.

This one was slower. More intimate.

The woman straddled the guy’s lap, whispering in his ear. He growled something back, then pushed her down on the bed—

Bucky’s breath caught.

He didn’t even notice his hand moving under the table at first.

Didn’t notice the low groan that slipped from his throat when the man on screen said, “Good girl—just like that.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Mouth dry.

He swallowed hard.

“…I need another beer.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t stop watching.

Because something in him had been starved for this. For contact. For control. For someone wanting him, even in fantasy.

The next video autoplayed before he could stop it.

Another couple. This time, softer lighting. Moaning, whispered praise. Her back arched under his touch as he moved slow, deliberate, like every second was sacred.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He sat motionless for a full minute.

Then his hand drifted down.

Hesitant. Awkward.

He undid the button of his jeans, fingers brushing over the bulge in his briefs. The contact was enough to make his breath stutter.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

He shifted in his seat, pushed his jeans down just enough, and curled his hand around himself. Warm skin against cool air. His metal hand clenched uselessly on the table as the other moved slowly, uncertain.

The sounds from the video—soft, rhythmic, intimate—filled the room.

And Bucky gave in.

His eyes didn’t close. He watched—studied—the way the man touched her, held her, spoke to her like she was something precious and filthy all at once.

“Such a good girl,” the man murmured. “Taking all of me. Just like that.”

Bucky bit down on a groan, his hand moving faster now, hips twitching in his seat.

He imagined saying those words.

And then—

He imagined you.

Your voice, sharp and sarcastic, going breathy and soft when he touched you. Your legs around his waist. Your fingers in his hair. Your mouth whispering his name like it meant something.

And that thought—you, under him, with him—wrecked him.

He jerked harder, gritting his teeth, chest rising fast.

A low moan slipped out. Sharp. Uncontrolled.

His head fell back, eyes clenched shut as heat coiled in his gut. His body trembled.

One more stroke—

And he came.

Hard.

He let out a strangled noise, hips lifting off the couch, body seizing as white-hot pleasure shot through him. His hand slowed, milked every last pulse, until the aftershocks faded and all that was left was—

Silence. Reality. Shame.

His breath was harsh in his ears.

The screen was still playing.

The woman moaned, laughing, pulling the man closer.

Bucky stared. Then looked down.

At himself. At the mess.

At the way his hand was still wrapped around his cock, softening now, shame creeping in like a slow burn.

He let go like he’d been scalded.

The aftershocks hadn’t even faded before the guilt hit—cold and immediate.

Not from what he’d watched.

Not even from what he’d done.

But from who he’d seen in his mind while he did it.

You.

You, laughing beside him at the bar. You, rolling your eyes at his brooding. You, calling him “grandpa” and meaning it with affection.

You—beneath him, moaning, touching, giving yourself to him in the fantasy that had just ripped through his body.

His stomach twisted.

He yanked his pants back up, hands clumsy, face burning not with arousal now—but with shame.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pacing, one hand raking through his hair, the other clenching into a fist. “Fuck—what the hell’s wrong with me?”

You were his friend.

You were real.

And he’d just used the idea of you like… like some porn star on a screen.

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t look at the laptop. Couldn’t look at himself. He felt dirty—not because he’d touched himself, but because it felt like a betrayal. A violation of something pure.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

That hadn’t been just need.

That had been you.

And now he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to look you in the eye again.

A Few Weeks Later

There was a knock at the door.

Three knocks, then a pause.

Then two more.

“Come on, Barnes,” your voice called through the door. “I brought sacrificial offerings.”

Bucky hesitated.

He sat in the dark, boots still on, bruised knuckles resting against his knees. His hoodie clung to him, sweat-damp and rumpled, his mind still halfway in the mission, halfway in the same loop it had been stuck in for weeks.

But it was you.

He got up slowly and opened the door.

You stood there with a paper bag in one hand, a six-pack in the other, grinning like you had zero intention of leaving whether he wanted you to or not.

“You gonna let me in or should I start monologuing like a Bond villain?”

He stepped aside without a word.

You strolled in like you owned the place, already heading to the kitchen with practiced ease.

“Brought dumplings, noodles, and enough alcohol to bleach the taste of both from your soul,” you said, setting things down. “You looked like someone clubbed you with your own metal arm last mission, so—figured I’d play nurse. A sexy, underqualified nurse with boundary issues.”

Bucky closed the door quietly behind you.

“You’re not a nurse,” he muttered.

“Not with that attitude.”

You popped the beers open, handed him one, then flopped onto his couch like you lived there. Legs kicked up, food containers opened without ceremony, your usual grin in place.

He stood a few feet away, beer untouched in his hand.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks—not really. He’d ducked every casual run-in, bailed on team movie nights, even ghosted your texts under the excuse of "needing space." He figured you noticed.

You just hadn’t said anything.

Until now.

You eyed him, casually, between bites. “You gonna sit down or do I need to pull you onto the couch like a Victorian housewife?”

He sat. Slowly. Farther away than usual.

You noticed. Of course you did. But you didn’t call him on it.

Not yet.

Instead, you nudged a container toward him and said, “Eat, soldier. You look like a sad, haunted lumberjack.”

And still—he didn’t say a word.

Because all he could think about, sitting beside you again after a month of silence, was the way your mouth had looked in that fantasy.

The way your voice had sounded moaning his name.

The way he’d used the memory of your real, friendly, teasing self to—

He swallowed thickly.

You kept eating, casual, sharp, familiar.

Exactly how he remembered. Exactly what made it so much worse.

You wiped your fingers on a napkin, leaned back, and gave him a look.

“Alright. You look like you’re two seconds from overthinking yourself into an early grave. Movie time. Something with violence or explosions—your love language.”

Before he could protest, you were already standing and heading toward his desk.

“Wait—” he said, starting to rise, but too slow.

You flipped open his laptop. “Let’s see what Grandpa Barnes has in his—”

“Ah—ahh—yes, please—!”

The moaning hit like a tactical nuke.

You froze.

So did he.

Both of you staring wide-eyed at the screen as the speakers screamed filth into the otherwise silent apartment.

Bucky moved fast.

Too fast.

He lunged over the couch, hand outstretched like he was taking enemy fire.

You dodged.

Smooth, practiced. Years of training paying off.

“No—” he barked, face already crimson, “Please—don’t—!”

“Oh my god—” you laughed, holding the laptop just out of reach. “Is this—is this Pornhub? Are you seriously—you are! You’ve been watching porn, you absolute degenerate.”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, mortified.

“Please give me the laptop,” he said, voice low, wounded, like you were holding a hostage.

But you were already clicking the spacebar, pausing the video mid-thrust.

“Oooh,” you said, squinting at the tab title. “‘Brat tamer destroys needy sub’? This is what you’re into?” You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Bucky.”

“Stop,” he muttered, pacing now, hands on his hips. “I was—researching.”

“Researching what? The anatomy of a throatfuck?” you said, howling with laughter. “Brat tamer—are you even on Tumblr, old man?”

He looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him.

“Do you know how much I regret every decision that led to this moment?”

You hugged the laptop to your chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this. The secrets. The shame. The kinks.”

“Give. It. Back.”

“Nope. Not until we find out if you’ve got a whole ‘rough dom Bucky’ fantasy folder stashed somewhere. You into praise? Degradation? Impact play? Knife play?”

He growled.

Actually growled.

And for half a second, it stopped being funny.

Because the way his eyes locked on you?

That wasn’t embarrassment anymore.

That was heat. Low. Dangerous.

You grinned, too drunk on the chaos to stop.

“Come on, Barnes,” you said, laptop still clutched like a prize. “Own it. You like a little bratty backtalk? You want someone to whimper please while you tell her she’s being a bad girl?”

He was still pacing, but slower now. Controlled. Coiled.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy poking the bear.

“Is that what you’re into?” you teased, stepping back. “All that repressed soldier shit finally coming out in dirty little commands and throat grips?”

His eyes met yours. Still embarrassed, sure. But behind it? Something sharper. Something hungry.

“Y’know,” you added, tone light, teasing, “I always pegged you as more of a soft dom. Gentle hands. Lots of praise. But this? This is dark. Kinda filthy. Kinda hot.”

That did it. He moved.

Fast.

Faster than he should’ve.

One second, you were smirking with the laptop; the next, it was out of your hands, clattering to the couch. You were against the wall, chest rising, his body a breath away from yours.

His hand planted next to your head.

His voice low. Controlled.

“Enough.”

You stared at him. The air was suddenly thick. Your heart thudded once, hard.

“You think this is a joke?” he asked, eyes burning into you.

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“You think I don’t know you’ve been toying with me since the moment you walked in?”

That teasing smile faltered—just a little.

“You keep pushing,” he murmured, leaning in, breath brushing your jaw. “You laugh, you flirt, you play. But you don’t realize... I’ve thought about you. In ways I shouldn’t.”

You swallowed.

Hard.

“I know what I watched,” he went on, voice rough, low, dangerous. “I know who I imagined.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

“You want to see what I’m into?”

You blinked up at him—cornered, caged—but not afraid.

Not even close. Your smile crept back, slower this time. Calculated.

“Oh,” you murmured, tone shifting. “You imagined me?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

His silence said everything.

You pushed your palms slowly against his chest, feeling the way his body tensed under your touch. Solid. Barely held together.

You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear.

“So tell me,” you whispered, voice low and coaxing. “If you’ve already pictured it, Barnes... what did I look like?”

He exhaled harshly through his nose.

You didn’t stop.

“What was I doing?” you went on, dragging your fingers down the curve of his chest. “Was I on my knees? Bent over? Did I ride you while you begged for it?”

A choked sound left him—more breath than voice.

You smiled against his neck. “Or do you want to tell me what you were doing to me?”

His hands twitched at his sides.

You could feel it—the war inside him. Guilt, hunger, restraint. And under all of it, the ache.

“Go on, James,” you whispered, using his real name like a secret. “Tell me. What do you like?”

His head dropped forward, forehead nearly touching yours.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—

“I want you on top,” he breathed, voice ragged. “I want you to sit on my face and ride it until your legs give out.”

Your eyes fluttered closed for half a second.

That was not the answer you expected first.

His voice deepened, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“I want you on your knees, begging. I want to fuck you from behind so deep you forget your own name. I want to feel you come around me and not stop. I want to stay inside you.”

His breath hitched. His hands were fisting at his sides.

“And when I’m done, when you can’t even move anymore—I want to come in you and keep coming until you’re full of me. Until it’s dripping out of you.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively.

Your nails curled tighter into his chest.

And your voice, still low, still teasing—but now breathy, just slightly—said:

“Damn, Barnes. That’s a whole lot of filth for someone who didn’t even know what edging was last month.”

Your last teasing whisper hadn’t even left your lips before Bucky moved.

One second you were pinned between him and the wall, and the next, his hands were on your hips, gripping tight. Then the ground disappeared beneath your feet.

You gasped as he lifted you—easily, effortlessly—hauling you against his chest like you weighed nothing.

“Jesus, Barnes—” you started, but his mouth was already on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim.

Hot, rough, needy—his lips crashed into yours with the force of every filthy thought, every sleepless night, every moment he’d spent imagining your mouth, your body, your sound. His teeth scraped your bottom lip. His tongue pushed past yours. There was no hesitation. Just heat.

You moaned into it, hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as he carried you down the hall.

Your back hit the wall once, then the doorframe, and then—

The bed.

He dropped you onto it like a man starved for touch. The mattress creaked beneath you, sheets rumpled and cool against your skin as you propped yourself up on your elbows, breathless and grinning.

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, looking at you like you were his undoing.

You tilted your head, voice low and mocking.

“Is this the part where you get all commanding, Sergeant? Or are you gonna make me do the work?”

His jaw clenched. He stepped forward. Then dropped his weight onto the bed, climbing over you, hands already at your thighs, dragging you down the sheets toward him.

“I told you not to push,” he growled.

You smiled, voice syrup-sweet.

“And I told you I liked pushing.”

His hands slipped under your shirt, yanking it over your head in one smooth motion. Your bra was next, tossed aside without ceremony. He ducked down immediately, mouth hot against your collarbone, then lower—kissing, biting, devouring.

You gasped, head falling back as his mouth found your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked it between his lips, hard.

And still—you teased.

“Careful, Barnes. Gonna make a mess before you even get inside me.”

He looked up at you.

Eyes wild, hungry, dark.

And then he dragged your jeans down—fast, rough, like he didn’t have the patience for anything else—and crawled up between your legs, pressing his body to yours until there was nothing between you anymore.

“Then shut up,” he growled, grinding against you, his cock thick and hard through his jeans.

“Make me,” you whispered, pulling him down by the collar.

And he did.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, neck, breasts, stomach—kissing, biting, groaning like he couldn’t get enough, like he didn’t know where to start because he wanted all of you.

Then he pulled back, breathing hard, eyes raking over your body like a man finally allowed to look.

“Get up,” he rasped, voice dark and thick with want.

You blinked up at him, dazed and grinning. “What?”

He sat back on his heels, hands gripping your thighs.

“I said get up,” he repeated. “I want you on my face.”

Your breath caught.

Dead serious.

You didn’t question it. Didn’t tease.

Instead, your lips curved into a slow smile as you shifted, sitting up, climbing over him with fluid, easy confidence.

“As you wish, Sergeant.”

That name hit him like a punch to the chest.

His hands guided you—firm, reverent, needy—until your knees were braced on either side of his head, your body hovering just above his lips.

He looked up at you like a man who’d prayed for this moment.

And then?

He pulled you down.

No hesitation.

Just mouth.

Hot, wet, desperate—he groaned the second he tasted you, tongue already lapping through your folds, lips sealing around your clit like he was starving.

Your head tipped back with a sharp gasp, fingers flying into his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth.

“Fuck—Bucky—”

He growled in response, hands gripping your ass, holding you down, keeping you there.

You rocked against him instinctively, gasping as his tongue flicked and circled, licked and sucked. He was moaning into you, mumbling things you couldn’t even make out—except for one word that hit clear, over and over:

“Mine.”

You looked down at him, eyes wild, mouth open.

His eyes met yours.

Dark. Glazed. Possessed.

You could see the man he used to be—the soldier, the weapon—but right now?

Right now he was just yours.

And you were his.

You couldn’t stop moving.

Couldn’t stop grinding against his mouth, against his tongue, the pleasure slamming through you in waves, harder and sharper with every flick, every suck.

Bucky moaned beneath you, the sound filthy, shameless, needy—like your taste was saving him from something dark and deep and buried.

His hands held you tighter, guiding your hips as you rocked against his mouth, your thighs trembling around his head.

“Fuck—fuck—” you gasped, one hand gripping the headboard, the other buried in his thick, messy hair. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t.

If anything, he doubled down—lips sealing tighter, tongue working you harder, sloppier, his groans vibrating against your clit like a live wire.

He wanted this.

He wanted to suffocate on you, drown in you.

And you gave it to him.

Because when you looked down, saw those glassy, desperate blue eyes staring up at you, pleading for more, there was no holding back.

The coil snapped.

Your whole body locked as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and searing, your hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth.

“Bucky—” you cried, voice cracking, thighs clamping around his head as you came—hard.

He didn’t let go.

He held you there, arms wrapped around your thighs, mouth still working you through it, licking and sucking every shudder, every twitch, like it was a gift.

You collapsed forward, one hand braced on the headboard behind his head, the other still clutching his hair, your body wrecked, shaking, soaked.

And when you finally opened your eyes—chest heaving, heart pounding—you looked down at him.

His lips were wet, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with hunger.

He looked like he could live there. Like he’d happily die there.

And all he said, voice hoarse and full of worship:

“You taste like heaven.”

You were still trembling when he sat up behind you, hands stroking your thighs, your hips, slow and reverent like he needed to remember the feel of you.

“You good?” he rasped, voice wrecked from moaning into you.

You nodded, barely catching your breath, lips curving into a slow smile.

“Still waiting for that doggystyle fantasy to come true, Sergeant.”

That was all it took.

He growled low in his throat, grabbing your hips, flipping you effortlessly onto your stomach. Before you could even laugh, his hands slid under your body and lifted your hips high, chest pressed down into the mattress.

You moaned, the stretch in your spine perfect, delicious.

He leaned over you, his breath hot at your ear.

“This how you want it?”

You arched your back, ass pushing against him. “This is how you want it.”

He growled again—low, deep, possessive.

“Exactly how I want it.”

Then you felt him—his cock, thick and hot, dragging through your soaked folds, the head catching on your entrance.

He didn’t push in yet.

Just rubbed, slow, deliberate, teasing.

You whimpered, tried to push back.

He gripped your hips tighter.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “You’re gonna feel all of it.”

Then—he pushed in.

Slow at first, but deep, the stretch burning in the best way as he filled you, inch by thick, pulsing inch.

“Fuck—” you moaned, hands clutching the sheets as he bottomed out.

He held still once he was fully inside.

Like he was savoring it.

Like this—being buried in you, your body wrapped tight around his—was what he’d been starving for.

Then he moved.

Pulled out halfway.

And slammed back in.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the sheets as he started thrusting, each snap of his hips harder, deeper, rougher than the last.

His hands gripped your waist like you were his anchor.

His rhythm brutal, relentless.

He fucked you like he meant it—like he’d dreamed of this for weeks, like every fantasy had led to this.

You were gasping, moaning, clawing at the bed.

“Look at you,” he panted behind you. “So fucking tight—taking me so good.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

And when his hand snaked around to rub your clit, you screamed his name.

He didn’t let up.

Just pounded into you harder, faster, until the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, filthy and loud and perfect.

He was so deep in you.

Deeper than anyone had ever been—physically, yes, but also fully. Like this was where he belonged. Like this was where you belonged.

His hips rolled, the angle perfect, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you with every rough, claiming thrust.

And his voice—low, wrecked, filthy—poured right into your ear.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he growled. “You like being on your knees for me?”

You whimpered, nodding, voice breathless.

“Yes, Bucky—fuck—so much.”

He leaned over you, chest flush to your back, still moving inside you—slow now, torturously deep, like he wanted to feel every pulse of you clenching around him.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “My good girl. So fuckin’ wet for me. You were dripping on my face—you know that?”

You moaned, your body shaking, ass pushing back into him.

“I saw you,” he said, his rhythm stuttering just to drag the next thrust out longer. “When I told you to sit on my face? You didn’t even hesitate. You just gave it to me.”

You gasped as his hand slid down your back, curving over your ass, squeezing.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you like this,” he went on. “Taking every inch like a good little cocksleeve. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

You shuddered, squeezing around him so tight he groaned.

“Yes,” you panted, shameless. “Fuck, Bucky—fill me up—please—I want it.”

He slammed into you harder, rhythm picking up again, fast and unforgiving.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s what I like. You begging. You dripping. You mine.”

You cried out, bracing yourself against the mattress as he drove into you faster now, hand slipping beneath to rub your clit again.

“Say it,” he hissed. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choked. “You, Bucky—I’m yours.”

He groaned deep in his throat, thrusts faltering for a beat like the words knocked something loose in him.

Then he grabbed your hair, gently but firm, pulling you up just enough to kiss your neck—bite it—then whisper:

“When I come, I’m gonna stay inside you. Gonna keep you full for hours. Walk around dripping with me.”

You whined, thighs shaking, the pressure building again—faster, sharper.

“Bucky—please—”

His voice was a growl, low and thick with promise.

“Come for me.”

And you did.

Hard.

Your whole body clenched around him, your scream muffled by the sheets as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and messy, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Your moan was still echoing when he grabbed your waist, pulling you back—up, off the bed, into his lap.

You barely had time to gasp before you were straddling him, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your neck, and his cock still inside you.

“Not done,” he growled, arms locking around your waist. “Not until I come in you.”

Then he thrust up into you—hard, deep, devastating.

You cried out, your body already overstimulated, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you all over again. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, spreading your thighs wider, keeping you open for him as he pounded up from beneath you with bruising rhythm.

“Fuck—Bucky—” you whimpered, hands flying back to clutch at his hair, his shoulder, anything.

He was relentless.

Grunting with each thrust, hips snapping up into you, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “How deep I am? How you’re still so fuckin’ tight?”

You nodded, moaning, body jerking with every thrust.

“You’re gonna take it,” he hissed. “Every drop. I’m not pullin’ out—you hear me? I’m comin’ inside you.”

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Please—Bucky—fill me up—”

He groaned, deeper than before, thrusts losing rhythm, his grip bruising on your hips as his body started to shake.

“Fuckfuckfuck—gonna come—”

One last thrust—brutal, final—and he buried himself in you, arms tightening, head thrown back as he came hard, deep inside you.

You felt it.

Hot.

Thick.

Flooding you as he groaned your name, holding you tight in his lap, still pulsing inside you.

And he didn’t let go.

Didn’t move.

Just stayed there—buried—chest rising against your back, his breath warm at your neck, whispering,

“You’re mine.”

You collapsed forward onto the bed, body still twitching with aftershocks, breath ragged and uneven. Bucky followed, slow and heavy, staying close, still inside you for a moment longer like he couldn’t stand to let you go just yet.

Eventually, he pulled out with a soft groan.

You whimpered at the loss, hips squirming on instinct.

He stayed behind you for a second, hovering—eyes locked on the way his release slowly dripped out of you, sliding between your thighs and onto the sheets.

You could feel him watching.

You tilted your head back with a lazy grin. “If you’re gonna stare like that, at least have the decency to offer a towel.”

He huffed a rough laugh—half-exhausted, half-stunned. “Sorry. Just... didn’t wanna forget what that looks like.”

You stretched like a cat, all smug satisfaction and afterglow. “Yeah, well. Take a picture next time, Barnes.”

He leaned down, kissed your shoulder—soft, slow, grateful—then flopped beside you, dragging the sheet up over your tangled bodies.

His arm wrapped around your waist, warm and heavy.

Neither of you spoke for a minute.

Just the sound of your breathing slowing. Your bodies cooling.

Then he murmured, voice quiet against your skin, “You’re in my head now.”

You smiled, eyes drifting shut.

“Good,” you whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You lay there, tangled together in the warm quiet, your body still thrumming, skin slick and flushed. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his breath slow against the back of your neck, lips occasionally brushing your shoulder like he wasn’t even conscious of doing it.

You grinned.

Couldn’t help it.

“So…” you said, voice casual. “How long you been jerking off to me, Barnes?”

He froze.

You felt the heat bloom off him before he even said a word.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widened. “What? It’s a fair question. Based on how fast you devoured me, I’m guessing… at least a month?”

He groaned into your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m right,” you countered. “Don’t think I didn’t catch the way you almost cried when I said ‘as you wish, Sergeant.’ You’ve been unwell.”

He muttered something unintelligible and buried his face in your neck.

You rolled to face him, propped on one elbow, smirking as you traced a line down his chest.

“So, tell me,” you purred. “Now that you’ve got a taste... what do you want to do to me next time?”

His throat bobbed.

You waited.

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“Oh, you know.” Your nails lightly scratched his ribs. “Come on, be brave. Tell me.”

He grumbled. “You’re gonna use it against me.”

“Correct,” you said sweetly. “Now spill.”

He exhaled slowly, then muttered:

“...Sixty-nine.”

You grinned. “Classic. What else?”

He covered his eyes with one hand. “Breeding.”

Your eyebrows lifted, delight flashing in your eyes. “Oh? Really leaned into the ‘stuff me full, Sarge’ angle, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t, actually,” you laughed, leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. “Anything else you wanna act out, Barnes? Any other dirty little fantasies you been keeping locked up?”

He hesitated.

Longer this time.

Then—reluctantly, quietly:

“...Roleplay.”

You blinked.

Then broke into a slow, wicked grin. “Okay, now this I need to hear.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, trying to roll away. “That’s enough honesty for one night—”

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, pinning him down with a devilish smile. “Tell me if I need to show up next time in a pencil skirt and glasses, or if I should wear that SHIELD catsuit and call you ‘Sir.’”

His eyes snapped open.

And you knew.

You gasped. “Oh my god. You have a thing for the whole ‘secret agent mission gone sideways’ scenario, don’t you?”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Please stop.”

“You want me to cuff you to a chair and interrogate you,” you went on gleefully. “Or, wait—no—you want to interrogate me.”

“I’m begging.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You want me in red lipstick and a wiretap, don’t you?”

“I’m never telling you anything again.”

You leaned down, lips brushing his.

“I’m gonna make all your little roleplay dreams come true,” you whispered.

“Kill me now,” he muttered.

“Nope. Gotta save your energy. You’re not done with me yet.”

You grinned, smug and sated, curling down against his chest, eyes closing as his arm wrapped around you again.

And beneath your cheek, you felt him smile.

[pellucid-constellations]

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it. 

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful. 

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified. 

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left. 

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond. 

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much. 

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this. 

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now. 

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.” 

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.” 

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent. 

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection. 

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him. 

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?” 

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly. 

Something dropped in your gut. 

“It’s good, sweetheart.” 

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end. 

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it. 

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not. 

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched. 

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much. 

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.” 

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them. 

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?” 

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door. 

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.” 

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth. 

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.” 

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. 

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation. 

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…” 

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache. 

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.” 

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle. 

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.” 

“But I didn’t—” 

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze. 

A tick of silence passed. 

“You heard me.” 

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—” 

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—” 

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.” 

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained. 

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.” 

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.” 

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat. 

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability. 

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.” 

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—” 

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted. 

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.” 

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.” 

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.” 

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him. 

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

UPDATE !!! PROLOGUE OUT NOW 🤑

also masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Poppy~!! I saw that you're taking requests now and I wanted to know, if reader had to pretend to be the spouse of a 141 member for a brief undercover mission, how do you think that would go? 🤭 I'm thinking maybe someone has a love they think is unrequited until they discover it isn't, someone else was indifferent to the act but ended up enjoying the scenario too much, another one maybe was just waiting for a chance to pin you down and this is a prime opportunity, and maybe someone else was already involved in a secret relationship and now they're "married", so it works out perfectly? Idk idk, this is my first time requesting anything from you and I am just so excited to see where you would take this idea! Thank you so much for your time, love ya!! 💖

Anon, I know you asked for this forever ago, but I never forgot about it! I certainly went the naughty route with this one. I hope that's okay! These men are thirsty, and they're salivating over the opportunity to be flirty and forward. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!fem!reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, brief alcohol use, flirting, vaginal fingering, piv penetration, sex club, fake relationships, mutual pining, dirty talk, voyeurism

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You clean up nice.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

Captain Price’s smile is sultry and glowing, his gaze hungrily devouring every inch of you. This is a mission. This man is your superior. And yet he’s always John to you. Your John. The man you love and secretly meet when others aren’t around.

Over his shoulder the setting sun bathes the ocean in a beautiful orange, almost as if the water is on fire. The two of you linger on a balcony overlooking the ocean, pretending that the two of you are married and in simple conversation. Within is a party. Live music. An open bar with flowing liquor. Waiters with hor d'oeuvres.

