#* ⠀⠀ ❀ ⠀⠀ ꒰ ⠀⠀ partner ↝ black. ⠀⠀ ꒱

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Damian Wayne;The ultimate Girl!Dad and Husband.

There was a time when Damian Wayne never imagined he’d end up here—shirtless on a plush living room rug, his hair in disarray, a pink tiara clumsily perched atop his head, and glitter nail polish drying on his fingers while his daughter sat cross-legged beside him, her tongue poking out in concentration.

“You’re being very still, Baba,” she said approvingly, patting his hand like a seasoned manicurist. “Good job.”

He raised a brow at her, but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course I am. I take my appointments very seriously, habibti.”

From the kitchen, you peeked around the corner, stifling a laugh. You’d caught the sight a dozen times already—Damian Wayne, former assassin, now retired vigilante, utterly at the mercy of his four-year-old daughter.

It was the best thing you’d ever seen.

—

Damian Wayne was a lot of things.

He was your husband—loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, maddeningly stubborn, and still the most frustratingly handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on.

He was your partner in everything. Fixing up the house. Raising a child. Trying to tame a literal hyena pup that followed your daughter around like a bodyguard.

He still trained every morning at sunrise, still had a blade under the bed and cameras on every entry point, but fatherhood had softened him in all the right places.

He woke early to make your tea just the way you liked it.

He bought parenting books and highlighted them like they were war strategies.

He carried your daughter’s sparkly unicorn backpack without flinching.

He insisted on being the one to braid her hair because “you’re always too gentle and she likes it tight.”

He was the kind of dad who showed up to ballet class in a black suit and tie straight from a Wayne board meeting—then sit cross-legged on the floor to tie her slippers himself.

And when she fell asleep on the couch, cradled against his chest with drool on his shirt, he wouldn’t move for hours. Not even when his phone buzzed or his back began to ache.

“She has me wrapped around her little finger,” he confessed to you one night, his voice hushed as he tucked her in, brushing back her curls.

“I know,” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He didn’t deny it.

—

Being his wife came with its own set of joys and headaches.

Damian was all sharp edges and unfiltered opinions, but with you, he was—soft. Almost reverent. The way he kissed you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. The way his hand always found yours under the table. The way he referred to you as his beloved when he was particularly smitten (or guilty).

The way he knelt beside your hospital bed, your newborn daughter in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he whispered her name for the first time.

You’d seen the world through Damian Wayne’s eyes. The darkness. The danger. The legacy.

But you’d also seen the light he found in family. In fatherhood. In you.

He was the ultimate husband—the man who stood behind you when you were strong and carried you when you couldn’t be. The man who never missed a single bedtime story, who danced in the kitchen with your daughter on his feet, who would burn the world to protect you both.

Damian Wayne was a lot of things.

But to you?

He was everything.

And to your daughter?

He was simply “Baba”—the bravest, softest, most glitter-covered warrior she’d ever known

[thecoochiefairy]

pistachios. toji + onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 12.9K word count. blackfemoriginal!reader, crossover!fic, best friends!tojixonyankopon, contractors!tojixonyankopon, husband!tojifushiguro, countryboycoded!toji, contractor!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, countryboycoded!onyankopon, contractor!onyankopon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, threesome, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, squirting, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, size kink, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black + japanese man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ hi, it’s your favorite pisces’ favorite pisces—teehee. hope you missed me. anyways, just gonna’ say right now this isn’t a nascar fic, i trashed the idea and just came up w/ something more—me, i guess? i think i like this one. i felt a lil’ rusty, so idk what nasty factor it might hit. but both my men in the same universe? oh yeah. oh yeah. anyways, i will also say the link/visuals are unfortunately not black links in specific, but it does a good job of conceptualizing what i envisioned in my mind. and if you’re nasty, you’re fully aware of who owen grey + small hands are ;) LMAO. aight, i kept thinking of deeper by PARTYNEXTDOOR, so you can put that on a loop if you’d like. enjoy. love you.

visual.

HOW DID YOU END UP HERE? 

You kept asking yourself that question as your puffy lips poked in a pout, round eyes flickering in between the looming frames above you. Your freckled cheeks flushed as they glared in return of your angelic face—and then, impurely so, you crawled to them.  

You couldn’t have been that naive. Not to realize their plan, or how long they’d been onto you. But none of this was your plan at all. It just—happened. 

You’d been married to Toji for four years now, falling in love the moment he approached you in the streets of Tokyo, Japan. You were studying abroad in grad school, telling him that you’d been working on your masters degree within Administration, to which he replied that he shared a business with his partner—a contractor, he was. 

You would never forget that initial interaction. The onyx of his hair tousled in a flawless way, matching the natural frown of his full eyebrows each time he watched you speak. 

He allowed you to ramble off with low hums of ’Mmm’, even with it being the first conversation between the two of you. And to be honest, it made you nervous. From the warm ivory of his complexion that was coated with tattoos, being so many that they traveled beneath the white tee he wore, to his frame that was tall, lean, and built—the cadence of his deep voice, a gruffness to his tone as a cigarette sunk between the side of his full lips—He was like no other. 

But you feigned an innocence he couldn’t pull from. The deep ginger curls draping around your freckled cheeks flushed as he spoke to you, round eyes beaming from beneath your lashes—you wore a cherry blossom within your tresses, pale pink mini dress clad around your curvy figure as you held textbooks beneath your arms. Your giggles, your smile, all those things made you like no other even more so. 

He wanted you. 

You both resided in New Orleans as his business was the most successful there, receiving a multitude of clients after Hurricane Katrina hit the city years before. Behind that scary demeanor was a man with wholehearted compassion—He helped others create their new homes after losing their old ones, becoming known as the most popular contractor along the West Bank. But of course, he had a little help along the way. 

He offered you a job as his business’ consultant manager, able to give feedback on their personal brand as contractors, as well as answering emails and phone calls—but here’s where the issue began. 

Onyankopon.

The first time meeting him was entirely friendly, even when his looks might’ve had your stomach do a flip. To the heavy New Orleans twang that slipped between a few creole words as he spoke to you, to the strength of his hand when he shook yours. The sepia of his smooth skin complexion shined in cocoa butter, strident jaw clenching as he shook the small frame of your palm.

You’ little as hell, you remember him telling you. 

He was an extreme contrast to Toji—open faced grills within his mouth, teeth straight and white each time he smiled or laughed. His lips were a deep pink, full, kissabl—

Teeth. His teeth were nice.

Your eyes ran across the neatly braided cornrows, broad frame covered in tattoos that moved when he flexed his muscles. In that moment, he’d lifted his shirt to wipe the moisture of sweat from his forehead, goatee wafting a shea butter scent from the follicles—but you couldn’t even finish reading his body over, as your eyes fell right at the sculpt of his abs, Bible scriptures thumping across the flesh as he grunted from the heat of outside. And like an idiot, your reply was—

You have big hands. 

Yeah, you were fucked. 

Well, at first you weren’t. Onyankopon had been the best man in your wedding, constantly coming over to the house, even dozing off on the sofa as you laid a blanket over him. You and him had a good enough rapport with Toji being the common denominator—so the question was, why did you have the inkling to fuck him? 

This wasn’t cheating, right? 

Regardless of Toji and Onyankopon growing up together, they were extremely different—Toji was more aggressive, outspoken, able to soften his hard corners the minute he was with you. On the other hand, Onyankopon was sweet, observant, quiet, and stoic—he was the action, while Toji was the mouth piece. 

So back to the point—this definitely wasn’t cheating, right? 

Okay, but you loved your husband. He was there for you throughout all your highs and lows—He was patient, affectionate, hard-working, all the things you wanted within a man. He was the only man you’d ever been with—sexually, romantically—so you couldn’t understand why your brain was thinking about how big Onyankopon’s hands were—

Anyway, this was your husband’s fault. You couldn’t blame him for loving Onyankopon like a brother, but you could blame him for bringing him around more than he should have. He was like a villain to your origin story. Working out with the both of you at the gym, going out with you late at night, hanging around you just as much as your husband did. To make things worse? He was so. Damn. Nice. Opening the door for you, taking your hand as you needed to walk up the stairs, always asking how you felt throughout the day when your husband wasn’t able to do so. 

It’s not that you wanted him, per se. It was the mixture of both your husband and him within the same room, deep voices talking shit to one another, laughing, eyeing you as you walked past, made dinner, giggled shyly when they both called for your attention—you weren’t trying to make it obvious that he made you a little fuzzy, but the narrow of your husband's eyes might’ve said otherwise. 

Now? You were fucked. 

Here you were now, sitting along your miniature desk as you did emails during the business’ new project. Both men were working on a house within Uptown, a two story home where the family wanted an all white kitchen. You were in between phone calls and looking over shop drawings to make sure the infrastructure was to the family’s desires, claw clip within your curls as they draped in between your fingers, sighing as the paper work had you a bit tired. 

Your eyes wandered over to your husband standing on the opposite side of the room, ear leaning into the screen of his phone as he tugged construction gloves from his large palms—Onyankopon on the opposite side of him, plummeting his hammer into the wall above. You watched both men for a brief moment, as they both wore forest green long sleeves, tugging to the muscular frame of their shoulders and abdomen. 

When you heard the click of Toji’s lighter, your eyes rolled.

“Please don’t smoke in someone else’s house, Fushiguro.”

Of course, that natural frown appeared seconds later. Your husband’s eyebrows lowered, wrist knocking down as he shook off the ash collecting at the tip of his cigar. 

“‘Bout to go outside” he grunts to you, “The wife said she wants white oak instead of maple for the counter.” 

Onyankopon hadn’t turned towards either of you, but he did stop his hammering, a low breath huffing from his lips as he grunted in return, “Why she ain’t say that shit earlier? I’m finna’ get started on the window.” 

Toji releases a puff of smoke, “Husband said he’ll pay double.”

“That don’t’ make it any less work.”

Your husband’s grey eyes peered over his slightly irritated friend, a glint within them as he leaned forward, blowing smoke towards Onyankopon.

He now fully turned from where he stood, brown eyes stabbing every inch of Toji’s body—his low voice warns, “Chill out, nigga. You see I’m tryna’ figure out what I need to do.” 

Both men always had an interesting dynamic—one could be playful, while the other couldn’t be at all. It was always easy for Toji to rile up Onyankopon. 

“You’re mad ‘cause more money ‘bout to go in your pocket?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “Quit whinin’.”

Onyankopop turns to face the wall, hand holding onto the hammer, “Ain’t nobody whinin’. Stop talkin’ to me.” 

Toji glances back at you from the other side of the room, a wink being sent in your direction.

You roll your eyes at the both of them, “And where does she think we’re gonna find White Oak at nearly six in the afternoon?”

“She’s tryna’ change everything to white oak,” Toji clarified, “Countertops to white granite, cabinets to off white.”

That’s when Onyankopon tosses the hammer beside his boot. He crosses his arms to lean his back along the wall, face hard from this conversation. 

“She might as well do a whole new renovation,” he mutters. 

“You’ the only one complaining.”

“Don’t mean I ain’t right,” Onyankopon counters, “Shit don’t’ make sense. We got three more days before the contract is up, and now she on some’ HGTV bullshit.”

“‘Can’t complain if that’s what they want.” 

Onyankopon turns towards you. 

“How’ you feelin’ about this?”

You blink at the question, not wanting to be in the middle of one of their usual disputes. You tug a ginger curl behind your ear, scrunching your nose to adjust the tip of your glasses. 

Your voice is soft, “Onyankopon’s right, baby. I think it’s a little late for changes in renovations when you’re already halfway done with the kitchen.”

You see your husband's jaw tighten at your confirmation, his back straightening as he glances between the two of you. Even if he didn’t agree, he had to understand his partner's point of view. 

“I hear both of you,” Toji glances at Onyankopon, “What you wanna’ tell them?” 

“Finish the current cabinet set up, make the kitchen white, and she can set another appointment if she wanna add other shit.”

You glance down to the paper beneath you, pen flicking beneath your fingers, “We still need more maple—think you can make it to Home Depot before they close?”

Toji gives a nod of approval, stomping on the butt of the cigar he was trying to finish, “I got it. Gonna’ head that way.” 

Onyankopon's eyebrows raise in surprise, “You goin’ by yo’self?”

“Why? You gonna’ kiss and make up with me now?”

Onyankopons’ eyes narrow, “Ain’t nobody kissin’ yo’ overgrown ass, nigga.” 

“You sound like a damn teenager.” 

“‘Cause I’m arguin’ with one.”

“Can you tell me you love me and stop arguing, please?” you tilt your head, “Come gimme’ some love.” 

The smallest smile might’ve found Toji’s mouth. 

“You want love?” His footsteps approach your desk, heavy on the wooden floor, “You want some love, huh?” 

His large hand runs up the length of your shoulder, fingers finding your neck as he pushes your chin up, “You hearin’ me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling him lower by the bicep of his arm, “Don’t be long,” You rub your nose against his, “You love me?”

Toji brings his other hand to the other side of your neck, thumbs grazing your cheeks with that signature smirk on his lips, “You know I do.” 

He pulls your face towards his, gruff as he questions, “You like when I tell you that?” 

You’re met with the familiar taste of his mouth, tongue exploring yours as he sighs through his nose, hushing your small giggle through the kiss. 

“Aight,” Onyankopon interrupts, “Y’all know Home Depot finna’ close, huh?” 

Toji raises his middle finger in the direction of the other man, giving you a couple more pecks—his hand lingers along your neck when he turns back to his friend, “You’re still over there cryin’? Let me kiss my woman.”

He then stands to his full height, “‘Need anything from me before I leave, wifey?”  he sarcastically questions Onyankopon. 

Onyankopons’ eyes roll up in the direction of the ceiling, hand moving to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just gon’ head, Fushiguro.” 

“Have those emails ready for me,” He gives a kiss to your forehead, “Behave.”

He then extends back up once more, “Watch my woman for me, bastard.”

“I always do,” Onyankopon murmurs, “She’ good with me.”

And with that, the door closed.

You didn’t expect your husband to be gone for almost two hours. He wasn’t answering the phone, and the heat seeping into the home had you ready to call it quits. Your fingers were lazily typing across the keyboard, flickering up to Onyankopon every once in a while. 

You softly ask, “Did he text you back?”

Onyankopons’ brown eyes glance up from his own set of papers. 

“Nah,” he replies, “I called him, ain’t answer.” 

You pout your lips at the news, now knowing Toji was really taking his time. 

Onyankopon notices your face.

“He ain’t dead, shawty. Nigga prolly’ searchin’ for the best maple wood in all of New Orleans. He’d overwork himself before givin’ a bad service.”

The words make you smile a bit, knowing your husband just as much as he did.

You say, “I’m sorry. I just hate when he goes awol—I probably sound annoying.”

Onyankopon lets out a low chuckle, one that rumbles through the release of his chest. His attention was now on you instead of those papers, leaned forward in his chair. His shoulders seemed to expand in size. 

“Youn’ sound annoying, just worried,” He leans forward more, “He ain’t good at checkin’ the time when he be runnin’ errands.“

He looks back down at his work, a moment of silence passing before he glances up again,

“You ain’t hungry, are you?”

Your eyes find themselves back to his face, realizing how long you’d glance over his muscular frame.

“Hm?” You process the question, “Um—no, I’m fine. I don’t like to bother you guys about food while you’re working and I’m just sitting, y’know?” 

You adjust your glasses once more, “I’m fine, really.”

Onyankopon squinted his eyes in the direction of you, eyebrows cocking up when he asked, “You ain’t eat nothin’ today?” 

His voice was like honey. Sweet, with a deep rumble, and it didn’t help the fact that he was giving you his full attention. 

“You know you ain’t no bother to me. I can go grab you sum’.”

The thing was, you were hungry. Toji was sweet enough to have pack you a lunch earlier, one that you’d already scarfed down and hadn’t thought about until this moment. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t just say all that, but maybe it had to do with the way he looked at you.

Something him and your husband had in common—it was that damn glare they kept upon their faces, whether they were happy, upset, or just fixated on something. You hated to say that the sight had you shifting within your chair.

Your face flushes a bit, “I’m okay, Ony. Thank you.”

You might’ve been crazy. You swear you saw the corner of his mouth lifting at the nickname, but it happened too fast— it had to be a trick of the sunlight. 

“You sure?” 

The concern he displayed was always so pure, it made you wanna kill him.

You nod, “Promise. I’m just gonna finish my emails,” you nearly fumbled your words, “I have a couple more to do.”

“Youn’ gotta overwork yo’self, Mama. You can stop if you’ exhausted,” he gently adds, “Toji gon’ be out for a minute.” 

There was that look again, the one that felt deep within your body, like you were entirely naked in front of him. 

There was also the fact that your heart was pounding. It was either a heart attack, or you were going to spontaneously combust—

“You’ warm?” He questions, “You sweatin’.”

You quickly glance down your body, noticing the sheen of your skin. The soft yellow halter dress you wore hugged along your wide hips with the mixture of sweat—but nothing was worse when you realized your nipples seeping through the fabric up top. You weren’t even cold. 

You run your fingers through your hair, pulling your curls farther away from the back of your neck. You awkwardly giggle, “‘S just really hot in here.”

The corner of his mouth definitely twitched up that time, like he had an idea of what was happening to you right now. He probably didn’t. You hoped he didn’t. 

You could see the muscles of his arms flex when he shifted in his chair, fingers of his left hand scratching along his facial hair.

“It is,” he agrees, “Imma’ finish up this window.“

When he stands from his seat, you then hear, “You need me?” 

You blink, eyes flickering over him as your mouth goes dry, “Huh?”

“I said, you lemme’ know if you need anything, aight?”

You were losing it.

“Okay,” you force the most normal smile, “Got it.”

This had to be your personal hell. It might’ve been enjoyable for anyone else, but this was the worst thing you could’ve witnessed. You were trying to finish your work, but you found yourself…glancing above your computer.

Onyankopons’ hands were rough, strong with large palms as he held up the thick glass window, the muscles within his arms flexing from the power of it. A few beads of sweat fell within the crevasses of his chest, dripping down and soaking into his shirt, tight from how it stretched across his body. His dark brows were focused, tongue running across his lips as his jaw was set, feet were slightly spread apart, like a soldier, stance strong—God, he was so strong. 

His hair was braided back, sweat beading and traveling down his temples, face focused on the work in front of him. He gave a loud huff as he nailed in the window frame, face scowling as his biceps flexed. 

Lord Jesus. 

But oh, you must’ve been in the seventh ring of hell when he tugged that shirt off of his body. He’d begun playing music to keep himself distracted, but if only he knew. 

The tattoos that lined his arms and chest were now on full display, shiny with the sweat. His chest and abs flexed from the work of lifting heavy objects, the thick length of his tatted neck and shoulders flexing from the movements. 

And then, so attractively, he rolled his neck back, grunting as he lifted the weight of the glass once more. 

You felt dizzy.

Your cheeks flushed as you watched him, eyes staring almost dreamily. There was nothing more attractive than a man working hard, sweat pouring down his body as he pushed his strength to the limits. It made you—imagine things. Your body throbbed at your thoughts, a small frown coming between your lips at the sight. 

But that frown quickly erased, as your heart nearly dropped into your ass the moment you heard the door unlock. You hiked your body up to the perfect sitting position, scattering your fingers for your pen as you scribbled random words along the bottom of your papers. 

You couldn’t even look in Toji’s direction.

Your husband could’ve called out your name, but you still wouldn’t have looked over. So when Toji appeared beside your desk, his strong arm draping over your shoulders, the weight nearly startled you.

“Babydoll,” he rasped, “What’s goin’ on? You need some water?”

Your eyes glanced at Onyankopon. 

Kissing Toji’s jaw, your face flushed as you deflected, “The Louisiana heat is dire—what took you so long, baby?”

Toji’s eyebrows quirked up at your sudden affection, catching the tense in your body. However, being your easily distracted husband, he loved when you wanted to be on him. His hands rubbed over your arms, attempting to soothe you a bit.

“The closest Home Depot didn’t have the wood in stock,” he murmured, “Damn near traveled the entire state.”

Your hips had always been your sensitive spot, lower body shivering a bit as he began to rub there. You found yourself wanting to hold his face, tugging his body to be closer as you told him, “‘Missed you, Toji.”

His grip was light, a thumb brushing along the curve of one of your eyebrows. 

“Yeah?” he murmured back. 

He noticed the way you tried to look elsewhere. 

His fingers came to grip beneath your chin, gently forcing your attention back to him. 

“Eyes,” he reminded, “Need em’ here.” 

Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.

“I’m just a little tired,” you found something to say, your hands rubbing at the smoothness of his jaw, rubbing his neck, rubbing everywhere to distract him.

Toji leaned into your touch, but not much. It made your heart beat more. 

“You sure that’s the only thing?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

His frown flickers your face once more, but the warmth of your palms was all too soothing. His mouth grunted along your throat, “Missed you too,” kissing pecks along the warm flesh. Your fingers sunk into his hair as you giggled a bit, leaning your head back for him to keep his affection going. But in that moment, your eyes might’ve glanced at Onyankopon once more. 

If only you’d realized that your husband noticed.

Finishing off the night was another hour later, as you’d both said your goodbyes to Onyankopon, quickly making it home to wash off the heat of the day. You sat in the vanity your husband had built for you, angles carved within the gold trim of the mirror, lights attached to the surface below to do your skincare or makeup. 

As your husband was within the shower, your mind wandered. You’d hoped today’s little hiccup was a spur of the moment, and that you’d become a bit delirious from the heat. However, you still thought about the way Onyankopon looked at you, and something in that still had your thighs squeezing together.

“Pretty girl,” you hear your husband call, the bathroom door opening to reveal him within a towel—it hangs low on his muscular hips, abs sweltering in water, upper body flexing as he dries the damp of his hair. 

“You finished up those emails earlier?”

Shit. 

The tips of your fingers swiped along your cheek with oil, your eyes briefly finding his as you replied, “Um—No, I didn’t.”

Toji raised an eyebrow in your direction, not used to hearing your denial of finished work.

“What happened?”

Your body shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the heat of the shower steam slowly crawling into the room. 

“Got distracted with a couple of phone calls,” was your lie, “Want me to finish them before bed?”

“You seem distracted now,” he points out, “‘Can barely make eye contact with me.”

“You’re the most handsome man in the world,” you hum, “What can I say?”

Toji huffs a chuckle.

His gaze still hardened on you, studying you with those all-seeing eyes of his. You kept your head turned, face flushing again, fingers moving along your facial products as you pretended not to feel it. That’s when you hear him again.  

“Let me ask you somethin’.”

Your heart immediately started beating, turning towards him with raised eyebrows. 

You tug a curl behind your ear, “Yeah?” 

Toji leaned his hip along the edge of the sink, towering over you even with feet away.

“How you feelin’ ‘bout Onyankopon?” he flatly questions, “You like him?” 

Your eyes blink at the question. You tilt your head, “You’ve been friends for years. Why wouldn’t I?”

Toji lets a low hum escape his chest while his thumbs hooked at the hips of his towel. His biceps flexed from the position. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

You tried to keep your expression neutral. 

“What are you asking, then?”

“To be honest with me.” 

Onyankopon wasn’t a topic he treaded lightly on, especially when it concerned you. He wasn’t a possessive man by any means, but any question he asked, he wanted the truth. 

He repeats, “You like him?” 

“I don’t—“ you went to argue, but his eyes stopped you.

So you try again. 

“That’s a bit of a weird question to ask, Fushiguro.”

The corner of Toji’s mouth twitched with a frown at you dodging the question. His eyes, however, kept you in a hold. 

“Nah,” he disagreed, “It ain’t.” 

You sat there quietly, thinking about lying like you’d been doing all day. But the guilt of lying to him felt heavy in your chest.  

So, with the slightest of hesitance, you softly admitted, “I do.” 

You then follow up with, “But it’s not…like that.”

“Make me understand.”

You shifted in your chair, legs crossing as you attempted to keep your gaze from drifting. 

You replied, “I don’t like him in a romantic way. I just—“

Your teeth scrape at your lip a bit, “It’s just a little fantasy, you know? That’s all. I would never act on any of my emotions, Toji. You know that.” 

His expression was unreadable. 

“Right?” 

You wanted that confirmation, swallowing hard. Toji studied you, jaw shifting in the silence that fell. 

You then added, “You’re the one I married.” 

He replied, “That don’t’ answer my next question.” 

“What question?” 

His next words had the silence in the room deafening. 

“Your fantasy. Talk me through it.” 

Your mouth parts to speak, but no words escape you. 

“What?”

“Tell me about your fantasy,” Toji repeated, “Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m askin’ you.”

You felt heat creep back up your body, your cheeks practically on fire. 

“There’s nothing to tell, baby. It’s—silly.” 

Toji’s jaw ticked. 

“You think I’m mad at you?”

You question, “Are you?” 

“I’m not. Shit ain’t silly if you’re flustered like this.”

He then repeats, “Tell me.” 

You swallowed, fiddling with your manicured fingers. 

“Promise you won’t be mad?” 

He huffs, “I just told you I wasn’t, babydoll. C’mon.” 

Your legs moved together awkwardly, fingers still fiddling, “When I see the two of you being together, working, just—doing stuff, I imagine…”

Toji waited, watching you fidget. 

“Sexual stuff, Y’know? My mind just gets a little dirty.”

“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you?”

“Toji.”

“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you while I watch?”

“Fushiguro!” you squeaked, “Jesus, no. I think about the both of you,” you clarify, “That’s all!” 

You stand from the chair, going over to lightly wrap your arms around his neck—you’re breathless as you whimper, “Please stop asking me this. It’s a stupid thing, okay? I love you. I’d never do anything with anyone else.” 

“Is that somethin’ you want?”

“What?” you frown, “What do you mean?”

“You want me and him? You wanna take that?” 

You knock your head into his chest, throwing your hands over your face as you squeak again, “Baby!”

The corner of Toji’s mouth lifted with amusement, “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You felt mortified.

You were stubborn in keeping your face covered, muttering out, “No, Fushiguro. Please. Stop.”

You could feel his chuckle against your head, deep within his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“You’re so shy, woman.” 

“You’re insane,” you murmur, heart thumping in your chest, “Why aren’t you mad? How aren’t you mad?”

“Don’t really have anythin’ to be mad ‘bout,” Toji murmured, squeezing at your waist, “You like the idea of it; ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” 

“I feel insane,” You reply.

“Shit is kinda’ cute, honestly.” 

“Toji,” You smack his bicep, “Stop.”

“Ouch.”

 His hands gripped at the full flesh of your ass, forcing you to hold around his neck as you sat on the sink countertop.

“You done with your lil’ tantrum?” 

You roll your eyes, “My husband is tryna’ have me admit to wanting to fuck his best friend. I think my reaction is pretty valid.”

His lips brushed up your neck, voice deep, gruff with his reply, “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ‘bout all that, huh?” Your legs hooking at either side of his hips, holding him between the warmth of your thighs.

“Can we stop talking about this?” you question, “Why can’t you just say I’m pretty and that you love me? Why do you have to make my life harder?”

He smirked at your complaint. He then responded with, “I think you’re the prettiest thing in the South; you know that.”

His strong hands were already tugging the fabric of your night gown, palming at the soft flesh up your thigh. You grip at his hair, fingers twisting within it.

“You know I love you so damn much,” he grunts, nose running along the curve of your neck, “You’re mine.” 

You pucker your lips out, awaiting a kiss.

Toji gives you what you want, of course. He groaned from the sensation of you tugging down on his bottom lip, sucking on it with a pop as he pulled away.

You run your tongue along your lips as you giggle, “Mkay.” 

You then sigh, “Wanna go to bed? Get a little—freaky?” you playfully wiggle your brows. 

“Yeah. Lemme’ call up Onyankopon first—“

You smack his chest again.

The next couple of days were better than you imagined. It was a resting period, both you and Toji spending most of your time sleeping, cuddling, watching shows, and overall rejuvenating one another in preparation for work the next week. 

Your time off had gotten infinitely better when your husband received a phone call from a client within the Garden District—who he thought wasn’t interested in his services—but when he offered triple Toji and Onyankopon’s pay rate, it seemed otherwise. You whisper screamed as you jumped on the bed above him, your feet thumping on either side of his legs as he talked business, watching as he tried to hold off his chuckle. 

Here’s when things got weird. Later that morning, Onyankopon planned to come over for a football game, as you’d also agreed to cook in celebration of your big contract coming up. It was a usual routine—football, gym, coming back home to cook. 

But something about today’s routine felt…different. 

Toji and Onyankopon. The combination of the two was something you could usually handle, but when you came downstairs that morning for coffee, you felt an energy coming off of them. You were usually comfortable in their company. Toji was his rough, crass self, but nonetheless a loving husband. And then there was Onyankapon, who was usually the sweetheart. 

But now, you felt as if their attitudes had shifted. They’d been quiet and watchful since you’d entered the kitchen, eyes following your every single move. That’s when you realize—they were watching you like you were their prey.

“Good morning?” 

Your voice was sweet, nervous. You waved as if they weren’t ten feet away.

Both men replied with their own version of a greeting, their eyes locked on your form as you moved to grab a cup of coffee. You could feel the heat of their stares. 

It was almost—too silent.

If that wasn’t weird, this definitely was. The energy picked up around the afternoon, both men gulping down a beer together as their low tones barked at the television, watching the game at its peak. You’d finished up with those emails you were supposed to finalize, snuggling yourself into your husband as you leaned your upper body into his, Onyankopon beside you while continuously watching the game. Your eyes were a bit droopy as you weren’t as interested, sinking your face deeper into Toji’s abdomen. And that’s when it happened—you felt Onyankopon graze his fingers along your hip as he spoke to your husband about the game. Your eyes went wide.

Onyankopon’s voice was gruff from football games and beers, but his fingers were steady as ever against your skin. Both men were locked onto the screen as if your reaction was nothing important—All the while, you felt your heart thumping under your rib cage. 

Your clit throbbed. 

Then, it was your husband's turn. Toji’s hand was a stark contrast to Onyankopon’s; rough, large, calloused, and much thicker. His fingers cladded onto your ass, pulling your body back so you were nestled further between the two. 

“You think LSU’s gonna’ make an upset today?”

“Ain’t no way them’ niggas beatin’ Georgia,” Onyankopon shook his head, “I’m reppin’ my state, but they’ be drawlin’.” 

“You always goin’ too hard for the opposition,” Toji countered, “Gotta’ be more confident in the home team.”

“You ain’t even from Louisiana,” Onyankopon sucked his teeth, “Why you defendin’ niggas like they’ payin’ you to say allat’?” 

“I ‘been here for sixteen years now. Chill.” 

They’re both touching. Again.

Your heart felt as if it was being squeezed between two giant fingers. You’d tried so hard to keep your focus on the game, but Onyankopon shifted forward in his seat, leaning more of his body closer to your ass. Toji shifted his legs apart, forcing you to lean a bit more onto Onyankopon.

Your heart palpitated. 

“You wanna’ go against this bet or not?”

Onyankopon was still rubbing at your hip. He grunted at Toji’s response, “Don’t get yo’ ass beat.” 

“Beat this bet, Pussy.” 

“Who’ the pussy?” 

“I’d say the man who’s ‘bouta lose fifty dollars.” 

Your ass was right on top of Onyankopon’s thigh at this point.

You inhaled a shaky breath, feeling a bit dizzy at the scent of them. Toji smelled like nature; earthy, woodsy. Onyankopon, however, smelled like musk and some type of cologne. You weren’t sure which one you liked more, their argument now completely muffled to your ears. 

They were trying to kill you.

Maybe it didn’t actually happen that way. Your mind fed on those delusions as you stood within the gym later that day, zoning out each time you waited to do your rep behind both men. You’d always worked out with them, learning different techniques that left your body sore afterwards—but once again, today was different. 

They were both rough with their work outs, grunting whenever they’d throw down a set of weights. Chests’ heaving, sweat collecting, they were hot. But today, the attention was on you.

To top it off, they were still touching. 

The way Onyankopons’ fingers would graze over your waist as he helped you with your sets, how Toji’s hand smacked your ass as you walked past them—You couldn’t handle them.

It all led into the night—once everyone was refreshed and showered, you were within the kitchen cooking one of their favorite meals—steak, loaded potatoes and broccoli. You were comforted by the candles lit along the house, a glass of wine easing your nerves from the entire day. Your ginger curls draped around your face and past your hips, pale yellow halter top and matching capris hugging the fat of your ass, frilly sock beneath your golden heels to match the jewelry on your caramel skin. You were currently seasoning your steak, eyes briefly flickering to the patio door halfway open as both men smoked a blunt together. You watched them.

Toji was dressed in those loose, dark cargos that hung off of his hips for dear life, a white muscle shirt stretched to its limit across his biceps and over the chest. Onyankopons’ pants were black, and his shirt was navy blue. They're both huge. 

A slight breeze drifted through the cracked patio door, blowing into the house and mixing with the scents of Toji’s—and now their—smoke.

Their shoulders flexed as they passed the blunt back and forth, laughter and low conversation heard through the glass. They were both so handsome, so attractive, so rough compared to you.

Your eyes briefly met theirs from the doorway, Toji’s eyes that dark grey, Onyankopons’ a lighter brown. 

They were looking at you. No other way to describe it. They were looking at you. 

The sight made you a bit wobbly. Nonetheless, you waved through the window at the two, dimple poking with the soft smile you gave them.

Your husbands’ fingers rubbed at his jaw while Onyankopon cracked a smirk, waving back at you in return. 

Okay.

When they made it back inside, you were in the middle of cutting your potatoes up—you hummed, “Everything okay?”

Toji’s gaze was focused on your hands as you chopped the vegetables, but it eventually flickered to your face as he replied, "Good, just missed you out there.”

Onyankopons’ head tilted your direction too, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “You look good,” He complimented, voice raspy. 

You blushed at his compliment. Accepting the kiss Toji gave along your cheek, you’re distracted as he tugs his finger through your curls—you giggle a bit, “Just wanted to look pretty for tonight—you guys look nice too,” you turn your face to kiss at your husbands lips, “You guys hungry?”

Toji leaned in for another kiss, sucking your lower lip between his teeth as he multiplied his pecks. You rubbed your fingers along his shoulder, turning your face up for his mouth to find your jaw. You weren’t used to your husband giving this kind of affection in front of his friend. 

“Starvin’,” Toji grunted. 

Onyankopons’ eyes stayed on you, tongue running along those large lips of his, “You always lookin’ pretty, Mama. You know that?” 

The pet name made your thighs want to clench.

“Um—“ you giggled once more, holding Toji’s jaw to keep him in place, “Thank you, Ony. I should be done with dinner soon, okay?”

“Don’t take too long,” Toji murmured along your neck, “Can’t keep my mouth off’ you.” 

His hand smacked the fuller portion of your ass, sending it jiggling beneath your capris. 

Onyankopons’ tongue ran along his lips, “Aight. I’m waitin’ on you, girl.”

That sentence weighed in your chest.

Toji went upstairs to find another lighter, leaving the two of you downstairs—alone. You hummed the low instrumentals of your music, beginning to slice the stems of your broccoli. You gave Onyankopon a small smile as his eyes found yours every so often, tugging your hair out of your face as a way to distract how anxious you felt.  

You softly ask, “How’d you spend your days off?”

Onyankopons’ eyes followed the movement of your fingers through your hair, watching the way your neck exposed when you threw it back. His arms folded over his chest, the veins within his forearms prominent from the action. 

“Shit was aight,” he replied evenly, “‘Nigga just caught up on some sleep. You?”

You hummed, attempting to look for another cutting board, “We caught up on a couple of shows, cuddled, mushy shit that married couples do,” you shake your head.

You then ask, “How ‘you feel about the contract in the Garden District?” 

The corner of Onyankopons’ mouth twitched with a small smile, eyes lingering on the way your hips shifted.

“Feels good to have contracts comin’ left and right,” he replied, “Blessed, essentially. Y’all’ been on my ass since the last project, so I’m ready to start sum’ new.”

You turn your head towards him, hair draping over your shoulder. You roll your eyes, musing, “Y’know it’s not like that, Onyankopon. Toji is just—despite the things clients ask for, he wants to go above and beyond that. Not saying you don’t, he’s just—particular, you know?”