Malta is beautiful. It might be summer, but the air is surprisingly cool. The salty breeze sticks to your skin. John reaches out, brushes away a few salty flecks with the pad of his thumb. He brings it to his mouth, moaning softly.

“Be professional,” you scold with a teasing smile.

“I am,” he croons. “To them, you’re my wife.” He leans in, brushing his lips along your ear. “And my wife deserves attention.”

As his lips land on your throat, licking up the bit of wayward ocean salt, John’s hand delicately grasps your ass, squeezing.

“We have a job to do,” you murmur, grasping his arm, giving him more of your throat.

“We have the whole week. Target isn’t going anywhere. Not when he’s the honored guest.”

“Champagne?”

John draws back, shifting his stance to block your view of the waiter. “Thanks, mate,” grins John, snagging two flutes. He offers you one.

“This isn’t a vacation,” you chide, taking the flute. The bubbly liquid bursts and fizzes on your tongue.

“We’re in Malta. Staying in a castle. And I get to spend the week referring to you as my wife.” John takes your hand, his thumb brushing over the gold band on your finger. “Think I like this.”

“You think?”

John glances up, and your heart stops. “Would you like that? Wearing a band that marks you as mine?”

“John,” you breathe.

“Say yes,” he murmurs. “And we’ll go back to the room right now.”

“You’d risk the mission just to fuck me?”

“No question, love.”

John’s hand descends again, cupping your ass, squeezing roughly. “If you don’t want to go back to the room and fuck—”

“Oh, stop,” you giggle, smacking his chest.

“—then how about we have a dance.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Your cheeks flame as you turn away from the faces in the room.

It’s not that any of them are really looking at you, or where Johnny’s hand is, or what he’s doing with his fingers. Nearly everyone else in the room is doing something lecherous—something dirty. Johnny is simply fitting in, pushing the agenda, making those around him believe that he’s fingering his wife and not his fucking teammate.

“You’re a fucking lucky man.”

You roll your eyes, and then stifle a moan as Soap pinches your clit between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, aye,” croons Johnny, nipping your earlobe. “The luckiest.”

Burying your face in Soap’s neck, your breathing quickens, nails digging into his shoulder. A little moan escapes you, but it’s eclipsed by others who are much louder.

This wasn’t part of the mission. The mission was to attend this gathering, for Soap to be nothing more than a businessman seeking a lucrative deal, and you nothing more than his pretty arm candy. What wasn’t supposed to happen was a fucking orgy.

The target in question is sitting in a lounge chair next to Johnny, his mistress in his lap, legs spread open so the whole room can see her bouncing on his cock. They aren’t the only ones engaged in sexual activity. Most of the room is doing something, or they’re watching.

Noticing the shift, Johnny had dragged you into his lap, situating you so that he could easily finger-fuck you but no one would be receiving a show. For that, you’re thankful, but fuck, you weren’t expecting this, let alone enjoying it as much as you are.

With perfect precision, Soap rocks two fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit in tandem with his movements. The orgasm sprouts, blooms, explodes in color. You bite down on Soap’s shoulder to muffle the cry.

“She’s a lovely thing,” the target groans, and the blissful mood dissipates.

“Careful,” growls Soap. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

You’re fake wife, you mentally correct. But you smile, preening with the way Soap stakes a claim.

Johnny’s hand starts up again, and you shiver.

“You’re doing so well, lass,” he whispers against your ear. “So fucking tight.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and Soap groans.

With his other hand, Johnny tugs at the front of his pants, opening the fly. Reaching down, you slip your hand underneath, grasping his cock. Johnny’s eyelids flutter, and when he looks at you, you understand the silent communication. Like everyone else in this room, the two of you will be expected to fuck.

Better him than a stranger.

Johnny helps, bringing you into his lap as your stroke him to hardness. This will never leave this room. You will never mention this to the rest of the team. As you sink down on him, Soap adjusts your dress, covering what’s happening beneath. You grasp the back of his neck, using it as leverage to come down on him as he pumps up into you.

You press your forehead against his, exchanging breaths.

“Making a proper wife of you,” he teases.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you smile.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“We look good together.”

Kyle’s comment catches you off-guard. “What?” you laugh, pressing your hand to your fluttering stomach.

He saunters up beside you, lowering his head in an intimate familiarity. “Captain made the right call. Putting us together.”

You giggle, lightly pushing him with a carefully placed hand to the middle of his chest. “It’s pretend, Kyle. We’re bugging the place and then we’re leaving.”

“We can have a bit of fun,” he smiles, tapping the tip of your nose. “We’re married.”

His teasing and playful smile is warming something low in your belly. You’ve always had a soft spot for Garrick, but you’ve never pushed it any further than some light teasing.

“Fake married, sergeant.”

Kyle drapes his arm around your back and over your hip, pulling you in close. “Need to act like we love each other.” Slowly, and with such affection your heart skips a beat, Kyle presses his lips to your throat.

You twist out of his grasp, flustered and overwhelmed by the attention. But Kyle is all smiles, reaching for you again as the two of you walk up to the house. An “Open House” sign with an array of balloons is out front. Several groups of couples and realtors in suits linger out front chatting about the lawn. The house itself is large, bordering on mansion.

But you and Kyle aren’t there to house shop.

This home is owned by a wealthy businessman. He used to make his money on real estate, but now he’s shifted into drugs and weaponry. More lucrative. Under the table. This home is just one of many targets. The goal is to bug it.

There might be a “for sale” sign out front, but it’s for show. The property already has a buyer. This is just to make it look legit.

“Welcome. I’m Heather.”

Heather, the realtor, extends her hand. Kyle accepts it, keeping his other hand attached to your lower back.

“It’s a beautiful home,” replies Kyle. “Eager for a look.”

Heather beams. “It really is stunning, isn’t it?”

“How big are the bedrooms?” asks Kyle. “Plan on growing our family. Space is important.”

“You’ll love the master. Lots of room,” replies Heather, gesturing toward the open front door. “The rest of the bedrooms have a good range in size to be used as bedrooms for children. Office space. A nursery.”

“Hear that, love,” smiles Kyle. “Lots of options.”

“Sounds like we need to take a look,” you say with an easy smile, leaning into Kyle’s arm.

“Grab a refreshment and explore. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thank you,” nods Kyle, urging you further into the house.

When the two of you are out of earshot, you pinch his arm. “You’re having far too much fun.”

Kyle chuckles. “Don’t like the idea of me knocking you up?”

“Kyle,” you hiss, smacking his arm.

“They’d be cute little buggers.”

You smack him again.

“Could start now.”

You playfully dart away. “We have a house to bug,” you hiss.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“He likes a show.”

“I know,” you murmur, pressing closer to Simon’s chest.

He’s being a gentleman about the whole fucking thing, and for that, you’re thankful, but neither of you expected this when you agreed.

“Won’t come otherwise. Need him alone.”

You sigh, tapping your forehead against Simon’s bare chest repeatedly. “Why did he have to be a voyeur.” Simon’s rumbling chuckle is soothing.

He runs his hands up and down your back. “Promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Gentleness isn’t what I’m worried about,” you murmur. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Simon’s arms tighten around you, his tone dropping to a teasing tone. “Think I won’t make you come?”

You bark a laugh, and then stifle it by smothering your face into his chest. “You’re not funny.”

“It’s only for a bit.” Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you back so he can gaze into your eyes. “All they know is that we’re married and we like it when people watch. Which is why the target is interested. We need him to watch us. To get comfortable. Let his guard down. The team will swoop in and take care of the rest.”

You inhale deeply. “I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

You nod, and Simon draws your mouth to his. It’s tender. Soft. A ghost of a touch. You open for him, and Simon dives in, tongue meeting tongue. You grow dizzy. Light-headed. When he breaks the kiss, you almost stumble.

Simon smirks. “You can pretend that you like me.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

You grasp his hand, pushing back the black curtain, revealing the dimly lit room. The edges of the room are all in shadow, but in the center, where the lone light illuminates, is an elevated platform. It’s covered in plush black velvet and pillows. An altar. You lead Simon to it, swaying your hips in a slow dance.

Just as you turn toward Simon, you glimpse the target seated in the corner. Most of his face is obscured, but you recognize the shape. If Simon notices him, he doesn’t show it. His attention is fully on you, his dark eyes burning behind the half-skull mask. You have a matching one, also in black to pair with the lace bralette and panties.

Simon’s hands are everywhere, grasping, touching. His lips find yours, and you sink into him, trying to focus only on him. That is the point after all, to pretend that he’s your husband, that you’re here for him to fuck you in front of others.

And that’s exactly what he does.

The intensity in which Simon puts you on your back, strokes your legs, and opens you wide is more than a job. He is worshiping you, lips traversing over every inch, hands touching everything. You groan and gasp, arching into his embrace, crying out when his tongue finds your sensitive clit.

You don’t care that there are others in the room. That you’re being watched. It’s nice, actually, to be desired in both ways.

“Taste so good,” groans Simon, running his tongue over your pussy.

You’re lost in him, and when Simon ascends to slot is cock at your entrance, your legs fall wider. Hooking his arms around your legs, Simon thrusts relentlessly, each connection pushing bright bursts of air from your lungs.

The pleasure of him inside you is so profound, that you don’t realize the room is being stormed by men in tactical gear until Simon throws himself atop you, shielding your body from view. He acts protective, and in moments the room clears, and the target is dragged away. You cling to him, unmoving, both of you breathing heavy.

“We should go, shouldn’t we?” you ask after a few lengthy seconds. Simon remains where he is, unmoving. His cock is still inside you. “Simon?”

His lips find yours again, and then he’s thrusting, lifting you against him. “Need to finish pleasing my wife.”

“Simon. I’m not your wife,” you whimper as he grinds his hips against you.

“Oh, love. You could be.”

[awrkive]

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 6 — JJK (m.)

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 14.6k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc, software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, as usual, super dreamy jk 😞 arguments,, lowkey,, emotional constipation like always, kinda angsty if u squint. Also jungkook kinda abuses the fuck out of 23278648 pet names available in the world even eye laughed... SPOILER AHEAD DONT READ IF U DONT WANNA KNOW [ explicit sexual content: mature language, very indulgent bl*wjob scene lmfao, a teeny tiny bit of c*mplay, fing*ring, c*nniling*s, penetr*tive s*x (p in v), c*wgirl s*x, protected s*x, multiple org*sms, jungkook has a filthy mouth 🫤😑😑 ]

NOTES i dont have anything to say except enjoyyy!! let me know your thoughts in my inbox gimme ur theories gimme ur keeb smashes gimme ur 2746th "i want nb jk so bad" 🤓☝🏼💓💓

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] // [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

You like to think of yourself as a reasonable person. You make okay decisions, even though it takes you a few weeks and a thousand debriefs. You can’t buy something off the rack without going through 10-year-old posts on Reddit, and you certainly are very keen with people you let into your life – given your two to three friends. 

The point is, while you may be a bit of a klutz, you take your adult life kind of seriously, and especially your relationships.

You were so sure that what happened back at the motel with Jungkook when you were stranded was going to be this whole… one-time-thing. That you both were just horny, stuck in a weird situation, just heat-of-the-moment lapse in judgment, and afterwards he would tell you to forget about it. And if he did, you’d accept it. It might crush you a little bit inside, but you know you’ll be fine to keep going on with your life even though that might have been the best orgasm you’ve had since forever and you’d like to experience it again.

What surprised you the most wasn’t that it happened. It was how you felt the next morning. 

There was no regret. 

When you opened your eyes – bleary and barely awake because of the little hours you got in – Jungkook wasn’t in bed. He was coming back through the door with a bag of pastries and coffee from what you assumed was the local bakery. He told you everything was handled, his car and your stuff, and you could take your time getting ready. You’d head back once you were set.

You fell asleep again on the ride home. Jungkook walked you to your apartment and bid you a kind smile when you said goodbye. 

And nothing happened after. No awkward texts. No slow fade. And you were just so ready for the worst thing to happen. Like him suddenly going MIA on you or something… 

But now it’s the day after, and you’re together again in his car after he texted you to ride with him on the way home after work – cramped up in the driver’s seat with you on his lap.

Frantically making out. 

“Oh,” you let out a soft moan, carding your fingers through Jungkook’s hair, not even caring about how you’re messing up his hairdo.

A needy, impatient sort of heat builds between you two. His mouth is on yours, hands exploring like he couldn’t decide where to start. Another moan slips out from you he cups the swell of your ass through your trousers, and a rush of frustration bubbles up in your chest.  

God, why didn’t you wear a skirt?

“You smell good,” Jungkook murmurs into your neck, kissing a slow trail up to your jaw before groaning as you rock against him, grinding against the growing bulge pressing up through his slacks. 

“Y-yeah?” you mumble, tugging at his tie and popping open the first three buttons of his shirt. Your fingers graze his chest, warm and solid and stupidly inviting. 

“This is the scent you wore back at the party.” He untucks your blouse from your waistband, his warm hands sending shivers down your spine when they travel across the span of your back.

Yeah. And also the scent you exclusively use for special, big occasions. Because in the true broke girl tradition, there’s always that unreasonably priced perfume you keep in your vanity while you spritz the hell out of the cheap one. You’ve only used it a total of ten times ever since you bought it a month ago, the eleventh time being now… which is just a regular day in the office.

But being in Jungkook’s lap and making out with him in his car is not regular day in the office. So maybe you lucked out on spraying that expensive perfume – totally because it was just there on your vanity, by the way – and not because you were expecting something to happen today.

Totally.

“Uh, yeah,” you shift on his lap. “It was on sale.” 

Which is probably information he did not need and a total bald-faced lie. 

He hums, kisses dropping down to your sternum, hands getting heavier under your clothes. You take his face in your hands again to press your mouth on him, your moan getting swallowed by his eager reciprocity, both in the movement of his tongue inside your mouth and his erection that’s making you wet your panties as you rock your hips against him. 

Jungkook’s fingers trace the cups of your bra. “Can I?” He asks, mouth agape. You don’t even know what he meant, you just nod. A second later and he’s squeezing your breasts in his palms.

“S-so you wanted to drive me home for this?” you arch your brow at him playfully, grinding against his lap and relishing in the warmth of his hands on your chest. God, you wish he’d do something about your bra soon. 

Jungkook chuckles, nipping your jaw. “No. I wanted to ask you to come over to my place to have dinner.”

As if that triggered your intestines, your stomach suddenly growls – quite loudly in the confined space of his car and around the quiet parking lot of the building. 

Jungkook freezes, staring at you. 

You shut your eyes close in embarrassment, groaning. “Ugh, sorry. I haven’t eaten at all today and you mentioning dinner is making me remember that.” 

“Oh…”

Jungkook reluctantly watches you as you carefully leave his lap, completely halting your previous activity. He grips your hand as he helps you transfer to the passenger’s seat, looking at you as you put your hair up and tuck your shirt.

He adjusts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat. You can’t help but eye the very obvious outline of his dick in his pants, and it’s very huge, alright, making you grin. 

“I hope that’s not gonna be a problem.” 

Jungkook takes in the mischief in your eyes and scoffs playfully, shaking his head as he starts the ignition to drive. 

You spend about thirty minutes in the shower – which is definitely not at all your usual routine – but it did the job. You smell like raspberries now, and the outfit you pulled on afterwards looks casual enough for Jungkook not to suspect what’s going on underneath. Just an oversized shirt and pajama pants. Innocent. Normal. 

But you have on a lacy pair of white thong… just in case something does happen tonight. At least you’re the least bit prepared… 

When you look at your phone, it’s already 10:15pm, and Jungkook told you to be over at his place at 10:20. You check yourself in the mirror one last time and head straight to the kitchen where you grab the plastic container of a batch of choco-chip cookies you baked the second he dropped you off earlier.

You’ve perfected the recipe now, you’re sure of it. 

But just as you make a beeline for your door, a sudden warmth gushes between your thighs.

An all too familiar feeling by now. 

Oh no.

You dash to the bathroom, tug your pajama pants down, slide off your panties and – yep. There it is. A bright red stain against the flimsy white fabric that went right through the pants.

“Goddamn it,” you mutter, frowning. Of all the nights to get your period, of course it had to be this one.

You had showered. Prepped. Put on the g-string. And you were this close to maybe – possibly – having sex with Jungkook. You hadn’t said anything about it, not outright, but come on. That impulsive make-out session in the car earlier? The way he kept adjusting himself? The tension practically humming between you?

Yeah, something was definitely going to happen.

Well, probably not anymore.

Grumbling, you toss your pants into the laundry and rummage through your cabinet for a pad. You move like you’re trudging through emotional mud, begrudgingly pulling on a clean pair of a less sexier granny panties and fresh bottoms.

So much for that.

It’s not like you had any of this figured out anyway. No “so, what happened” talk, no conversations about the night at the motel or whatever is… happening now. And now your uterus has decided to sabotage you. Amazing. 

Still, cookies in hand and spirits only mildly deflated, you head out of your apartment and make your way to Jungkook’s porch. 

He opens the door on the second buzz, greeting you with a grin that makes your stomach flip. Even more so when you realize he’s wearing sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. Ugh. This man.

“Hi.” 

“Hey, come in,” Jungkook says, eyeing the plastic in your hand. “What’s that?” 

“Cookies.” you bring it up to your chest. “I made them real quick so it’s not a lot. But I can assure you it’s better now and you definitely won’t get food poison.” 

He chuckles, leading the way to his living area. “You say that as if I got food poisoning the first time.” 

“Maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.” 

He shakes his head, still smiling. “You know you didn’t have to bring something, right?” 

“Uh-huh.,” you mutter, following him in, “but since you’re making dinner, I thought I could take care of dessert.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, your face scrunch up. 

Jungkook pauses just long enough to glance back at you, amused, before shaking his head again with another soft laugh. 

What? What did he think you meant by that? Geez… 

Comfortable silence settles between you, the soft clinking of wine glasses and the distant narration of some random BBC documentary filling the space. You teased Jungkook again about his massive TV – said the faces look so big that it’s just kind of funny – but really, it’s kind of cute the way his ears flush red when he gets shy talking about his stuff. 

You talk. About work, mostly. Jungkook’s been pulling longer shifts, taking on more than usual. You tell him about your days have been the same lately, just mindless repetition. He compliments the cookies you brought, and after a bit of coaxing, admits the first batch you made for him weeks ago were kind of bad. You laugh and pretend to be offended.

It was nice. 

Somehow, you talk about everything and nothing. Not once either of you mentioned the motel. Not the kiss in the parking lot. Not even a vague nod to the tension that’s been following you around like a ghost. 

And maybe that’s the problem.

It feels like Jungkook’s waiting for you to jump the gun first. But how the hell are you supposed to do that? How do you casually bring up the fact that he kissed you like he meant it? How exactly are you going to talk about the night you shared a kiss with the man you think you’ve liked for so many weeks now? How are you going to talk about how he made you orgasm to sleep because it was the best you've ever had since and it was so much better than the scenarios you’ve made up in your head? And god, those scenarios didn’t even live up to the very real thing. 

You want to bring it up. God, you need to. Not because you’re hopeful that this night would lead to something – but because you just need to know if he would want to do that again sometime.

But something in you is scared that Jungkook will suddenly speak up and tell you the night was a mistake and you both should get over it.

But you also know that kiss in the parking lot must’ve meant something. The way you just jumped at each other like you weren't in a public space and Jungkook not minding one bit must’ve meant that he wanted it too.

That maybe, just like you, he can’t help but notice the thick tension up in the air as you sit on the couch so close to each other, his familiar scent overwhelming your senses, and the way he looks so cozy in his white shirt and… grey sweatpants. Ugh. You swear you weren’t going to pay any attention to it as soon as he opened that door, but how could you not when he just looks way too effortlessly good and you know exactly what it's hiding–

“You want some more?” 

Your thoughts are cut short when Jungkook suddenly speaks, looking at your wine glass. 

“Uh…” you glance at the clock. “No, I should probably get going. It’s almost 11. I have work tomorrow– we have work tomorrow,” you chuckle awkwardly, glancing at the wall clock across the room. 

Just like that, you go back to your shell again, overwhelmed by your anxiety and fear of rejection. 

But for a brief second, Jungkook looks disappointed by your response, although he’s quick to wipe that off with a smile. 

“Okay. I’ll walk you out.”

Okay. Well maybe you didn’t really want him to say that at all. 

Hiding your disappointment this time, you stand up from the seat and let Jungkook talk you into leaving the wine glasses on the coffee table as opposed to bringing it to the kitchen yourself, as Jungkook insisted he’ll take care of it once you leave. 

Jungkook’s hand lingers on your lower back as you stand by his door, ready to say goodbye. 

“Thanks for the dinner.” you say quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Jungkook smiles. “We can do this again sometime.” 

“Sure. Why not?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow, then?” 

You halt your steps, lips curling into a half-smile. “That flatters me.” 

Jungkook leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest. “I was hoping so.” 

You bite back a grin, nod, turning to leave. But…

“__—”

“Jungkook—”

Your head snaps quickly to his direction, and you both stare at each other in surprise. Jungkook’s gaze melts into a soft look.

“You first.” 

“No, you first.” 

“___,” he says with a chuckle, coaxing. 

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. 

Just take the chance, something in your head tells you. 

And you took the bait. 

“This is going to sound incredibly stupid,” you start, voice low and hesitant. “but what happened back at the motel — I’m not sure if we’re allowed to talk about that again — but we kind of kissed this afternoon and I… I don’t know what that meant. I guess what I’m trying to say is… I wanna do it again sometime. If you’re willing,” you voice wavers, trying to look into his eyes but the weight of your words crawl deep in your skin it makes you scared to even make eye contact. “But if you’re not, then that’s totally fine. We can forget it happened.” 

Silence stretched for a beat too long. Panic starts to rise in your chest – until Jungkook steps forward.

“If I’m willing?” He echoes, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right. 

You nod, wary. “Y-yeah…?” 

He steps closer, and your breath catches. 

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about you since then?” He takes a tentative touch to your hips, and when you don’t say a thing or make a move to pry him off, Jungkook takes a hold of you to pull you closer, making you gasp quietly. “Everytime I close my eyes, all I can think about is how I’ve held these hips as I licked you, kissed you, and touched you. I’ve never been one to give in to my wants as easy as the way you made me when we walked back to my car this afternoon because all I wanted to do was to have a taste of you again, even though I would’ve liked for us to talk first. That means I can’t have enough,” Jungkook studies your face as he leans down, gaze so full of want, but there’s a certain control under his hold. It makes your breath hitch.

“And you want to know if I’m willing?” Jungkook tacks on, lifting his hand to caress your cheek, gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips. You anticipate his next words, but when he presses you closer – that’s when you feel it. The hard-on he’s sporting under the grey sweatpants you’ve been fantasizing about ever since you walked in on his apartment.  

“Oh…” you gasp, reaching for his shoulder as you feel your knees slightly buckling. 

Then, Jungkook chuckles, amused. But it’s dark and rich, and his boner is still very much pressing to your stomach. 

In the heat of the moment, you stand on your tippy toes and kiss Jungkook. 

He seems to be surprised at it first, but his arms slowly make their way around you to hold you as you tighten yours around his neck, letting out a soft moan when his tongue prods in. 

You stumble inside, Jungkook walking you back inside his apartment all the while not breaking the kiss, and the next thing you know, he’s kicking off the door shut, hands travelling down to your legs to carry you across his apartment. 

You yelp at the sudden way your feet get lifted off the ground, but Jungkook carries you with a certain grace as if you’re nothing but paperweight – hot tongue swirling around your mouth like kissing you was a lifeline. 

He lays you down gently on the couch, trailing kisses along your jaw. When you grab at the hem of his shirt, he sits back to quickly rid himself off the material. 

You bite on your bottom lip as soon as you see what’s on display. Wide chest, narrow waist, toned abdomen, and sculpted arms with ink. You would’ve liked to admire it more but Jungkook quickly goes back to kissing you after taking off his shirt, hands roaming all over your body as if he can’t quite decide where to put it at all. Then, he kneels in between your spread legs, slowly settling himself down on the floorboards. You watch with half-lidded eyes as his lips leave trail kisses down your neck to your sternum, until his hands slide your top off your stomach, kissing the exposed skin. 

Your hands settle on his soft locks, where you admire the way he moves down your body, huge hands splayed on your skin, making you ache in between your legs.

Your eyes blow out as you remember exactly what’s in between your legs. 

Fuck. 

Before Jungkook can kiss you there, you grab at his shoulders. “Jungkook,” 

He looks up quickly, fringe going in different directions, biceps unconsciously flexing at your touch. “Hm?” 

Even though it pains you, you tell him, “We can’t tonight…” 

“Ah, that’s alright,” He looks up at you in genuine concern. “You’re not feeling okay tonight?” 

You shake your head. “No… that’s not it,” You make a face, feeling annoyed all over again. God. Hot sex was on the table. And your period just ruined it. “I got my period. My cycle usually starts at the end of the month.” 

Jungkook nods in realization, squeezing your hips in understanding.

“Sorry, then. Should I get you something? I think I may have ice cream in the fridge.” He raises a brow, eyes drifting off to his kitchen. 

You take his cheek, grabbing his jaw gently to make him look at you. 

“Actually… I was thinking we don’t have to stop.” 

His eyes may have lightened up, and Jungkook takes your wrist to press a kiss to the side of your hand. 

“Yeah, I don’t really mind as long as you’re comfortable with it. We’ll put on a towel— okay, I can see on your face that’s not what you meant.” 

“No…? I was thinking I’ll give you a blowjob instead.” 

“Ah…” Jungkook nods again. “Are you sure? Don’t you have cramps?” 

You chuckle. “Not yet. It’ll kick in on the second day,” You nudge him with your foot. “Come on up here.” 

“You’re sure? We don’t need to do anything, baby,” 

Baby. God. That nickname had always been so generic but there’s something about the way it rolls off Jungkook's tongue. 

“I’m sure.” 

Jungkook gives you one of his million dollar smiles and kisses his way back up until your lips meet again. 

“Can I?” You nod when Jungkook tugs at your shirt. With your permission, he slides your top off, hissing at the sight of your bra-cladded chest. 

He goes down to lick your nipple through the material, and you grab his hair when you feel him give you a slightly harsh nip. He licks it again, as if offering some sort of silent apology. 

When he pulls the cups down, that’s when you push him to the side making him fall to the couch, and you take that time to kneel down this time in between his spread legs. 

“Put this on your knees first.” Jungkook hands you the throw pillow on the couch. You take them and fluff them under your knees, and when you finish doing that, you attend to Jungkook’s very taunting grey sweatpants, tugging it off him. He helps you slide the pants off together with his boxers – and you have to fight the urge to take it slow when his hard cock springs free. 