Onyankopons’ eyes were practically glued to you as he replied, “Yeah, nah, I ain’t mean it like that. I know how Toji gets, that’s just part of the process,” His head cocked, “He just get’ too caught up sometimes.” 

Onyankopons’ eyebrows lifted, “How you’ be puttin’ up wit’ him?”

“The same way you do,” you softly giggle, “We both love him. It’s a thing we seem to have in common.”

He chuckled in return, your attention moving back to finish cutting your broccoli. After a few moments of silence, your eyes flick back up to him—you call, “Ony?”

You think on your words.

“I just wanted to say—thank you, for being such a good friend to him. He doesn’t have anyone in his life outside of me, and having such amazing emotional support, he’s happier when you’re around. It means the world.”

Onyankopons’ expression changed with the way your voice softened, something warm, comfortable, almost intimate coming from the way you talked about his friend, his best friend for that matter. 

His voice was softer in reply, “Of course, Mama. Toji’s family to me. Couldn’t ask a nigga for a better person to have in my corner.”

After a moment, he then questions, “What ‘bout you?” 

You blink at the question, “What about me?” 

“You’ happy to have me around?”

The question makes your heart thump. You sigh, “I’m always happy to have you around, Ony. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Ion’ make you feel no type of way?” 

You blink. 

“Of course not.”

There was something about his tone that made your nerves tighten. The way he looked at you was different from the way Toji did, but it had your heart thumping the same. 

“No,” You reply, “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me since day one.” 

He spread his legs a bit, abdomen flexing as he did so. 

Onyankopons’ head tilted, “Just sweet?”

You swallowed, nodding. 

“Yeah.” 

His fingers flexed as they rested in his lap. You turned your back to him, beginning to cut the remaining broccoli. 

“Nothin’ else?” 

Your neck prickled at the way his voice dropped. 

You shook your head, keeping your eyes locked below. But that’s when you hear—

“I see how you be lookin’ at me, girl.” 

Your hands clenched around the knife. 

When your eyes find his, that’s when your body tensed—your hands quickly dropping the knife as you feel a slice along your index finger. You held your hand towards your body, scrunching your face at the discomfort. 

Onyankopons’ chair made an obnoxious noise as he shot up from his seat—It seemed he was across the room in a second, towering over your body as he took hold of your injured hand. His hands were large, long fingers circling all the way to your wrist as he assessed the wound. 

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” You murmured, “I got distracted. You—“

And then, he’s sucking.

Your eyes widened as Onyankopons’ lips engulfed the wound on your index finger, tongue licking the area with zero hesitance. It was the last thing you expected him to do. 

“Ony—“

“‘Gotta be more careful, Mama.” 

His tongue runs across his mouth as he pulls back, as if savoring the taste of you. Your lips parted, your chest heaving as his lips hovered along yours. 

“You got a taste on you, girl.”

You could’ve died right there. That’s when you hear the heavy thumps of your husband coming downstairs, your face hot as he eyes the two of you in closer vicinity. 

He questions, “You good, baby? What happened?”

You felt dizzy under both of their heavy gazes. You swallowed again, nodding.

“She cut her finger,” Onyankopons’ replied evenly, “She wasn’t payin’ attention.” 

And as both men conversed normally after that, that’s when you realized—they were in fact trying to get you. 

Your mind was elsewhere during dinner. The wine had your brain fuzzy, keeping yourself quiet as you watched both men talk shit between one another, per usual. Everything up in this moment began to click—the day you watched Onyankopon, the conversation with Toji, the weird interactions between the two all day—at this point, you were just waiting for something to happen. 

“Yo’, you remember when we went into that adult store up on Bourbon street? Niggas was weird,” Onyankopon chuckle, “Never went back after that.” 

Toji huffed, nodding in agreement, “Dude was tellin’ us ‘bout wantin’ to be a dog. I’m not judgin’, but I didn’t wanna hear all that.” 

Both men laughed. Your fingers tapped against your glass nervously. 

Toji then turns, “We went to one a couple years ago, huh, babydoll?”

You blink at Toji’s words, snapping out of your thoughts when your husband addresses you. 

“Yeah,” you laugh a bit, “Yeah, we did.”

Toji chuckled once more, “We were in there for hours.” 

Your eyes widened, “We were not in there for that long!” 

Onyankopons’ head tilted, “What were y’all doin’ in there, applyin’ for the job?” 

You roll your eyes, “Funny, but no. I just wanted to find something—sorry, you don’t wanna hear all that,” you shook your head, “It’s a little TMI.” 

Onyankopon raised an eyebrow. 

“Try me, I ain’t gon’ freak out.”

You inhaled a deep breath, giving in. You sat up in your seat, clearing your throat as you fiddled with the stem of your glass. 

“I was just—browsing,” you giggle, “I was looking for a dildo, but the ones they had were a little too big for me. Like, seven or eight inches.” 

Toji and Onyankopons’ heads tilted, expressions staying the same, but you could see it within their eyes that there was a change. Toji’s eyes darkened, lips pressed together. Onyankopons’ jaw flexed a bit. 

And then, Onyankopon chuckles. 

It sends a chill through your spine, one where you didn’t understand what was exactly funny. Your eyes run across him the same way you did a couple days ago—cornrows, strident face, full goatee. You almost missed his next set of words as he looked at Toji.

“She ain’t gon’ be able to fit me.” 

You felt your entire body freeze. 

Toji’s jaw clicked in return, “Nah, she will. She be takin’ my shit real good now.” 

Were you going into shock?

You could’ve melted into the chair. Toji murmured, “My pretty ass woman. Always so shy.” 

“She’ more than shy,” Onyankopon murmured in return, his tone low, “Ain’t that right, pretty girl?” 

Your body felt like it was about to light on fire from the inside out. 

“I—“

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Onyankopon questions, “Youn’ want me no’ more?” 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Toji grunted, “Words, baby. We need to hear you.” 

And there it was. The arousal in your body ignited like a flame in that very second, becoming wet. You looked between the both of them, and suddenly, you were trying desperately not to break.

“Toji,”  you pouted, “I—“

“Nuh-uh,” Toji clicked his teeth, “We don’t pout. You gotta’ speak up, don’t you?” 

His gaze was intense, his lips slightly upturning as he watched you flounder around yourself. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life as both men’s eyes kept you locked on the chair—no escape. 

Onyankopon gave a low groan in return, “Use your words, Mama. I love hearin’ that voice.” 

Your chest rose and fell faster, feeling like you wanted to rip your skin off. 

Moral to the story? You were absolutely, positively fucked.

Your round eyes stared from above, fluttering between two looming frames that glared back down at you—the difference now? They were naked, and so were you. Your palms covered the swell of your nipples, ginger curls  draping over your curvy body in a way that almost made you look otherworldly. You chewed at your baby pink lips, horny, curious.

They were so big. 

Even within the bedroom, both men shared many differences—Onyankopons’ dick was massive, thick and veined at the top, long from the base. The complexion of his skin was beautiful and even, all the way down to his deep pink tip. Toji’s, however, was a bit more manageable—he wasn’t as wide, but was about a bit longer, his tip a softer pink as his chest rose and fell in a harsh manner, watching you. 

“Show how pretty your shit is, baby.”

Toji’s voice. It echoes in your mind, low, gruff, and rumbling. 

But that didn’t keep you from listening—even if you were a bit shy, you turn yourself to face the opposite of them—your back perfectly arches lower onto the bed, cheek pressed into the sheets as you spread your pussy open—your folds were in fact pretty, rougè, glistening beneath the dim lights of the room.

“There we go,” Onyankopons murmured, fingers moving to grip at the full bottom of one of your ass cheeks. When he spanked there, your body trembled in return, folds clenching around nothing, 

“Look how muhfuckin’ pretty you are.”

You whimpered into the sheets. Toji gave a low grunt of his own, hand coming up to grip at your other cheek harshly, spreading you open more for them to see, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

Your back arched a bit more at the feel of your husband, stomach pressed into the mattress as your body quivered. 

That’s when you felt a thick, heat prodding at your entrance. He’s slapping his tip on your folds.

You clenched once more—your nerves were on fire from just the sensation alone, feeling of his thick, slick head smacking down. 

“Which one’ you feelin’, huh?”

“Toji,” you whimpered quickly, “Feel you, baby.”

“Just me,” Toji rasped, “Always mine. Ain’t she?”

Onyankopons’ voice was behind you, “Yours entirely.” 

You felt your back stiffen to keep in the mewl you were about to let out—your eyes continuously fluttered, cheek still smashed against the sheets. 

“Now you listenin’,”  Toji murmured, “All good girls do that, huh?” 

Onyankopon chuckled behind you; the bed shifted as he spread you even further. 

“C’mere. Show me some love,”  your husband husked. 

That's why it was your favorite term—it was something you both used, as you either wanted the sweetest affection possible—or he was planning to rut his dick at the back of your throat. Your body was still shivering as you turned, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip as his hand found your chin. 

Your round eyes glaze up, “Lemme’ have a kiss, baby.” 

“Needy ass.” 

His thumb swiped over your mouth, pulling your bottom lip with him as he watched your lips pucker, waiting for him to meet you. 

“Just pretty as hell.” 

His lips touched yours for a second, his tongue sliding inside your mouth to taste you. You returned the kiss, sliding your tongue around his mouth messily, panting when you pulled back—it made you throb everywhere, your mouth then lowering itself to latch onto the edge of his tip. The scent of him, the flex of his pelvic bone, you moan against him, sliding your fingers across his muscular abdomen.

“I know you’re excited baby—watch them’ teeth,” He growled, his head tilting back as the grip in your hair yanked your head further down his length, “Careful.” 

You moaned around Toji’s dick once more, taking him just a little bit deeper into the confines of your mouth as he huffed. You could barely get halfway, your hands moving from his abdomen to rest on his muscular thighs, nails biting into his skin as his fingers kept you moving, the schluck of your mouth already creating a sound within the room. Your eyes cast to Onyankopon who watches, keeping his palm steady around his own dick, vision narrowing at the sight. 

A string of saliva follows your full lips, your mouth pulling halfway off as your fingers wrap at the base of him, rotating your palm. Your voice, it’s higher in this scenario—your curls drape your body as you mewled, “Didn’t mean to hurt you, Daddy.”

Toji’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his hands gripping at your hair as you ran your tongue across his slit, spreading pre-cum across his tip before your mouth sucks, “You’re fine, baby. ‘Know you ain’t mean it.”

Toji then grunts, his face twisted back in pure pleasure, “Wanna’ see that pretty face a lil’ more.” 

His other hand came down to grip along the side of your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw, “Tongue out at me. Show me how good my girl is.”

You didn’t hesitate to do as you were told, your mouth sliding backwards off of his length, tongue poking out to press just below his head. 

Toji groaned, “Shit.” 

 You moaned in return, the sound muffling around him as your eyes locked on his. Your husband wasn’t always the most vocal man, letting you do most of the talking in bed—but to see how elated you were to have an audience, Toji let out a deep moan once you began to take him again, sliding him all the way to the back of your throat. 

His hips pushed forward, slapping up against your chin as your mouth worked him—You looked up from beneath your eyelashes, eyes growing watery with the back of his tip hitting your throat. Your eyes found Onyankopon’s again, giving him a show.

Onyankopon’s jaw clicked at the sight.

 Toji’s hands grip onto you, his face almost viscous in the look he gave. His voice came out in a hiss, “She ain’t stoppin’ no time soon.” 

Onyankopon grunts at Toji’s words, the veins in his hands becoming more visible, “You’ doin’ a good job, girl—shit.”

“She’s doin’ a good job, huh?” Toji repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, “You see that? My baby givin’ her all right now.”

All you could do under his grip was moan, nodding your head through its back and forth.

“I’m watchin’,” Onyankopons replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, “I see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.” 

Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankopons’ while Toji continued to move your head with his strong, large hands. 

He grunted through his teeth, “She gettin’ better?” 

“Yeah. Her mouth’ good as hell—I’m tryna’ feel that shit.”

Onyankopon wags his dick beneath his palm, “You gon’ let me?” 

That’s when you slow your movements—your eyes peer back to the heft of his length, nearly the size of a monster you weren’t sure you could manage. At the same time, there was a slight hesitance in your eyes—simply because of who he was to you, and the last thing you wanted was to make your husband jealous. 

Your lips swelled as you ran your tongue against them, eyes flickering up to Toji—your voice is soft, “Can I?” 

Toji’s face flickered with something, but it quickly smoothed once he met Onyankopon’s dark eyes. A moment passed between them—a beat, or maybe two—your husband inhaled then exhaled, his features smirking slightly as he gave a single nod, “Go ‘head.”

“I love you,” you moan, sliding your tongue across Toji’s tip once more, “So much.” 

It was a reassurance for him. 

“I know you do,” Toji replied gruffly, his grip in your hair slackening once you move towards Onyankopons’ now exerted dick—it nearly slaps you in the face. You tugged at your lip once more, eyes eagerly facing up to him.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Your fingers didn’t even wrap around him all the way.

Your hands come up to grip at the flesh of his quads, fingers digging into his skin as you flattened your tongue over the sides of Onyankopons’ dick, “Gon’ make me feel good, Mama? This what you been wantin’?” 

You nod eagerly, feeling the way it twitched against your face. It jumped, too.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth was almost too small, or he was too thick. You moaned around his tip, sucking through the immediate fullness of your cheeks. Somehow, this felt rewarding.

You bobbed your head once, twice—He groans, his hands twitching against his thighs as he lets you try and take him, “There you go—that fuckin’ mouth.” 

Onyankopon gritted his teeth; your tongue continued to slide up and down his length, sucking and swirling at his tip, wanting all of him in your mouth. Toji watched you, and he noticed something—the way your eyes rolled, as if this was in fact all you wanted. You were nastier, sloppier with the man opposite of him.

You moaned around his head, loudly, and Toji’s jaw clicked. You were careless—filthier with Onyankopon. 

“Keep talkin’ to her,” Toji grunts, “That’s the shit she likes.”

Onyankopons’ hands finally settled on both sides of your throat, a rough grip on your chin with his thumbs—he moaned heavily, eyes flickering down towards you, “Pretty ass face, Mama. You suckin’ me up like a fuckin’ pro.” 

You moaned in response, “Tastes so good.” 

“Keep takin’ that shit, baby.” 

Toji’s voice was all around you. 

Onyankopon pushed his hips forward, a small shlupp was heard as you gagged. His fingers pressed against your cheek, feeling the curve of your stuffed mouth when he ran his thumb over the flesh, “Yeah? How it’ look?” 

Without a second to waste, you let his tip pop out of your mouth, tongue poking out as you moaned, “‘Look so good. So handsome, Papa.” 

You could hear him growl at the pet name, your face becoming more of a mess from how spit dripped over your chin. You were in a daze.

“Look in her eyes,” Toji instructs, “Look into them when you speak, too.” 

Onyankopons’ eyes flicker down to meet your own once more,  “Like that?” 

You nod eagerly, lips swollen and puffy as you nod, “Mhm.” 

“Always keep them’ eyes on her.” 

Onyankopons’ mouth twitched into a smirk. They were brown; dark, a color you could get lost in if you looked long enough. They were bright despite the dimness of the room, holding nothing else but you. 

His grip on your face got tighter as you slid your mouth back onto his length. You moaned again, feeling so full, “So big, Ony.” 

You were becoming confident, a point you hit when you were so horny that it made you delirious—here it was. The sight of you was blinding—your mouth was engorged with the space of his dick, cheeks bulging as your eyes rolled shut blissfully. That's when you tugged Onyankopon from your mouth, tongue lolling out as you mewled, “Spit on it.” 

And he did—he lowered his mouth, dropping saliva between your lips—he found himself kissing you seconds later, feigning to taste you. It was good, so good. Your body rose up to press against his as your fingers found his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as you moved forward on your knees to get closer to him, your head tilting further back so he could slide his tongue into your mouth. You sucked each other’s mouths. 

That’s when it happens—when you lower back down to find the fat of Onyankopon’s dick, you slap it on your tongue so loudly that it echoes—Toji grunts in an irritation, “Don’t be fuckin’ cute.” 

You giggled, running your tongue over Onyankopon’s length, sucking his balls into your mouth. 

“Just wanted to taste him, Daddy.” 

Onyankopon darkly chuckled. 

That's when you hear Toji’s, “Yeah?”

He grunts, “Quit playing. Lay on your back, miss your pussy in my mouth.”

Onyankopons’ voice cut through the room, “Lay that ass down.” 

At both of their commands, you listen. Your heart thumped within your chest as your back made contact with the bed—you hear Toji’s, “Come hold her legs—she be runnin’ from my mouth,” he grunts.

You whimper, “Sensitive, baby.”

Regardless, Onyankopon was behind your head—he hovered over to pull your legs back, holding you by your ankles as he spread you apart.

Your fingers were already sinking in your husband's hair below, clenching the tresses between your fingers—his tongue spread across your folds, sliding saliva all across the flesh. 

Toji groaned as he felt your legs already trembling, your eyes rolling as Onyankopon kept your legs open. You tug at your lower lip, voice high pitched, “F—fuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.”

He grunts, his mouth still pressed against your clit. Your legs squirmed, toes clenching as his tongue slid across your entrance, “Taste so good.” 

You moaned in response, writhing—you were more sensitive the more his tongue slipped against your clit, swirling around it in slow motions. Your chest rose and fell, feeling the heat of both men’s touch. You whimpered again, hips wriggling under the pressure of Toji’s hands over your pelvis, “Toji,” you moaned, “It—ooh.” 

He warned against your folds, “Stop movin’.” 

Onyankopons’ grip on your ankles was borderline bruising, his dark eyes flickering down to watch how Toji’s mouth lapped at you. Each time you moved, he spread your ankles even farther.

“Look at the way he just in yo’ pussy,” Onyankopon grunts in your ear, “Bouta’ have a nigga drownin’ in yo’ shit.”

Your thighs trembled like crazy at the sounds your pussy made, almost as if Toji were blowing bubbles across the flesh. You pouted beneath yourself, “Fuck,” you mewl, “That feels so good.”

Toji’s took one long, slow, lick over your clit. He grumbled in return, “Pussy messy as fuck, baby.”

Your back arches. You lift above to take a look—Onyankopons’ eyes were staring down, watching. You could see the veins in his arms throbbing as he gripped your ankles.

“God damn,” Onyankopon murmured, “Yo’ pussy finna’ get sucked up by my mouth. That shit lookin’ edible.” 

The combination of Toji’s mouth and Onyankopon’s words, your pout deepened on your face.

Toji didn’t hesitate to bury his face all into your folds. Your legs were trembling dangerously at this point, watching as he ate you like a starved man. To make matters worse, Onyankopons’ breath was hot in your ear as he continued to hold your ankles, eyes still locked on your husband between your legs—your chest rose and fell, the sensation of Toji’s mouth against you becoming almost too much to handle. You groaned, “Oooh,” legs trying to snap closed, head falling back against Onyankopon’s shoulder, just moaning within his ear.

“You smell so sweet,” Onyankopon murmured, “He eatin’ that pussy,” Onyankopons growled in your ear, “Shit look’ good as hell with his face in it.” 

You whimpered at his words. 

Onyankopons leaned forward just a bit, mouth almost pressed against your ear, “I’m missin’ yo’ mouth, babydoll.”

He tugs your hair from around your cheeks, looming above you as his dick slapped across your entire face—his tip is sliding between your mouth, making you whimper even deeper as Toji continued eating at you from below.

Onyankopons’ dick was bigger upside down. You moaned around it, making it hit the back of your throat with every quick thrust he made—he grunted, “You doin’ so good, pretty mama. Finna’ have a nigga put his shit in you.” 

Your hands reached back, digging into his hips so you could pull him all the way in, “Fuck, girl, Yo’ throat bulgin’.” 

Toji continued eating you from below; the mixture of him and Onyankopons had your eyes watery, legs shaking as if you’d been tased. Every other word out of your mouth was a moan that went directly onto Onyankopon’s dick. 

That’s when you pull him from your mouth, sliding your tongue on the sides of his length—you whimper below him, “Want it in me, Ony.”

He pulled you down to where your nose was pressed to his pelvis—he groaned within your mouth, “That ain’t how you beg,” he grunts. 

“Please, Ony. Please.” 

He growled from the sound of your begging, “You want it that bad?”

You whined onto his dick, “‘So bad.” 

A smirk appeared across Onyankopons’ face. You could hear Toji’s slurrpp between your legs, still tongue deep along your pussy. But the moment he heard you begging from below, his mouth pulled away, leaving you cold. It had you whimpering at the loss.

But then, Onyankopon’s mouth was on you. And it was nowhere near the same. 

He wasn’t as soft as Toji. His long tongue swirled around your clit—you moaned again, feeling it slide against the flesh harshly. 

You gripped at his cornrows, legs shaking in his grip again, “Oh, Ony.” 

He lapped at your clit, “Can’t hear you,” he muffled. 

Toji was behind you now, holding your legs in place of Onyankopon. He moaned in your ear, “You look so good, baby, spread all open like that.” 

“I can’t,” you whined, “Put it in me.”

Onyankopon’s head dipped lower, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You were practically vibrating. You lean your head on your husband's shoulder, accepting the kiss he gives you, whimpers muffling into his mouth. 

“I love you,” you kept whimpering, “Love you so much, Fushiguro.”

“I love you,” he murmured back onto your lips, “I know.”  

Your body tensed the moment you felt Onyankopon’s tip sliding across your folds—you’d wanted it so bad, but actually feeling him weigh against your lower body, you shivered. His upper body loomed above your own as Toji stayed behind, Onyankopon’s lips coming to slide his tongue into your mouth, both men close to your face now. 

His dick is sliding between your folds again, again, making them spread apart every few seconds. His forehead presses to yours in such a domineering way—the silence that falls between the two of you feels heavy as his tip begins nudging into your opening—it swallows itself inside, your mouth immediately frowning at the discomfort you feel. Onyankopon sucks the softest kiss on your mouth, grunting as he sinks even deeper. Your eyes rolled, body trembling as you pressed your forehead farther into his. Your fingers found his upper back, nails digging into the flesh as your body responds in all different ways—but it was so good, the tiniest whimper parts from your lips as you lightly squirt on his tip. You’d never done that before, as you creamed more than anything. 

“Pussy tryna’ push me out,” Onyankopon grunts on your lips, moaning into another kiss, “That’s how you cummin’?” 

“Baby,” Toji moaned, “That was so fuckin’ good.  Ain’t even started yet,” he tugs your hair from your face, sucking his mouth against your throat. Your body shakes, gasping as tears seeped from your eyes. You whimpered to Onyankopon, “Oh my god.” 

You could hear yourself—you were whiny, sensitive and too full. You mewled again, feeling your stomach clenching as your eyes rolled back. Onyankopons’ face was dark, “You tight as hell,” pressing his forehead more into yours, “You gon’ open up for me?” 

A weak, “Uh huh,” comes from your lips. 

You could feel him trying to be steady, not wanting to hurt you, but at the same time, his eyes were hooded, lust within them—“Tryin’,” he murmured. His hips stilled for a moment as he slowly, gently slid more of his length deeper into you. You moaned, loud enough to echo off of the wall, “Ugh, fuck.” 

Your mind was going blank. His head fell back, “You takin’ me so good,” Your back kept arching, legs quaking. Toji was right there, caressing your scalp to soothe you. You were releasing sounds you’d never made before, moaning deeper each time Onyankopon pulled out to slide himself in more—the slap of his hips against the back of your thighs has your eyes rolling, your face screwed up in pleasure, nodding against his forehead as all you could do was cry for him.

Your legs were shaking too much, to the point Toji gave Onyankopon a glare, “Slow down.” 

Onyankopon gritted his teeth as if to focus, trying to not give in to all of the sounds you were making.

“Can’t,” he grunted—Your body kept squirming, legs spreading themselves more open for him, “F—fuck,” he cursed. He was grunting and moaning just as much as you were now. 

“Talk to me, Mama. I’m hurtin’ you?” Onyankopon gruffs at you. You find your hand at the nape of his neck, lips closer together—you mewl to him, “Feels sooo good,” your voice was soft, “‘M okay,” you promised to both of them.

Toji was trying to spread some comfort for you, “Look at me, breathe,” his voice was low, his hand reaching forward to touch your cheek. He gave you what you wanted; he leaned his face against your own, “Look at me, pretty baby. Breathe.” 

Your entire body listened to your husband’s commands. You took in a deep breath in response, your body calming a bit as he murmured sweetly against your face, “That’s it, good girl.”

A little easier to process with your husbands’ fingers caressing your cheek, you whimpered, “Please,” you whispered on his lips, “Don’t stop him.”

You spread your legs wider—your eyes rolled at the sensation, reaching your hand up to Onyankopon’s face to pull him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth.

Onyankopon growled, holding onto your chin so he could suck on your bottom lip. Toji’s thumb was wiping at your cheek, swiping away tears that you didn’t even realize you were shedding. 

He pressed his forehead back to your own, mouth still connected in a sloppy kiss, “Don’t move,” Onyankopon murmured against your face. You felt both mouths kissing somewhere along your body, and that pleasure could’ve engulfed you into an explosion. 

But oh, they had so much more to give. 

Maybe you did too. Your shaken legs had found themselves crawling along the bed, doe eyes becoming a sultry slender as you crawled towards your husband— your curls evaded your entire body as you slid your hands across his chest, grinding yourself along his lap to gain his attention—you tell him, “I missed you, baby.”

“Missed you too,” Toji murmured in return, unable to keep his eyes off of you. His large palm slid across your hips, another palm reaching around to smack his tip between your folds from behind. You giggled, hair swinging to one side of your body as you circled your hips atop of him, “You wanna put it in me?” 

Your hands slide across your nipples, making sure to keep Onyankopon’s attention as your hand finds the tip of his dick beside your body—you whimper to your husband, “Want you so much, Toji. Talk to me.”

Onyankopons’ hands found their way to your arms and shoulders, squeezing the flesh there—One of your hands reached up onto Onyankopons’ face, running your fingers against his facial hair, moving to slide your index finger onto his lips. 

“You been’ havin’ fun,” Toji grunted to you, “Come fuck me.”

“Always thinkin’ ‘bout you,” you moaned, your hands leaving behind Onyankopons’ face to slide back onto Toji’s shoulders. Onyankopon grunted, “She need’ you—Drippin’ all over the sheets and shit.” 

You’re guiding yourself down, sinking onto his dick in a way that has your husband leaning his head back onto the bed, clutching your hips within his palms. Toji’s groaning through full lips, eyes narrowing up to you as you’re already bouncing your ass down onto his abdomen. You giggle through a moan, leaning towards Onyankopon with angelic eyes, sticking your tongue out to await for his mouth.

Toji growled from below, “Look at you,” while Onyankopons’ hand pushed a few of your curls aside with a low chuckle, “Cute as hell.” 

Onyankopon’s tongue slithered within the confines of your mouth, hand sliding behind your neck to keep your face close to his—your attention went onto your husband, your hips rotating, circling above him—you take one of his palms, sliding it up your body as you suck his index finger into your mouth, moaning around it.

“Jesus,” Toji growled, “‘Gonna’ have me bust early, baby,” He grunted out, “Keep it up.” 

You shake your head, “Don’t wanna cum without you,” you whimper—so you lean back to your side, finding Onyankopon’s dick between your lips—you’re sucking, keeping your hips moving for Toji, but your attention elsewhere. 

Onyankopons’ hand was resting atop of your forehead, his fingers buried into your hair. You moaned around him again, one hand wrapped around his length and the other caressing Toji’s chest. Your husband was becoming more aggressive below you, his hands finding themselves beneath your thighs to guide you. 

He takes one hand to find your throat, snatching your face in his direction. He grunts to you, “I know you’re hearin’ me. Come fuck me, girl. Bounce on my dick like you missed me.” 

You have your attention fully on him now—you whimper, “Sorry,” all while you press your feet flat along the bed, tossing your hair along one side of your body as your palms pressed against his chest—your ass trembles each time it claps along his abdomen, a wetness drenching his flesh, the sight of you like hell wrapped up in beauty. 

“I love your dick sooo much,” you promised to him, ass clapping at this point, “Love you, Fushiguro,” you whimper, spreading your cheeks from behind, wanting him deeper each time you dropped down.

“I know you fuckin’ do.”

His palm spanks against your asscheek. It jiggles beneath the impact, Toji’s hands finding your hips again to hold you in place. 

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

Your legs were shaking as Toji’s hips moved to meet your own, bouncing you up and down himself. 

Onyankopon was behind you, finding his palms along your hips as he helped you—your eyes rolled, mewling as you allowed him to guide your body down. 

Your fingers found your clit below, shoulder shivering as Onyankopon licked up the back of your neck, “O—Ooh,” you moaned, “Please.” 

You mewled at both men, your body quaking as your hands slid up behind you, fingers grazing over Onyankopon’s hair. You sloppily slow your tongue in and out his mouth, tugging his head back as you whimper to him, “Put it back in.” 

You lean down to find Toji’s

mouth within a deep kiss, hearing his murmur of, “‘Go head, wanna watch you cum.”

Your curls draped across his chest as you tugged his dick from your folds, back arching as you grind your lower body for Onyankopon to take you from behind—you whimper to him, “Want it. ‘Want it, Ony.”

“Been patient,” Onyankopons’ husked, “Come drop that shit on me.” 

His hands found both of your asscheeks again, spreading them open. You moaned over your shoulder, the taste of your own skin delicious as he slid himself between your folds, deeper than he’d been before. The giggle you give is elated, eyes rolling as you’re messily bouncing your ass back onto his dick, you’re groaning, “Fuckkk.” 

“Good fuckin’ girl,”  Toji groaned from below, watching you take it from behind, “Greedy as fuck.” 

Onyankopon collected your hair beneath his fist, tugging you back gently while allowing you to fuck yourself onto him—he glares down, “You’ loud.” 

“You feel so good,” you couldn’t stop repeating, your hands pressed into Toji’s shoulders to lean back more, arching as you continued to take Onyankopon as deep as you could, “Feelssogood.” 

“Givin’ you what you been wantin’,” Onyankopon growled behind you, "Look how good you look takin’ this dick, pretty mama.” 

You tried to keep your eyes open, but each time you moved with him, pleasure was rising from somewhere deep within you that had your vision becoming blurry. You were drunk at this point. 

“You feel so good in me,” you repeated one more time—it’s the softest you’ve ever spoken, squealing in a way that your body showed exhaustion. You were just taking him now, Onyankopon’s dick becoming drenched in your cream. You pouted, sobbing lowly through your sniffles.

Neither of them had ever seen a reaction out of you like this—you were so sensitive, too sensitive, too open. Onyankopon pounded into your messy, soaking wet pussy from behind, “You gone. Takin’ my dick without even askin’ for it.” 

His palm slides along your neck, gently tugging your face back to look into his eyes—you could hear Toji’s grunt of, “So proud of you, baby.”

You sob softly in return again, keeping your eyes against Onyankopon’s as he tugs you back and forth—you’re so full of him, you can barely feel it anymore. Your voice was deeper, an inhale shaky in your throat, exhaled as you cried real tears.

You were so far gone. Toji’s one hand fisted the tip of his dick, other fingers running through your hair, giving you a gentle pull to keep your face from hiding. 

“How you feelin’, baby?” he keeps his voice low, gentle. 

You could barely speak—you were so busy crying from pleasure, your hands found his face as you whimpered through tears, “I’m gonna cum,” you trembled, “Gonnacum.” 

You were so beautiful like this. Crying and whimpering for them in such an exhausted state, so full that they were ready to cum with you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You gon’ cum all on me, Mama?” 

Onyankopon’s voice. 

You nod again, breathless, “Mmm-hmm,” through tears. Toji presses his forehead against your own, allowing you to respond any way you needed to. 

Toji pressed a small kiss onto your face, “Good girl. Keep goin’. Almost,” he encouraged you in the most gentle tone possible. 

Onyankopons’ breathing was a lot rougher now, the sound of his pelvis smacking against your ass filling the room. He was holding onto your hip with one hand, while the other held the back of your neck, watching his dick being coated by your cream.

You moaned between your tears, voice hiccupping with every pound he delivered. He kept mumbling words from above you that couldn’t decipher, but Toji was still there to calm you.

 The room was a chorus of skin against skin, your mewls getting even higher in pitch with how full you felt at Toji’s hands on your face—the warmth of his own cum spurted on your stomach— you were babbling, your body wilder, your toes curling. You squirt again, gasping into a rough kiss with your husband. Onyankopon’s tongue is sliding across your lower back, moaning as you feel a warmth in your pussy—he cums with you. 

Your body feels sore, as if you’d just ran a marathon. You quiver when Onyankopon pulls himself out, feeling the cum dripping from your pussy—and somehow, through everything you’d just done, that makes you bury your face within Toji’s shoulder, cheeks flushed as you masked your face. 

When your brain sobered over the events of the past couple of days, you still couldn’t believe it—Would it happen again? Was this a one time thing? Only the future could tell. 

As your round eyes glanced between both men, the only answer you received was a deep, low, chuckle.

And that’s how you ended up here.

[tojisteddy]

Ok but hear me out Simon and reader meeting on love island

a/n: lord knows I love love island

Okay but hear me out: Simon entered the villa as a bombshell and everyone is coupled up. But like, hes kinda too stand off-ish and awkward so none of the girls really like him :(.

Everyone but you, of course.

He takes the longest to pull you for a chat, but it’s not because you’re his last resort! you’re his dream girl in every way imaginable so he has to build up the courage to come talk to you! From your curves, the stretch marks he notices while your in his favorite bikini of yours (black), Sun dancing off your pretty skin, the way you move your curls off your shoulder— he’s head over shoes.

You’re more than casual at first, just letting him talk so you can go back to your partner, but you’re more than interested that he cooks for his younger siblings. How he genuinely likes walks in the parks, and playing with his dogs. It’s almost two sweet on your heart, you have to ask him what kind of food he likes to cook the best and your favorite parks to walk in.

Everyone thinks it’s just casual conversation. Simon picks another girl at first but after two more chats, hes still hung up on you. Always trying to get you to do something around the villa. Up until it’s recouple night where the girls choose. Everyone thinks your gonna go for James since you’ve still been talking to him but you’re standing around the pit, hands behind you back, heart pumping.

“This guy has caused a lot of chaos since being here, but it turns out, he’s just a sweet guy, and he opens up beautifully like a flower with time. He’s been so kind to me, fed me the best breakfast since I’ve been her, blushes so cutely— I can’t help but want to give him a chance.”

The camera cuts to James who is smiling at the ground, Simon on the other hand is neutral faced, then back to you, gorgeous as ever in a black dress.

“The guy I choose is…. Simon.”

There are gasps and wide eyes as Simon comes to your side, ears and neck red as ever when he kisses your cheek. You try your best not to contain your smile but can’t.

Everyone, even the viewers think you two are just doing it for the game. The girls try to get you to take it back before next recoupling, even talking behind your back. The guys get at Simon for “playing someone’s girl” but he ignores them. Calls them “fuckin children.” and “fucks the point ‘f bein a bomb shell if I don’t fuck a little thing up. And it’s gotta be little if I can fuck it up. He obviously didn’t fancy ‘er enough.”

But it’s the way Simon talks to you in the confessional that gets the UK to love the both of you.

“She’s a sweet girl, and she’s always encouragin’ me t’ go ‘nd talk more and that’s so not like me *laughs* but i-it feels right. Bein with her, talkin to her, kissing her. Every time I see ‘er I swear, I turn a shit color ‘f red. I hope that I’m makin her feel like I do too. We talk about everything together. I really do like her more than anythin.” And he does infact turn bright red which makes the girls at home squeal.

And the producer probably asks if he’d want to try exploring other people, “Fuck no, the other lads here- bloody hell— just stay ten feet. Me ‘nd that one are going to the ends of the earth.”

Edits start flying on every social media app, clips of you using the barley used pool, racing in the villa, Simon properly correcting your workout form, how Simon leans on you every time you’re together or the simple fact that the tattooed man can’t keep his eye off you when you’ve been away for too long.

Do you two win?