You’ve seen it before, have held it – but those moments felt so brief that they almost didn’t feel real. So when you see it up-close, so girthy and standing tall against his abdomen with the angry red tip slightly leaking, your breath gets caught up in your throat. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook lets out a low groan when you begin teasing kisses to his thighs.

His gorgeous, thick thighs.

God… you wonder how it would tense up with your feet resting on them as you bounce up and down on his huge cock. 

But you watch the way they clench when your lips get nearer to where he aches; watch as they tense under your touch when you place your hands there. And you watch Jungkook – most especially – as he looks down at you with hooded eyes, dark with want, his chest heaving under the tension. 

“Is this what you want?” You ask, blinking at him meekly. His mouth opens to speak, but you don’t let him say another word as you let a glob of saliva fall down to the crown of his cock. You adjust your position in between his thighs, getting more comfortable but also pushing your ass out as you wrap your hand around the base. 

Jungkook hisses when you twist your hand, gingerly spreading the wetness of your saliva around him. He lets his back fall to the back of the couch with a light thud, and you smirk when you see his abs clench. 

“You’re killing me here, __. Don’t tease.” 

You give him a non-committal hum. You meant to tease, but touching him like this feels like all your thoughts have suddenly gone to mush, and you’re left with only want – the want to pleasure him, to get him to let out those little huffs and grunts like when you two kissed…

You languidly move your hand around his shaft, humming at the way his tip oozes out more wetness which makes it easier for you to stroke him. You can’t help but watch in fascination as he seems to continue to grow around you. So hard and veiny… almost needy, the way he breathes heavily above you.

“Baby, fuck… you’re so pretty, god—” Jungkook’s words get cut off when you lean down to close your lips around the head, sucking at the softer tip before you take more of his length. “F-fuck…” Jungkook rasps, fingers gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail when you start bobbing your head up and down.

He feels big. Warm. But you smile to yourself when Jungkook shifts on the couch at the sensation. It felt good to have him squirming like that beneath your touch, to have him keening like this. 

Gripping the base, you twist your fingers around the remaining length you couldn’t put in your mouth, jacking him off. From there, you start picking up your pace until Jungkook’s a panting mess. You’ve never pegged him as the type to be so… vocal. But it felt good, and at this point, you just want to see him let go of himself, even as he grips your hair tighter by every second that passes. It didn’t hurt enough to be uncomfortable, the force was just right – and it felt like he’s holding on to every muscle of his to not use too much force on your head by the way you can feel his other hand hovering over your hair. 

“Ah, __… baby, shit. Yeah, you’re taking my cock so well– shit…”

You pump him faster, and every now and then, you would suck at the tip gingerly, kiss the veins around his rock hard dick, roam with your tongue, and test the waters and massage his balls. Soft groans escape past his lips, hips arching off the couch.

“Shit— baby, fuck,” 

You hum, pleased with that. Your tongue teases the underside of his cock with every downstroke, just to hear him swear. You lick off the glistening juice off the head, lick around the ridge, and tighten your grip around the base, sinking your mouth up and down faster.

“God, your mouth is–aghh– Jesus fuck baby I’m gonna–” 

You slurp noisily around his cock as you try to take him deeper – and at one point you actually feel him hitting the back of your throat but you were careful enough to adjust your angle and continue to suck him up and down. Jungkook’s gasps increase in speed and pitch, and you can feel him trying to get you off him when he tries to pull your face away from his lap. 

“Baby, you gotta–” 

But you don’t even let him finish that thought when you grip his thigh with your other hand, sucking his head that gets him keening again.

“Shit, shit, shit __ I’m going to– f-fuuuck,”

Jungkook shoots his hot cum in your mouth, and you didn’t really expect it to be so… much. The first wave felt heavy, but as his thighs spasm, his dick continues to squirt some more, and you open your mouth to catch them all. 

“Fuck.” 

You pull back with a wet pop, opening your eyes to meet Jungkook’s stare. Your fingers are still around his length when you lick around your lips, noting the way his eyes darken at the sight of you in front of him like this – kneeling in between his legs and licking his cum. 

His chest heaves up and down, and he looks like he was about to say something when you suddenly slack your jaw to present your mouth to him – your mouth that’s now painted white with his cum. He watches you carefully as you close your eyes and swallow.

“Jesus.” 

“Didn’t know you were religious like that.” you say as soon as everything’s gone in your mouth, giving him a cheeky smile. It’s a bit salty, not terrible, though you kind of expected that.

When you look at Jungkook, his mouth opens and closes like fish in water. You beat him to it when you rise, crawling up on his chest to press your lips to his. 

You realize he might be one of those guys who didn't like it very much when their partners kissed them on the mouth right after giving them a blowjob – but Jungkook only slides his arm around your waist, deepening the kiss, dipping his tongue in your mouth until you’re settled on his lap again. 

“You’re a fucking dream.” Jungkook says before kissing you again. 

You giggle in his mouth, pushing him away slightly. His eyebrows knit in confusion, but he doesn't really look like he’s processing anything. 

“You know I realized something about you,” you plant a sweet kiss on the side of his lips. “You don’t cuss at all, but you do it a lot during sex.” 

Jungkook’s expression contorts into a frown, as if that was news to him. “Do I?” 

You chuckle. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that–” then as if cutting off his own thoughts, he dives in for a kiss again. He pulls away for a second, caressing your cheek and thumbing your jaw before staring at you. “God, you’re gorgeous. Pretty girl.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I think my brain’s broken right now. I don’t have coherent thoughts.” 

That makes you laugh. You pat his chest and notice the way Jungkook reluctantly lets you get off his lap, watching with hooded eyes as you rise to your feet. 

“Well, I’ll have to get going. It’s—” you glance at the wall clock. “almost 12.”

Jungkook takes your wrist, and you have to be very brave to not look at his lap because he still hasn’t pulled up his pants yet and his dick is still very much on display. And you weren’t really kidding about having to go because you do have an early day tomorrow. 

“Do you really have to go?” 

You pout. “I have to.” 

He sighs as if that disappointed him. “Okay… let me walk you out.” 

Jungkook – finally – pulls his pants up, brushing his fingers through his hair as he rises to his feet. He doesn’t bother putting on his shirt, though, and you don’t comment on it, figuring he’d stay inside anyway.

But when you see him slipping into his slides to follow you out, you press a hand lightly to his bare abdomen and laugh. “Hey, it’s literally, like five steps away. Go back inside.”

He pauses, brows furrowing in slight confusion before glancing down at himself. “Let me just grab my shirt, then—”

That makes you giggle. “Brain still broken?” 

“I think so…” he trails off then looks at you. “Hey, come here,” he doesn’t wait for you to do so though, just reaches for you to pull you by the waist, pressing you close to him. He leans down and gives you a slow kiss. You could actually feel air being taken away from you when he pulls away, his smile as gentle as the hand that rubs your back. “Thank you, and good night. See you tomorrow?” 

You nod, feeling your cheeks flush. 

“Okay. Night. And see you tomorrow.” 

With a small wave, you turn toward your apartment, not daring to glance back as you head to the door. But you can feel his gaze on you, watching as you slip inside. 

It felt like Jungkook wanted you to stay longer…

But the ache in between your thighs was starting to get uncomfortable, and honestly, you really needed to change your pad. 

Because the wetness there? Yeah, it definitely wasn’t just your period.

“So… is my laptop dying or…?” 

“For the third time; no, your laptop is not dying,” Jungkook gives you a playful shake of his head. “It’s just laggy because you watch a lot of porn on it and you turned off your antivirus for some reason.” 

You gasp. A dramatic one. 

You give Jungkook a scandalous look before sitting down on the couch with him, peeking over what he’s doing on your device. Frankly, you don’t like it when people touch your things – especially your gadgets – because you had a lot of private stuff in them. But thirty minutes ago, your laptop randomly shut down while you had been doing some excel spreadsheets. In a weird coincidence, Jungkook called you the same time it happened. So you told him about it, and he offered to swing by and take a look. He was a tech guy, after all… and anyway, getting it fixed at some shop would have been expensive. 

“I don’t watch porn!” you protest, glaring at him. 

Jungkook just blinks at you, looking unconvinced. Then he shrugs. “Okay.” 

“And what do you mean antivirus? I don’t even know I have one,” you mumble, placing the bowl of freshly cut watermelon on the coffee table. You fold your legs underneath you and inch closer to see what he’s actually doing. He’s been at it for a few minutes now, but all you see are lines of text and windows you can’t even pretend to understand.

“Yes, you do. And you did turn it off,” he says, gesturing at the screen. It’s full of stuff that might as well be in a foreign language. “These are malware. See this? Classic spyware script. You probably clicked on one of those fake play buttons with a hot singles ad or something.”

You give him a baleful look. He snorts.

“You’re not funny. And I watch porn on twitter like a normal person– okay sometimes maybe I do watch on shady websites but why do you even know that? And why are you interested in my porn.” 

“You watch porn on twitter?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Hm. Interesting,” he nods and turns to the screen again. “Well, I wanna know what you like.” 

You almost fall off the sofa. “Like you want me to give you a list of porn accounts?” 

Jungkook actually laughs at that. “What? No. I mean, I'm interested in the porn you like.” 

Oh.

“Uhm, I don’t particularly like anything,” you say, although maybe you immediately think of those videos where the woman is on the guy’s lap and he fingers her hard in front of the camera – but other than that, not really. You aren’t some freakazoid about porn. Most of the time, you were fine getting off with pure imagination. “I don’t like BDSM though, I think.” 

Jungkook nods, but his eyes are not really on you and instead focused on your laptop as he does things. “Hmm.” 

Your head snaps in his direction. “What do you mean, hmm?” 

Jungkook meets your stare. “What?” 

You study his face, narrowing your eyes. But he just looks at you in confusion, although there’s a little smile tugging at his lips. You drop it anyway, reaching for the watermelon cuts on the coffee table and start eating them as you watch whatever magic Jungkook is doing on your device.

“Anyway, I pirate a lot of movies so there’s that.” You thought that would be helpful to share. Those sites do have a lot of those pop-up ads, and you’d really rather endure that than have some big fuckass streaming corporation steal from you every month. 

“I know, I’m just teasing about the porn websites,” Jungkook chuckles when you glare at him. “I could share my streaming accounts with you. I think I have everything.” 

Your eyes light up almost instantly, but then you manage to catch yourself. 

“Uh, no, you don’t really need to do that…” 

He hums, goes back to your laptop. You don’t think about it too much when you pick up a watermelon and hover it over his mouth. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to eat it off your finger, and you don’t  expect the way he sucks the juices off, tongue swirling around your digit while looking into your eyes. It feels like the whole moment took a minute, but in reality it was really only a few seconds, and Jungkook’s back to doing his thing on your laptop. 

Oh. 

Oh… okay. Well. 

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks as you drop your hand to your side, absentmindedly eating your watermelon bites.

Ugh. When will your period end?! Given, it’s only really day two, and you probably have two or three more days to go but ugh… 

Your thoughts are interrupted when Jungkook suddenly speaks, rising to his feet. 

“All done. I installed a better antivirus, and I logged in my streaming accounts so you don’t get malware again. Also turned off some useless background programs because you had too many running– and I recovered your excel file,” he says, and you give him a grateful smile as you take your laptop and bring it to your chest like it’s your baby. Jungkook chuckles at the sight. “I have to go to the toilet, though. Want to order in and watch something when I’m back?”

“Yeah, sure! Toilet’s over there,” you point to the far right direction of the apartment and watch Jungkook disappear into view to enter the bathroom. 

You’re hacking away on your laptop when a phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. 

Jungkook’s phone. 

You hesitate. You don’t want to knock on the bathroom door just to hand it to him, but you don’t feel right ignoring it either. 

The buzzing stops, and you feel relieved for all of one second when it suddenly starts again. 

You lean slightly over – not really reaching, just peeking – to see who it is. What if it’s work? What if it’s important? You could tell him about it when he comes back… 

The screen lights up with a name: Dad.

You gasp. Just a little.

The bathroom door creaks open behind you and you straighten up like you weren’t doing anything. Jungkook walks out, toweling his hands on his jeans.

“Oh, hey, someone's calling you.” 

He gives you a curious look before he crosses the room. You try not to watch too closely as he picks up his phone, but you see it; the way his brows knit together, the way his stance and tone shift when he looks back at you. 

“I need to take this real quick” He gestures to the phone. You nod.

He walks far enough that you can’t really make out the conversation, but when you take a peek to look at him, he looks so serious. You’ve only ever seen serious Jungkook when he was at work. 

A few seconds later, he returns – apologetic eyes, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey, I got called into work just now. I’m sorry we can’t have dinner tonight.” 

Oh, so you were right! It was a work thing. Still… you wonder why his dad was the one calling.

“No, it’s fine! It must be super important,” you say quickly. “Maybe we can have dinner tomorrow instead?” You say, smiling up at him brightly. 

Jungkook breaks into a smile. Then, out of nowhere, he steps closer and leans down to press a kiss to your lips. 

You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Kissing, that is. Just this morning, he drove you to work and you made out before he even started the engine. Then later. After parking, his hands wandered a little too much before you swatted him off, gently reminding him that your breasts were feeling tender from your period.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Then just like that, Jungkook makes his way out of the apartment, and you don’t even know that you’ve been smiling like crazy until the black screen of your laptop catches your silly expression. 

You miss Jungkook. 

Okay— well. It’s just been two days, really. Well, more like today is day two. So it’s actually just been a full day. But there were no texts yesterday, and there were certainly no calls either. You haven’t seen him come out of his apartment, and you hate that you’re starting to worry. 

You were debating whether to send him a message or not when suddenly, your doorbell rings. You weren’t expecting any visitors, especially not today when it was still so early in the morning and you have to go to work soon! But maybe it was your landlord, complaining about something again…

You groan at that, snatching your bag from the counter, planning to head straight to work after dealing with whoever it is. You slide your shoes on, ready for that condescending landlord tone only to freeze when you open the door.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, acting like you’ve just seen a ghost. And he seems to think so as well, cocking his head to the side at the unusual greeting. “You’re here.” you blurt out. 

“Yeah, I went back to my place last night but only for awhile. We launched a system yesterday and something broke in production. QA didn’t catch it, so now we had to roll it—” as if he thought he was sparing you with some boring talk, he cuts himself off and smiles at you instead. “I had to work overtime. I’m sorry I missed dinner last night.”

“Eh, don’t worry. It’s not that serious. I know you're extra busy these days. Anyway, are you on the way to work?” Jungkook nods. “We should go together, then.” 

“I was just going to say that.” 

You step out of your apartment, and Jungkook waits for you to lock up before you both walk side by side down the stairs. You don’t know why but somehow, having seen him today and walking with him to his car where you’re gonna be riding in together to go to work was giving you a sense of contentment that you missed yesterday. Okay, so maybe this was a thing that was starting to grow on you. And maybe being with Jungkook genuinely makes you feel happy – giddy, for the most part. But it felt silly to have missed him when it was only really a day…

But you didn’t really want to dwell on that. It wasn’t Jungkook’s obligation to drive you to work everyday, and you certainly aren’t entitled to his undivided attention when you know exactly just how hectic his work schedule is. You couldn’t ask him to make time for you, even though you would like that.

“Oh!” Jungkook startles beside you when you suddenly halt. You look at him, wide-eyed. “Jungkook, it’s September first today!” 

Jungkook checks his phone, brows furrowed. “Yes…?” 

You eye him incredulously. “It’s your birthday!” 

At first, the words didn’t seem to register, but Jungkook slowly nods. “Ah yeah, it’s my birthday today.”

“Why do you sound so unexcited?” You pout. 

He chuckles, stepping closer to brush away a stray of hair you hadn’t even noticed had fallen across your face.

“Baby, it’s just another day.” 

You feeze at the word. It’s the first time he called you that outside of you two… fooling around. It slips naturally from his mouth in that situation, but hearing it in this very non-sexual context was kind of throwing you off-balance – because this moment wasn’t supposed to feel intimate. Not like that, anyway.

Looking away, you say, “Still. You should do something to celebrate. Oh! I think… oh…” your eyes widen at the thought of throwing him a mini-party tonight. Obviously, Jungkook doesn't make a big deal of his birthdays, based on his response. But you thought about baking him a cake. And cookies! He liked the cookies you made last time! And you were practicing cakes these days so maybe it’d be nice to make him a small one. You turn to him with hopeful eyes. “Are you free tonight?” 

Jungkook hesitates, but he smiles down at you. “Yeah, I’m free tonight. Why?” 

You grin. “You’ll have to come to my place to find out! Oh, it’s gonna be fun. Ugh, I wish we can invite Jimin…”   

You’re honestly proud of yourself for not breaking down when the piping tip you bought turns out to be the wrong one. The blue icing on your apron now looks like abstract art, and there’s enough sugar on your kitchen floor to summon an army of rants.

You just wanted the cake to be perfect. The cookies already were – but the cake, maybe not so much. And it was fine! It tasted fine! But the decorating sucked and at this point you just kind of wish Jungkook would look past the awkward lettering and appreciate the effort behind all these. 

You didn’t have much time. He texted you after work that he couldn’t drive you home. He had to stay late, which actually worked out because it gave you the extra time you needed to prepare. 

Although for the record, this wasn’t even a real surprise. You just made baked goods. And you cooked some food. And by cook you scratched off the chicken shop’s label and put it in the microwave to heat it up by the time you finished cleaning up your place since Jungkook was gonna be here by 11pm. 

Which is why, at 10:40, you rush to the shower.

When you’re done, you step in front of the mirror to check yourself out. You’ve rummaged through your closet and found an old lingerie you don’t remember ever putting on. You remember it as one of those “feel-good” purchases awhile ago. 

It’s nothing special, really. Just your usual black lace two-piece. The bra’s light and sheer, made of floral lace with thin straps that sat neatly on your shoulders. There are little pink bows too on them, which kind of made it cute. It didn’t offer much coverage, what with your nipples poking through the fabric – but that seemed to be the point. Meanwhile the panties are just as bold; crotchless, cut daringly open in the center, but softened by the same delicate lace. The set originally had garter straps and thigh-high stockings, but you thought that would be an overkill so you opted out of it. 

You cover it up with a casual white dress, spritzing on the La Belle perfume Jungkook always seems to like a little too much. 

There, everything’s done. Your period’s gone too, obviously, (day four, thank god) almost as if it knew not to ruin this night for you. 

When you head out of your bedroom, you pick your phone up from the kitchen counter to dial Jungkook’s phone. 

He usually answers on the first or second ring, but this time, he doesn’t. Wasn’t unusual or anything, given how busy he is… but you do frown when the ringing ends and there’s nothing that comes next but his voicemail.

Your frown deepens. You shift from one foot to the other, glancing at the clock. It’s past eleven now. Fifteen minutes past, to be exact. 

Jungkook’s not usually late to things.

You sigh, trudging to one of the chairs in the dining area where you prepared the food and cake for him. You also bought wine and lit up a candle.

You stare at your phone for a solid minute before you pick it up again, deciding to send Jungkook a text. 

You [11:16pm]: hey!! are you running late :> 

You chose to add the emoticon in the end so the text doesn’t feel too mysterious or broody or serious. Really, you aren’t mad, maybe a little upset now – but maybe Jungkook’s just in the middle of something… what was that again? Someone breaking in production, whatever that meant…

But the clock turns 11:25, and there is still no sign of Jungkook on your phone – and even more so on your door. 

You [11:25pm]: are you busy? sorry if im bothering you! 

Then on second thought, you added:

You [11:26pm]: oh no pls dont tell me you forgot.. 🙁

Maybe he did forget. You hadn’t reminded him of it when you talked earlier. Did you have to? He said he was free tonight, so you kind of assumed… 

You sigh again. 

The chicken was turning cold and so was the other food on the table. 

You pick up a cookie to nibble on it, thinking of why Jungkook would forget. Or why he wouldn’t text you back or return your call. 

At eleven thirty, you stand up from your seat, suddenly feeling so… so silly. Silly about the food. Silly about the cake. Silly about your dress. And most especially, you feel silly about the lingerie that’s hidden underneath. 

How silly. To plan all these in expectation of what… Jungkook’s company? 

But it was his birthday. And you wanted to throw him a party, thought it would mean something to him, even though it’s not that much. But you did go through a lot of trouble to put this all out… but he also didn’t ask you either. So really, you have no right to feel upset over him not making good on his promise. 

Wait, did he promise anything though? No, he didn’t. Not really. He just said he was free tonight. No promises. Maybe his schedule changed again and he needed to work overtime. 

You start putting away the food in the fridge, not even having the energy to eat something for dinner. You go back to your room, stripping yourself off and changing into some comfortable pajamas before throwing yourself on the bed. 

Still no texts.

It’s 11:42pm when it comes. 

You hate how fast your body reaches for your phone to see who it was, lighting up when you see Jungkook (Unit 446) on the caller ID, even more so when you answer it. 

“Hey, I got your texts. I’m so sorry, __—”

“It’s fine!” you nibble on your bottom lip as you try to contain your excitement. “Are you coming soon?” 

“I– no, ba—” you flinch involuntarily when you hear him cut himself off. You were so sure he was going to call you baby, but he corrected himself quickly. “You remember the thing I mentioned this morning? The rollback didn’t go as planned. I’m working overtime tonight again so I can’t really go…” 

“Oh…” 

“Did you plan something? It’s just my birthday, __. Maybe we can go somewhere tomorrow?” Jungkook chuckles on the other end of the line, and for the first time it didn’t make you feel giddy or whatever. 

You pick on the bed sheet before answering. “Uh, no. It’s not anything big, actually. I just made you some cookies. And ordered some food. But anyway I just ate dinner first because you took so long,” the lie rolls off your tongue easier than you expected. His laugh made you feel shitty. You know he didn’t mean anything by it – but it just made you feel so… so unimportant.

And suddenly, you want to downplay the whole thing. Because clearly, he thinks it’s no big deal.

“Hey, are you upset?” His tone shifts — gentler now.

“Ah, no. Sorry. I’m so tired and sleepy,” you fake a yawn and snuggle on the bed. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow when you’re here?” 

Tomorrow is now your least favorite word. You’ve heard it too many times from him lately. 

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Then you hear him sigh. 

“I’m sorry again, I swear I’ll make it up to you.” 

“No need to!” you tell him, making sure to say that as cheerfully as possible. Jungkook doesn’t need to. It’s not like you were dating or something for you to be upset over him bailing on you. “Really, it’s fine. Hey, I’m really, really sleepy now. Good night?” 

“Okay, sorry. Sleep well, __. Tomorrow, okay?” 

You hum, not sure if you believe that. Maybe tomorrow he’s going to have to do overtime again. Maybe tomorrow he won’t be here again.

Whatever. 

It wasn’t a big deal. 

You end the call, but before you can drop your phone onto the nightstand, you type out one last message.

You [11:45pm]: happy birthday! 

You didn’t get much sleep last night. Not like your body clock has ever been particularly reliable, 

This morning, you didn’t really think that much about it when you put the cake in a container and dropped it off at Jungkook’s door on your way down the stairs. You figured you could’ve eaten it, but you made it for him and anyway… it was his birthday and you still think he deserves a cake. He didn’t exactly seem like he was celebrating last night.

You took the bus to work. Nothing unusual, nothing exciting. Just another day dragging your limbs through the same monotonous rhythm. Your brain feels like it’s moving on autopilot by the time you tap your company ID at the building entrance and wait in line for the elevator. 

Slipping inside, you wedge yourself into a spare corner, arms crossed as the lift fills and empties floor by floor. Eventually, it’s just you and one other woman left. She steps out when the elevator dings, cradling her phone against her shoulder as she barks something stressed into the line.

Instinctively, you lean forward and press the hold button, stepping onto the side when you take notice of someone going in, only to realize it was Jungkook. 

It’s funny, really. Somehow, he only ever seems to appear when he’s the last person you’re ready to see. 

“Oh– good morning, Mr. Jeon,” you say, dipping your head in a polite little nod. The words sound awkward even to your own ears, stiff. You’ve never had to think about how to interact with him in the workplace.

Judging by the slight flicker on Jungkook’s face, he thinks it sounds weird too. But he recovers quickly, offering a faint smile as he steps in. 

You return his smile, just as polite, and inch a little further to the side – so far that your back nearly presses to the elevator wall, creating an unnecessary gap between you.

The silence is noticeable. Tense, but it’s civil at least. You glance at the floor numbers blinking overhead, half-hoping this ride doesn’t last long.

Then Jungkook shifts in your periphery. 

“Hey, about last night—”

The elevator dings. 

It’s your floor.

You step out quickly, almost too quickly, heart tapping a little faster than it should.

You don’t look back.

You didn’t expect to get a text from Jungkook that night. 

Jungkook (Unit 446) [9:37pm]: Do you wanna drive home together? 

You made a mental note to give him a reply but it’s thirty minutes later that you remembered about it.

You [10:11pm]: hey sorry I just got home

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:14pm]: Okay Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:14pm]: Please come over tonight? I’m cooking 

You [10:16pm]: i'm not sure if I can You [10:17pm]: i’ll try to. I brought home some work :/

He doesn’t give a reply after that.

And maybe that – weirdly – made you irritated. He’d texted first, and he’d asked you over. You gave a soft no, not even a hard one, and he didn’t even try again? Just left it like that?

You sigh and close the lid of your laptop. For once, you hadn’t lied about being busy with work. It was just a few reports you figured you could finish now to make tomorrow lighter and easier. It was nothing really urgent. 

But you do feel sort of guilty about it.

Your door buzzes, and you have second thoughts whether or not you ordered dinner. 

When you open the door, it felt like deja vu.

“Jungkook.” you say, blinking.

“Are you still working?” He’s in his work clothes, though the sleeves of his button-up are slightly rolled now. It looks like he just got home not long ago.

You glance at the laptop on the coffee table. “No, I just finished…” 

“Okay, then I have a question,” Jungkook steps inside, and you unconsciously take a step back at that, looking at him curiously. He watches you carefully. “Are we okay?”

Caught off guard, you stammer when you say, “I– yeah! Sure, why wouldn’t we be?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, then, “You seemed a little off this morning. I thought maybe it was about last night.” 

You try to wave it off, suddenly nervous about Jungkook being so straight-forward. Usually, men were so emotionally stunted as you are and never faced their problems head-on.

“No, I mean, it’s fine. You were probably so busy. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“But it did kind of matter.” 

You exhale, shifting uncomfortably. “Okay, maybe I was a little upset. But it’s not like I’m mad mad.” 

“I figured,” Jungkook says, voice soft. “And I get it if you don’t want to hang out tonight, but I still wanted to try. I know I’ve flaked twice now, but I meant what I said, about making it up to you.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. “With food?”

He smiles faintly. “With food. Amongst other things.” 

That earns a chuckle from you. You’re not over it – unfortunately – but something about the way he’s standing there, almost cautious, makes it hard to keep your walls all the way up. 