No, 2nd or 3rd place.

But you two are still the fan favorites, Simon is more reserved when it comes to your relationship and doesn’t usually post on social media— but he posts you, a few of your vacation spots, pictures of you sleeping on the couch. And you may do a live with Simon shyly sitting right next to you that fans snort up like coke. You two start a YouTube channel and it blows up but it’s more so you two cooking together, teaching each other new things and trying new things. Even have a few celebrity guests.

It’s cute, you’re the last couple from your season still standing lol. Most successful too.

a/n: I know @cameronsbabydoll had a love island post about Simon a while back! Definitely a inspo but I did my own thing. Thanks for the suggestion!!

[happy-mokka]

I'll turn old next year (the big 5 is coming around the corner). I grew up watching all the classics with my parents, and it is safe to say that I am a top-shelf geek when it comes to movies. Watching black-and-white ones still makes me super nostalgic. But for reasons unknown, this gem somehow never made it to my screen. I really have no idea why, honestly.

So, it took me until last Christmas to finally watch it for the first time.

I more or less knew what I was going to get. Still, throughout the movie, I felt more and more being dragged into this profound sadness.

I am now even older than George Bailey was supposed to be in the story. I have way less to show-off on my side, what society deems to be the basic traces of a "worthy" life (your own family, partner, kids, a career, a shiny car, maybe even some kind of real-estate). So far, I haven't stood on any bridge yet ready to fly, but the movie got to me...big time.

Even when it was over, I didn't feel uplifted at all. Yes, it was all nice and a beautiful happy ending with lots of sugar coating. I also got the basic message. But the thought remained that the world back then was a simpler place, and I doubted that Frank Capra would've been able to write the same movie today.

Now, half a year later and after reading the previous post, I disagree with my younger self from 6 months ago.

Yes, the world is a different one today than it has been in 1946. People could afford a house from a single income and sustain a family and kids on the side (if you take the average middle-class as baseline). But still, it was a hard world back then. A terrifying world war had just ended, taking millions of lives. The Great Depression was not even 15 years in the past and still in the minds of most people. The atomic bomb and its potential to world destruction made its entrance, and the Cold War was already on the horizon. The understanding that the ruling upperclass got through life with much less struggle and by exploiting the rest of the population was just as present as it is today.

So, taking all this into consideration, the world back then was just as bad in most accounts as it is today (ok, minus climate change, yes), from the perspective of the average population.

Realizing this, I think that its message is still absolutely essential and agree to everything OP wrote.

Is it super cheesy at time? Absolutely!

Does this make it less true? Absolutely not!

Most of the time, for most people, life sucks. It feels like an endless struggle.

It is important that we stop once in a while, grab a snack, and let ourselves be reminded that it has its beautiful moments... a lot of them, actually, if we just look closely enough.

I guess it is time for a rewatch...

Pop culture reduces It's a Wonderful Life to that last half hour, and thinks the whole thing is about this guy traveling to an alternate universe where he doesn't exist and a little girl saying, "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings." A hokey, sugary fantasy. A light and fluffy story fit for Hallmark movies.

But this reading completely glosses over the fact that George Bailey is actively suicidal. He's not just standing there moping about, "My friends don't like me," like some characters do in shows that try to adapt this conceit to other settings. George's life has been destroyed. He's bankrupt and facing prison. The lifetime of struggle we've been watching for the last two hours has accomplished nothing but this crushing defeat, and he honestly believes that the best thing he can do is kill himself because he's worth more dead than alive. He would have thrown himself from a bridge had an actual angel from heaven not intervened at the last possible moment.

That's dark. The banker villain that pop culture reduces to a cartoon purposely drove a man to the brink of suicide, which only a miracle pulled him back from. And then George Bailey goes even deeper into despair. He not only believes that his future's not worth living, but that his past wasn't worth living. He thinks that every suffering he endured, every piece of good that he tried to do was not only pointless, but actively harmful, and he and the world would be better off if he had never existed at all.

This is the context that leads to the famed alternate universe of a million pastiches, and it's absolutely vital to understanding the world that George finds. It's there to specifically show him that his despondent views about his effect on the universe are wrong. His bum ear kept him from serving his country in the war--but the act that gave him that injury was what allowed his brother to grow up to become a war hero. His fight against Potter's domination of the town felt like useless tiny battles in a war that could never be won--but it turns out that even the act of fighting was enough to save the town from falling into hopeless slavery. He thought that if it weren't for him, his wife would have married Sam Wainwright and had a life of ease and luxury as a millionaire's wife, instead of suffering a painful life of penny-pinching with him. Finding out that she'd have been a spinster isn't, "Ha ha, she'd have been pathetic without you." It's showing him that she never loved Wainwright enough to marry him, and that George's existence didn't stop her from having a happier life, but saved her from having a sadder one. Everywhere he turns, he finds out that his existence wasn't a mistake, that his struggles and sufferings did accomplish something, that his painful existence wasn't a tragedy but a gift to the people around him.

Only when he realizes this does he get to come back home in wild joy over the gift of his existence. The scenes of hope and joy and love only exist because of the two hours of struggle and despair that came before. Even Zuzu's saccharine line about bells and angel wings exists, not as a sugary proverb, but as a climax to Clarence's story--showing that even George's despair had good effect, and that his newfound thankfulness for life causes not only earthly, but heavenly joy.

If this movie has light and hope, it's not because it exists in some fantasy world where everything is sunshine and rainbows, but because it fights tooth and nail to scrape every bit of hope it can from our all too dark and painful world. The light here exists, not because it ignores the dark, but because the dark makes light more precious and meaningful. The light exists in defiance of the dark, the hope in defiance of despair, and there is nothing saccharine about that. It's just about as realistic as it gets.

[dkiove]

FOOLING YOU AND FALLING TOO, kim mingyu.

📁 content: when your bestfriend gets set up in a blind date by her parents, she reaches out to you for a plan— go to the date, pretend to be her, and scare him off. 📁 genre: fluff 📁 warnings: none 📁 notes: hello :3

"all you have to do is go there and scare him away—easy peasy"

when your bestfriend confides to you about a favor, you had nothing to expect. she was from a wealthy family—her parents always sent shivers down your spine whenever both of you would run into them in public.

wealthy people often buy questionable objects and do drastic things—one of which is setting up their single 24 year old daughter with a guy whose family is a potential business partner.

so when she runs to you, ranting about her disgust, she reaches about a favor.

it was to go to the blind date posing as her, scare off the poor lad, and all is well.

despite your deep refusal of the plan—all memories of her sticking up to you and being there all the time by your side tells you that you cant just say no. besides, this will be your little 'thank you' for all the help she gave the past years of your friendship.

"but what if your family finds out about the truth?", you ask, scared for your life at this point in time. "dont worry—ill scare them away too", she replies confidently.

"from tomorrow and tomorrow only, you will be me—kim jisoo", her hand reaches out to you in support.

"you are not a lonely 26 year old who is still struggling to find a job, but you act as me trying to scare off a probably old geezer from marrying me"

that was the ultimate plan—and even if tramples over your moral beliefs and values; you would do anything and everything for her at this point.

"you're kim jisoo, your family is rich but you dont want to marry this man so you will scare her off", you whisper to yourself for the past 10 minutes since your initial arrival.

the venue of the so called date was in a restaurant that jisoo and her family frequented—almost too much that they could totally be the brand ambassador of this place. it was located in the city, the grand music and shining chandeliers decorated the place nicely—far different from the small eatery you treated as your home ever since.

you were mesmerized. your eyes wandered around the restaurant; the image of families, business meetings, and dates by wealthy people discarded the life you are used to.

it was as if saying that today—and only today that you are able to experience the life of those people. while they are sick of their wealth and influence; you in contrast is still battling to get out of a hard situation they never got to live.

"when the hell is this guy gonna come", you hiss to yourself, looking at the time. he was almost 20 minutes late from the initial discussed time.

a blind date, how stupid.

there wasnt much you knew and was informed about jisoo's arranged partner—and you hoped he didnt have the basics to her life as well as to not blow your cover.

you had rehearsed your lines. you even practiced chewing gum obnoxiously in the mirror. but as the minutes dragged on, the air around you thickened with something heavier than nerves. guilt. fear. the creeping truth that one wrong word could expose you. you didn’t know his world. you barely belonged in it.

you weren’t jisoo. not even close.

and then—

"apologies for being late."

the words floated through the air like a quiet breeze before a storm.

you looked up—and your heart stilled.

standing in front of you was a tall gentleman—devastatingly composed. his black suit fit, a glint of a luxury watch peeked out beneath his cuff, and his black hair was perfectly parted, not a strand out of place.

he bowed slightly, then met your gaze with eyes that didnt waver.

“i hope i didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. he pulled out the chair across from you and sat with the kind of grace that made it clear—he had done this before.

too many times, probably.

you were too stunned to even begin your act yet he smiled politely. “you must be jisoo". it was like switch that flipped inside of you, bringing you back to the reality of the situation.

you swallowed, “that’s right.”

he nodded once, as if filing that answer away. then he leaned slightly forward, "my name is mingyu, kim mingyu". mingyu reached his hand out to you—yours taking his gently with a shy shake.

"shall we order something?"

the dinner was a spread. full of dishes that you cant even pronounce most of the time. there were unfamiliar cuisines and ingredients that contrasted poorly with your usual meals. but despite this odd feeling—you were at home in stuffing your stomach.

now the atmosphere feels cold. there wasnt any words said nor a conversation that lasted for 5 or more lines between the two of you.

there would be moments where you'd look up at him to see him already looking at you, a warm smile etched on his face afterwards. to which you'd dismiss almost immediately—playing the uninterested role.

"ive been meaning to ask about how your family is doing", mingyu asks all of a sudden, taking another sip of water.

your eyes widened at his question, rambling to yourself as you try to find the right words to say. "they're doing great", you nervously chuckle. mingyu in response looked confuse, "really? so your father already got out of the hospital?"

fuck. it was a key detail that bummed you.

"uhm yeah! he's doing great as i said", you muttered, voice faltering slowly. mingyu tilted his head slightly, setting his glass down with the quietest clink. “i see”, he said, softly.

you were getting nervous every second. you were sweating profusely and your mind was running in circles. in your mind, you thought that maybe if you played this sudden act—not someone who is bored, but someone who looks like they dont know what they were doing—maybe he'd call of the date.

but looking at him, it wasnt fair to make things complicated from the get go.

"sorry", you start, feeling weak. "what about?", he asks.

"this is my first time doing these kinds of things, 's not really my field", a short chuckle escapes your lips. mingyu nodded, "me neither", he confessed.

your elbow found its way to the table, your face resting softly against your knuckles as you let out a sigh— "i guess that's the only thing we have in common"

he follows your posture afterwards, glancing at you intently. your eyes meet in subtle moments, dazed and confused on your side while his started to warm up. "can i ask you something?", he says.

"sure. what do you want to ask me?"

"does the real jisoo hate me? that's why she sent you as her replacement?"

you blinked. once. twice. a nervous laugh left your lips, too quick, too light. “what are you talking about?”

your heart was already racing—beating against your ribcage like it wanted out. you straightened slightly in your seat, forcing a smile, willing yourself to keep composed. “i'm jisoo, the one jisoo.”

he watched you in silence for a beat. two. his expression didn’t change, but something in the air between you shifted—quieter now, heavier somehow.

“you know,” mingyu said, leaning back in his seat, his tone still calm, but firmer this time. “when you grow up in a family like mine—you don’t walk into situations like this blindly.”

you blinked again, your smile fading. “i ran a background check,” he said simply, as if he was having a conversation with a friend.

your breath caught. your hand clasp with each other, bowing your head down as you rubbed your palms— "im very sorry! im not jisoo! she's my friend! she doesnt want to be here so she asked me to come and scare you off!"

mingyu chuckled. not mockingly, but gently. like someone watching a sitcom unfold in real life. the kind of laugh that made you want to crawl under the table and vanish completely.

“you must be really close if you’d do this for her,” he said, resting his chin on his palm, still smiling. you looked up warily, your lips slightly parted in surprise, “you’re not mad?”

“should i be?”, mingyu asked, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement, “you didn’t exactly do a great job at scaring me off.”

you groaned softly, covering half your face with your hands. “this is so embarrassing. i thought if i acted uninterested enough, you’d get up and leave. i didn’t expect you to just—stay and ask about her dad.”

“well, if it makes you feel better", he leaned back in his seat. “you were convincing for about two minutes". you peeked at him through your fingers. “two?”

“okay, maybe one and a half.”

you let out a defeated laugh, pressing your hands over your warm cheeks. mingyu tilted his head, watching you— “so why’d you say yes to helping her”

you lowered your hands slowly, letting out a quieter sigh this time. “we've been friends for a very long time and i feel bad for her” you paused, voice softening. “her family has been very controlling of her life so she wanted to steer away from the usual”

mingyu nodded, his gaze softening in turn, “and here i thought i was just that bad of a date.”

you looked at him quickly, flustered— “no! it’s not you! you’re actually—” you stopped yourself before the words ran too far. “i mean, i just wasn’t supposed to be interested.”

he raised a brow, “but you are?”

“no!” you said too fast, “i mean—i’m not! i mean—ugh.”

his laughter was full this time, tipping his head back slightly. all his expression and amusement cowered over you biting the inside of your cheeks in embarassment.

“you’re not very good at pretending, you know", he said through his smile. “i noticed,” you muttered under your breath.

a soft silence settled between you for a beat. not awkward, not tense—just calm. mingyu’s fingers brushed along the edge of his glass, his eyes returning to yours.

“can i ask your name?” he asked suddenly. you looked up, “why? are you planning to report me for fraud?”, a frown formed in your lips.

mingyu chuckles and shakes his head, "no i wont. i just want to know"

"you still want to know?"

“of course,” he said, simply. “i’ve been talking to her all night.”

your lips parted slightly, “its _____,” you said, finally.

mingyu nodded, as if tucking it somewhere safe. “_____,” he repeated, dragging it out slowly as you felt like crawling to a hole and die. “it suits you better than jisoo.”

this dinner wasnt initially supposed to last more than fifteen minutes. it was supposed to end with this man—mingyu—running out of the restaurant and calling his parents that they set him up with a the most insufferable woman ever.

yet here you were, still seated across from a stranger who somehow, despite knowing everything—chose to stay.

the evening air had cooled by the time you stepped out of the restaurant, streetlights casting a golden hue on the pavement. you hadn’t expected him to walk with you—but there he was, matching your pace as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

despite your best efforts to call it a night and act like nothing had happened—mingyu decided to follow you around for awhile. even if you wanted to forget about the whole situation, you found him walking silently behind you the whole time.

in old fashion, a rich man walks his million dollar shoes along the cracked concrete. mingyu trailed along with you in tight alleyways, poor neighborhoods, and the noisy life which is far different from his world.

he would look back from time to time with a smile on his face, an assuring glimpse while you met him with the most fabricated one.

this is absurd.

you stop in your tracks, your worn out sandals dragged on the pavement. mingyu noticed and stopped as well, turning his body towards your direction.

"whats the matter?", he asked simply.

you had grown irritated as the time stretches. this whole situation took a very complicated path—creating an atmosphere of doubt and nervousness in your path.

was he toying with you? putting you in a situation to use against you? was he gonna report you afterwards? all those things rambled through your mind.

"if you have a plan to report me for what happened, i hope you have the time to change your mind", you said simply and serious. mingyu chuckles and sighs, "_____, its okay. im not trying to report you or anything so dont worry about that"

"then why are you doing this?"

"doing what?"

"why are you still here? wouldnt it be better to just forget about everything? for jisoo's sake and yours too?", your voice lowers, barely audible— “i just thought it would be easier that way.”

mingyu looks at you for a long while, eyes unreadable but soft, “what if i don’t want to forget?”. you opened your mouth, then closed it again.

what could you possibly say to that?

the atmosphere was dreading. the warm streetlights, the faint sound of dogs barking in the distance, the crickets hosting an opera louder as usual, his soft gaze meeting with you, and your heartbeat that fastens every second.

"_____, is it okay that i start seeing you from now on?", mingyu tried to smile, soft and casual, but his fingers twitched at his side—betraying the anxiety he felt underneath.

your breath hitched. you didn’t expect him to say that. you blink rapidly, heart pounding, "you shouldnt say things like that"

“why not?”

your eyes met his again—wary and confused—and he swore his heart skipped.

mingyu smiled faintly, trying to keep his nerves in check, “the truth is, ive grown quite interested in you", he chuckled gently, rubbing the back of his neck.

“im saying that if youre not jisoo, then im glad. i want to keep knowing the real you", he takes a step forward, mere inches separating you and him.

“but you’re supposed to meet her—not me,” you mutter, voice small, uncertain. your gaze drops to the ground, afraid that if you meet his eyes again, you might start believing he actually means it.

mingyu doesn’t move for a moment. just looks at you—like he’s trying to memorize this exact version of you: flustered, hesitant, eyes full of questions.

then, quietly, gently— “i think that’s god’s way of answering my prayers.”

your brows knit, looking up at him in confusion, “what?”

mingyu lets out a soft chuckle, one hand rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed to say it out loud. “before i came here, i didn’t know what to expect,” he admits, voice steady. “i wanted to meet someone i might have interest in—despite the circumstances of how we met.”

you stare at him, the weight of his words slowly unraveling in your chest. this isn’t what you expected. not tonight. not from him.

he shifts a little, eyes crinkling at the corners as he continues, “i’m glad that your friend didn’t want her life to be written for her. i’m glad she went to you for help. and i’m glad you accepted it.”

the air feels different now—charged with something fragile and warm. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t. you just listen.

“meeting jisoo might have been the plan,” he murmurs, gaze softening, “but you’re the person i was supposed to meet.”

your lips part, but no words come out.

mingyu smiles, almost sheepishly, eyes flicking between yours. “so, if it’s alright with you,” he says, voice dropping just a bit lower, more vulnerable, “can i keep seeing you?”

the night wraps around you both like a secret, as if the world decided to slow down just for this one moment, where two strangers met by mistake.

due to jisoo's own accountability of her life, she gave you way to what could be a love that transcends through time. one that chooses to stay genuine and evolve into something more.

the plan was supposed to fool kim mingyu, but even still— he found himself falling too.

[despairots]

━━━━━━ UNKNOWN TILL THE END.

𓏵 phainon x gn!honkaiimpact3rd!reader , flamechasers x gn!reader , chrysosheirs x gn!honkaiimpact3rd!reader ♱ angst

⟡ ݁₊ . ˎˊ˗ you’re set to die in many of your lives, and born to face the same fate, this time is no different. instead of the trailblazer being the new deliverer, it’s you and once everyone is saved, you die. doesn’t follow the 3.4 quest accurately bc the reader just fucking dies and resets the whole world again, but this time, everyone’s free from destruction😂😂✌️✌️

33,550,336 cycles. you saw it all within a blink of an eye, you saw everyone die and come back to life, you’ve seen lives where you ceased to exist or even if you did, you died in every single one of them. phainon had to experience every single one of them, he had witness you die 33,550,336 times.

you shall bare many faces and fates, yet you will always return to death.

it wasn’t far off, you’d see yourself alive before dying in either a simple death or brutally. one of them had you die by the hands of the flame reaver, another had you die by phainon after being consumed by the black tide. what a surprise, you got killed by phainon twice.

you were shaken awake, caelus holding you upright with a worried expression. you couldn’t hear him, just your friends pained screams as they were killed — both the flamechasers and the chrysos heirs. it’s funny, really. who knew your friends could get killed again after getting a second chance.

“look [name], if you’re falling into madness already. i’ll have to punch you.” caelus tried joking to you, already raising his fist up before you caught it and stood up, stumbling a bit with eyes avoided with any light, “i’m fine, caelus.” you waved off his concern, still feeling his gaze linger on your back.

phainon’s back was face towards you as your arms found its way over his shoulders to hug him. you’ve seen it many times, you’ve died many times, this time… will be no different. “phainon, i’m sorry.” he tensed up, hands clenching onto cyrene’s pendent. phainon tried looking over his shoulder, feeling yourself bury your face into his neck.

“i’ll always be here.” finger tapping his chest, you pushed him into caelus with a smile. caelus blinked in confusion before seeing you raise your sword, “wait—“ it drove straight through you, your blood splattering itself all over the ground as the two stared at you in shock.

caelus remembers the first time he saw you back in the express, waking up after a long nap and clearly out of it as you stood by welt, eyeing him like he was an intriguing cat toy. all you did was sniffle a laugh and offer a hand to him. it was easy for you to find a way into his heart, being almost like a sibling to him the longer you two got paired for stuff.

caelus never understood why you stared at him with such solace, never understood why you said he reminded you so much of an old friend. you were never one to talk about your past so much, even now you were still a mystery. no one actually knew who you were, only welt seemed to know but it was only minimal.

(“haven’t you guessed it, caelus? i’m not supposed to exist.”)

phainon watched you fall onto your knees, trying to get to you before caelus held him back, also trembling as he held back the tears threatening to fall, “partner, let me go!” phainon’s eyes met yours, seeing the single tear fall down your eyes as a smile adorned your face.

he doesn’t wanna see it again, phainon’s witnessed it millions of times already. his lost many people, so many of his friends, had cyrene die once again in his arms. now you once again? why was he destined to see you die so many times? he hates it, he wants to hold you again, he wants to settle down with you just for once.

“see you later, phainon.” the area seemed to shatter, your body slowly disappearing into particles as your sword clattered against the ground. shards of past memories were surrounding them, memories from your time on the astral express, times from when you were with the flamechasers, and times when you were with kevin.

caelus’s shaky hands laid itself onto one, the shard lighting up and playing a conversation with you and su back in highschool; “do you have to go?” su looked up at you, seeing you hold onto kevin’s hand. you giggled, keeping your stance in front of su as kevin tried pulling you away, “you know how he is.” su shot a look to the man behind you before sighing and waving you goodbye.

another conversation with welt; “i’m surprised you’re here.” welt sighed and pushed his glasses back up, “me too.” it was silence, just basking in a familiar presences after you endured years of loneliness, “i’m sorry for your loss.” you just hummed, welt rubbing your shoulder in comfort.

a conversation with acheron; “you look the same.” blinking, you turned around and stared her, and down, “so do you.” acheron just let out a breathy laugh, the sky of penacony casting a light over her face, “don’t die again, okay?” confused by her words, you scratched your cheek, “i’ll try not to?”

and then finally, a conversation with kevin; “when i die, i want to be buried next to you.” kevin lifted your hand up his lips, placing a chaste kiss onto the knuckles, “are you implying that i die first?” kevin froze, nervously chuckled as you just laughed. caressing his cheek, you kissed him softly, “i’m just kidding, you goof.” kevin scoffed lightheartedly, pulling you in by the waist, “even if we both die, we’re destined to meet every time.”

“see you later… kevin.”

the scenery changed to one with cyrene, running your hand through her hair, “you’re so much like her, cyrene.” the pink haired girl just grinned up at you, the sight making your heart ache, “who?” sighing, you leaned back onto the grass, staring up at aedas elysiae’s sky, “her name was elysia. just looking at you hurts.” cyrene’s smile faded when you answered, hand holding onto yours.

“everyone looks like them. i can’t look at them without seeing them die in front of me.” you whispered, sitting back up with hands covering your face, “and phainon, he—i can’t long for him knowing that it’s not me that he spent his life with.” just hearing the pained voice made cyrene furrow her eyebrows together.

“but even so, you’re still the same person. just because the both of you aren’t the ones you spent your life with, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve any less.” cyrene comforted, smiling at you when you turned to stare at her, “start something new, let him in this time.”

“…okay.”

you’ve always hated goodbyes. saying it implies that you’ll never see eachother again, so you’ve opted to just say ‘see you later.’ to you, it was a promise to the other party, saying that this wouldn’t be the last time the both of you will see eachother again, and that’s exactly why you said it.

this wouldn’t be the last time phainon would see you. like your prophecy had stated; you shall bare many faces and fates, yet you will always return to death. you’ll die sooner or later, but that doesn’t mean a fate can change. after all, you weren’t supposed to exist at all.

CYCLE: 1.

[jxstsxgx]

𝙿𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙳 | 𝙴𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Roommate/bsf!Eddie x Reader

Word count: 1, 173 words

Summary: You and Eddie Munson are roommates. He thinks that means something more. You just think he’s being Eddie.

Contains: roommate chaos, college setting, Eddie being down horrendously bad, delusional one-sided love (for now), sarcastic reader, mutual domesticity, a sprinkle of pining, and lots of goofy banter

A/N: I' m so sorry i haven’t posted in a while pls take this feral college era Eddie while I recalibrate my brain. Andddd, I just love writing quirky, goofy fics for Eddie.

masterlist |

After defying all odds and passing Ms. O’Donnell’s final with a suspicious number of lucky guesses, Eddie Munson graduated. You didn’t expect him to make it out of Hawkins High, but here he was, diploma in hand and clinging to your side like a caffeinated barnacle. When the college acceptance letters came, it made sense to be roommates. You were best friends. Eddie was harmless.

Except harmless didn’t exactly include the part where he kept calling you “babe” in front of the RA. Or how he bought two toothbrushes before you even moved in, one red, one black. “Yours and mine,” he said, totally casual, like you were an old married couple and this wasn’t your first day sharing a bathroom.

You? You thought Eddie was just being dramatic. He’d always been like this, loud, clingy, theatrical. You were used to it.

But Eddie? Eddie Munson thought he was living out his greatest fantasy, domestic bliss with the girl of his dreams, shared laundry and all.

You’d barely put your backpack down before Eddie kicked the door shut behind you, arms flung wide open like he was revealing a surprise party. “Welcome home, babe,” he grinned, eyes gleaming. “Look! I vacuumed.”

You blinked at the haphazard rugs, the lava lamp already plugged in, and the fact that he’d managed to hang a framed Dio poster next to what you hoped was a scented candle.

“You vacuumed the carpet once and suddenly you’re a house husband?”

He put a hand to his chest, wounded. “House partner, sweetheart. We’ll get to the husband and wife part later. Unless you want it that way, I ain't complaining..” Then he winks.

You dropped your backpack with a thud. “We’re roommates, Eddie. Just roommates.”

He saluted, completely ignoring you. “And I take my domestic duties very seriously. I already took the garbage out and I washed the dish you used for breakfast this morning. So, technically, I’ve been husbanding you for hours.”

You made a face, walking into the kitchen. “That’s not a verb. And stop saying ‘husbanding.’ You’re going to freak out the neighbors.”

Eddie leaned against the fridge with a smug look, still watching you. “You know, you’re lucky I’m this committed. Most guys don’t even make it past moving day without a breakdown. Me? I labeled our snacks.”

You opened the cabinet. Sure enough, a bright sticky note read “Eddie’s Secret Stash touch and DIE <3.”

“I see we’re off to a mature, healthy cohabitation,” you muttered, grabbing one of your granola bars.

Things only got worse (or better, depending on which one of you you asked) from there.

He insisted on walking you to class. He made your coffee in the morning, just how you liked it. He left notes on the fridge like Out of milk :( I’ll get some, don’t worry babe, as if you were a couple sharing groceries and not two broke college kids trying to survive Econ 101.

And the worst part? He looked so smug about it. Every time you rolled your eyes or called him ridiculous, Eddie just beamed at you like he was winning some secret game.

One day, you opened the closet to find his Hellfire shirt hanging next to your cardigans.

“Why is your stuff in my half?”

He shrugged. “Just trying out the married aesthetic. Feels more real when our clothes mingle, y’know?”

You chucked a slipper at him.

Then with laundry.

You don’t mean for it to. You really don’t. But one Saturday afternoon, your favorite hoodie is missing, and Eddie’s favorite band shirt is somehow tucked into your drawer, and before you know it, you were shouting.

“Did you put our clothes in the same load again?” you shout from the bedroom.

“Define ‘our,’” Eddie yells back, and you can hear the grin.

You storm into the living room. “Are you just washing everything together now? My delicates were in there!”

Eddie, curled up on the couch in your hoodie (your hoodie!), blinks up at you with zero shame. “What’s mine is yours, sweetheart. It’s just more efficient.”

You gesture wildly. “That is not how laundry or roommates work!”

He stretches his legs, bare feet propped on the coffee table like this is some kind of sitcom. “Okay, but consider: if you marry me,”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“you won’t have to worry about separate laundry loads ever again. Think of the savings.”

You deadpan, “You think this is a pitch?”

“It’s a lifestyle.”

You walk off muttering something about bleach and boy germs, but Eddie just smirks to himself and nuzzles deeper into your hoodie. He’s winning. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a fungus. A charming, metal loving fungus with a hopeless crush.

“It’s like we’re already married,” Eddie said, tossing a bag of off brand cereal into your shared shopping cart.

“We are literally just roommates.”

“Exactly. Roommates. The first stage of marriage.”

You gave him a look, the usual one. The one that said I don’t know what weird brain chemicals you’re running on today, Munson, but I’m too tired to argue. Then you just sighed, picked out your preferred kind of yogurt Eddie called it “girly parfait goop”, and turned the cart toward the freezer section.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like living with him. Honestly, you seemed pretty happy with your arrangement. You let him play Dio in the living room, you didn’t even yell when he forgot to take out the trash, and you always made a second cup of coffee in the morning, leaving it by his door without fail. You were sweet. You were golden. You were absolutely not in love with him.

Yet.

But Eddie had plans. Long game plans. Big, delusional, deeply unserious plans.

Your apartment wasn’t much. Just two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and a tiny living room and a tiny kitchen with a microwave that sounded like it was dying every time you used it. But it was yours, and Eddie was thriving. His band posters were up in the living room. His guitar leaned permanently on the couch. And you, beautiful, radiant, confusing as hell, you left your fuzzy socks all over the floor like you were just asking him to fall harder for you every day.

“I fixed the shower pressure,” you said one night, walking into the living room drying your hair with a towel and wearing one of his old Hellfire shirts like it was no big deal.

Eddie, who was halfway through eating dry Cap’n Crunch and watching a horror movie, immediately forgot the plot and maybe his name.

“You did?”

You shrugged, plopping down beside him and stealing a handful of cereal. “It was just the nozzle. It was all gunked up.”

“My sexy little plumber,” he said, mouth full.

“Gross,” you replied, but you were smiling, and Eddie was pretty sure he saw God for a second.

A/N: hi hello I’m back on my clown shit thank you for waiting. I missed writing a painfully delusional Eddie so much. I'm planning on adding a few more parts, what do you guys think??

[snarkilicious]

And the last 6 months, while wild because of an unplanned move due to black mold, I moved in with my partner, and that's been pretty marvelous!

[demonboysdelight]

Hiii can I request Saja boys x gn! s/o (Separate) their s/o is wearing their shirts to cosplay as their boyfriend and they purposely do a horrible job at mimicking them (PLUS THEIR WEARING HORRIBLE WIGS FOR THE COLOR)

Jinu:

"Hey y'all I'm Jinu, I'm a loser stuck in a hot body. I'm old af"

"heheheheee" (Mimicking his laugh)

"I always pick the worst date spots for my partner like in the freakin rooftop"

Abby:

"I never skip a day to exercise my muscles but I always skip leg day lmaoo"

"I don't know how but my abs causes girls to cry out popcorn"

"WATCH OUT EVERYONE, BIG MUSCLE MAN COMING THROUGHHH—"

Mystery:

"BARK BARK BARK! YEAH KEEP RUNNING AWAY!"

"I'm the the most QUIET one in the group"

"I can somehow still see with my hair covering my eyes?"

Romance:

"Hey ladiessss~"

"I'm sigma rizz and I pull the gyatts in Ohio"

"Wassup bbg—"

Baby:

"Goo goo ga ga bitch"

"Hey everyoneeee it's ya boyyyy, Ramuda Amemura 2.0"

"Abby and the others are annoying ugh"

Hehe, here you go, I hope you enjoy. (3

Saja Boys React to Their S/O's Hilariously Bad Cosplay Attempt

Jinu

Jinu walked into your shared apartment after a long day of recording, expecting the usual peaceful atmosphere. Instead, he's greeted by the sight of you wearing an absolutely atrocious bright orange wig that looks like it came from a discount Halloween store, along with one of his perfectly tailored black shirts that's now hanging off you like a curtain.

You strike what you think is his signature stoic pose, but instead of his elegant commanding presence, you look like you're trying to hold in a sneeze. "Hey y'all I'm Jinu," you announce in the most ridiculous Valley Girl accent imaginable, "I'm a loser stuck in a hot body. I'm old af."

Jinu's perfectly composed expression cracks immediately. His mouth twitches as he tries to maintain his usual cool demeanor, but the sight of you doing his signature subtle head tilt while looking like a neon traffic cone is too much. You continue your "performance" by letting out the most obnoxious fake laugh: "heheheheee" - sounding more like a dying car engine than his actual charming chuckle.

"I always pick the worst date spots for my partner," you declare dramatically, gesturing wildly, "like in the freakin rooftop!" You're clearly referencing his preference for intimate, elevated locations, but your delivery makes it sound like he's been taking you to construction sites.

The usually unflappable leader of the Saja Boys finally breaks. His shoulders start shaking with suppressed laughter as he watches you attempt his graceful movements while wearing that disaster of a wig. "Y/N," he manages between barely contained chuckles, "what... what exactly are you doing?"

But there's something incredibly endearing about your ridiculous impression. Despite being a demon who's supposed to be intimidating and mysterious, Jinu finds himself completely charmed by your goofy dedication. He approaches you slowly, his eyes sparkling with genuine amusement - a side of him that only you ever get to see.

"Is this supposed to be me?" he asks, reaching out to gently touch the horrific orange wig. When you nod enthusiastically, still maintaining your terrible pose, he can't help but smile - a real, genuine smile that transforms his entire face. "I had no idea I was so... colorful."

Abby

The sound of weights hitting the floor echoes through the home gym as Abby finishes his evening workout routine. He's toweling off his sweat when he notices you haven't come to admire his post-workout physique like you usually do. Concerned, he heads to the living room to find you.

What he discovers makes him freeze mid-step. You're wearing one of his fitted tank tops that barely fits you properly, along with the most ridiculous muscle-padding underneath that makes you look like you're smuggling pillows. But the crown jewel of this disaster is the hot pink wig that's so obviously fake it looks like cotton candy had a fight with a mop.

"I never skip a day to exercise my muscles," you announce in a voice that sounds like you've been inhaling helium, "but I always skip leg day lmaoo." You strike what you think is a powerful pose, but with the fake muscles shifting around under the shirt, you look more like a scarecrow in a windstorm.

Abby's serious expression wavers as you continue your performance. "I don't know how but my abs causes girls to cry out popcorn!" you declare, patting your obviously fake muscle padding with the confidence of someone who clearly doesn't understand anatomy.

The usually stoic and intense Abby starts to crack a smile. When you suddenly start marching around the room shouting "WATCH OUT EVERYONE, BIG MUSCLE MAN COMING THROUGHHH—" while your fake muscles bounce around ridiculously, he loses it completely.

His deep, genuine laughter fills the room - a sound so rare and precious that you almost break character. Abby, who typically expresses himself through actions rather than words, is doubled over with laughter. "Y/N," he gasps between laughs, "you look like you're wearing a life vest made of muscles."

Despite being someone who takes his physical strength and appearance seriously, Abby finds your ridiculous interpretation absolutely delightful. He's touched that you'd go to such lengths to make him laugh, even if it means making yourself look completely absurd. As he approaches you, still chuckling, he gently pokes one of your fake muscles, causing it to shift awkwardly.

"You know," he says with a rare grin, "your form is terrible, but your dedication is impressive."

Mystery

Mystery returns from a late-night recording session, moving through the apartment with his usual quiet grace. He's about to head to the bedroom when he notices a strange sound coming from the living room - what sounds like a dying walrus mixed with a broken air horn.

When he peers around the corner, he sees you wearing one of his oversized hoodies, but you've somehow managed to find a wig that's even more ridiculous than your previous attempts. This one is bright electric blue and looks like it was styled by sticking your finger in an electrical socket. The best part? You've tied it in front of your face so messily that you clearly can't see anything.