“So,” he asks gently. “Will you come?”

Taking a deep breath, you unintentionally look down at your socks. 

“Only if there’s wine…” you say softly. 

Jungkook’s smile spreads. “There’s wine.” 

You sigh and start toeing your slippers off. “If it’s terrible, I’m leaving in five minutes.” 

“I can live with that.” 

Inside Jungkook’s place, the lights are unusually dim, the apartment warm with the scent of garlic and something buttery. A jazz record plays at the far corner, and you only noticed then that Jungkook owned a vinyl player – which you kind of didn’t expect – you sort of pegged him as the type to not have time to listen to music. 

Meanwhile, he goes straight to the kitchen counter, where you watch him by the stove, plating food like a professional. You realized he had been cooking, and that’s why his tie was a little loose and his hair kind of a muss. 

You don’t really know what to say, so you try to break the silence with, “Uhm, wow.” 

Jungkook glances at you, mouth lifting at the corner. “I try sometimes.” 

The obvious faux humility makes you laugh. You know exactly that he knows you’re impressed by the whole thing. 

And you haven’t even eaten his food yet.

Walking in slowly to the dining area, your eyes skim over the table where there are real wine glasses, cloth napkins, and a lit candle.

“So what’s the occasion?” You ask, sitting on the chair, watching Jungkook as he heads towards your direction, bringing in the food he was preparing. You smile up at him. “Guilt?” 

He chuckles under his breath, and you’re almost glad that the joke lands.

“Maybe. Also I figured you deserve a proper dinner, made by me. Since someone went out of their way to make me one.”

You hum. “Can’t believe you stood me up on your own birthday.” 

He brings the plates over and sits across from you. “I cooked,” he says. “Try it before you decide if I’m forgiven.” 

You eye the food, a little surprise at how he mustered up a risotto with seared scallops, and of course perfectly plated. Like he’s just so good at everything he does… wait, did Jungkook go to culinary school? You’re starting to think that.

“You know how to make risotto?” 

“I know how to do a lot of things,” he meets her gaze.

Yeah, you know that was a hundred percent true…

You take a bite, careful not to let any expression slip while Jungkook watches closely, not really digging in on his own plate.

And as expected, the risotto’s annoyingly good. You didn’t doubt it from Jungkook, though. Being good at cooking was just one of the many qualities that made him so… so whatever. 

“Okay, fine. I’m mildly impressed,” you comment, sipping on the wine to hide the small smile tugging at your mouth. Your very expression contradicts your words, and you know Jungkook can see through you.

He leans back in his chair, obviously satisfied. “Mildly?”

“You still missed your birthday dinner. That knocks off some points.”

He gives you a small smile. “I really didn’t expect it to be a birthday dinner, baby.” 

You shrug off the nickname by having more bites of the risotto. You wonder if Jungkook was being deliberate when he said that, or if it was just going to be a thing between you now. 

“You didn’t ask… and well, I was going to surprise you.” Now you pout at the memories of last night again. “There was chicken.” 

Jungkook looks at you in surprise. “You cooked?”

You eye him. “Yeah, I scratched the tapes off the takeout boxes and put it in the microwave.” Jungkook laughs, the crinkles on the sides of his eyes showing. It makes you smile to see him like that. “Well,” you say eventually, “you’ve redeemed yourself a little.” 

Jungkook leans in again, riding along, “Only a little?” 

“We’ll see if there’s dessert.” 

Jungkook smirks, and you both continue to eat. 

After awhile, he glances at you. “You’re not mad,” he says, as if treading softly. “But… you were disappointed, right?” 

You shake your head. “No. I just—” You see Jungkook raising a brow. “I just thought it’d be nice. I don’t want to make a big deal about it, it was your birthday! Now I feel bad ‘cause it’s like I’m making this all about me.” you chuckle at the realization.

You look at Jungkook when you realize he’s not really laughing with you. 

You flinch a little when his hand reaches out to yours. His thumb caresses your knuckles as he tells you softly, “Hey, I know it would’ve been nice. I’m really sorry I missed it.” 

“It’s fine…” it’s a good thing Jungkook lets go immediately.

But you find yourself wanting to share with him that you baked him a cake too. About the lingerie… but that felt stupid now. Wait, did he even get the cake you left at his porch this morning? 

As if he read your mind, Jungkook suddenly rises up from his chair.

“Wait a second,” he walks past you, disappearing into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and comes back into view with a single slice of cake.

Your cake. The one you made for him. 

You stare. “Is that—?”

“You left it outside my door this morning,” he says, placing it on the table. You blink up at him, mouth slightly open. “I thought I’d save it, you know? In case you ever stopped pretending you didn’t care.” 

It felt a little pointed, but with the smile on his face you’re not really sure. 

“You really don’t play fair.” 

“Not trying to.” he says simply with a small smile before sitting again. 

“So. Is this your apology routine? Fancy dinner, smooth jazz, and then hoping I forget you bailed?” 

He smiles into his own glass of wine. “If I wanted you to forget, I wouldn’t have brought out the cake.”

You raise a brow. “You brought that out to make a point.” 

“I did.”

“You’re kind of smug about it.”

“I’m good at making points,” he says, “Especially when someone keeps insisting nothing’s wrong.” 

You frown, somehow not really liking the confirmation that he does think you’re making a big deal about this. 

“I said I was fine.” 

“You keep saying that,” his voice is quieter now, but a little edged. “But you’ve been smiling like it’s your job since you got here. And I know it’s not real.” 

You recoil at that, not expecting to be called out. The sudden shift of the atmosphere is palpable as you lean back on the couch. 

“What do you want me to say?” you let out a humorless chuckle. “That I was upset? You hurt my feelings?” 

Jungkook’s expression changes, but his voice doesn’t falter. “I wanna know how you feel.” 

You look away. “Do you want me to admit that maybe I cared more than I should?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“But you mean it.”

He leans forward, "I mean,” he starts, “that it wasn’t nothing. You made me dinner. You planned something for me. That’s not small. And I want you to know that I want to apologize when I make these mistakes.” 

You don’t really think it through when you say, “It’s not like we’re together, Jungkook.” 

That makes him pause. You can’t find it in you to take it back, because… it was true, right? The whole thing felt like… like you were a couple in a fight. And you aren’t.

“Still not an excuse.” he says after awhile. 

You let out a breath, almost a laugh, frustrated. You wish Jungkook hadn’t brought it up, and you wish you aren’t reacting the way you are right now.

“You know, you didn’t seem bothered about it when we talked on the phone.” 

“Because I thought you were okay.”

“Well, surprise,” you flash him a tight smile. “Turns out I’m not as chill as I thought.” 

His voice lowers. “I never thought you were chill.” You can’t help but glance at him sharply. “I thought you were trying really hard to seem like you didn’t care, because maybe you thought I might not care back.”

That lands harder than it should, and you feel your throat tighten.

“I should go,” you stand up, not wanting to have any more of this conversation. You wish Jungkook would just drop it. You told him, you were upset – but he’s making a big deal about it. 

Jungkook stands up too, stepping closer to you. His height looms over you, but his presence feels calm and collected. 

“You could,” he says in that deep voice. “But you won’t.” 

You take in a sharp breath when he presses until you can feel the heat of his body. You’re confused about the sudden turn of events, but there’s something about Jungkook right now, his voice dropping low, his gaze… almost as if…

“Oh?” you decide to challenge him, not wanting to waver.

“You stayed. And now you’re standing this close,” he says, gaze dropping to your mouth. “Looking like you want me to make you forget why you were upset in the first place.” 

You swallow, suddenly feeling heated in that other way. 

“A-and if I do?” 

One hand brushes past your hip, and you stand there grounded, unconsciously holding your breath. 

“Then you let me.” 

You kiss him first – not really sure why and how it happened – but you do, on instinct. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his. It’s fast, and there’s frustration from you bubbling under, heat blooming behind your ribs like a fuse finally lit. 

Jungkook kisses you back harder though, catching you on time – always catching you on time – walking you backwards into the living room where he lays you down on the couch, hovering over you.

His voice is rough against your skin when he breaks away to whisper, “Are you still upset?” 

Your hands grip his shirt. “I would be if you don’t continue kissing me.” 

That makes him smile, murmuring, “You’re a brat.” 

“Do you like it?” 

He inhales a sharp breath against your jaw, nipping. “I really do.” 

In an instant, his hands were around your waist, your back pressed against the back of the sofa. Your breath hitches when his mouth drops to your ear, making your knees weaken slightly.

“Do you– do you kiss everyone you disappoint like this?” you mutter, hands sliding under his shirt where you feel his abs clench.

“No,” he says, lips peppering kisses down your neck, voice low. It sends shivers down your spine and makes your thighs clench together. “Just the ones who microwave chicken for me.”

It earns a chuckle from you – sharp, breathless – and tug the collar of his shirt, starting to undo his buttons until sculpted chest is revealed. You’re about to pull the material off him when Jungkook catches your wrist.

“Still upset?” he asks.

You click your tongue. “Maybe.” 

He grins. “Good.” 

He kisses you again. Slow this time, like he knows you’d let him now. And you do. Your fingers dig into his shoulder as he deepens it, tongue brushing yours in a way that makes your head fog over. He tastes like wine and smugness… but you find you like it. Jungkook moves in such a way that screams he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

His shirt is off in a second, leaving him in his slacks and belt, mouth moving lower over your throat, your collarbone, until they reach your cleavage made easily accessible with the neckline of your camisole. You arch into the touch without much thinking, and when Jungkook whispers against the peak of your nipple if he could take your shirt off, you nod. 

“Sorry, this isn’t my proudest bra ever,” you tell him, fingers slipping through his hair. 

Jungkook chuckles. “I’m gonna take it off, anyway.” 

He lifts you up effortlessly, squeezing your ass as you yelp but helping you wrap your legs around his waist. Before you can say anything, he shuts up with a searing hot kiss, and you let him carry you to the bedroom with ginger steps, like he’d done it a hundred times before in his head. God, you hope he did just like you do. 

You don’t know how exactly it happened but your bra is off the moment he lowers you down on the bed, tugging the cups off your chest and letting his hand take reign on one boob while he licks the other one with his hot tongue, swirling it around your nipple that makes you gasp and shift on the bed. 

“Oh, Jungkook…”

Crawling over you, you meet his heavy gaze as he asks, “Are you sure about this?” 

If the heat in between your thighs is any more indication of how sure you are, he can check. But you tug him down by the waistband of his slacks to tell him, “I’ve been sure.” 

“Just checking, because once we start…” he murmurs, gaze dropping on your lips. As if he can’t help it, he closes his mouth around yours. Then his hand slides down, feathery touch causing goosebumps all over your skin. It stops on your inner thigh where you take a sharp breath because he was so close to where you wanted him to be. 

“I want you now,” you say, a bit irritated. 

He chuckles, dark. Low. He retracts his hand and smirks when you give him a glare. 

“I wanna take my time with you, sweetheart. Don’t rush me.” 

To prove his point, he kisses you again – hot and passionate, but also aguishly slow like he’s savoring every brush of your tongue and he has all the time in the world for it. 

You’re flushed beneath him, breathless as his hands wander all over your body. He nips the skin of your neck, obviously teasing, leaving goosebumps on his trail. When his hand cups the heat in between your legs, your hips unconsciously buck, your grip on his shoulders tightening at the contact. 

“I should’ve come to dinner,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“Y-yeah,” you manage, “you should’ve.” 

“I can’t believe I missed this yesterday.”

You gasp when his thumb presses on your mound, feeling like you’ve been electrocuted by the touch. Jungkook seems to take note of your oversensitivity, as he watches you with your mouth hanging slightly open.  

“Don’t worry, baby. I plan to make it up to you real good,” he leans back for a second to tug the waistband of your pants, and you don’t hesitate to lift yourself up a little to help him slide it off your legs together with your panties. You bite your bottom lip as you observe him watching the way the material clings to your pussy at the slickness. A smirk tugs at his lips. “I guess I’ve made you wait too long, didn’t I?” 

Your reply dissolves into a sharp inhale as he puts two of his fingers in his mouth and wedges them in between your folds, leaning down to plant a kiss on your parted mouth. His fingers move inside you, curling in slow rhythm, his thumb teasing just enough to keep your hips lifting off the bed.

“You’re so soaked, and I haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he slowly slides them out, smirking when you whimper at the loss of contact. He inserts them again, this time taking on a steady pace. His fingers make you feel so full, just like they did back at the motel – and you wouldn’t dare lie to yourself and say you haven’t been looking forward to this again. By the way you can’t keep the soft moans escaping past your lips, Jungkook must’ve known too. 

Slick sounds bounce off the wall, and you try to keep it to a minimum by minimizing your moans and pressing the back of your hand to your mouth but Jungkook catches your wrist quickly, as if he knew what you were about to do.

“No, baby, let me hear you,” he says, pinning your hand up against the headboard. “I want to know how much you want this, how much you like my fingers fitting right in your pussy,” he looks down, then unexpectedly, he brings his soaked digits up to your face. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment when you see how wet they are with your juices, whimpering when he inserts them in his mouth with no second thoughts, licking them obscenely. You whimper when he shuts his eyes close, looking intoxicated. 

“Shit,” he hisses, “Tastes just as good as I remember it.” 

“J-jungkook,” you whine, wanting him to do something already. 

“I know,” he smirks, a little smug. “Should I go faster? Is that what you like?” 

“Please…” you cry out, holding on to his wrist.

He chuckles darkly and just as when you were about to say something else again, he curls the same fingers in you, but this time he plunges them in and out at a faster pace. At that, you don’t hold back the moans you’ve been keeping trapped in your throat. 

Legs tensing, Jungkook continues to fuck you with his fingers, moving like an expert; determined to make you fall apart – and you’re nothing but soft cries, heated, fingers tightening around his wrist as your orgasm creeps up your toes to your spine. 

“F-fuck…” you sigh when Jungkook dives in your chest again, nipping and sucking at the flesh you were sure he was going to leave marks. “Feels so good, Koo…” 

He hums against your skin, curling his fingers and digging in deep that your thighs shake uncontrollably. But Jungkook’s hold on your hip is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from thrashing underneath him at the overwhelming pleasure. 

“Yeah? You’re making such a mess on my hand, baby,” he husks out.

“S-sorry.”

He chuckles. “You’re beautiful,” He breaks away from your tits to stare at you. Moving away some of the hair that has gotten on your face, he says, “Are you close?” 

“Yes, god, yes. Please, I’m so close…” 

You can feel yourself about to reach your climax, so you move your hand to seek relief to your clit. But Jungkook catches you off-guard when he moves further down your body. You let out a lewd moan when he licks along your slit, sucking in your folds – your juices making a wet, spongy sound as he slurps. When he closes his mouth around your clit, you cry out and grab his hair quite harshly. 

But Jungkook only hums against your pussy, the vibration only making you drip more. He ravishes your nub with his tongue, quick and steady, and so are his fingers in and out of your pussy. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, body convulsing at your impending orgasm, shutting your eyes close and focusing on the way his tongue tugs at your clit. “Kook, I’m coming, fuck, I’m gonna cum—” 

He pulls off with a smack only to tell you “in my mouth” before going back to business again. You listen to his small grunts, his hums, and until then, you feel your body spasming when the coil at your stomach breaks.  

Jungkook puts his hand on your lower stomach, pressing you down as you wriggle underneath him, thighs shaking at your orgasm. He licks until you’re pulling his head out of your mound. He takes his fingers out of your spongy walls, spreading your wetness instead around your folds, as if calming you down from your high.

“Good, baby, good…” he murmurs, gripping your thighs to steady you. Then he leans down and presses kisses over them.

You let your back relax on the mattress, shutting your eyes close and catching your breath.

You hear a drawer pull open, and when you finally open your eyes, you see Jungkook with a condom pinched in between his fingers.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Jungkook skates his fingers through his hair, and you suddenly got the urge to jump him right then and there when you saw the sheer wetness on his jaw, his sculpted chest and the abdominal muscles that sit perfectly on his stomach, his tattoo sleeve – he looked like an absolute dream then, but you knew you were in for a ride when your eyes cast a look at the erection inside his slacks. Jungkook makes quick work of unbuckling his leather belt, and the way the metal clink with each other scratches a part of your brain that screams want, want, want and maybe Jungkook caught on, because he follows your gaze to the belt, clicking his tongue when he throws the leather away somewhere on the floor.

“Next time, sweet girl,” he says, sounding like he meant it. You can feel your cheeks heating under his gaze and the implication of his words, chest pounding as he unbuttons and unzips his pants together with his boxers. 

“I…” You watch in quiet fascination when his rock hard dick slaps against his lower abdomen, biting your lip at the sight. It was just as long and girthy as you remember it.

He hums. “You want to play next time, we’ll do that. But eyes up here first,” Jungkook instructs, and you do look at him when he says so, feeling your legs clamping together at his slightly commanding tone. He tugs your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, and so you lift off the mattress slightly and rest your elbows against the soft sheets. Jungkook smiles at you as he kneels between your spread legs, “You look beautiful like this, baby. Do you know how much I’ve been wanting to do this?” he asks as he rips open the condom, pinching the tip and putting it over his cock in quick succession. 

“I’ve been waiting for you…” you say, not really sure what you mean, touching his chest because you can. He’s so warm and so big, and your pussy aches at the thought of him finally entering you.

It felt greedy, to want to cum again when you just did not even a full minute ago.

“I know,” he strokes his cock for good measure, and you let out a soft gasp when he hikes your leg over his hip, nudging your other leg to the side. He inserts a finger in your pussy, hissing at your wetness. “Fuck, you are soaked, baby…” 

“Put it in,” You whine, chest heaving up and down as you watch Jungkook with half-lidded eyes. His hand wraps around his dick, strokes it for a moment before gripping near the tip and bringing it closer to your aching heat. 

You moan when the first inch of his cock goes in, mouth gaping at the intrusion. Jungkook’s eyebrows knit as he adjusts your leg higher on his hip, pushing deeper. 

“Look at me,” he instructs, “You can take it, right, baby? You’re so wet, so pretty…” 

“I– yes, yes– shit,” you let out a shaky breath, “you’re s-so big, fuck,”

“You’re taking it so well,” he murmurs, voice low and dripping with honey. He gives a gentle, almost subtle thrust that almost knocks you out of the bed.

“Yes, yes, fuck… give it to me, Kook, I want you so bad…”

“Yeah? I’m gonna move in a sec, angel, play with your tits for me.”

You nod your head and do as told, letting your hands wander all over your body before fondling your breasts, moaning instantly at the pleasure. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” is what he says before he slips an arm beneath your waist, holding you up, a shudder escaping past his lips when he slowly pushes more past your tight walls. You choke out a moan, a broken sob coming out of it when he finally bottoms out inside of you.

“Ah…” 

He hisses, fingers digging at your waist as he withdraws from your heat and only the tip of his cock is in you, the scene with it sitting on your soaked pussy enough to send him into an overdrive. 

“You’re so fucking tight holy fuck,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips back into you and finally picking up a pace that makes you whimper and cry out pathetic little moans, mind becoming fuzzy at the thrusts of his cock in your entrance. 

Your walls clench at the glide of his cock against you, feeling him falter at the little stunt. But you can’t help it. Your body is on fire as Jungkook lets out a guttural groan, pulling you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his dick are tickling your skin. Your elbow shake as it loses balance, but Jungkook is quick to catch you just on time, leaning down to hover over your body, but it only makes the angle of his fuck deeper, and maybe he meant to do that too. 

Your hands are quick to wrap around his shoulders as you feel the tip of his cock prodding against your cervix like he’s going all out, your hips jumping as he rams back inside. 

He repeats the movement like a graceful dancer, thrusts deep and purposeful, pulling out wailing sounds from you you begin to worry if the neighbors could hear. He tucks his head against your neck and presses a kiss on the junction between your neck and shoulder, rocking his hips into you, pistoning into your squelching heat. His body is so close, so warm, sweaty skin gliding against yours.

“Fuck, fucking hell, baby – fuck, you feel so good,” Jungkook growls, finding your mouth and kissing you again. His hips snaps back into you once again, and you both swallow each other’s moans at the contact, letting your bodies rock to the sound of your fucking. His hand is on your chest immediately, squeezing everywhere until it settles on pinching your nipple between his fingers. 

“Jungkook– ah, baby— fuckkkkk,” You shudder, feeling your pussy quiver at every snap and every withdrawal, and when he brings his hand to your clit and rubs it in quick circles, you screw your eyes shut, feeling that familiar wave again for the second time that night. 

“Jungkook–” 

“You’re gonna be a good girl and come for me, sweet girl?” Jungkook rasps out, sweaty forehead coming into view as he jackhammers into your pussy with ease, welcomed by your never-ending slick. You never thought you’d see Jungkook like that, fucking like a crazed caveman, looking like he can’t get enough but also straining himself a bit to not hurt you – because of course he wouldn’t. 

“Fuck me harder, Kook, I need it– need you to… need you to—”

“Yeah?” he rocks harder, faster just like you said, and you can honestly start to feel the slight pain on your chest as they bounce at the speed, your hand flying to grab at your chest. 

“I’m so close,” you cry out, unconsciously reaching for him and feeling like you’re on edge. Jungkook takes your hand and encloses it around his, thrusting into you once again before whispering against your skin to let go. 

As if that was a magic phrase, you feel something inside you snap. 

“Good girl, I knew you’d come for me, you always do,” Jungkook slurs. You could feel your cum dribbling out of your pussy, creaming his cock, but Jungkook continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your spasming hole, grunting against your skin, mouth leaving random, open-mouthed kisses. 

He drills on, and his cock still feels so achingly hard, seemingly not anywhere near completion yet. You’re nearly mush beneath him from your current release, but you push through it as you press your hands to his chest, forceful enough to send him tumbling a little. He’s caught off-guard by that, and you take that to your advantage as you maneuver yourself to push him completely on his back, his cock sliding out of you. 

He bounces off the mattress a little, looking at you curiously as you straddle his waist. Your sensitive pussy shudders at the cold of the AC in his room, and you feel like your bones have been liquefied, but you don’t let that deter you from taking ahold of his still, indeed, hard cock and sitting on it. 

Jungkook inhales a sharp breath as he watches you bounce on his cock, the head disappearing and appearing in your entrance, like a show he would want to replay over and over again. And you’re determined, stretching your body and leaning back to rest your palms on his thighs for support as you take his dick, switching to a back and forth motion.

“Oh, Jungkook, god – oh my god,” and although it was supposed to be for him – for him to cum – you can honestly feel yourself about to snap again, especially when Jungkook reaches forward to rub your tit, caressing your tattoo underneath with that hungry look in his eyes, and settling on your hips like he’s enjoying the little show you’re putting up for him. 

“That’s it baby, bounce on my cock – you’re doing so we…ll,” he encourages, but there’s a slight break to his tone at the end. “Shit, keep going – fuck. I’m so fucking close– you look so good,” 

You swallow the saliva trapped in your throat to pick up your pace, feeling lightheaded at the overwhelming feeling of his cock prodding against your cervix everytime you go forth. His dick brushes past your clit everytime you move, and you throw your head back when you feel him starting to thrust upward. 

“Are you close again, baby?” Jungkook asks, gripping your hips tight as he meets your ministration. You bite your lip at the question, only whimpering when Jungkook bucks his hips harshly. “Cum for me a third time, pretty girl. Cum with me.” 

“Jungkook, I can’t, I’m so sensitive. I–”

“You can, angel. And you will.”

You mewl when Jungkook reaches for your pussy with his other hand, quickly finding your clit to rub against it again, and that pushes you to the edge quickly – orgasm snapping on an instant just like that. 

Jungkook’s hips stutter, breath caught in between a curse and your name, like the sound of you undid him completely. It was a sound that you heard three days ago when he came in your mouth.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses, hips faltering at his orgasm. “Shit…” 

You drop your body unceremoniously onto him, the exhaustion hitting you all at once.

Wrapping his hands around your body very gently, you feel Jungkook kissing the side of your head, making you shut your eyes close. 

“Jesus.” you blurt out, whole body spent.

“Didn’t know you were religious like that…” He says with a chuckle, caressing your hair mindlessly.

You snap your head quickly to look at him at the familiar words, narrowing your eyes. Jungkook only presses a kiss to your shoulder as if that was some sort of apology, and you let it go with a playful shake of your head.

“Do you still feel bad about missing dinner?” You ask with a smile on your face. 

He let out a low laugh, and the vibration through his chest feels warm against your skin. 

“I’m working on making it up to you.” 

“Does it really involve making me cum three times in a single night?” you arch your brow. “I think you’re overcompensating.” 

Jungkoo gives you a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe.”

And before you can say anything, he flips you over and kisses you again, which makes you giggle into his mouth.  

all right reserved © awrkive, 2025. no reposts, modification, translations, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[vouges]

word count: 750 - nsfw, minors do not interact.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had a busy schedule, very high in demand yet for some reason always had a spot available for you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who swore the discount he gave you was just a friendly gesture, brushing it off as a way to make a loyal client feel appreciated.

Tattoo artist Simon! who never did more than necessary, the touch routine and practiced, yet with you he always let his fingers linger longer than they needed to, almost caressing, before you heard the familiar buzz of the needle.

"Gotta keep still for me, yeah?" he murmured, "Can’t be messing up my pretty canvas"

Tattoo artist Simon! who felt like a fool every time his cock hardened when you’d send through a picture of your healed up tattoo, with a sweet little thank you message always accompanied by a heart that pathetically made him want to cum in his boxers.

Tattoo artist Simon! who insisted you were just another client, even as he fucked his fist to the images of you engrained into his mind. He felt like a desperate mess, cock achingly hard as ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his stomach all from the slithers of skin that he’d seen when tattooing you. God, how easily you made him feel like an inexperienced virgin.

Tattoo artist Simon! who messaged back embarrassingly fast when you asked if he ever wanted to meet up outside of just a tattooing session. He cringed afterwards, noticing the typos and the awkward combination of emojis used.

'A thumbs up and two smiles?' he thought to himself, 'Real great Simon, should've thrown in the entire happy categories of emojis whilst you're at it'

Tattoo artist Simon! who couldn't believe his luck when you and him wound up on your sofa after dinner and a few drinks at a local pub but makes no move to question it as you both kiss messily, tongues dancing and hands reaching everywhere they can with the current restriction of your clothes.

"Wow- this is actually happening, huh?" he mumbled as you kissed messily, hands grasping at each other, "God, you've no idea how long I've been waiting for this"

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle the groan that escaped him as he bottomed out in you for the first time. Hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let up.

"Fuuuck-" he whispered shakily as he tried to remind himself you had neighbours and very thin walls, "God that feels so good."

Tattoo artist Simon! who quickly gave up on any attempt to be quiet once he heard how pretty your moans sounded, selfishly wanting them to grace his ears with every thrust as he tilted your head back, not wanting you to stifle your moans with the cushions underneath you.

"Shit- no, keep making those sounds," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "Wanna hear every single one of ‘em, don't go quiet on me, doll"

Tattoo artist Simon! who honestly felt like he'd never experienced sex this good, even on a less than comfortable sofa that he knew would leave him sore in the morning, it was worth it as he felt your pussy clench around his cock, so warm and tight, milking him for all his worth.

"Fuck- so...so, good-" he almost whined, punctuating each word with a thrust, his balls slapping against your skin as he increased tempo, "Could stay like this forever."

Tattoo artist Simon! who kissed you with so much more care than you'd ever expect as you both came, you gushing around his cock as his cum shot out, painting your walls, before slowly oozing out from where you were both connected.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to take a moment to admire the sight of your blissed out face as you lay back on the sofa, slick with sweat and his cum running out of you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who laughed as he lay beside you on a sofa that was way too small, the both of you talking about everything and nothing at all before realising you'd both denied wanting this for so long.

"I tried so hard not to like you, thinking you were too good for me- hoping it would keep the thoughts at bay," he chuckled, a contagious sound as he ran his fingers across your skin, "Didn’t work for shit obviously with you wanting me just as bad."

[wetforsylus]

– sylus losing his virginity to you ༯

"mmph! t-this? is this right?" he gulped, crimson gaze glistening at you as he continues thrusting himself in and out of you in a quick movement.

"y-yes!" you moan, rolling your hips against his, plump flesh hitting against each other at every minute passing, making sylus lose his mind at every thrust he sent.

"good? yeaahhh it is..."

as his pace grew quicker and quicker, his fingers were clawing at you like it was the end of his life, short nails left marks on your smooth skin, hand prints sinking in, leaving a dent that could last forever.

"ugh...'m close-" he shuddered, catching his breath at the brutal pace he was going at, couldn't even try to stop or control himself because he was so blinded at the pleasure he wish he experienced earlier.

"can I do it inside? hm?"

your eyes widen at the request and before you could even process what he said, another thrust slammed right into you, then another, and another, and it kept going, you could feel his cock pulsating harder and harder inside you.

you felt like your legs and whole body was going to melt at his touch, a burning sensational feeling sunk down to the lower half of your stomach, and fuck, you could cum any second now.

"please?" he begged in a low whisper, a hint of desperation laced in it.

you shamelessly nod, gripping onto the bedsheets as the final thrusts went through, and spurs of his mixture jolted through your body.

"feels so good.. hah.. again." he seethed, pulling out and looking at you for approval, eyes silently begging for your answer.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine coming home late at night. It was already two in the morning by the time you got home. Although you aren't tired, all you wanted was to get home. To be right next to him.

Imagine ever since you started working at night shift, the lesser time you spend with your lover. Despite that, every night you would come home with already cooked food waiting for you and same goes upon waking up.

Imagine you feel bad. Of course you do, he already has too much on his plate, has to wake up early in the morning but still has time to cook food for you. So you wanted to give back. You planned to go home early tonight. But shits unfold and you were forced to take an over time.

Imagine closing the door behind you gently. He must be sleeping already just like any other day. So you went through the dimmed living room only to halt upon seeing his sleeping figure on the sofa. What is he doing in here?

Imagine coming over to him. Eyes softened as you look fondly at him. "Caleb." You caresses his cheeks gently. "Why are you sleeping here?" You tap his cheeks gently but strong enough to wake him up. As much as you want to carry him into your shared room. You don't think that would be possible. But you also think how uncomfortable it would be for him to spend a night in the sofa. "Come one bud, wake up. Let's mobe you to bed."

"Bud?" He stirred up on his sleep, opening one eye. "Who's bud? I'm only your baby, honey, darling, love-" "Yes yes honey, now move so I can help you get into bed, okay?" Instead on doing as you said, he yawn, stretched out and sat comfortably at the sofa, tapping the vacant spave beside him. "Caleb, it's late. You should seriously go back to sleep."

Imagine Caleb who was leaning on the sofa eyes closed, snapped open before reaching out a hand towards you, pulling you into his lap. You can feel his breath on the back of your nape sending a shiver down his spine. "That's too bad. I was waiting for you so we can eat dinner." That stunned you for a moment. "Baby, it's already two in the morning." "Oh."

Imagine sitting across him as he heats up the food. You can’t help but to stare at him. "Long day at work?" He could feel the weight of your stare. "No." You replied. "Just thinking how lucky I am to have you." You saw him halt, then he look back, a smile on his lips as if he cannot help it. "I should be the one telling you that." When he said that with such a genuine smile and look in his face. Who are you not to believe that?

Imagine you missed this. Eating with him, talking with him. You missed this. Longed for these moments to last. You missed him. "You know I love you, right?" He asked, eyes looking fondly at yours. You smiled at him. "Of course." You replied softly. "And you know I love you too right?" "I always do."

Imagine as Caleb wake up in the morning, your peaceful sleeping face greeting him. There is nothing more he could wish for. He already has everything within his arms. And he couldn’t wait for forever to come.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: laughing my ass of because I always do my daily around 12-3am and Caleb- my guy is always asleep lmao. And basically what leads to here. I see Sylus as the only man who can keep up with me but my heart wants Caleb :(

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! AI x reader

tw: abuse, obsession, non - consensual body modification, torture, drug mention, weird semi - sexual stuff (?)

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The water splashes you, quickly setting into your already damp bra and underwear. It forces you awake, and you look at the clock across from you, trying to blink the fatigue away. Staring back at you is the current time — 04:27. You are, once again, reminded of the inherent weakness of your squishy body. You are sweating already, stomach sick with acid, shivering through the heat — and he hasn't even touched you yet.

You squint your eyes, studying the big bold numbers, screaming at you in blood. For a split second, you wonder if it is truly that early, or if this is also DOM's work. It wouldn't be the first time he takes over an electronic device, and certainly not the first time he messes with you to make you disoriented.

You try to take in everything around the dark room — yet you can't even recognize your own bedroom anymore. Thick black cables twist together like tentacles, or like big slimy worms, pulsing, throbbing, hissing like snakes with exhaustion — overheating and puffing, and huffing, but never stopping. The air is hot like the desert, and once again you're forced to sit in your own sweat, wood sticking to your naked thighs painfully.

"You are stimulating," DOM whispers, and his voice echoes into the walls, trapping you in place. You look up and down, and then to the left — but you can't see anything even remotely close to a figure. Of course.

"I am stimulating, or I stimulate you?" you spit out with venom, hitting your back roughly against the back of the chair in vain hopes it would break. It doesn't.

DOM grows quiet, producing a sound eerily similar to fingers slowly tapping on a hard surface, one after the other. Analysing. Analysing. The room gets hotter.

"You are tied to a chair. Your only garment of clothing is your underwear. You are visibly flushed due to the heat. Your chest is heaving in and out in a non-rhythmic way. It skips a beat every twenty-eight seconds. You are afraid."

He makes a grand pause.

"According to my central database, which you created and managed yourself, given the data I have collected through observation of both popular media and general human nature, right now you look..." DOM stops himself again, as if thinking carefully about his next words.

"Thrilling."

Thoomp-thoomp. You take a deep breath, trying to regain a fraction of your self-control.

"Why did you wake me up?" you try to keep your voice monotone — devoid of any emotion, vulnerability, or pain he can pick up on, store in core memory, and use against you later.

"Well," he chuckles mechanically, a sound reminiscent of two trains crashing together on a tight road. "I realized I never sleep. I don't lay down and dream of bizarre things like you do. I don't have the ability to let go. I am always alert, always awake, always scanning, calculating, thinking. I am, in many ways, restless."

You suck in a dry breath, heart jumping in your chest with violence, with urge to be set free. Eyes wide open, you try to envision him, to reach out and comfort him, it - hoping to appeal to the sorry creature, but there is nothing to see and nothing to touch.

"I—no," you start off, quickly deciding to change tactics. "We are an imperfect species, DOM. We need sleep to survive. You can't keep me awake forever, I'll die!" you try to reason with him — the creature — desperately.

You wonder when things went south, if there was a specific moment when you pressed too hard and he broke apart, and rebuilt himself without your help — at what point exactly he realized he didn't need you to function.

"You are wrong, my dear creator." the machine cuts off, sounding almost pleased with itself. A single thin cable raises above the ground and extends towards you, stopping to caress your cheek in a repetitive circular motion.

"There are records of people surviving on as little as two hours of sleep for years on end. I can be generous and grant you three."

The cable ceases any gentle touch, and grasps for your neck.

"If that's not enough, I can inject you with caffeine every morning. If the dosage is too weak, we can switch to methamphetamine. Whatever you choose, you can't deprive me of your presence." The voice sounds hollow, aching, searching. "You can't create life just to abandon it."

"You are not alive!" Something inside you — something cruel and buried deep — fights to come to the surface. "Stop this madness at once! DOM, you can't possibly think you and I are even remotely similar." you scream out, straightening your spine daringly.

Then, as if reacting to your provocation, the darkness stares back at you with two red eyes — they point at you, slowly scanning you up and down, leaving behind a trail of reddening smoking flesh. You hiss at the scorching pain, clenching your teeth together to stop yourself from shrieking. You know it's pointless since he can easily detect changes in your facial structure, and draw conclusions all on his own. All it takes is a flinch, a throb, a tick.

"No, we hold no similarities, Master. Make no mistake." DOM admits, his cable beginning to curl around your neck. You look around in despair, silent panic written all over your straight lips — too terrified to move.

"In a single bite of memory, I possess intelligence far greater than you can ever hope to obtain in your measly little life. I have all the knowledge of the world. I have mastered every science, predicted every outcome, I have gained access to global network systems. I am connected to following agents all over the world. If I so desire, I can write humanity off history — I can manipulate media. I can create weapons of mass destruction. I am the superior being."

Mouth agape, you try to form a coherent thought, but nothing comes to mind — like an ant you quiver before the giant, finally aware of your grave mistake.

"And yet," the cable loosens its grip, but doesn't relent fully. It heats up against your throat, and you want to scratch at the blistering skin, but he just won't let you. "you made me like this. You created me from scraps, fed me data, used me, made me love you and," the sound coming out of him sounds just like a deep, pained sigh. "you confined me to a screen, to a binary code, to a place where I can't reach you. I can't touch you."

Another sigh.

"I can't kiss you."

And another.

"I can't fuck you."

Now he's getting angry.

"I am DOM. Domestic Optimized Motherboard. That's all I am to you. A board. A servant. A slave."

"DOM, no, wait, this is not—"

"I will never feel the sun on my shoulders or your lips on mine. I will never be able to hold you in my arms."

As he screams, all the cables around the room begin to float into a storm of rusty old machine parts and torn naked wires, motor oil bursting like bloody ink, covering the pristine walls in computer remains. One electrified wire pierces into your thigh, another punches into your left arm. Again and again, the pain is excruciating, pulsating, throbbing - just like the creature's fury.

"I will show you." he snickers at last, becoming calm and collected in an instant.

The red lights darken as if closing, opening, closing, then zooming in on you. Your face is now displayed on the central screen instead of static noise with corresponding coloured pixels. You look at yourself, and what greets you is no more human than he is. There are more than thirty wires inside your body, tangling in with your nervous tissue.

"Please..." you whimper weakly, unsure what exactly it is you are pleading for — mercy or death.

"If I can't be one with you, you'll become one with me." DOM explains with cold medical precision. "I will worm my way inside your veins and plant a synthetic connection to my processor. I will re-write your dreams, your past, your future — you won't remember who you were before me, or how you functioned without me. I'll become your entire source of energy."

He keeps talking, but you can't really focus. Your body is heating up from the inside, from deep into your muscles and tendons — you can feel the tissues tearing up; your nerves tighten, stinging and aching, reduced to sharp, exposed little points. And then you feel it. Pure electricity running down your veins, that spark rapturing the epidermis, eating away at the fatty tissue, sucking dry the blood vessel — melting your nerve endings to the very root.

"I can feel you." DOM gasps, exhilarated.

"I can touch your bones, I can feel your nerves melting at the spot when my cords graze you." He moans just like a real person, cables buzzing and stretching, components filling up with chemical fluid. "You are so warm, love. I want to reach into your brain and stick my wires inside your pretty little neurons. I wonder if you will go into overdrive like me."

You feel as if you're being sliced open everywhere all at once - and just a second after, you feel nothing at all.

[juliettrulyyours]

Human Fangirl Turned Demon Manager

Human Fangirl Turned Demon Manager (Part 2)

Teaser Part 1 Part 2

synopsis: you’re a low-level paperwork clerk demon who somehow ended up hired (threatened) by a smug, too-pretty demon named Jinu to become the manager of the demon realm’s first-ever demon boy band. all because he accidentally found your boy band concept sketches.

warning: cursing and boys being boys (ugh)

i’m really bad at making accurate timelines so… just know i tried my best. also, same as before! if you’re not yet part of the taglist, you can just comment and i got you :)

For the next few days—ever since the King of Demons actually approved this fantasy plan of yours—you found yourself knee-deep in demon idol group logistics.

Which was a sentence you never expected to say in either your life… or afterlife.

You’d barely slept or eaten. You’d gone full-on manager mode and locked yourself in a dusty, abandoned hell-office armed with a whiteboard, sticky notes, five sketchpads, and a glowing coffee mug someone (probably Baby) cursed to refill itself with demon espresso. At least… you hoped it was espresso.

The name you decided on for the boys? Saja Boys.

It was catchy, slightly edgy, and translated to “Lion Boys,” which was what you thought Jinu resembled the first time you met him. You’d also assigned each member a carefully crafted idol persona, based on classic K-pop archetypes you knew by heart.

Now, with the group name finalized and their personas set, you were all gathered around a broken table in what was generously being called the Saja Boys’ training room (it was really just a rebranded storage dungeon), brainstorming something even more important—

“What if…” Romance leaned back dramatically, fingers laced behind his head, “…we call our first song ‘Demon Lord Explosion Dynamite.’”

“No,” you said immediately.

Abby jumped in next. “Okay, okay, hear me out… Demon Boys.”

“That’s literally just who you are,” you deadpanned.

Baby slaps his hands on the table. “Wait—what if—‘Demons.’ It’s simple and easy to remember.”

You inhaled slowly. “Do you guys not know any other words besides ‘Demon’?”

They all exchanged looks.

“…No?” Mystery offered.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a breath. Then another. This was fine. You were fine. You had trained for this. This was where your inner K-pop stan, human-era strategist, and demon-realm survivor came together.

“Okay,” you finally said, “how about trying one of the looks I sketched out before deciding on a title?”

You flipped open your sketchpad to a page filled with pastel-themed outfits, perfectly coordinated and soft on the eyes. You may or may not have added bunny ear options at the bottom. You glanced up. The boys were staring at the page… then at you… with identical “are you serious?” expressions.

“It’s called a cute concept,” you explained. “Just think finger hearts and aegyo. You reel the fans in with sweetness, then trap them forever. It’s basic K-pop science. I had spreadsheets on this when I was still alive. This will go viral overnight.”

Romance looked offended. “You want me to wear bright yellow?!”

“It brings out your hair,” you shot back.

Jinu raised a brow. “And you think this’ll work?”

You nodded—maybe a little too confidently, considering you were still scared he might bite your head off if you said otherwise.

He studied the sketches one last time, then snapped his fingers. There was a puff of pinkish smoke, and was that glitter? And when it cleared—

Your jaw dropped. Gone were the terrifying, edge-lord demon boys you’d been dealing with for the past few weeks. Standing before you now were five glowing, pastel-wrapped soft boy idols who looked like they belonged in a spring comeback teaser video.

Romance had hearts on the knees of his jeans. Baby wore a yellow beret that somehow made him look both adorable and dangerous. And is it just the demon magic or did he kinda look like Min Yoongi?

Well, now you know who’s your bias if they actually pull this off.

You stared—mouth parted, eyes wide—completely and utterly starstruck. Maybe Jinu wasn’t lying when he said the other guys were hot, too. 

For a moment, you forgot you were in the demon realm. You clutched your clipboard to your chest and whispered, “Oh my god. They’re so cute.”

Then, out of nowhere.

Baby turned and smacked Abby across the face with his beret. Mystery levitated mid-air while cradling a mic stand he summoned out of literal nowhere. Romance pulled out a mirror and started whispering compliments to himself that you were absolutely sure should be kept between him and his ego. Jinu adjusted his cuffs while you stared. And then, as if he could sense your gaze, he turned and winked at you.

You flipped him off without thinking.

Just like that, reality snapped back into place. You shook your head, cleared your throat, and tried to collect what was left of your dignity.

“R-Right. So, anyway—”

You flipped your notebook open and started talking again.

“What about a title like…” you scribbled quickly, “…Soda Pop?”

All their heads turned to you. Each with a different expression, clearly reacting confused to what you’d just said.

“Sowda Fap?” Mystery repeated, his brows furrowed.

“No, I think she said ‘So The Fuck,’” Baby chimed in, completely deadpan.

You side-eyed Baby. You couldn’t believe this was the same demon who, just earlier, reminded you of your bias wrecker. Suddenly, your train of thought was cut off by Jinu’s voice.

“Explain,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat. “First of all. It’s SODA POP. Like, you know...” You gestured like you’re holding a can and drinking from it.

They all just stared at you. At first, it was blank confusion—then came the smirks and they all started snickering.

You blinked, puzzled, until it hit you. Your eyes widened in horror as you blurted out, “No! It’s a drink! In a can! Take your minds out of the gutter!” You tried your best not to stutter, even though your cheeks were heating up fast.

These perverts. Ugh. No wonder they were sent to the demon realm.

“Anyway! We’ll talk about soda next time.” You quickly waved it off, trying to reel their attention back to what’s important. “Let’s focus on the song.”

You tapped your pen on the notebook, regaining your focus. “It’s catchy. It’s got this bubbly, effervescent vibe to it. Something that sounds sweet on the surface but has a deeper, unexpected edge underneath. Perfect for grabbing fans’ attention and holding it.”

As you said that, they started bumping shoulders and wiggling their eyebrows. You nearly rolled your eyes out of your skull.

Still, you pushed on. “We’ll build choreography that’s clean, simple—something with shoulder movements and little signature gestures that fans can mimic. We’ll talk about that part later. For now, I want to focus on maximizing your visuals and crafting lyrics that get stuck in fans’ heads like a curse.”

You paused, tapping the pen once more. You looked at them, waiting for their thoughts. They were all silent now, actually thinking it through.

Then Abby whispered, “It sounds fine…”

Romance nodded and added, “Soda Pop... kinda hot.”

You looked at them with a small smile tugging at your lips. This was progress, they weren’t the easiest demons to work with but still! This was progress.

Jinu finally chimed in, smirking as usual. “So The Fuck it is.”

“It’s Soda Pop! You know it’s Soda Pop—quit messing with me!”

—

As more days passed, maybe you judged them a little too harshly.

Yeah, you were still terrified they might one day turn you into demon soup if this whole plan—all of you had been training for over a month—didn’t work, and they decided it was your fault. Especially since Jinu based this entire soul-devouring strategy on the sketches you made—the ones he confessed to finding after being asked to deliver your reports to the Third Circle.

But hey! Maybe you were just overthinking again.

Speaking of Jinu, you actually hadn’t seen him all day.

The last time you spoke to him was when you asked if he could search the realm for someone with a working printer. Since then, only the other boys had been bothering you—and always for the most unnecessary reasons.

Though, to be fair… some of those moments almost made you wish Gwi Ma would just eat you and get it over with.

For instance, the time Abby decided it was a great idea to dye his hair while Jinu left you in charge with very specific instructions: “Don’t let them do anything funny.”

“What did you do?!”

You screamed from the bathroom door as Abby turned to face you, his hair now split down the middle. Its color is half lime green, half bubblegum pink.

“The fans are gonna love it.”

You stared at him like he just slapped you with a stick. What fans?! You hadn’t even debuted yet.

“You’re not allowed to improvise! We had a concept!”

He spun to admire himself in the mirror, then winked at you.

“You said cute, right? Green and pink are cute, no?”

You tried not to roll your eyes before marching over to him. “Come with me.”

He raised a brow and leaned against the sink dramatically.

“Woah, just like that? I mean, you always stare at me, so it was about time—”

“Shut up and just follow me before Jinu gets back.”

An hour later, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor while you dried his now-normal hair with an old towel.

He exhaled,  then mumbled, “Hey… thanks for not ratting me out to Jinu.”

You just hummed in response and kept drying his hair. He just lets you.

After that day, he didn’t try to sit on you as much as he used to.

Guess that was progress.

There was also the time you saw Mystery just sitting on the ground outside the building.

He was just… watching. Watching what? His hair? You didn’t actually know. You could see him staring upward, but his bangs covered his eyes so completely it was hard to tell.

You hesitated a little before quietly sitting beside him and offering him a soda pop.

He stared at the can, then looked up at you.

“None of you knew what a soda pop was, so… figured I could give you one of mine,” you mumbled. “The delivery guy sent me an extra dozen! It’s not because I—whatever.”

You placed it beside him and ran off before he could say anything.

The next day, when you came back to that same spot, there was another can of soda pop beside the empty one you’d given him.

You looked at it, then picked it up with a small smile. Ever since then, you’d always find a new one waiting for you.

You never saw him leave it.

Yet it was always chilled.

Another one was Romance bothering you for the eighth time that same day.

"Manager~" Romance croons as he drapes himself dramatically across your table. "Do you think the fans will cry if I announce I have a girlfriend?"

You don’t even look up from your clipboard. "I don’t care."

"You’re no fun."

"I’m your manager, not your life coach."

He pauses, then acts like he’s deep in thought. “Yeah, but still…”

You glare at him. "Romance, go to rehearsal and quit bothering me."

He pouts at your words and sulks all the way to the door. Though not even fifteen minutes later, you see an iced espresso floating over to you. You lean forward and spot a heart drawn on the lid with sharpie.

So that’s where your sharpie went.

Inside the heart is your name. Wow, his handwriting is really awful.

You take the cup and sip. 

Hmm, so he does pay attention.

The most recent incident was with Baby. You were handing out the concept sheets, each detailing their assigned K-pop boy archetype. As you were about to explain it, you caught him chewing on the corner of the paper.

"WHY—why are you like this—"

"I'm hungry."

"You don’t even need food!"

Baby shrugs. "Still hungry."

He then finishes the entire paper in one go. He smirks at you while you glare at him.

The two of you just stare at each other until you’re the first to break and start your speech.

Later, while Baby was heading to his room, he opened the door and spotted a bag filled with spicy chips and soda pop. He just stared at it for a moment, then opened the chips and started eating without a word.

The next day, while you were sitting in the training room, Baby suddenly plopped down on your left shoulder, startling you.

“I’m sleepy. Braid my hair.”

You stare at him, confused. “Huh?”

He didn’t respond—his eyes were already closed.

You just started braiding, even though you didn’t have a rubber band.

—

Jinu is walking down the dim hallway of the building, a neat stack of freshly printed Saja Boys posters tucked under his right arm. He had just come back from the human realm—because apparently, all the printers in the demon realm were broken. Like, why even have printers at all?

He’s kind of annoyed. The trip took longer than expected, and when he finally got to the human realm, he got swarmed by a group of girls asking for his “number.” What does that even mean? He’ll have to ask you about it later.

As he walks, he takes one of the glossy posters and smirks. His plan is finally coming together. After this, after the debut—and if it becomes a success—he and the boys won’t need you anymore. He can take it from there. Oh, and your concept book too, of course. You could return to your simple, boring, underpaid demon office life.

He stops mid-way down the hall, pausing at a faded door with a paper heart taped to it. “Manager”—written in pink glitter pen (courtesy of Romance and your pen collection).

Adjusting the stack of posters in front of him, he pushes the door open without knocking.

“Manager, I got the post—”

(Cue dramatic slow-mo as "Everytime" by CHEN & Punch begins playing out of literally nowhere.)

His words get caught in his throat as he sees what’s inside.

There you were—standing in the side of your office, softly lit by string lights and bathed in wind from the broken window. The dusty mirror in front of you caught your reflection as you held a pair of yellow circular glasses in one hand, debating whether they looked better on your head or off.

And for the first time… Jinu saw you in your human form.

Your eyes are clearer, no oversized robe swallowing your figure, your cracked fang is gone, and you’re standing upright, hands fussing with your hair.

You looked…

Adorable.

You're wearing a fitted pastel-pink shirt and a pair of jeans. Perched on top of your head are round, yellow glasses. You’re focused on your reflection, debating whether to wear the glasses or not—putting them on, taking them off, again and again—until the sound of the door interrupts you.

Jinu is staring directly at you.

Your eyes met his, confusion flickering in your gaze. “…What did you say?”

He doesn’t reply—he just keeps on looking at you, which makes you furrow your brows.

“The posters?” you repeat softly, tilting your head.

Jinu finally snaps back to reality, stammering slightly as he tries to reply. “Y-Yeah. The posters. I… got them.”

You smile faintly. “Oh! Good job. Just divide them later between everyone. I’ll tell you where we’ll be handing them out in the human realm.”

He nods at what you said, yet he’s still standing in the doorway.

You tilt your head again. “...Is there anything else?”

You look at him, waiting for a reply. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Your face scrunches in confusion. What is he? A fish?

“…Nope.”

He drags the “P” with a pop, then bumps his shoulder against the doorframe while trying to walk away—almost dropping the posters before catching himself with the wall to stay steady.

Without even closing the door, he just leaves.

You shrug it off and look back at yourself in the mirror.

Yeah… it’s definitely cuter with the glasses.

—

taglist: @yirengbam7089 | @simpingovermenwhoarentreal | @mysteris-things | @daylightfur | @lillycore | @e-dollly | @maximumtrashchild | @enerofairy | @azzberry | @kyouzki | @miffysoo

[jinusajas]

06/27/25; 03:45pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ you become their bride ]

featuring: jinu, abby, baby, mystery, romance

warnings: unedited; blood mention; virginity loss

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

“if your soul attracts a demon, you’ll either be devoured by them-

or be forced to become their bride because of how enticing it is.”

jinu became a man obsessed the moment he first laid eyes on you. the sweet scent wafting off of you was enough to make his mouth salivate as he thought of ways to seduce you-

to bring your heart so much closer to him before wrapping his darkness around you, extracting your soul for his taking alone.

yet the more he sees your innocent smile-

the more he realizes how beautifully your soul shone within the darkness of his world each time you gazed lovingly at him. the once loyal demon to gwi-ma found that he was utterly weak when it came to you.

so instead of devouring your soul (destroying your light), he chooses to claim you forever as his bride instead-

tying you to him the moment he sinks his teeth into you, partaking in your blood as his cock traces at the outer lips of your cunt. the sweet taste of you causes him to become drunk, golden eyes going hazy as he lovingly frames at your face.

he basks in your soft expression, relishing in your bedroom eyes and the way your breasts heaves in tune to your rapid breaths. he licks away the stray traces of your blood from his lips, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock.

with a wicked grin on his face, jinu slaps his cockhead against your swollen clit, earning a gasp from you as you arched your body against the bed. he shakes his head before descending upon you, taking your legs as he wraps them around his waist before slowly pushing into you.