"BARK BARK BARK!" you're shouting at the wall, apparently not realizing you're facing the wrong direction. "YEAH KEEP RUNNING AWAY!" You're making exaggerated threatening gestures at what you think is an imaginary enemy, but you're actually intimidating a houseplant.

Mystery, who rarely shows emotion, feels his lips twitch upward. You continue your performance by declaring in the loudest possible voice: "I'm the the most QUIET one in the group!" The irony isn't lost on him as you proceed to bang around the room like a bull in a china shop.

"I can somehow still see with my hair covering my eyes?" you announce, promptly walking directly into the coffee table because you literally cannot see through the disaster wig you're wearing.

Mystery's shoulders shake with silent laughter. Here he is, usually the mysterious and unknowable member of the group, watching his partner accidentally terrorize furniture while wearing a wig that looks like a rejected My Little Pony accessory. The absurdity of the situation combined with your complete commitment to the bit breaks through his usual reserved demeanor.

He approaches you quietly (as he always does) and gently turns you around so you're facing the right direction. "Y/N," he says softly, his voice carrying a warmth that only you ever hear, "are you attempting to be mysterious?"

When you nod enthusiastically, somehow making the ridiculous wig even more disheveled, Mystery does something incredibly rare - he laughs. Not his usual barely audible chuckle, but a real, genuine laugh that fills the room. "Well," he says, reaching out to fix your wig slightly so you can actually see, "you've certainly achieved something mysterious. I'm mystified by how you managed to make that wig look worse than anything I've ever seen."

Romance

Romance glides through the front door with his usual smooth confidence, expecting to find you waiting for him with your typical warm welcome. Instead, he hears what sounds like someone strangling a cat mixed with what might generously be called "singing."

Following the sound, he finds you in the bedroom, wearing one of his silk shirts that's clearly too big for you, along with a wig that can only be described as "what would happen if a rainbow threw up on a troll doll." The wig is somehow simultaneously too curly, too straight, and too colorful, defying several laws of physics and good taste.

"Hey ladiessss~" you croon in a voice that sounds like you've been gargling with gravel, while attempting what you think is his signature flirtatious lean. Instead of his smooth, charming pose, you look like you're about to tip over.

Romance's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches in bewilderment as you continue: "I'm sigma rizz and I pull the gyatts in Ohio." You're clearly trying to reference modern slang, but your delivery makes it sound like you're speaking an alien language. The fact that you're saying this while wearing a wig that looks like a craft store explosion makes it even more surreal.

"Wassup bbg—" you attempt his signature flirty greeting, but instead of his smooth, honeyed voice, you sound like a broken robot trying to be seductive.

Romance, who prides himself on being irresistibly charming and always knowing the right thing to say, finds himself completely speechless. Not because he's impressed, but because he's trying desperately not to burst into laughter. The sight of you attempting his carefully crafted romantic persona while looking like you lost a fight with a costume shop is both endearing and hilarious.

"My love," he manages to say, his voice carefully controlled, "what exactly are you trying to accomplish here?" But despite his words, his eyes are sparkling with amusement. You're the only person who could make him laugh at himself, and honestly, seeing his romantic moves interpreted this way is both humbling and absolutely delightful.

When you strike another one of his poses - this time looking like you're having some kind of medical emergency - Romance finally breaks. His melodious laughter fills the room as he approaches you, still trying to maintain some semblance of his smooth image but failing miserably.

"You know," he says, gently adjusting the disaster wig on your head, "I think you might need some lessons in romance. Lucky for you, I happen to be an expert."

Baby

Baby bounces into the apartment with his usual chaotic energy, calling out your name in his characteristic rapid-fire way. When he doesn't get an immediate response, he starts searching the apartment like an overeager puppy looking for its favorite toy.

He finds you in the kitchen, and the sight stops him dead in his tracks. You're wearing one of his oversized hoodies that reaches almost to your knees, paired with the most horrifically childish wig he's ever seen - it looks like someone crossed a baby doll's hair with cotton candy and then ran it through a blender. The wig is so bad it's somehow looping back around to being almost artistic in its terribleness.

"Goo goo ga ga bitch," you announce in the most ridiculous baby voice imaginable, while striking what you think is a cute pose but actually looks like you're doing some kind of weird interpretive dance.

Baby's eyes widen as you continue your performance: "Hey everyoneeee it's ya boyyyy, Ramuda Amemura 2.0!" The reference to the Hypnosis Mic character makes him snort with laughter because it's so unexpectedly specific and yet so completely wrong for the context.

"Abby and the others are annoying ugh," you say in a bratty voice, throwing in some exaggerated eye rolls that make the terrible wig shift around your head like a demented pet.

Baby, who's known for his unpredictable and chaotic energy, is completely delighted by your ridiculous impression. Your attempt at copying his youthful but intense personality has somehow resulted in you looking like a demented toddler having an existential crisis, and it's the funniest thing he's seen all week.

"OH MY GOD," he shrieks with laughter, his voice reaching octaves that probably shouldn't be humanly possible. "Y/N, you look like if a children's show character had a complete mental breakdown!"

He's practically bouncing with excitement as he circles around you, taking in every detail of your disaster costume. "The wig! THE WIG!" he gasps between fits of giggles. "It's so bad it's actually amazing! How did you even find something that terrible?"

Baby's reaction is pure, unfiltered joy. Unlike his older band mates who might try to maintain some composure, Baby is completely here for the chaos you've created. He starts copying your terrible poses, making them even more ridiculous, turning the whole thing into an impromptu comedy show.

"We should make this an official music video," he declares with the kind of serious expression that only makes the situation more absurd. "This could be our new concept - 'Saja Boys but make it cursed.'"

[mingi-s-dimples]

Soaked - C.S

~"You taste better than anything else I've ever had..."

pairing: san x fem reader

genre: 18+, summer, model x model

summary: you and your man, san, decide to spend some time together at a private villa to celebrate one year of having your own luxury brand

wc: 1.9k

warnings: established relationship, model x model, dom san, soft dom san, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, pool sex, sex against a glass door, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), alcohol use (they're tipsy nothing too serious, champagne), hair pulling, rough sex, moaning, multiple orgasms, worshipping, he's so so in love with her, teasing, some manhandling, he eats her out nicely on the ledge, completely consensual!, might edit later, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: I loved writing this ngl. Also, this fic is based... on a villa I saw yesterday while visiting the center of Makarska, the zone I'm visiting on my trip oops-. Croatia is so beautiful 😭 I love it sm, tomorrow I'm sadly leaving 👹 but I wanna come back for suuure

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The sliding glass door glides shut behind you with a faint click, sealing off the villa’s cool interior from the sea-scented dusk outside. A hush settles, soft and almost reverent, broken only by the distant caw of gulls and the subtle lapping of waves far below. The entire Adriatic spreads endlessly before you, cobalt turning lavender, then amber, like spilled ink slowly washing into fire. But your eyes aren’t on the view.

They’re on him.

San leans lazily against the whitewashed bedroom wall, just to the right of the open terrace. The fading sunlight kisses every curve of his chest, golden skin still slick from a recent shower, droplets tracking the lines of his collarbones, pooling briefly at the dip of his sternum before sliding lower. He’s wearing nothing but black swim trunks that ride low on his hips, clinging faintly to damp skin. Stray locks of wet hair curl against his forehead, and his gaze, half-lidded but unwavering, drags over you like a physical touch.

You shift, the white bikini you chose earlier feeling tighter under his stare, and not just because of the fit. He’s always had this effect on you. That silent possession. That unwavering attention that turns every breath electric. You’ve been with him for years, but somehow his gaze still makes your spine arc with anticipation.

“Come here,” he says, low, quiet, like a private sin passed between lips in church.

You walk slowly. Intentionally. The tiles are warm beneath your bare feet, and the straps of your bikini brush your skin with each step. He watches you with the kind of hunger that doesn’t need explanation, eyes lingering on the swell of your chest, the curve of your waist, the sheen of salt still clinging to your skin from your earlier swim in the sea. When you stop in front of him, he doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

His fingers hover just shy of your hips, teasing the air between you. Then, featherlight, he lets them skim beneath the band of your bikini bottom, dragging against your skin. His touch is slow. Measured. Like he's relearning you cell by cell.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder. Not rushed, not showy, just lips against skin and a breath drawn like worship. “One year since we launched this crazy dream. And look at you now. My muse. My partner. My problem.”

You laugh, a soft, breathless sound that falters when his hands roam lower. “Don’t start. We haven’t even opened the champagne.”

His lips curve into a smile against your skin. “I’m not starting anything,” he lies. “Just touching what’s mine.”

-

Outside on the terrace, the world glows.

Sunlight bathes the horizon in gradients of apricot and soft rose, casting a golden shimmer across the glass-like surface of the infinity pool. The stone tiles beneath your feet still hold the heat of the day, and a warm breeze carries traces of jasmine and brine through the air.

You stand by the outdoor kitchenette, fingers curled around the chilled neck of a champagne bottle. You angle it, pop the cork, and watch as it fizzes over with a delicate hiss. San, behind you, lights two slim candles on the edge of the pool. The flames flicker against the dying sun, casting flickers of orange across his cheekbones.

He steps over, shirtless, barefoot, effortless. He takes a flute from your hand.

“To us,” he says, voice like poured wine. “To one year of turning our names into something bigger than just faces in campaigns. To the brand. To the blood and sweat. And to tonight, where I want you all to myself.”

You clink glasses.

The champagne dances across your tongue, sharp and cold and just sweet enough. The second sip goes down easier. The third, smoother. Your shoulders begin to drop. You’re relaxed, but charged, aware of every place his skin might brush yours, every glance that lingers just a bit too long.

San rests his hand on your lower back. His thumb slides beneath the delicate string of your bikini bottoms, tracing idle circles just above the swell of your ass. The contact is light, teasing, but precise.

“You always drink like that?” he asks, watching you over the rim of his glass.

You smirk. “Only when I want to get kissed.”

He leans in instantly, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “Then I’m clearly not drinking fast enough.”

The mood between you tightens, not tense, but intimate. Familiar. Buzzing.

You glance toward the pool. “Swim?”

He raises a brow. “You first.”

-

The water is warm from the day’s sun, wrapping around your legs like silk as you descend the steps. Your bikini clings tighter now, soaked in seconds, and the world takes on an underwater hush, only broken by the ripple of your movements and the distant rhythm of cicadas.

The view is surreal. From here, the Adriatic seems to melt into the edge of the pool, sky and sea one endless sweep of rose gold and periwinkle. You float for a moment, watching the last sliver of sun kiss the horizon.

Then you feel him.

San slides in behind you, arms strong, slow-moving under the surface, gathering you against his chest. Your back presses into his torso, slick skin against slick skin. One of your legs floats up, his leg catching it effortlessly. You can feel him, hard, pulsing, a subtle pressure against your ass. His nose nudges your temple.

“You look like a fucking goddess,” he whispers, brushing his lips down your jaw. “And you’re making it very hard to behave.”

You turn around and your hands snake around his neck, fingers threading into damp hair. “Then don’t.”

The growl he lets out rumbles deep in his chest.

His mouth finds yours, and it’s everything. Slow but hungry, deliberate but dizzying. His tongue teases, his lips press and part and claim. Your toes curl under the water. His hands travel. one up your ribs, the other gripping your ass beneath the surface. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you onto the warm stone ledge.

The air hits your skin, suddenly, cool, but his mouth is already on your thigh.

The stone is smooth beneath your palms as you lean back. San stays in the water between your legs, eyes flicking up to yours like a man about to pray and then sin.

His hands part your thighs, slow and reverent, until you’re fully open to him. His lips trail up your leg, open-mouth kisses, tongue dragging in lazy circles until he reaches the place you want him most.

His mouth finds your cunt.

It’s soft at first, exploratory, savoring. Then deeper. Needier. His tongue flicks over your clit with tight, devastating precision, and your hips jerk.

“Oh my”

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, voice strained and dark with want. “I want to hear what I do to you.”

You don’t hold back.

Your moans echo into the warm air, mingling with the slap of water against the pool walls. San’s hands hold you open, unrelenting, as his tongue works you in slow spirals, then faster, hungrier. He groans when you tug at his hair, and the vibration pushes you closer and closer.

He flattens his tongue, circling your clit with a maddening rhythm. Then he dips down, sucking, licking, devouring like he’s desperate.

You come hard.

Thighs shaking, head tipped back, mouth open as you cry out his name. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, slow strokes, tasting, worshipping every twitch of your body. He only stops when your legs go slack and your hips try to pull away.

Then he pulls back, dripping and flushed, hair slicked back from his face. “You taste better than anything else I’ve ever had.”

You barely catch your breath before he pulls you in the water, back into his arms, back into his hunger.

He kisses you, deep and unrestrained. You taste yourself on his tongue. His hands roam beneath the water, cupping your breasts through the thin fabric, thumbs circling your nipples until they peak. His cock presses between your thighs, hot and heavy.

“Here?” you whisper, gasping.

“Please…” he says, teeth grazing your lip.

He lifts your leg and sinks into you. Slow, deep, agonizingly controlled. Every inch is a stretch, a drag, a claim.

You gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulders. “San- ah”

The water shifts around you, each thrust sending little waves to lap at the pool’s edge. His movements are fluid but strong, slow at first, then faster, rougher. He fucks you like he owns you. Like he’s proving a point.

Your moans mix with his groans, the sounds low and needy, raw. He keeps you close, chest to chest, one hand gripping your thigh while the other cradles your lower back.

“God, baby,” he pants. “You’re so wet. So fucking tight. Made for me.”

Moments later he comes inside you, full-body quake, breath caught, thighs trembling. He kisses you through it, tongue sliding against yours as your body clenches around him.

But he doesn’t stop.

-

San carries you out of the water, gripping your thighs, walking barefoot across the stone floor. Water drips from your bodies, leaving a trail to the villa’s sliding glass doors.

He presses you against the cool glass, your back arching from the temperature contrast. His hand smooths up your spine, then grabs your hair, wrapping it tightly around his wrist.

He turns you.

“Stay just like that.”

You brace your palms against the door, panting, nipples hard against the glass. You see your own reflection, dazed, flushed, glowing. San watches too.

He thrusts into you hard.

The sound is obscene. Wet skin on wet skin. Your gasp fogs the glass.

“You want everyone on that fucking coast to see you like this?” he growls. “Want them to know who you belong to?”

His hand tugs your hair, arching your back. You whimper. His name breaks from your throat.

He pounds into you with a punishing rhythm, body crashing into yours, breathing a snarl in your ear. The glass rattles. His other hand slides up to your chest, fingers rolling your nipple until you sob his name.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grits. “Look at us.”

He slams into you once more, deep, relentless, and you unravel again, voice hoarse, body trembling.

He comes with a guttural groan, hips jerking, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he fills you to the brim.

He doesn’t let go.

Not right away. His chest presses to your back. His breath is hot against your ear. You both stand there, suspended in golden silence.

Eventually, his grip softens. He untangles his hand from your hair, smoothing it gently down your back.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You turn to him. He gathers you close, cradling your face.

“Still mine?” he asks, almost too softly.

Your smile is sleepy but sure. “Always.”

The sun vanishes beyond the sea. The sky dims. Crickets begin to sing.

Inside the villa, San kisses you again. softer now. Slower. Less lust and more love. The kind of kiss you’d wait a lifetime for. The kind of kiss that tastes like home.

And for one long, sacred moment, the world feels still, his arms around you, and a love that feels bigger than heaven itself.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet @mirohs-aurora-society @blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@strawberry-mingi @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @memorabxlia @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @tahiraax1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou @lezleeferguson-120 @sopematesxx @joyfulcadence @puppytruther

[batsandbirdbrains]

I'm getting the vague idea of your YJ bullying au where, in addition to everything else, they also tease him for calling Batman 'My Bat' or 'My Batman" to the point he stops doing it and Bruce doesn't know why, but it does make him kinda sad to see His Robin not wanna call him 'My Bat' anymore, especially when Dick won't tell him why. Even worse, Dick starts asking that he doesn't call him 'My Robin' anymore.

He gives a vague explanation that someone might connect Batman calling Robin his to Bruce Wayne calling Richard Grayson his, but Bruce knows that's just some bullshitted excuse. Dick won't tell him, and he doesn't know how to pry without Dick getting upset. They've been fighting a lot more lately, and Bruce is getting worried that this is a sign Dick no longer wants to stay and be his son and partner in crimefighting anymore. That Dick is getting ready to leave him forever.

Meanwhile, Dick is getting bullied HARD by teammates who don't even know that they're bullying him because they're just slowly inching their way to getting worse and finding ways to justify it.

Even after it gets found out about and Dick leaves the tram, I don't think he calls Bruce 'My Batman' for a long, long time.

Let’s make it more heartbreaking. Dick doesn’t even realize he calls him “my Bat” so often. It’s just a habit. Maybe he uses it in place of “my dad” because he’s still not comfortable calling Bruce his dad. But it’s not something he thinks about. He barely realizes it happens, unless he’s doing it on purpose to be cute and to get something he wants.

So when the others mention wanting to hang out one weekend after training on Friday night? Robin just shrugs.

“Sorry, my Bat said we’re doing a stakeout all weekend. Penguin’s been up to something, and we finally got a lead on Tuesday.”

He doesn’t realize that most of his teammates are staring at him like he just grew a second head. He’s busy packing up his gym bag, chugging the last of his water bottle, then zipping up his bag to sling it over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you guys on Monday though! Have fun!”

Once he’s gone, Artemis is snorting and looking at them all with an eyebrow raised.

“My Bat?” she repeats, her voice a sarcastic drawl. “Have you ever noticed he does that a lot?”

“So what?” Conner asks, staring at the TV.

“So,” she scoffs. “It’s weird!”

“I’ve never really noticed it,” Conner mumbles. “Who cares?”

Artemis is about to start going on a rant, but Kaldur is the one who moves their attention to something else. He doesn’t like the thought of teasing a teammate and a friend when he’s not even here to defend himself. Besides, Kaldur thought it was an endearing habit. He’d heard Robin call him My Kaldur a couple times, and he’s almost certain Robin doesn’t realize he does it. And if he does, then he clearly doesn’t think it’s something unusual to do.