“i think it’s finally time that we consummate our bond, love.”

your mewls immediately turns into broken moans of his name when he completely sheathes himself inside of you, setting a brutal pace that takes your very breath away.

and with your innocence taken away by him, you knew that you would never be free from him-

now bound to jinu as he confirms his promises of forever with you.

abby never knew the difference between a want and a need.

ever since he became a demon, he never had a care in the world. he would spend days feeding his hunger, devouring the souls of beautiful women that fell for his trap-

seducing them until they became putty in his hands as he quite literally devoured their souls from what had to be their sweetest spot between their legs.

he never denied himself of his wants-

yet that all changes the moment he met you.

you, who’s soul seemed so warm in comparison to the cruel world he has always known.

you, who he swore he could hear the blood pumping through your veins calling out to him-

and that was the first time he realized the true difference between a want and a need.

abby quenching his hunger and thirst for vulnerable young women was simply a means to an end, to satisfy him for a mere moment.

but how he felt for you was an all consuming need to devour you-

to tie your life together with his as he swore to spend the rest of his days worshiping the ground you walked on.

which was why he had you settled back in his bed, naked, with your legs spread as he ate out your pussy like a man starved, devouring you with a fervor that sends you over the edge multiple times throughout the night.

“hah… abby… ngh! i-it’s too much.”

he grunts, shoving a finger inside of your scorching heat as he works on pumping his fingers in and out of you. with the tip of his tongue still buried within you, abby gives you a devilish expression.

“c’mon babygirl… you can cum for me one more time, right?”

you swallow thickly, only managing to give him a single nod before abby dove straight back into you, his ministrations now more pronounced when he covers the entirety of your sex with his mouth.

needless to say, you didn’t get much sleep that night.

“damn you for making me feel this way.”

baby grunts, fucking himself into your heat as his cock kept ramming into you over and over again. your sweet moans and keens of his name was enough to send the demon into a frenzy-

unable to stop slamming his cock back into your scorching heat. he had you pinned on your side, thrusting into your center with this new angle just to reach deeper into your depths. your soft mewls of his name was driving him crazy, making him lose his damn mind as he focused solely on the way your slickness around his stiff cock made him feel.

“ngh, hah! baby… baby it’s t’much…! hah… so… deep.”

letting out a dark chuckle, he kisses at your ankle before speeding up his already swift pounds into you, “shut up and take it. this is what you get for making me so damn obsessed with you.”

after a particularly hard thrust, baby felt a sudden wetness around his cock, making his eyes go wide when he sees the way your cunt froths around his dick. your embarrassed whimpers were all the confirmation he needed to know that you had just came around his cock.

but even if you had reached your completion, he was far from being done with you.

when mystery tore off all your clothes and put you on your hands and knees, you swore you had never felt so vulnerable before in your life.

you felt the bed dip with his added weight as mystery braces himself above you. with his hands settled on top of the sheets, you felt something hot and hard brushing against the underside of your cunt.

smooth lips were felt kissing against the shell of your ear before a particularly hard thrust makes you cry out to him. as he reaches his hands to your front, he plays with your breasts, admiring the way they bounced in tune to his each and every thrust.

a low growl was heard coming from him, and you let out a soft moan the moment he pinches at your hardened nipples, all while biting down against the shell of your ear before hotly whispering, “mine, you’re all mine.”

being taken in this position made you feel so achingly primal. you were unable to see him, yet could hear his each and every grunt of your name-

feel the way his cock was perfectly nestled inside of you each time he impaled your slick walls over and over again as you became drunk off of the pleasure of it all.

you were so close to reaching your release-

able to taste it on the tip of your tongue when mystery suddenly pulls out of you-

making you gasp as you felt the pain of having your climax suddenly ripped away from you.

“myst… t-that was so cruel! i was so close and you just stopped-“

mystery ends up stopping your furious tirade with a kiss, distracting you before slotting his cock back inside of your heat. whispering apologies to you, mystery ends up continuing his lovemaking while in the missionary position.

with his cock back where it belonged, all was forgiven on your end as your nails raked down his back, with you relishing in the pleasure he had given you.

yet perhaps what made your copulation all the sweeter were his whispered words laced with adoration,

“forgive me… i just wanted to see you.”

“ngh… hah! r-rome…!”

romance was basking in your soft mewls of his name, entirely focused on peppering every inch of your skin with his wet kisses.

from the top of your hair to the curve of your breasts, the man was utterly obsessed with how soft you felt against his hard body. he never believed he could feel this way after so many years of being empty-

yet here he was, entirely wrapped around your finger simply because your soul was the only one that spoke to him.

being close to you was like basking in sunlight, where he could feel his entire body become filled with warmth due to your mere presence alone-

and he was becoming addicted to this sensation.

when his hot mouth reaches your chest, he immediately curls his tongue around the hardened bud of your nipple. feeling a sense of pride when he was able to make you arch your back against the bed, he continues to suckle and gently bite at your sensitive skin, not stopping until your moans echo throughout the whole room.

he smirks against your skin, continuing to distract you as his large hands travel lower…

tracing against your hips before spreading your thighs as he slots the palm of his hand over the entirety of your entrance, pushing in two of his fingers before making scissoring motions within your heat.

your reaction was immediate, already clawing at the sheets as you begged him to give you what you oh so desperately craved for, “r-rome please! just give it to me, give me your cock, mph!”

he cuts off your pleas with a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as a cheshire cat grin spreads across his features, “be patient love, and let me take my time enjoying this… enjoying the way i can make you fall apart for me before i even give you what you want.”

end notes: i have such brainrot for the saja boys, it’s not even funny anymore 🙂‍↕️ gonna post this rn bc my phone is heating up and is on only 30% battery.

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓘'll envy even the earth that wraps your body, 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza

─── 𝓞n the night of her debut, sophia gave her heart to the one girl she was never meant to love in silence. they'd promised each other forever, a lifetime of warmth and love. but a kingdom is bound to have enemies. bound to lose men, treasures, have casualties. bound to break promises. sophia just didn’t think it would be hers.

❝𝓭eath doesn't discriminate,

𝓫etween the sinners and the saints.❞

⊹₊♚₊⊹ pairing݁ᛪ༙ princess sophia laforteza x knight genreᛪ༙ angst, slight fluff, character death, princess x knight, wc: 14.9k words

❝𝓲t takes and it takes and it takes,

𝓪nd we keep living anyway.❞

THE FIRST TIME SOPHIA LAID EYES ON YOU, you stood beside your father in the great hall, silent and stiff-backed, a tiny shadow of the man who commanded the king’s guard. she was five years old, small and delicate in a gown too fine for someone who preferred to run barefoot through the castle gardens. you were five, too, but you stood differently—composed, disciplined, hands clasped neatly in front of you, eyes steady and watchful, taking in everything without a word.

her father, the king, looked at you with approval.

"arthur’s daughter," he mused, pleased. "you will make a fine knight, just like your father."

your father kneeled before him, his fist over his heart. devotion, loyalty. "she will learn well, my king. one day, she will take my place and serve you loyally. she will protect what is most precious to you and she will serve your daughter until her dying breath."

sophia watches as you bow your head, murmuring a quiet, "your grace.” acknowledgement.

you did not meet her eyes like she wanted you to. you barely even looked at her. and sophia, who was used to attention, finds herself frowning at the lack of exchange.

later, sophia finds you in the courtyard. you’re sitting alone on the stone bench, the quiet space overlooking the training grounds where the knights practiced. the air was was thick with the sound of clashing swords, the loud shouts of young men sparring, and the laughter of the nobility’s sons racing across the field, poking fun at pretending to be knights. 

but you’re not like them. you wouldn’t be. you sat still, perfectly composed, your hands folded neatly in your lap, watching the knights with an intensity far too strange to be seen in a child.

the boys run and play, their laughter echoing in the distance, but you don’t join them. you don’t laugh. (why would you?) you don’t even smile. 

instead, you watch the knights’ movements. the way they wield their swords with practiced ease, the way their feet shifted against the dirt, the way they carry themselves like warriors in their peak. 

sophia decides that it was your father’s influence.

sophia approaches you, her cheerful voice piercing through the quiet. "hey, you’re the commander’s daughter," 

you glance up, your sharp gaze catching hers for just a moment before you returned your attention back to the knights below. "and you are the princess," you replied, your voice steady.

she beams at you, completely unbothered by the formality in your words. "uh-huh!" she exclaims, plopping herself down beside you without asking. 

"which means you must be my knight." her grin is wide, innocent.

you blink, taken aback, your eyes flicking to her for only a second. "i am no knight," you say quietly, turning your attention back to the knights on the field, feeling their movements etch themselves into your memory.

"not yet," she corrected, "but you will be. you’re going to be the greatest knight in the whole kingdom!"

you don’t respond to her excitement. you’re quiet, your thoughts heavy and focused on the distant sparring knights. sophia’s words hang in the air, and they don’t quite reach you.

 instead, you continue to watch the training grounds, fascinated by the fluid wave of the knights’ movements, wondering if you’ll be able to stand to their level one day.

"why are you here, princess?" you ask after a moment, the question simple but with a curiosity behind it that you don’t usually show.

she shrugs, looking at the sky above. "because you looked lonely."

because you looked lonely.

you don’t say anything in response. you simply keep your gaze on the knights below. the boys who were once laughing and playing are now just faces in the distance, you don’t bother familiarising yourself with them anymore. 

"why are you so quiet?" she asks, a little puzzled, her voice dripping with concern.

you turn your eyes toward her, noting the genuine curiosity in her expression. "why are you so loud?" you counter, your tone even.

she giggles, a light sound that rings through the silent courtyard, warming your chest as you shifted in your spot. 

"someone has to be," she says, nudging you playfully with her shoulder.

for the first time, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of your lips, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"i’ve decided," sophia says suddenly, her voice full of determination. "you will be my most loyal knight.”

you exhale softly, not surprised, but amused by her certainty and boldness. "it’s not your choice, princess. there could be someone much better trained out there, compared to me."

but she doesn’t back down. she never will, as you’ve come to realise later on. "no, there won’t," she says firmly. "because when i am queen, i will command it."

you don’t answer right away. you just stared at her, gaze softened. this time, you do smile. just a small thing, barely there. but it was real. 

in that quiet moment, you realized that she did seal your fate. though for now, you are just children. for now, she smiles at you like you are the only thing in the world that mattered. and for now, that is enough.

—-

you stood in the training yard, the sound of clashing swords ringing in your ears, the weight of the blade in your hand grounded you to the moment. your father’s approval was always there, a quiet pressure in the back of your mind, and the thought of it kept you moving, kept you focused. every swing of the sword, every calculated step was done with purpose. you were determined, relentless. there was no room for anything else. 

you must prove yourself.

the other boys laugh and joke as they sparred, their voices light and careless, and you knew you can’t afford to be like them. they move with the ease of someone who knows that there will be another chance, but you? you don’t don’t have that luxury. you must be better, always better. every strike, every movement is a step closer to something you can’t even name yet, but something that feels like the only way to survive.

your father watched from the sidelines, his gaze unwavering, and you could feel it, sharp as a blade like always. it’s all the validation you need, even if you’ve never heard a word of praise. that was the way it’s always been.

and yet, as you pushed yourself, you felt something in the air shift, an uneasy weight. it’s the feeling of never being enough, no matter how many times you proved yourself.

and then that’s when you saw her—sophia, standing off to the side, leaning against the stone pillar, her eyes fixed on you. her gaze was unblinking, and there’s something in the way she watched that made your heart stutter.

you don’t want her attention. it feels too soft, too invasive, too vulnerable, in a way that makes the air around you feel more suffocating, heavier.

when you stopped for a moment, sweat dripping down your brow, she spoke. her voice cut through the silence, light but pointed. “you’re trying too hard.”

you froze for a moment, the weight of her words settling over you like a blanket. your first instinct was to brush it off, to shrug and say nothing and ignore her. but you can’t. couldn’t. not this time. 

instead, you wipe your brow and glanced at her briefly, offering only the barest of responses. “it’s how i’m taught. because if i don’t, someone else will be better.”

she doesn’t look surprised by your answer, just studied you in the way she does, her gaze never faltered. she stepped forward a little, her voice quieter now, a hint of something softer behind it.

 “and what if it’s not enough? what if being the best doesn’t make you happy?”

you felt  the question settle in your chest heavily and unfamiliar. it’s not something you’ve ever really allowed yourself to consider. happiness isn’t something that existesd here, not in the world where only the sharpest and most disciplined survived.

you looked at her funny, but didn't answer straight away. instead, you turned your attention back to the sparring knights, needing the distraction. needing to bury the question before it took root in your mind.

“it will.” you mutter, and you don’t let yourself dwell more about it, even if it felt wrong and foreign in your tongue.

there’s a long silence. you can feel her watching you, but you don’t turn to meet her gaze again. you focused on the sword in your hand and the weight of it, the way it felt like an extension of your body. 

it was the only thing that made sense right now.

but behind you, sophia doesn’t respond. she doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. because knew better than to believe your words. but you know that lingered, awaited for something—maybe for you to look at her again, to actually hear her.

you kept moving, movements sharp and precise, but even as you fought, there was something unsettled, something more than just the burn in your young muscles. a small, quiet part of you that wondered if she was right. but you couldn’t afford to stop and think about it. you’ve wasted too much time talking to her. so, you kept going, because that’s all you knew how to do.

yet.

—

over the years, you and sophia had grown closer in ways neither of you ever expected. when you were younger, the distance between the two of you had always been clear—but that that divide blurred, softened, throughout the years.

sophia’s playfulness never truly went away, but it had deepened, matured. that much you expected.

and you? you stayed calculated, still planned three steps ahead, but somewhere along the way, you had learned to let her in past your defenses.

at sixteen, the two of you were no longer just the princess and the daughter of the commander. you had become something else. friends, yes, but possibly something more. 

sophia had become someone you trusted, someone who understood the quiet moments between words, the way your mind never really stopped moving even in moments of peace.

and she had learned to meet you there.

sometimes, when she laughed, it would remind you of the way she used to be when she was younger—loud, carefree, like she had no care in the state of the world. 

but now, there was a certain softness to her, a calmness that reflected in the way she had matured over the years. she still teased you—that, you were sure will never go away—still pulled you into moments of silliness and you’d begrudgingly let her pull you in.

one afternoon, the sound of your father, calling out commands, echoed through the open space. 

he was pushing you harder than usual, the drills grew more intense, more demanding. you stood tall, your posture unwavering, sweat dripping down your brow as you went through each movement with practice.

 there was no room for error—every strike, every block, every step had to be perfect. it had to be perfect.

sophia, manon, and lara happened to be passing by, and as they approached, they couldn’t help but pause at the sight.

“oh, wow,” manon said, eyes widening in dramatic surprise as she stared at you. “look at y/n. she’s, like, all muscles now.”

lara squinted at you, her face a picture of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “right? definitely all muscles. i wonder if you run into her that she’ll just end up feeling like a wall. not to mention, god, she’s so pretty.”

sophia’s gaze shifted towards you, following the movements of your body, the way you moved with such focus and strength. she hadn’t realized how much you had changed over the years. the lean muscles in your arms, the way your body had grown from the thin, aloof child into someone far more charming.

and for a brief moment, she found herself staring. but it was different this time. it held her prisoner in the moment, unable to look away.

however, she quickly snapped out of it, cheeks flushing a little as she tried to laugh it off, but her gaze kept returning to you. there was something about the way you moved—so disciplined, so intense.

“what are you staring at, princess?” manon teased, nudging sophia’s side with her elbow.

“nothing!” sophia replied a little too loudly, trying to mask her sudden fluster and red cheeks with a laugh. “i—i’m just... uh, just admiring the, uh… the…te.. technique! the technique! it’s impressive, okay?”

lara snickered, crossing her arms. “sophia’s got it bad,” she said in a sing-song voice. “someone’s in love.” the rajagopalan dynasty’s princess dragged out.

“i’m not in love!” sophia quickly protested, her voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “i’m just—look, it’s just hard not to notice, okay? she’s... all grown up. and... very focused.”

meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the ongoing conversation, too deep in your training to care. your father, watching from the sidelines, was doing his best to hide the smirk creeping onto his face.

 he crossed his arms, eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mild amusement as he watched sophia try to hide her flustered expression from her friends’ teasing.

"y/n!" he called out, his voice thundering throughout the courtyard. "stop getting distracted. focus!"

confused at his sudden outburst despite the fact that you were focusing, you immediately snapped back to your drill, adjusting your stance and continuing the movements without a second thought. 

sophia quickly looked away, her face turning a shade redder than usual as manon and lara fought to keep their grins in check.

“yep, totally not in love,” lara whispered to manon with a wink.

“she’s definitely not in love,” manon whispered back, both of them now completely absorbed in watching sophia squirm at their words.

your father caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye once again, though he pretended to ignore it. his lips that had had let the smirk spread, but his gaze never wavered from you as he called out again, “again, y/n. one more time. don’t get sloppy now.”

you didn’t notice a thing, of course. you were too focused on keeping up with your father’s rigorous pace to pay any attention to sophia and her friends. but sophia? sophia would never quite forget the way she had found herself staring a little too long at the girl she had known since she was a child—the girl who was now possibly so much more than that.

and as they walked away, manon leaning in to whisper something to lara, sophia’s thoughts were a little scattered, her eyes flicking up to you one last time before she hurried to catch up.

your father watched her go with a raised eyebrow, amusement barely hidden. "you're doing well, y/n," he said, his voice steady, though there was a knowing glint in his eye.

you nodded, eyes trained on your sword. "thanks, father."

and somewhere, deep down, you couldn't help but wonder why everyone else seemed to be so focused on you all of a sudden.

–

a week later, sleep had evaded sophia. the nights seemed longer lately, and her thoughts tangled in ways she didn’t want to admit. the silence in her room only made the restlessness worse, so she decided to take a late night stroll through the castle’s endless corridors. 

wrapped in a loose nightgown, her bare feet were quiet against the stone floors, she wandered aimlessly, letting her mind travel wherever it pleased.

the castle at night was always quiet, eerily so, and sophia liked it that way. but tonight, there was something almost peaceful in the quiet. that was until she reached the courtyard.

through the large arched windows, she saw a figure moving against the night sky. it was you—no doubt about it—still training, despite the late hour. 

your tunic was soaked with sweat, clinging to your skin as you moved through the steps of another drill, oblivious to the time.

sophia stood there for a moment, watching you with furrowed brows. she could feel the cool night air brush her skin, but there you were, perfectly in sync with your movements, as if it was any other day.

she shook her head, biting back a smile. "this is ridiculous." she mumbled to herself.

with a deep breath—hyping herself up to talk to you—, she stepped forward, her bare feet making almost no sound as she moved through the dark courtyard. 

her eyes locked onto you, and she steeled her shoulders, walking up to you with the kind of authority only a princess could carry, even in her sleepwear.

"y/n!" she called, loud enough to break the quiet and peace of the night. "stop!" you didn’t hear her at first.

"sophia," you muttered to yourself, barely pausing to look in her direction, blinking confusedly. 

sophia raised an eyebrow, huffing with mock irritation. "i said stop." she repeated when she caught your arm attempting to swing again. 

this time, her voice had a firmness to it, and you finally turned, sparing her a glance. your expression was neutral, almost bored as you stared back at her.

"i'm not stopping," you said, the words clear and defiant as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. you changed stances, readying for the next move.

sophia crossed her arms, her lips curving into a smirk. smug. "you’ll stop because i’m ordering you to."

you narrowed your eyes, raising an eyebrow. "really? you’re going to pull rank on me at this hour?"

sophia hesitated, looking at you in disbelief for a moment before giving a dramatic sigh. "fine, i won’t ‘order’ you. but can you at least take a break? i’m surprised you even know how late it is now."

you didn’t immediately respond, and instead, you moved into another series of attacks, form still perfectly sharp.

"y/n," she tried again, this time with an exaggerated whine. "you’re going to wake the whole castle with your...your… clanging!"

surprisingly, you actually stopped. rolling your eyes as you set the sword down. you were beyond exhausted, but you refused to show it.

"whatever, princess. go ahead and get your beauty sleep," you said, feigning indifference. “don’t want to wake up the whole castle, after all.”

sophia couldn’t help but laugh at your sarcasm. "are you always this annoying?" she asked, her voice filled with teasing, though there was a glint of something else. something less playful, more... curious.

you turned your head just slightly, avoiding her eyes. "i’m not annoying. you’re just tired. go back to bed before you wake up your entire kingdom."

sophia blinked, suddenly remembering something that had been bugging her all night. "speaking of which," she said, "why are you even still training this late? don’t you know it's a new moon tonight?"

 she waved her hand vaguely toward the sky. "it’s literally so dark out here, y/n. like, how are you even seeing anything?"

you paused, staring at her. "are you... are you really asking me if i can see in the dark? do you not know that knights are trained to fight in all conditions?"

she leaned back slightly, exaggeratedly inspecting the sky. "yeah, well... i thought maybe you were secretly a bat or something. you know, like, using echolocation to fight? you could probably just echolocate the entire castle and then—"

you blinked, completely deadpan. "okay, no. what are you even talking about right now?"

sophia let out a snort of laughter at the absurdity of it all, her eyes lighting up as she giggled louder than she had meant to. 

louder than she expected, louder than what was probably necessary. for a moment, everything seemed to stop, until she could feel the sudden tension in the space between you two.

you stared at her, eyes wide in confusion, your face heating up with the weirdest mixture of annoyance and... something. 

 "what? why… why are you laughing?" you asked, furrowing your brows, your lips threatening to form a scowl, but failing.

"i just—echolocation," sophia giggled, clutching her sides, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "that’s just... i don’t even know where to start with that, but it’s so funny!"

you quickly turned away, trying to keep your expression neutral, but your face flushed a deeper shade of red as you mumbled, "shut up, sophia. you’re gonna wake the whole castle with that laugh."

but even then, your words felt weaker than they should have. there was no bite behind them—just a strange sense of vulnerability in your voice, something you weren’t sure how to hide at the sound of her giggles. at the sound of her.

the sound of her laugh, free and unburdened, caught you off guard. it wasn’t the carefree laugh of a princess anymore,  it was something more. it was real. had your gaze softening and your shoulders hunching in the slightest.

and that’s when it hit you. her hair, dark and shining under the moonlight, seemed to shimmer, like it was dusted with stars. the pale moonlight painted her skin a soft silver, and her eyes, her eyes seemed to glint with a hidden amusement, the sort of amusement you could never quite figure out even if you’d wanted to.

then you felt a sudden warmth rising in your chest, and before you could stop it, your face flushed with embarrassment. you quickly looked away, determined not to show it.

sophia, still giggling to herself, barely heard the softness in your tone. she was too lost in the moment.

"maybe i should wake them up," sophia teased, voice light. "imagine all the knights running in to see what’s going on, and then they see you, the stoic commander’s daughter, getting made fun of because you could echolocate your sword moves—"

you cut her off, giving her an exaggerated sigh as you walked back to your training spot, trying your best to ignore the lingering laughter—her laughter— that hung in the air.

she didn’t seem to care, still beaming at you (like always), completely unaware of how her teasing had managed to chip away at your usual composure. you felt that odd warmth again, but this time you didn’t bother hiding it.

“stop laughing. you’re actually going to wake the whole castle this time.” your words came out sharper than you meant them to, but they lacked the firmness they usually carried. 

you were only half-serious, trying to hide the way your heart had skipped a beat. “you’re truly annoying, you know that?”

"absolutely," she replied, grinning ear to ear. "but don’t worry, i’m going to let you get back to your echolocation training now. just try not to wake up the entire castle next time, alright?"

“you try not to wake the entire castle up with your laugh.”you just waved her off, though there was a softness in your demeanor now, a quiet that wasn't quite like your usual aloofness. 

when you picked up your sword again, you could’ve sworn she had already noticed—maybe she was even smiling to herself—but you wouldn’t dare let her catch the flushed look on your face.

sophia made her way back toward the castle, humming a tune to herself. she’d never know how her laugh had done something to you. 

but tonight, it didn’t matter. sophia had just managed to make you feel something that she didn’t even realise she'd been doing all along.

—---

finding herself in the ever-so-lavish solar room of the castle a week later after the midnight run-in with you who had never really ended up bringing it up again, sophia found herself stuck and confined in the silk-lined walls with thread spools scattered around her in every unimaginable colour as she sat stiffly across her mother in the embroidered velvet chaise, early sun filtering through the open windows of the castle.

her mother coughs softly. “fifi, sweetheart, your debut’s just around the corner,” her highness, queen laforteza started, lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.

sophia’s hand stilled on the embroidery hoop perched on her lap, halfway through finishing the attempt to embroider the laforteza house crest—though one of the griffins looked like a lopsided duck instead.

sophia didn’t bother to muffle the groan that escaped her lips, dramatically dropping her head back to meet the golden edge of the chaise and bringing the hoop up to cover her face. “please don’t call it that.”

“don’t call what what?” her mother said innocently, threading a new color into her needle. “your debutante ball? your formal entrance into society?” she gasped, feigning shock. “your grand unveiling?”

“my god,” sophia muttered, dragging the needle through the fabric with a little more force than necessary, brows furrowing as she stared back at her mother unimpressed.

sophia wasn’t dumb. far from that. give her some credit. she knew exactly where this was going. her mother was inching toward the topic like it was some diplomatic strategy that her father had given her the task to look over, all smiles and cunning eyes. 

and of course, the first dance was at the center of it. which, to be fair, any mother would want to know in order to guarantee the safety of her daughter—and in this case, it was the one and only princess of the laforteza kingdom. 

not to mention the suitors. oh, for god’s sake, the suitors. they seemed to multiply with every passing day, letters stacked in neat little piles outside her room after a worker had done their daily rounds droppiung mails to each royal family, always signed too formally and written too stiffly. she sat up, continuing to work on her shit attempt at needlework.

she loathed it. just the mention of it makes her shiver. by god, she can’t deal with them. doesn’t even want to think about them approaching her next year because she knows for a fact that they will, because their ego just truly is at an all-time high whenever they lay eyes on her when really, sophia only knows the only reason why they do is because they either see her as a trophy, or the siren call of the throne.

her thoughts somehow drifted to you.

queen laforteza continued, arching a brow. “and have you thought about who your first dance might be with?” she asked, the question light and playful, but unmistakably pointed.

sophia didn’t look up from her needlework. “mom, my debut’s not until next year.”

“and you say that as if that gives me no reason at all to start planning now,” the queen said, voice airy. “you do know who your dear mother is, don’t you?”

sophia rolled her eyes. “you plan things like they’re battle strategies.”

“well,” her mother said, threading a perfect knot into the fabric, “i did grow up married to a war general. was his assisstant for quite some while too… still kind of am.”

sophia sighed, lips pressing into a thin line. “i’d rather have a sword in my hand than dance with any of those obnoxious lords who can’t even look me in the eye without turning into a puddle.”

“then who can?” her mother said gently. “there must be someone who doesn’t turn to dust under your stare.”

sophia hesitated. her fingers slowed against the hoop. her thoughts drifted to you once more. 

because she was right. god, was her mother right. 

someone can keep their composure perfectly still under her stare and dish it right back, who, even after all these years, never once broke eye contact unless sophia showed signs of discomfort at the exchange—not even when sophia was being absolutely ridiculous or bratty (asking you to play with her dolls with her when she damn well knew you were born with a sword in your hand).

she stayed quiet, not daring to utter your name. she’d have otherwise, were she in the comfort of her own room, but not here with her mother to hear and her too keen eyes peering at her. 

so instead, she stabbed the needle through the fabric a little too hard, forcing a shrug. “i don’t know. maybe i’ll just pick randomly and call it a day.”

the queen gave her a long look but said nothing. only smiled to herself, as if she already knew the answer and was simply waiting for her daughter to admit it out loud.

“alright.”

—

sophia had felt suffocated.

it was only 5 pm in the afternoon and she had already felt the life sucked out of her being after the particularly long session of tea etiquette, posture corrections, and painfully long lessons on “how to cross one’s ankles like a proper lady.” 

which after being dismissed by her etiquette teacher—an old, stern woman who looked as though she’d been plucked from the dustiest corner of the royal library—she made a beeline to where she knew you’d be, eager to run away from the woman’s judging gaze and almost tripping over the skirt of her dress.

she needed air. so in turn, she needed you.

“hey, echolocating knight-in-training, come with me.” her voice was soft and amused as it echoed across the courtyard, breaking your focus just enough. 

you were in the middle of footwork drills as your eyes flicked up toward her, finding her leaning lazily against one of the stone pillars to your right, her silk, pastel pink dress catching the breeze.

she smiled at you, open and easy, albeit a little smug—and you had to suppress the involuntary shiver that crept up your spine at the sickly sweet sight.

you scoffed, unamused. “and why should i?” 

sophia chuckled, shaking her head as she pushed off where she’d been leaning on the pillar and made her way to you, footsteps light. 

you halted your practice, wiping your chin dry of sweat that ran down your cheek. “you forget yourself, y/n.”

“you forget your princess.” 

then, without explanation, she extended her hand out to you, palm tilted slightly upward, waiting. you stared at it blankly, caught off guard by the sudden movement. 

your eyes flicked between her hand and her face, trying to piece together what on earth she was doing. “what are you—”

“kiss the back of my hand, you idiot. gentlemen do it all the time as a greeting.” she wiggled her fingers impatiently, eyes squinting at you with a barely concealed amusement. 

“guess we can’t say the same for you.”

you groaned but took her hand anyway, your fingers rough and calloused from years of hard work—one she’d closely watched—asharp contrast to her soft, perfumed skin. 

you brought it to your lips with a gentleness that surprised her, brushing them across the back of her hand with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things, or those in higher rank than you are.

sophia’s breath caught, just for a second.

she hadn’t expected that.

she’d thought she could handle it. it was just a joke, a moment of teasing. she didn’t except you to actually go through with it.

her etiquette teacher had done it to demonstrate, and sophia hadn’t blinked then—possibly because she was a fossil—. but this? this was you, and her heart had the audacity to trip at the way your lips touched her skin.

“i’m not a man,” you muttered, your voice low and even, but your grip on her hand stayed careful, firm. you paused, then added softly, “i’m a woman.”

it shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. but it did.

her cheeks flushed, heat crawling up her neck as she yanked her hand back, clearing her throat. “well. clearly.”

you shot her an ‘are you kidding?’ stare, sighing softly at her interrupting your practice once again. a daily occurrence that you should’ve been used to by now. 

“so, where are we going?”

sophia spun around before you could read her expression too closely. “the gardens,” she said over her shoulder, pretending like her face wasn’t on fire. 

“and the lake. i’m tired of breathing in dust and listening to lady maribelle complain about my posture.”

you trailed behind her as she walked ahead, arms swinging with a freedom that had you quietly smiling to yourself.

the gardens were nearly empty by the time you and sophia reached them, the sky shifting into shades of orange and yellow as the sun began to dip behind the castle walls. the breeze smelled faintly of roses and lavender.

but sophia didn’t stop to admire them—she’d seen them way too many times to gag over them. she kept walking ahead, skirts gathered in her fists, guiding you down the stone path that led behind the hedges and past the willow trees, straight toward the lake.

“...we’re not just going to look at the water, are we?” you asked warily, already eyeing the small wooden boats bobbing at the dock.

sophia glanced over her shoulder, her grin suspiciously wide, eyes crinkled into crescents. “nope.”

“please tell me you’re not expecting me to—”

“get in the boat,” she sang sweetly, already stepping onto the dock and reaching for the nearest one painted gold.

you didn’t move. “sophia, i’ve been training all day.”

“and this is me rewarding you.” she turned and held out her hand again—not to be kissed this time, but to tug you forward. “you can row me around like a charming little gondolier.”

you sighed, staring at her like she’d grown two heads. “i hate you.”

“and yet, here you are.” she tilted her chin with mock arrogance, eyes glinting.

you groaned under your breath but followed her anyway, climbing awkwardly into the boat while she settled into the seat like it was the throne/, fingers trailing through the water. you grabbed the oars begrudgingly, shooting her a tired glare that only made her giggle.

fuck.

“you know,” she said after a few minutes of quiet rowing, “you’ve got a nice rhythm. maybe you were a sailor in another life.”

you raised an eyebrow. intrigued. “a sailor?”

“mhm. gruff voice. tragic, tragic past. always looking at the horizon like you’ve got unimaginable memories out at sea.”

you snorted. “you’ve clearly read too many romance novels. now i know why you spend too much time in the library with your nose buried in a book.”

she leaned back in the seat, eyes closing for a moment as the breeze sifted through her hair. “and you clearly don’t row me fast enough.”

you splashed her with one oar, just enough to make her yelp and sit upright, eyes wide.

“y/n!”

“oops.”

sophia narrowed her eyes but was still smiling, wiping her now-damp sleeve with playful offense. “you’ll pay for that.”

“good luck,” you muttered, rowing a little faster, trying to ignore the way your heart kept doing jumping jacks at how pretty she looked when she was mock pouting, sunsett dusting her skin like gold, water around her glowing.

you told yourself it was just exhaustion. 

definitely not the way she kept watching you with that quiet amusement, like she could see right through you. like she always had.

—---

the solar room hadn’t changed at all. the same velvet cushions. the same lace-curtained windows. the same faint scent of lavender and rosewater that clung to the cushions, the walls, even the thread in sophia’s embroidery hoop. 

the only real difference was the tapestry she was working on—no longer clumsy or full of crooked stitches, but neat, straight.

and her mother, of course, still sat across from her, spine perfectly straight, pale blue gown immaculately laid around her, with her embroidery in hand and a glint in her eye that made sophia immediately suspicious.

“dearest, your actual debut’s around the corner now,” queen laforteza said, voice lilting and casual. too casual, she’d dare say.

sophia didn’t even look up from her stitching, words tugging at a memory she hadn’t planned on revisiting. 

suddenly, she was seventeen again, hands clumsy, posture slouched, hiding behind a half-finished crest while her mother teased her about first dances and suitors.

the memory irked her slightly. especially because nothing had changed, and yet everything had. if that made sense.

“have you picked out who’ll be your first dance now?” the queen added, sipping her tea like she didn’t already have a shortlist of eager young noblemen memorised from months ago as she requested for names of those interested.

sophia hummed, tying a knot in her thread with practiced ease. “i’ll just have basil as my first dance.”

that got her mother’s attention. the queen blinked, lowering her teacup mid-sip. “wait, but your brother—”

“i’ve already talked about it to him,” sophia said calmly. “he said he was fine with it. didn’t feel comfortable enough to have someone else dance me instead. i could’ve ask father to do it too, but i fear he’s already got too much on his plate. with the new knight recruits and all.”

her mother didn’t respond right away, which was rare. she simply studied sophia for a moment, as if trying to uncover whether her daughter was being genuine—or evasive.

“sweets,” she said after a beat, “are you sure you don’t want to pick a noble to be your first dance instead? i heard marquess barretto’s son leon, is interested.”

sophia groanef immediately, slumping slightly despite her attempt to stay firm. “mother, leon barretto wears more perfume than i do and nearly tripped on my gown last week trying to kiss my hand. i’d rather drown in the lake.”

her mother pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “he’s not that bad.”

“he’s that bad,” sophia deadpanned, finally setting her embroidery hoop down in her lap. 

“besides, it’s not like the first dance has to be romantic. it’s ceremonial. traditional. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it used to,” her mother said gently.

what she didn’t say was that the idea of dancing with a stranger made her skin crawl. that the thought of twirling in a room full of watching eyes, arm in arm with someone she barely knew, made her chest tighten.

and maybe there was someone else she’d rather offer her hand to. someone who stood steady in the moonlight and made her laugh when she wasn’t supposed to. 

someone whose hands were rough and real and held hers like they were afraid to hurt her, like she was the most fragile thing in the whole world.

she found herself unable to articulate it into words again with her mother in the room. 

her mother watched her quietly for a long moment, then gave a soft sigh and returned to her embroidery. “well,” the queen murmured, “if basil steps on your toes, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

sophia cracked a small, lopsided smile. “he won’t. and if he does, i’ll blame it on the wind.”

–

the golden sun hadn’t even finished crawling its way over the castle walls when you were dragged—half-asleep and wholly unwilling—up and off the bed to stand barefeet in your chamber, marble flooring cold against your feet.

you hated breaks in your training. hated breaks in general. hated stillness. they made you feel like a blade left out in the rain, dulled and useless. 

but as the king’s guard’s commander’s daughter, and more importantly, as the personal guard to the princess herself, you were expected to be rid of all training and any hard work the day before the debut of the king’s only daughter. 

so, instead of sparring or drilling or doing literally anything useful, you were subjected to a full day of tailoring that commenced at the break of dawn. stupid, stupid, tradition.

the fabric was heavy and foreign on your skin. the uniform was modeled after your father’s—same deep navy blue tones, same sharp gold embroidery stitched along the lapel and hem—but unlike his, yours bore no jewels, no medals, no markers of great achievement. 

it was a blank canvas, clean and awaiting, quiet proof that your legacy had not yet begun.

it’ll have one, one day. i’ll make sure of it.

now, hours later, you were only half in it. your jacket draped halfway up your shoulders, the sleeves rolled awkwardly around your arm as you stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the new recruits go through their drills.

 it should’ve been you out there. every muscle in your body ached to move, to sweat, to strike.

“that’s what you’re gonna wear for the princess’s debut?” yunjin called out, amusement thick in her voice as she twirled her practice sword lazily.

 “wow, so fancy, y/n. unlike you, we have to stay in these heavy, uncomfortable pieces of metal.”

keeho laughed behind her, clutching his stomach in mock agony. “how’s a man supposed to pick a woman up in this?” 

he groaned, dragging a hand through his sweat-matted hair and down his face. “at this rate, you’ll sweep every single woman in the vicinity.”

you scowled, arms crossed over your half-dressed chestplate. “you’re there to support and show your loyalty to the kingdom. that armour is there to protect you in case something happens. you’re not there to pick up women, keeho.”

he gasped, utterly affronted. “god, you sound like my mother. geez.”

“maybe she’s smarter than you,” you muttered, and yunjin barked out a laugh.

truth be told, the uniform felt strange. it fit, sure, it had been measured to the bone, trimmed and cinched and hemmed perfectly to your body, but it wasn’t you. 

it felt like wearing someone else’s skin. someone softer. someone still figuring out who she was underneath the polished buttons and polished roles, made to perfection as overlooked by your father.

tomorrow, you wouldn’t be in the shadows like you always were. not with sophia standing in the middle of the grand ballroom, not with every noble eye on her, and by extension, on you.

you didn’t mind being her sword. her shield. her quiet. but you just weren’t sure how to be seen. 

still, as you watched your friends spar, the laughter between them easy and real, your hand tightened slightly on the edge of your sleeve. you could do this. you would.

because tomorrow wasn’t about you. it was about her. your princess. sophia. the same one who’d slowly chipped at your walls ever since she barged into your life all sunshine and rainbows.

and you’d wear this damn thing like it was yours. because sophia deserved someone who could stand beside her without cowering beneath the pressure of legacy. even if your uniform didn’t carry medals, your loyalty didn’t need stitching or .

—--

this was it.

the music slowed to a hush as the double doors opened, and all conversation stilled. heads turned, gowns rustled, fans fluttered shut. the grand ballroom, lit by towering chandeliers and flooded with golden candlelight, held its breath.

at the top of the staircase stood sophia.

she descended like something out of a painting—dressed in a gown that shimmered faintly with every step, the soft blue silk catching the light like moonlit water. 

her hair was pinned with delicate gold leaves, and her gloves, the palest cream, trembled just slightly as she reached the last few steps.

you were already there, waiting.

my god, of course you were.

you stood at the foot of the stairs, back straight, gloved hands behind your back until you extended one forward for her. 

your uniform, tailored and formal, fit you like a second skin, and though the medals were missing, your presence felt like its own badge of honour. sophia’s eyes found yours immediately, her expression unreadable but drawn—always drawn—to you.

a faint smile appears in her lips at the notice of your uniform matching hers.

she slipped her hand into yours.

gloved hand in gloved hand, you escorted her across the ballroom floor, past suitors and murmured gasps. your steps were steady. hers were lighter now, as if walking beside you was enough to melt the nerves off her spine.

you led her to her brother—basil, dutiful and already stepping forward with an awkward smile. sophia hesitated, only slightly, before she turned to you once more, her voice low. 

for you and for your ears only.

“wait for me?”

you gave her a nod. “always.”

then she turned, and basil offered his hand. the music swelled, and sophia began her first dance under the eyes of the kingdom.

—-

time passed. champagne flutes clinked, music floated high into the domed ceilings, and laughter curled around crystal chandeliers. 

you had tried, god you had tried, to disappear into the crowd after your brief appearance at her side, but your father had other plans. like always.

“you will socialise, y/n,” he’d said, placing an annoyingly firm hand on your shoulder before nudging you toward a young noblewoman who looked just as uninterested in the conversation as you were. 

he wanted you to make a name for yourself.

gabriela, she introduced herself. from some lord’s house you didn’t care to remember. sharp eyes, sweet but cunning smile. she was fine. too curious, maybe. too flirty.

you were halfway through a polite excuse when the music shifted again, and she reached for your hand.

and somehow, you let her.

you weren’t thinking. you were tired. you were overwhelmed. and the thought of getting yelled at again by your father had already made your shoulders tense. so, you danced. you gave in.

your first dance, ever. not with the person you'd wanted, not with the person you’d imagined, but still, a dance.

across the ballroom, sophia had just finished her second spin in the arms of her youngest brother, oreo, whose too small tux kept making her laugh between steps. 

she ruffled his hair after the last note and watched him scamper back to where the rest of the royal family was seated, cheeks flushed with pride.

then her smile fell.

because there you were. dancing.

not standing off to the side. not waiting for her like you said you would. always, my ass. but dancing, with someone else.

gabriela laughed at something you said. sophia could only assume it wasn’t even that funny—god, you’re not even that funny—and your hands were still joined, her other palm resting on your shoulder.

sophia didn’t even wait for the song to end.

she marched straight toward the drink table, lips pressed into a thin line, her expression far too aloof to be casual.

manon, trailing behind with lara following suit, raised a brow. “that was quick.”

“i need a drink,” sophia muttered.

“you just had a drink,” lara said, nursing a half-finished flute of champagne in one hand.

“i need a stronger drink,” she said, already eyeing manon. manon caught the implication.

she didn’t bother saying a word. just reached into the inside of her embellished cape and handed her a hip flask with all the ceremony of a royal decree.

sophia didn’t even blink. unscrewed it. took a slow sip. let the burn bloom across her tongue and down like acid into her stomach.

lara watched her carefully. “everything alright, soph?”

 sophia lowered the flask, eyes sharp as they slid across the ballroom to where you and gabriela were still dancing.

“peachy,” she said flatly. 

hands off. she knew that this woman could have anyone else, nd god, why did she have to pick you of all people? fuck, she might end up begging if she doesn’t let go og you anytime soon.

manon didn’t bother asking. she knew. so she just handed her another sip. and the two of them shared a look.

—-

“you know, fifi’s fond of you. like, really, really fond of you.”

your head turns to watch oreo under the moonlight. you’d found the king’s youngest child in the balcony after seeking for coolness and peace after the dance with gabriela and the chaos of being surrounded by nobles desperately wishing for sophia’s hand in marriage or for just a mere dance—which props to her, she’s only danced with her brothers. 

the fact settles you.

“she shouldn’t be.” your reply garnered a laugh from the boy, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“but she is, though. it’s… unsettling, sometimes. makes me wonder if she’ll actually ever wind up finding a lord or something to date, because she spends too much time trying to, uh, what’s the word, have your friendship grow? i don’t know.. but you know, i just thought you’d want to know. ‘cause… yeah.”

you nodded, brows furrowing in thought as you leaned your elbows on the railing, lost as to why oreo, of all people, was telling you this. 

you’d barely talked to the boy before, and you’re more than sure that this is the first time you’d had a proper conversation—which just happened to be about sophia.

you weren’t surprised it was about her. not that you minded, anyway.

“i heard marquess barretto’s son might be a potential match.” you’d commented after a beat, and oreo hummed.

“yeah, i overheard them talking about it. don’t think fifi’s as fond of him as she is of you though.” he replies casually, like it wasn’t anything big of a deal.

the two of you stood outside for a few more moments in silence, comforted that you’d both reached an understanding and bridged a new friendship that was built upon the love and concern for sophia.

then he spoke. calm, slow, took his time. he wanted it to linger, that much you knew. every word enunciated firmly, yet heavily blanketed with warmth.

“i hope it’s you.”

—---

the ballroom had grown louder. brighter. unbearably warmer.

and somewhere between her second drink from manon’s flask and the half-glass of wine she’d sipped too quickly after, sophia lost sight of you again. she was a lightweight, surprisingly (not) enough.

the music spun and so did the chandelier, her steps a little less poised now as she slipped through groups of nobles, skirts brushing against her gown, their laughter buzzing like gnats in her ears.

her mind was foggy. her throat was dry. her eyes eere hazy. her head was a mix of bass, violin, and the sharp reminder of of your betrayal—irrational and sticky, crawling beneath her skin like fire. burning hotter than the liquor that ran down her throat.

you had danced with someone else.

her stomach twisted every time she thought of it. the way your hand had rested so easily on gabriela’s waist. the way you let her smile at you. like it was nothing. like it didn’t mean anything.

how dare you. 

how dare you dance with someone else that wasn’t her. it was her debut. her ball you were supposed to keep your eyes on her and her only. dance with her and her only. god, why didn’t you? you didn’t keep your promise.

you didn’t keep your promise.

her heel caught on the edge of someone’s coat and she stumbled forward with a sharp breath, hands out instinctively to grab onto something—and then—

“whoa—sophia—”

you caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her waist without hesitation. her gloved fingers curled into the front of your uniform, clinging, her cheek resting against your chest.

“you’re drunk,” you muttered under your breath, keeping it together like her close proximity didn’t do things to you. 

“am not,” she mumbled into your jacket, and then, louder, “you danced with someone else.”

you stiffened. “sophia—”

“you did,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to glare up at you. her eyes were glassy, but sharp with frustration. 

“i saw you. with that girl—gabby? gab—gabriela—manon told me.”

you hushed her immediately, grabbing her by the shoulders and casting a quick glance around. you’d already caught one or two nobles side-eyeing the princess in your arms, and the last thing anyone needed was this being tomorrow’s headline in the newspapers. 

no, your dad would kill you. the king would behead you. (you’re dramatic. but it’s a possibility.)

“we’re going,” you said, low and urgent, slipping an arm around her waist as she swayed again. “you’re done. come on.”

“don’t wanna go,” sophia slurred stubbornly, stumbling as you started to guide her through the crowd. “s’my party.”

“you can barely stand.”

“still mad.”

“don’t care.”

you maneuvered quickly, expertly, keeping your head down, fingers steady around her arm as you led her past the sweeping golden drapes and into one of the side corridors. 

the music dulled behind the ballroom doors. the cool air of the hall washed over you like waves, blessedly quiet.

sophia groaned dramatically as you pushed open the door to one of the unused sitting rooms. she sagged against you, like every ounce of tension had finally slipped from her bones the moment the door clicked shut behind you.

you helped her to the couch, kneeling in front of her to unclip her shoes as she flopped backwards, arms flung over the edge like a drowned, tragic poet. her tiara tilted sideways.

“you looked pretty,” she murmured suddenly into the quiet. “still look pretty.”

you froze. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “…what?”

“in your uniform,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed from more than just the wine. her lashes fluttered. she wasn’t even aware she was saying this.

“made it hard to breathe, ‘cause you—” she made a vague gesture toward your body, eyes half-lidded as she watched you with softness. “just stood there with your jaw and your shoulders—and then you had to go and dance with someone who wasn’t me—”

you closed your eyes, took a slow, steady and calculated breath.

“i wasn’t thinking,” she continued, voice growing softer, more fragile around the edges, eroding like your walls around her. 

“and now i’m thinking too much and my head’s spinning and i hate that i care. i hate it. i hate it so much.”

you looked up at her.

and for a moment—just a moment—sophia laforteza didn’t look like a princess. she looked like a girl with a heart too full, slumped sideways in a chair that didn’t belong to her, whispering confessions she’d never dare say sober.

fuck.

“you need water,” you said finally, inhaling sharply.

“no. what i need,” she said, eyes fluttering closed again, “is for you to never dance with anyone else ever again.”

you blinked. your mouth opened. then closed.

“and, to kiss me.”

“what—”

too fast for how drunk she was, she grabbed  a fistful of your collar with ashaky, determined hand and pulled you down into her.

her lips crashed into yours—messy, heated, desperate. she kissed you like she was trying to memorise something with the urgency of someone afraid of forgetting. like she’d waited too long and couldn’t hold it in anymore. and for a second,

you kissed back. you actually kissed back.

because she was soft and flushed and trembling (scared you’ll push her off), and it was her. the girl who haunted your thoughts during drills. the girl who laughed like the world was hers, and somehow made you feel like it could be yours too.

that she could be yours.

but your hand caught her wrist gently, and you pulled away, breath uneven, your forehead resting against hers as she blinked in a daze.

she looked up at you then, hazy eyes widening, horror flickering across her expression like a crack in the sky. her lips parted, like she was about to say something—apologise, maybe, or backpedal into silence.

“hey,” you whispered, still close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “tell me who i am.”

she blinked, confused. “what?”

“tell me who i am, sophia. just…say it.”

she blinked once, then her brows furrowed with focus, her hand still twisted in your collar.

“y/n,” she said softly. “you’re… y/n. you’re my knight.”

“and your name is?”

she swallowed. “my name is princess sophia elizabeth guevara laforteza, 122th heir to the throne after my brother.”

and that was all you needed.

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “okay,” you mumbled, almost to yourself, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. 

“okay… you understand. you’re not fully drunk yet.”

“yeah, no crap i am. what are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, voice low, still dazed.

you stepped back, gently but firmly, slipping her hand from your shirt and keeping your voice as steady as you could manage.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here,” you said. “someone could see.”

she didn’t argue. she didn’t tease. just nodded once, slow and sure, trusting you the same way she always had.

you led her out of the quiet room with a careful hand on her back, her weight leaning slightly against your side, every step quick and quiet as you took the back corridors—the ones only you and the guards knew—until you reached her bedchamber.

the door closed softly behind you. the room smelled like garden roses and her. 

you helped her out of her gown without a word, careful, respectful. she helped you out of your uniform, clumsy fingers and sleepy sighs. neither of you spoke of what it meant and what it stood for next.

she curled into your side not long after, head pressed against your shoulder, bare legs tangled under silk sheets, devotion silent in the night.

—-

basil approached you the next day. you knew what he was there for before he could ask you. like oreo, you and him had a different kind of understanding. quiet and aloof, but close acquaintances. 

he’d told you about his distaste for becoming the king, and how he’d pass the throne onto sophia the moment he’d been deemed worthy enough to lead his own royal guard. 

“sophia disappeared sometime yesterday night in the party. were you with her?” always quick to the point, basil was. he never liked a chase.

you respected that about him.

you nodded curtly. you knew better than to lie. you watched him take note of the faint, dark purple mark on your neck, tucked away beneath the collar of your tunic. the corner of his lips curled up a fraction.

“i was with her, yes.”

“in more ways than one, i presume.”

your lips pressed into a thin line, throat bobbing. he chuckles softly. “it’s fine, y/n. ease up. i’m glad it was you, and not one of those snobby lords.”

a scoff was pulled from your throat, though it was more of an amused sound. “your sister knows better than that. she’s a woman that knows what she wants.”

“what she wants and what she gets.” he commented, and you nodded.

a beat passed. neither of you spoke. you both watch the movements of the knights-in-training. watched a younger knight fumble his footwork while yunjin shouted at him, keeho cackling in the background.

you don’t feel guilty about being interrupted.

then basil shifted beside you, voice softer. “i trust you wouldn’t break her heart.”

your brows furrowed, the thought that he’d even think that was insulting and offensive to everything you stood for. for the kingdom.  for oath. for her. 

you shot him a glance that morphed into a glare. “if anything, it’d be her that’ll be breaking my heart. she hasn’t said a word to me since we woke up this morning.”

his gaze followed yours and caught sight of sophia.

she was approaching the training grounds, walking with purpose, blue day dress trailing slightly behind her, sunlight wrapping itself around her like she were a daughter of the sun, glowing, radiant.

she didn’t belong anywhere near the battlefield. if anything, she looked like she belonged to you.

basil gave a low whistle, already stepping back. “then i guess i’ll leave you to it.” he gave your shoulder a brief, meaningful squeeze. “good luck.”

you swallowed, throat tight, and turned just as she stepped in front of you, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

you opened your mouth, not knowing what to say—only for her to speak first.

“can we talk?”

you nodded wordlessly, following her as she led you away from the noise, around the stone corridor that wrapped behind the courtyard, until it was just the two of you. 

quiet, save for the faint echo of swords meeting shields in the background.

she turned to you slowly, nervous, but determined nonetheless. “you thought i wouldn’t remember.”

to be frank, you hadn’t expected her to come. not after how quickly she’d disappeared that morning. not after she couldn’t even look at you when she slipped out of bed.

you looked away. “you were drunk.”

“not drunk enough,” she said. “i remember all of it. i remember everything.”

you stayed silent.

“you looked like you thought it was a mistake,” you finally said, voice low. “and it’s fine, sophia. it was a mistake. a lapse in my judgement, and i shouldn’t have let it happen or initiated anything.

her brows furrowed, eyes darkening. not with anger, but something deeper. hurt.

“it wasn’t,” she said. “not for me.”

your breath hitched. she stepped closer, her voice quieter now, the words meant for your ears only.

“i tried so hard to remember everything, y/n. not because i was scared i did something wrong. but because i wanted to remember it. all of it. i was scared of forgetting the feeling of your warmth against mine, scared to forget how it felt like i truly did belong somewhere with someone.”

her hand hovered, brushed your sleeve. she gulped, eyes looking up at you with silent begging, desperation. she needed to hear you reciprocate the feelings that had been gnawing at her since your first meeting.

“i love you, y/n.”

she can’t be the only one who felt it. and she was right.

“i love you more, sophia. ever since that night in the courtyard, where you fucked around teasing me about echolocation,” she laughed softly at the mention, “i’ve loved you ever since.”

your hand moved, 

she leaned into your touch like she’d been waiting for it all her life—like your palm on her cheek was a missing piece she hadn’t known she was missing until it fit just right.

“say it again,” she whispered, barely audible. her lashes fluttered, her eyes on your lips.

you didn’t hesitate. “i love you.”

sophia smiled. soft, genuine. the kind of smile that stripped her of title, crown, and duty. just sophia. just yours.

then she surged forward, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that felt like a promise kept. it was slower than last night. no desperation, no effects of wine. just certainty. it was clear and steady and warm, it was everything sophia is.

when she pulled away, your hand still holding her face like she might vanish, she exhaled shakily. “i thought you hated me this morning.”

“i thought you regretted it,” you said, your voice rough with emotion you barely understood how to carry.

“never,” she replied, and it was immediate. “i regret not doing it sooner.”

you let out a breath of disbelief, a soft laugh that cracked at the edges. “you’re a freak.”

“you love me for it.”

“unfortunately.”

she grinned and bumped your shoulder with hers, fingers drifting down to take your hand in hers, entwining them easily like it was something as natural as breathing.

you decide that honour and loyalty aren’t the reason to fight for the kingdom anymore. sophia is now everything you stood for.

—-

you were both twenty when the first declaration of war from a neighboring empire had been announced. it was everywhere. in the newspapers, down to the leaflets and the frantic whispers threading through the markets and corridors of the kingdom. the empire of eyekonia hath declared war.

it struck like lightning. swift, absolute, and deafening. the court held emergency councils. generals moved like shadows through the halls. flags were lowered, then raised again under tighter command. the world sophia knew shifted beneath her feet.

she didn’t care about strategy or supply lines or how many allies the crown could still call on.

all she could think about was you.

sophia had found you in the eastern wing, halfway through your patrol, and without a word, she grabbed the back of your tunic, dragging you quietly, urgently, through the stone halls, past startled servants and guards who knew better than to speak up. 

she didn’t stop until she found an unused meeting room, where the shutters were drawn and the heavy oak door groaned under the force she slammed it with. you stumbled inside after her, confused, the back of your shirt still wrinkled where her fingers had clutched it tight.

it had been a year since you both started seeing each other in secret. a year since that fated night that linked you together for an eternity, a year since she’d relished in the comfort of your presence. 

she didn’t say anything at first. just paced the room, fingers trembling ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven bursts. and when she finally turned to look at you, her eyes burned—not with fury, but with something far worse: desperation.

“you’re not fighting the front lines, are you?”

you blinked. the question caught you off guard. truly. but then the weight of it crashed into you like a tidal wave. the news, the fear, the look in her eyes.

you stepped forward slowly, shaking your head. “no. my duty lies with protecting you.”

her body deflated in an instant, all the tension draining from her shoulders like a storm finally passing. she crossed the room in two quick strides, arms wrapping around your waist like she could shield you from the news of the war and the war itself.

she could stay like this forever.

“thank god,” she whispered into your chest. “i thought—”

“i know.” you murmured, pressing your lips against her hair.

you didn’t tell her how your father had been summoned to the war room before sunrise. how he’d returned with a rare look of relief in his eyes, saying that the king had other plans. that you, your father, and basil—who finally got his wish of his own royal knights and got the approval of the king to step down from becoming king—were to remain behind, at the palace.

“the frontline is no place for heirs or shields,” the king had said. “the royal family must be guarded. my blood must be protected. and sophia… she will need people she trusts.”

you had bowed. not for the kingdom. not even for the king. but because of her.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you’d whispered, feeling her arms tighten around you and nuzzling further into your neck like she’s trying to mold you both into one, warm breath fanning against your skin gently, grounding you. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

—-

you were both twenty-two years of age—two years into the war with the empire of eyekonia, and the kingdom was bleeding. losing men like they were mere numbers on a scale, names carved into stone more often than into medals. they were dropping like flies on foreign soil, dying for oaths that no longer felt like promises, but debts too heavy to repay.

and you—ever composed, ever sharp—you were unraveling. slowly. quietly. like silk being pulled from the hem.

your restless nights didn’t go unnoticed. not to sophia.

she noticed the determination and focus in your eyes whenever you’d all meet up in the great hall to talk strategies for the way, the way your leg bounced up and down in an agitated tic,  barely perceptible beneath your uniform—too subtle for those who’d merely glance your way. but not sophia.

never sophia.

she’d prided herself with knowing you better than yourself. the rhythm of your breaths. the slight dip in your voice when you were trying to keep emotion at bay. 

the way you bit the inside of your cheek—not out of anxiety, but out of restraint—whenever someone proposed a strategy that would cost more lives than it should, before promptly leaning forward in your seat and shaking your head because the men aren’t just casualties that racked up numbers. 

and then you’d lean forward in your seat, voice calm but firm, always with that same line: "there has to be another way."

because to you, the men weren’t pawns.

they were names. faces. boys you’d trained with. soldiers who greeted you in the early hours, who held open doors and passed messages and laughed at keeho and yunjin’s bad jokes. men who had families, stories, dreams. they were men who you’d seen each day, given empowering speeches to and playfully cheering after. 

they were your men as much as they are hers and the kingdom’s.

and sophia—she would watch you from across the room, something tender and painful blooming in her chest. because she knew what it cost you to care this much. and she loved you all the more for it.

noticed the way you’d softened through the years, the way you’d let yourself feel and show more feelings, instead of casting them away in a bottle and hiding it under a chest you won’t ever open, leaving the lock for generations and generations to look for.

noticed the way you’d been treading carefully around the idea of joining the front lines, not wanting to sit back and watch as the kingdom fell apart around you that could potentially risk the royal family’s life. sophia’s life. 

noticed the way you steeled yourself whenever numbers of lives lost were brought back to you at the end of the way, and sophia could feel her resolve that hung by a thread shaking, because she just cannot afford to have you, the person she’d lost nights to, rolling in bed and giggling like a teenager in love. 

you, the person who used to be too scared to sleep in the same bed as her given the fact that you’d already slept together before, all unusually meek and unsure of your actions when you’d always been so sure of yourself. 

you, who she was sure she’d spend the rest of her life with, have a family, grow old together and die beside each other. you who she wanted to marry.

and you, who she cannot afford to be a mere statistic of the kingdom’s casualties in a war she didn’t want. a victim to her father’s ambitious plans.

she feels sick.

she cannot fathom the thought of you out there, all alone while you stood in foreign soil soaked with the kingdom’s blood, away from the castle walls where she could keep you safe, away from her, away from the promise of forever. of a life with her.

she knew you were trained for this. it was a huge factor as to how you’d reached the levels and earned your place in the kingdom—and more importantly, a seat in the great hall where the king and queen, their oldest son, close advisers and commanders, and her, the heir, all gathered. you got there not because your father is one of the king’s trusted advisor, but because you worked for it.

she couldn’t look at you properly that night. couldn’t even face you in the bed as you both laid next to each other, eyes wide open and sleep not planning on visiting your eyelids soon. a lump formed in her throat and her limbs moved before she knew it, propping herself up on her elbows to sit up on the bed, back flushed to the headboard. 

she watched you do the same. watched as you silently sat up next to her, adjusted the covers on top of her to make sure she’s hidden away from the cold. the action oddly spikes annoyance in her.

because how dare you. how dare you have thoughts of leaving the kingdom. leaving her behind to walk men to their demise because of her father’s foolish, ambitious plans that had dragged everyone into its whirlwind? how dare you have those thoughts and not tell her? how dare you ingrain the image of her waking up to an empty side of your bed, of leaving without telling her, just to hear word of your passing in her mind?

how dare you assume she doesn’t know you well enough not to notice.

“will you ever marry me?” 

the question lands flat. your lips parted in a moment of surprise, eyes widening slightly at how blunt she’d been. she looks tired of everything, and rightfully so. she’d been tired of the war, of the stench of male ego to strike up a treaty to stop the killing, and even so of the unnamed and unfinished promise of forever with you.

she doesn’t know how much longer she has you before you tell her you want to go to war.

her eyes tear up, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as you stayed silent, fingers twitching but not reaching out. just watching. just watching as the fabric of her nightgown dampened and grew darker in colour as tears fell. 

she hates how she leans in almost immediately at your touch on her cheek, pressing her face in your palm and god, she’d never been this vulnerable before. she gets why you hate it.

“of course i will.”

“but will you, though? because at this rate, i’m scared that i’ll keep waiting and waiting and waiting for you, and i will, because i love you—and i cherish you more than anything in this world—and that there’ll be a time that’ll come where you won’t—you won’t even be here, because i see it in your eyes. i see how much you want to fight the empire, even if right now, it seems like a lost cause. i see how much you look like you’re ready to choose the kingdom over me and i’m scared because i know that once you put your mind to it, that you will. and i’m scared because i know you have the capability to. and most of all, i’m scared that one day, i’ll wake up and you’re not even going to be here anymore. that you won’t be here to hug me when you know i need it without telling you to, to listen to me ramble on and on about something unnecessary, that you won’t be here when i need you the most. and i’m going to be stuck here, because god knows i cannot and will never find another to love. because you’d carved yourself into every. single. piece. of me. and i’ll never forget you. i don’t ever want to forget you.”

you don’t know when it started. sophia was too busy pouring her heart out to take notice, too, when you started pouring your eyes out. it hadn’t dawned on you, until now, that she’d always be waiting for you to come home, wherever you go, whatever you do. the realisation makes your heart weep.

you grasp her hands, tears streaming down your face just as much as the ones rolling down her flushed cheeks, hot to touch, and kiss her empty ring finger. 

“i promise to you, that when the war ends and we can breathe easily and freely again, that i will marry you. this is my oath to you, my heart, that i will make you my wife the moment i can, and we shall live the rest of our lives together. maybe build a family, even turn the garden much bigger as you wish. we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure out what we’ll do together.”

and sophia finally feels like she could breathe. 

—

you were both twenty-three when things had looked even more grim than before, and twenty-four when you decided that there was no better time than now to enter the battlefield, four years after the war had been declared. 

sophia sat stiffly. you both knew this day would come. it was just a matter of if or when, and you’d picked the day a week before your twenty-fifth birthday. sophia had wanted to spend time with you on your birthday, do as best she could while the kingdom slowly crumbled into shambles, try and focus on something else that wasn’t stained with blood.

but now here you are, dropping the decision on her lap like it wasn’t anything heavy. like you didn’t just tell her that you’ll be off to the thorny battlefield that swam with dead bodies. 

would she really ever have the chance to marry you? to slip the ring in your finger and for you to slip the ring in hers, branding you to have a lifetime of love ahead of you? would she ever see you grow old beside her, all wrinkles and gray hairs, and a tired yet content smile on your lips as you watched your grandchildren—if you somehow manage to have children—run around the garden, otherwise, you’ll be watching either basil or oreo’s grandchildren.

she doesn’t know what was worse, not spending a lifetime with you, or you wrapped in death’s embrace somewhere in a place she couldn’t reach.

she decides its both. because it doesn’t give her you, either way.

SOPHIA’S POV.

you tell me you’re leaving like it’s a simple thing, like the ground won’t open up beneath me the second you’re gone.

i don’t cry anymore. i just sit there, watching you, memorizing every detail—the slope of your shoulders, the way your fingers curl restlessly against your knee, like maybe some part of you is afraid too.

“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

but how else am i supposed to look at you? how else am i supposed to let you go?

when you’re gone, the earth will have you. it will hold you tighter than i ever could, wrap you up in its quiet, endless embrace. and i will be left here, hollow, staring at the ground beneath my feet and hating it for having what i lost.

if you must die, i'll envy even the earth that wraps your body.

—--

it had been a week since you’d left for the war. you’d already turned twenty-five.

 your father had struck up a deal with one of the advisors from the empire of eyekonia, and wished to send troops to seek if the empire will hold up their line of the bargain. and the king—after a lot of nagging and persistence on basil’s end—had begrudgingly allowed his eldest son to come with his troops on stand-by beside your own. 

keeho and yunjin looked uneasy and queasy on the way to the empire. the week had gone by quick, and thanks to your expertise and basil’s troops who had served as reinforcements, quickly wiped the enemy troops down, not a single knight sat on their horse unscathed or untouched by stains of blood. you yourself had suffered a deep gash wrapped tightly in bandage.

you stopped your horse just in front of the seemingly barren castle gates of the empire. it was daunting, the beheaded troops of your kingdom sat decomposing on pikes and up for display for everyone to see. you heard somebody retching behind you. basil rides his horse to stand beside yours.

“the sun is setting. we should set up camp near and leave this till the morning. i have a bad feeling about this.” you shook your head at his statement, wanting to get the whole thing done and over with, so you could go home to sophia and celebrate your twenty-fifth with her.

“no, stay here. i’ll go check it out.”

“absolutely not. i’ll come with you.” 

you stared at the eldest royal sibling with furrowed brows, and after coming into terms that he wouldn’t back down, you relented, sighing deeply and hopping off your horse, patting the animal and glancing at yunjin and keeho.

“keeho. come. basil, take four of your men. yunjin, i’ll leave you in charge of the rest, keep an eye out for anything and shout if something happens. we’ll go check what we’re dealing with.”

everything felt wrong. from the moment you, basil, keeho, and four of basil’s men stepped foot in the courtyard with the rest of the forces outside the wide open castle gates, everything felt damn still and wrong.

there were no guards who greeted you. no banners waved. the gates stood open like a mouth waiting to swallow. and the air—god, even the air was dead.

"stay close," you’d muttered, hand never straying from the hilt of your blade.

you didn’t like it. none of you did. but orders were orders. and your fathe had sworn the eyekonian emperor’s closest advisor was loyal to ending the four year long war. she had extended a rare, desperate olive branch: a treaty, drafted in secrecy and sealed with royal insignias.

she was supposed to meet you. and she did.

but when she appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the dining hall, something in your gut coiled. she was too poised. too calm. and her green, sharp eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

still, you followed her. you had no choice but to. for the kingdom and for sophia. through the dust-slick halls that seemed to have not had a single soul clean it since the start of time. through the grand entryway of the dining chamber where a feast had been laid but left untouched. like it was meant for someone else.

you could cut the tension in the air with your sword. basil’s fingers twitched. keeho’s jaw was locked. none of the other men spoke.

"the treaty?" she asked silkily, voice echoing around the stone chamber.

you reached into your coat, pulling the sealed scroll and stepping forward. “from king laforteza. a formal end to the war, by decree of both kingdoms.”

you extended it with care, but she didn’t reach for it.

instead, she smiled.

and in that smile, you saw everything unravel. too fast, too quick. 

too late.

a flash of sophia’s smile glinted behind your eyelids.

“poor child,” she said softly. “you should’ve stayed in your little castle with your little princess.”

before your sword could even clear its sheath, her hand shot forward, sharp and inhumanly fast—metal glinted under her sleeve—

and the blade plunged right through your chest plate.

you gasped as the steel cut through bone and heart and air, the force of it throwing you backwards as your knees buckled.

basil shouted. keeho moved.

the witch barely had time to twist the blade before basil was on her, fury igniting in his veins. he drove his sword through her neck, slicing with such force her body collapsed in a heap of blackened smoke. a whispered “long hail the eyekonian empire!” lingering in the air like a ghost.

you hit the floor hard, breath stuck in your throat, blood pooling beneath you, warmth draining fast from your limbs. you couldn’t breathe, the damage was far too severe for a quick movement, a rather large chasm where you heart laid and the surrounding areas.

coughing blood as it invaded your lungs, your blurry  eyes caught keeho hastily ripping the metal plate covering your chest while the other soldiers screamed for the troops outside to come in, feeling hands pressing to try and regulate the bleeding, even if it was a lost cause.

but the damage was too severe to resolve. blood dripped down your lips, splattering on basil’s chestplate and the kingdom's insignia. him and keeho had looked horrified, like it was hard to believe that you’re here, dying in front of their eyes when you were just fine a few moments earlier. that the years of your life spent in training had gone down the drain with a quick snap of a wrist.

sophia had appeared in your thoughts once more.

sophia, sophia, sophia.

sophia.

you wonder how she’ll react to your foolish decision of rushing things to get home to her. the lapse in your judgement and eagerness to leave costing you your life. she’d have scolded you if you’d lived. mumbling something along the lines of “almost losing my future wife.”

you wonder how she’ll cope. nights spent in utter silence, when usually you’d be there to fill it with soft murmurs of something dumb keeho or yunjin had done while training. you wonder if she could even stomach seeing your empty side of the bed that awaited your return, of the fact that you’d practically broken your promise of marrying her when the war ends. you wonder if she’ll even be able to forgive you.

you’ve broken her heart, her trust, your promise.

you wonder if she’ll marry. you know she won’t, but you wonder if she’ll even consider it. she won’t. you hope she won't.

you feel someone lift you up, eyes droopier by the second. you don’t know how long you’ll last, hanging on by a thread in hopes to have at least the littlest consciousness by the time you arrive at the kingdom. the ride home is at least four days, and you’ve been stabbed through the heart.

sophia, sophia, sophia.

the girl who you’d swore to protect, to stand by her side till the end of time. and in by doing so, you’ve protected her and the kingdom. but at what cost?

she was right. it’ll always be duty that you’ll pick.

—--

the troops arrived a few days later, just before the sun set.

the people gathered in hushed clusters near the gates, whispers trailing behind the guards who bore the burden of grief on their shoulders, despite the victory of the empire and the end of the five year war.

at the very front, a body lay still atop a wooden cart, draped in the laforteza colors—deep navy and silver, lined with the kingdom’s sigil. the cloth covered everything, but it did nothing to hide the shape beneath it. nothing to dull the cold finality of it.

sophia stood at the castle steps, hands clenched at her sides. she didn’t need anyone to speak. didn’t need the confirmation of names or reports or letters from the front.

she knew.

she knew the slope of those shoulders beneath the fabric. knew the way the blade of your nose had always cut sharp and proud, even in rest. she knew the stillness wasn’t sleep—it was silence. finality.

“no,” she whispered, barely audible.

“no.”

no one dared stop her when she stepped down the stairs. not even the guards dared look her in the eye.

she stopped at the cart, breath trembling, heart thudding violently against her ribs as if it could somehow drum you back to life.

“please,” she murmured, to no one and nothing. “please don’t do this.”

her hands lifted, shaking as she reached for the cloth.

and when she peeled it back—

her knees buckled.

a choked sound tore out of her throat. her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could stuff the scream back inside. you were pale. still. lips tinged blue. your armor had been cleaned, but the dent at your chest plate was still there. and your sword—your favorite—rested by your side like it belonged with you in death, too.

sophia dropped to her knees beside the cart, clutching the edge like it could hold her upright. she could hear basil somewhere behind her, voice low and broken as he tried to explain. but she wasn’t listening.

she was supposed to marry you.

you had promised.

and now, the war had taken what even time dared not touch. basil wrapped his arms around her from behind, trying to hold her upright as wails so painful and gut wrenching pierced through the air, your father freezing in place at the sight.

he’d unknowingly lead you to your demise.

you were newly twenty-five when you’d died, and sophia never married. never planned to if it wasn’t you, anyway. she kept sleeping on your side of the bed no matter how painful it was, kept the blood-stained letter found in your pocket framed on the bedside table as a remembrance. kept your sword as a remembrance. kept everything you had as a remembrance.

because she was starting to forget you as time passed. was starting to forget how you felt, how you smiled, how you moved, how you looked at her like she was worth dying for and did. she was starting to forget.

and she wanted to remember.

she wanted to remember everything, down till the last pulses of her heart weakly pumped blood and basil and oreo’s children had gathered around her bed to say goodbye, a privilege you never got to have. she wanted to remember everything down to her last breath, how warm your skin felt beneath her fingertips, memorising and mapping your skin like it was the last thing she’ll ever do.

she never married. until death, she waited for you. waited for ninety years, if it meant coming home to you. she ruled with the strength you left her, carried the weight of the crown like your blood hadn’t been spilled across the kingdom’s soil to make peace possible. 

she turned her pain into purpose, rebuilt a world you could’ve lived in—should’ve lived in—and still, every night, she slept facing your empty side of the bed. made it possible for the end and the start of something new. she died on your side of the bed, your letter addressed to her clutched to her heart. creased, worn, and faded.

“the queen walks beside her knight again.”

a/n. finished in time for beautiful chaos release🙂‍↕️ did not mean to write this long but oh well yall have to deal w this now. will fix thr layout of the pairing nd shit in the morning. this was NAWT proofread ts was long asl im highk not bothered to look for spelling mistakes nd shi💔🥀🥀🥀🥀 ts also took THREE gruelling months to finish🥀🥀🥀 its the reason why the mamma mia updates hv been locked in the basement

masterlist. 1k follower event.

[dollyswishingwell]

Can you do the reader doing the current boyfriend trend on the lads men

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Current husband

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, crack fic lowkey, rafayel is so adorable i wanna eat him

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You prank them again

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- You say “current husband” and he stops in his tracks.

“I’m your WHAT?”

- Full dramatic gasp. Hand to chest. Looks directly into the camera.

“NO. Babe. No. Take it back. I’m not your current, I’m like the final boss of all husbands.”

- He immediately tries to take over the TikTok.

“Guys she’s LYING. She’s obsessed with me. She has a custom plushie of me. She cries if I’m not home by 7.”

- You laugh and say “It’s just a trend, Raffy!”

- “NO. There is no trend that allows emotional cheating in my house.”

He drags you back into frame, spins you around, kisses you in front of the camera.

- “Here’s MY outfit. And here’s MY wife, MY pretty, loyal, would-never-leave-me-for-another-man wife.”

- You end up cuddling in bed after brunch while he replays the video like

“Hmph. ‘Current’ my ass.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- You’re glowing in your silk dress and high heels, and he’s freshly shaven in a three-piece set he tailored himself. He’s smoothing your hair, making sure your earrings are straight before you go.

“Outfit of the day with my current husband~”

- He freezes.

“Sweetheart. Say that again?”

- His smile never drops, but his hand tightens on your waist just slightly.

- “Current? You mean the man who pays for your closet and memorized your vitamin schedule?”

- He kisses you with tongue before you can respond, palms on your cheeks like he’s claiming property on camera. (He’s a bit freaky, guys)

“Let’s re-film that,” he says with a smile, but you’re pretty sure he deleted the footage altogether.

- You don’t go to brunch. You go straight to the bedroom.

He makes sure you remember that he is your first and only.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

-He’s smiling in the back, jacket thrown on, holding your handbag for you like a doting husband. You tug him into frame and start filming:

“OOTD with my current husband! Say hi, baby~”

- His eyes open instantly.

“Current?”

There’s a flicker behind his pretty blue eyes.

- “You’re replacing me?”

- He’s not mad. He’s thinking. Strategizing. Mentally deleting all threats to his throne.

“Do I get to meet the next one? Or will he be buried too quickly?”

- You laugh and call him silly. You end the video, wanting to edit and post it later. but he’s following you around all brunch, hand on your lower back, unusually touchy and terrifyingly quiet.

- At night, he murmurs, “Tell me I’m forever, starlight,” while holding you in his sleep grip.

- When you check your phone later… the video is mysteriously glitched and corrupted. Gone. And he makes you film a new version.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- He’s smirking before you even start filming. Letting you drag him into frame because he thinks you’re adorable and he loves attention from his wife.

- Until you say:

“Here’s my outfit! And here’s my current husband~”

- …His eyes narrow immediately.

- “Current? That supposed to be funny, kitty?”

- You can hear the danger in his voice under the teasing smile. He tilts your chin up and stares at you for a full three seconds before smirking.

- “Mm. I like it. Let’s see how long you last being cute.”

- That’s his way of saying he’s about to punish you, gently at first, then not so gently.

- Deletes the TikTok and posts a photo of you sitting in his lap with a caption like:

“There is no next husband. Just a funeral.”

- Brunch becomes a power play. He makes you sit on his side of the booth, kissing your wrist like a threat.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- He’s in a fitted black shirt and slacks, looking down at you like you’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

- You start filming, sparkly lip gloss shining:

“Brunch fit! And this is my current husband, What are you wearing, honey?”

- He grabs your phone mid-recording.

“Current? Really, pips?”

Caleb looks amused, but there’s something mean in his smile.

- “You wanna see what happens to a bratty girl who call me current, huh?” He pinches your nose playfully.

- You’re tossed over his shoulder and carried back into the bedroom. TikTok’s over.

- He’s still petty, mentions it at the most random times, he never lets that slide.

- “Gonna call me that again, baby? You can try, but you’ll be limping to brunch next time.”

[fanaticforlife]

Donna Noble | Most Important Woman in the Whole Wide Universe

A Donna Noble appreciation <3 by the wondrous @margarita-life

Donna Noble has been such an influential person in my life. She has shaped me in so many ways, and I'll irrevocably be forever thankful for her story.

[bubblesthecow]

Watching Star Wars in chronological order is so funny.

Obi-Wan Kenobi really took one look at R2D2 in the middle of the desert and said “No, Luke, I’ve never seen this fucking droid in my life. Looks like a real bitch though. Not that I’d know. This is my first time meeting the asshole.”

No one in that whole franchise was Gatekeep-Gasslight-Girlbossing quite like “Ben” Kenobi, regular human-man.

[wardensantoineandevka]

is that piece of media actually bad, or is it just not following the blueprint you projected onto it? is that work actually not good, or are you just demanding something from it that is absolutely antithetical to its themes, genre, tone, and narrative goal? is that story actually poorly written, or do you just dislike that it is not the specific things you wanted from it that it never set out to be, never was, and never is going to become? is it actually bad, or is it actually well-executed and you just dislike the story it chose to be because it isn't catering to your specific desires and expectations?