That next Monday, M’gann is giggling as she calls him My Robin. And at first, Robin looks delighted. His whole face lights up, but then he sees how M’gann is giggling and Artemis is smothering a laugh behind her hand and Wally is outright snorting, and he deflates entirely. He ignores them, moving on to whatever they were supposed to be doing while Black Canary went to get equipment for their next half of training, but Kaldur and Conner notice. They’re not happy.

Robin is helping Conner the next day with something in the gym. He’s explaining how Superman does something, because he’s certain it will help Conner. He says something along the lines of, “My Kal said if he does it this way, it works better. Do you think that would work for you, too?” Conner noticed it, but he doesn’t bring it up. There’s no point anyway, because the move Robin is explaining does actually work really well for Conner. They’re both grinning and high-fiveing each other ten minutes later after Conner gets the move right for the first time.

“We’re gonna be the next World’s Finest, you and me!” Robin is laughing wildly in delight, his hair windswept from the way Conner just tossed him around. “My Bat does that move with Superman all the time, we just need to perfect it!”

“We’ll get it in no time,” Conner agrees. He’s so pleased, because the thought of having a regular pair up with Robin is exciting.

“Course we will, you’re my supey, we’ll be even better than the old geezers soon enough!”

Robin is hopping around, rearranging the obstacle course they’d set up so they can practice with a new course.

Conner’s chest is warm and full, and he’s so so happy Robin just called him his like it was a given, like there wasn’t any doubt. Like he’s on par with Superman, his Kal. Like he actually believes Conner can live up to the expectations set by being Superman’s clone.

But then he hears snickering from just outside the gym, and he gets angry. Because of course the three stooges are outside listening in, waiting for any reason to make fun of Robin. They’ve been obsessed with making fun of Robin’s possessiveness. Conner still doesn’t understand why it’s funny.

A month later, Conner and Kaldur both are getting fed up with the way the others have been acting. Robin has retreated into himself entirely, he hardly speaks around them anymore. He shows up for training and missions, but he doesn’t stick around like he used to.

Neither of them have heard him call anyone his in three weeks. And they know exactly who’s to blame. They just don’t know what to do to stop it.

They’re walking towards the mission room when they hear Robin shouting, “Just stop calling me that!”

“Robin?” Batman sounds so hurt, so upset. They’ve never heard him sound like that. “What’s wrong?”

“Just stop!”

They walk inside just in time to hear the zeta tubes announce Robin’s departure. Batman, meanwhile, is standing there looking a little lost.

Maybe it’s time they talk to Batman about what they’ve been noticing.

[retroanimechris]

Throwing things at the wall to see what sticks

[duskidolsmut]

"BLACKPINK Unchained: Orgies and Sins on the Deadline Tour" - Part 2: “Jisoo: Used and Loving It”

Set in the electric tension of a post-concert night in Los Angeles, this story dives into the unspoken cravings, forbidden looks, and the twisted games played behind velvet curtains. A tale of desire unmasked — raw, obsessive, and deeply personal.

T: bj, deep throat, fingering, thigh teasing, public teasing, exhibitionism, rough sex, spit play, cum play, multiple partners, double penetration (attempt), ass play, cunnilingus, orgasm denial, face fucking, creampie, facials, sweat play, scent play, marking, biting, spanking, throat fucking, squirting, ass licking, gangbang

W: 11.171

The first chord of “Earthquake” exploded through the Los Angeles stadium, and the crowd roared as Jisoo appeared at the center of the stage. Her body was wrapped in a metallic pink outfit that shimmered under the spotlights — a tight spaghetti-strap top with a delicate bow resting above her breasts, and a satin miniskirt that flared with every move, revealing her smooth, toned thighs. She looked like a porcelain doll — perfect and untouchable. But her eyes told a different story.

As she danced with deadly precision, her two lead dancers, Cassian and Jett, drew closer than the choreography demanded. Cassian, in front of her, gripped her waist with a firmness that would leave finger marks — her soft skin dipped beneath his touch, and Jisoo felt the heat of that big hand radiate through her entire body.

Then came Jett. He was behind her, and when the choreography spun them together, his hand slid beneath her short skirt, fingers grazing the inside of her thigh with a boldness that could make anyone tremble. The audience saw only flawless choreography, but Jisoo felt each touch like an electric current.

She didn’t pull away. Quite the opposite — when Cassian pulled her back, she locked her fingers around his neck, pressing lightly. A signal. An invitation. The two of them understood.

The music kept going, and the three moved in perfect sync, but right there, in the middle of that crowd, Jisoo was being touched in a way no one else could see. Jett tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her against him, and she felt something hard pressing into her back. She smiled, pretending it was just part of the show.

When the song ended, Jisoo stood breathless between the two of them, cheeks flushed. The crowd went wild, clapping and screaming her name. But only she, Cassian, and Jett knew the truth.

That performance had just been the beginning. And the real earthquake was yet to come.

As soon as the curtains closed, Jisoo felt the heat rise like wild fire between her legs. The touches from Cassian and Jett had left her skin burning, and now, away from the public eye, desire was pounding in her veins like a heavy drum. She could barely focus as she walked quickly to the dressing room, the friction of her lace panties against her soaked pussy almost making her moan.

— "Jisoo, come on! You’ve got two minutes to change!" one of the staff yelled, grabbing her by the arm. She didn’t reply. Her thoughts were still trapped in those fingers that had touched where they shouldn’t — at least not in public.

Inside the dressing room, the manager responsible for helping her change, Eunji, noticed immediately. She knew the signs. She’d been managing the idol’s schedule — and secrets — long enough to recognize when something had been too intense.

— "Holy shit, Jisoo…" the woman muttered, eyes darkening at the sight of the wet patch marking the front of the idol’s panties. "Someone’s really turned on, huh?"

Jisoo bit her lip, avoiding her gaze as she pulled the metallic pink top up, releasing her firm breasts. — "Don’t start."

The planned outfit was no longer an option — the sheer white fabric would make her current state far too obvious.

Eunji let out a rough chuckle and went straight to the emergency wardrobe. — "Black it is. This one’ll hide… well, not everything, but at least it won’t look like you just walked out of an orgy."

The new outfit was a declaration of war: A shimmering silver top, clinging to her body like liquid metal, reflecting every stage light in hypnotic flashes. The deep neckline molded around her breasts perfectly, her hard nipples pressing subtly against the fabric. A high-waisted black short, so tiny that the cheeks of her ass peeked out with every move. The side ruffles exaggerated the sway of her hips — a flirt disguised as fashion.

— "You’ve got to be kidding," Jisoo muttered, turning sideways in the mirror. "Half my ass is showing!" Eunji just smiled, running her hands down the idol’s thighs to smooth the fabric. — "Exactly. And everyone’s going to love it — especially those two dogs who got you all worked up."

Outside, Rosé’s voice blended with Bruno Mars as the crowd’s roar echoed like thunder. Jisoo took a deep breath, feeling the wet throb between her legs.

— "It’s gonna be worth it," Eunji whispered, gripping her waist from behind. "Just imagine their hands on you again… now with no audience to hold them back."

Jisoo swallowed hard.

When she returned to the stage, Cassian and Jett were already waiting — and from their dark eyes, from the way their jaws clenched at the sight of that tight black short… They knew. And this time, they weren’t going to settle for choreographed touches.

This time, the routine was a group number — fewer intimate moves, fewer chances for Cassian and Jett to repeat what they’d done before. But that didn’t matter. Not when every pair of eyes on stage — dancers, tech crew, even the security guards at the corners — were glued to her like vultures circling fresh meat.

Her sweaty body gleamed under the lights, the silver top clinging to her skin like a second layer, highlighting every curve, every ragged breath. That fucking black short — barely covering half her thighs — kept riding up with every move, flashing the firm cheeks of her ass to the cameras that followed her like predators. And the thought of being devoured in public… had her completely soaked.

The stage vibrated with electric energy, each spotlight burning her skin as Jisoo executed every move with calculated precision. She knew — knew — the cameras were catching her from forbidden angles, that millions of eyes were eating up every exposed inch of her body. That awareness made her blood boil, made her pussy throb inside that ridiculous short that barely held her in.

“Let them look,” she thought, arching her back in a move that wasn’t part of the routine. “Let the whole world see what kind of filthy whore I really am.”

Cassian, across the stage, bit down on his lower lip as his dark eyes trailed down the curve of her waist, the sweat-slicked thighs, the way the black shorts dug between her ass cheeks with every spin…

But it was Jett who almost made her break rhythm. With each choreographed step, his hot body closed in, his masculine scent flooding her senses. When she turned her back to the crowd, arching deliberately, he stumbled — his hard cock visibly outlined through the tight pants.

“Fuck, Jisoo…” his growl came like a hot breath in her ear, meant only for her.

She answered with a vampish smile, rolling her hips in a slow, dirty rhythm that didn’t match the music. The crowd went feral. The cameras zoomed in. And Jisoo felt — really felt — her soaked panties clinging to her, sweet nectar dripping down her thighs.

The lights went out for a moment. In the dark, Cassian yanked her back. “You’re on fucking fire tonight.” When the lights returned, she replied by slowly running her tongue across her lips — a calculated move meant to make the whole damn world wonder what that mouth could do.

Her body still trembled as she stepped into the dark hallway. The wine-red top clung to her torso, outlining every curve, the little white bow at the center — that dangerous little invitation — bouncing with each hurried step. The shiny black shorts kept riding up, flashing bits of skin that were meant to stay hidden.

Lisa and Jennie had vanished. Rosé too.

Then she heard it. Muffled moans. Skin slapping against skin. Bruno Mars’ husky voice whispering: “Take this dick, you little slut.”

Jisoo froze in the doorway. The air was thick with the smell of sweaty sex, the wet sound of penetration, the groan of a wall being slammed—

Rosé was bent over against the wall, dress bunched at her waist. Bruno held her by the hips, ramming his thick BBC into her with brutal thrusts.

"You love getting fucked like a slut, don’t you?" He spat into his hand before rubbing it between her cheeks, slicking up her already tight ass.

Rosé screamed as he shoved a finger into her asshole while still pumping his cock into her pussy. "YES! FUCK, MORE—"

Jisoo felt her own legs tremble. She wanted to be in Rosé’s place. She wanted that shame, that sweet-agony.

Bruno laughed—a feral sound—before speeding up. Every thrust made Rosé’s tits bounce, her hard nipples on full display.

Someone could turn down that hallway any second. The thought only made Jisoo wetter. Her hand slid into her shorts, two fingers plunging into her soaked cunt without hesitation.

Bruno shifted positions, sitting on a crate and yanking Rosé down onto his dick. "C’mere, you whore. Show me how you ride."

Rosé obeyed, her body bouncing wildly. Sweat dripped between her tits as she screamed, "I’M GONNA CUM!"

Bruno smirked, pinching her clit. "Then cum. Make this dick all wet before I fill you up."

Rosé’s orgasm hit like a shock—her back arched, her pussy gushing over his abs. Bruno didn’t stop. He fucked her harder, his balls slapping against her ass.

"TAKE IT, YOU SLUT!" He buried himself to the hilt, dumping thick ropes inside her. Rosé shrieked, her body convulsing like she was being electrocuted by pleasure.

Jisoo couldn’t take it anymore. Her fingers circled her swollen clit furiously. When her orgasm hit, she bit her own arm to muffle the moans—her legs shook, her cunt clenched around her fingers.

When Bruno finally let Rosé go, she collapsed to her knees—her pussy still dripping cum. He smacked her reddened ass, laughing.

Jisoo slipped away silently, her body still trembling. Why did that feel so right? So inevitable?

The answer hit her like a lightning bolt: because she was that—a hungry little slut. And this hunger was just beginning.

— "We’ll come back for another round later, gorgeous."

Rosé grinned, debauched, licking her fingers clean.

Jisoo, still hidden, gasped.

Back in the dressing room, Jisoo’s body still trembled—her panties soaked, her mind addicted to what she’d just seen.

The room was empty, the muffled sounds of the distant crowd like echoes from another world. She shut the door behind her with a soft click and turned the lock—the sound louder than it should’ve been.

Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, she could still feel her pulse between her legs.

Her panties were glued to her skin, damp with sweat and unsated lust. Ever since she’d watched Rosé get railed like a porn star by Bruno backstage, her mind hadn’t stopped replaying it—his hands gripping her thighs, the filthy moans, the sound of flesh slapping flesh.

His size. The way Rosé could barely speak, how her body shook and exploded around that monster cock.

Jisoo’s thighs clenched. She slid her fingers under her skirt, pushed her panties aside, and sank two fingers in easily.

So fucking wet.

She pressed against the mirror, watching her own reflection—her top clinging to her tits, lips parted, eyes glazed. She fucked herself harder, the sound of her fingers filling the room.

"Fuck…" she whispered, biting her lip.

She imagined Rosé riding. She imagined Bruno’s thick cock disappearing inside her. She imagined… others.

Cassian.

Jett.

Were they that big too?

The thought lit a fire in her. One she couldn’t ignore anymore.

She arched against the mirror, her tits pressing into the cold glass, her hips moving in a desperate rhythm. Her fingers worked her cunt greedily, but her mind was locked on one fantasy:

Cassian and Jett. Standing in front of her. Pants down. Both hard. Strong. Showing her what they had.

She didn’t need to touch them. Not yet.

She just needed to see.

Compare.

She came hard, her whole body jerking, muscles clenching as the orgasm ripped through her like a live wire.

She slumped to the floor, panting, legs shaking, her soaked panties clinging to her thighs.

Leaning against the wall—sweaty, satisfied (for now)—she let out a low laugh.

"Holy fuck…"

After it was all over, the girls got into the car that would take them to the hotel. The vehicle slid down the lit-up avenues of Los Angeles, tinted windows hiding the four most famous women in South Korean pop — now wrapped in silence.

Jennie was asleep, head resting against the window, headphones in, her expression blank. Lisa typed on her phone with her head down, fingers moving too fast for someone who was just “chatting.” Rosé stared out at the city with a faint smile, as if harboring a secret that made her glow from the inside out. And Jisoo… Jisoo was watching everything.

But especially Rosé.

Her friend’s breathing was steady, her gaze distant, lips slightly swollen as if she'd bitten them from the inside. Her skin still looked warm, and her posture — relaxed, almost melted into the seat — said more than any words could.

Jisoo pressed her knees together. Her shorts were soaked underneath. She had felt the heat between her legs since the moment she came alone in the dressing room, but now, sitting next to Rosé, the heat was returning with force.

The car stopped in front of the hotel. Staff opened the doors and the girls stepped out silently, waving at the nearly empty lobby before heading straight up to the reserved floor. A security guard followed at a distance but didn’t interfere — they knew when not to listen.

In the elevator, Jisoo broke the silence, her voice low but firm: — “It was a good show tonight.” — “It was,” Rosé answered, a slight smile on her lips. — “You disappeared after the last set.” — “Ah…” Rosé looked sideways, her eyes shining. “I needed some air.” — “Alone?” — “Mhm.” She nodded. “Needed a little time for myself.”

Liar.

Jisoo didn’t react. She just watched her, as if memorizing the way her mouth moved.

Down the hall, each girl went into her room. But Jisoo had no intention of sleeping.

She waited ten minutes, then crossed the hallway in silence and knocked on Rosé’s door.

It took a while. When the door opened, Rosé was makeup-free, wearing cotton shorts and a loose tank top with no bra — her nipples clearly poking from the cold air conditioning.

— “Jisoo? Is everything okay?” — “Something happened, yeah. We need to talk.” — “Come in.”

Jisoo entered and sat on the chair by the bed, slowly crossing her legs. Rosé sat on the edge of the mattress, fidgeting with her hands.

— “What’s this about?” — “About what I saw today.”

Rosé froze.

— “What did you see?” — “Behind the generators. You thought no one was there, didn’t you?”

Rosé’s face went pale. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

— “You were with him. With Bruno.”

Silence.

— “He bent you over against the wall, Rosé. And you… fuck… you let him fuck you like it was a porn scene.” — “Ji…” Jisoo leaned forward, her eyes locked onto hers.

— “You came on his cock. I saw.”

Rosé bit her lip.

— “You saw everything?” — “Every fucking second.” Jisoo smirked. “Even when… he shoved his finger in your ass.”

Rosé shut her eyes for a moment. — “Jesus Christ…”

— “Why didn’t you tell us?” — “I… didn’t want you to know. Thought it would sound wrong.” — “What’s wrong is you hiding it from me.”

Rosé opened her eyes.

— “From you?” — “Yeah.” Jisoo stood up and walked over, kneeling in front of the bed. “You have no idea what you did to me. I got so fucking wet watching you that I almost made myself cum against the damn wall. And I did. Hard.” — “Jisoo…” — “I want to know. Everything.” Jisoo held her knees, slowly running her hands up Rosé’s thighs. “I want to know what it was like. How he is. The size. The grip. If you cried from the pleasure.”

Rosé took a deep breath. Her skin reacted under Jisoo’s touch, goosebumps rising.

— “You’re… obsessed.” — “Maybe I am.” — “You want to know how big his dick is?” — “I do.” — “Why?” — “Because I need to compare.”

Rosé raised an eyebrow. — “Compare to who?” Jisoo grinned. — “Cassian. Jett. All of them. I’m starting to get addicted, Rosé. I want to know who’s the biggest. Who cums the most. Who can fuck the longest. Who can leave me trembling for days.”

Rosé licked her lips, surprised and turned on all at once. — “You want to compete with me?” — “No.” Jisoo leaned in, their faces inches apart. “I want to outdo you. I want to do what you did… but more.”

Rosé hesitated for a second under the intensity of Jisoo’s gaze. Then she exhaled, like she knew there was nothing left to hide.

— “It was… painful.” The words came out in a whisper, thick with memory. — “Painful?” Jisoo narrowed her eyes. “But you came. Hard.”

Rosé nodded, her eyes glimmering. — “I came like crazy. Even through the pain. Actually…” she paused, smiling with a hint of guilt, “…maybe because of it.” — “Keep going,” Jisoo murmured, completely absorbed.

— “His cock is…” Rosé ran a hand through her messy hair, “…huge, Ji. Seriously. I thought I couldn’t take it when he started. I felt everything inside me stretch. It burned. It tore.”

Jisoo was breathing hard, sitting at the edge of the bed, hands squeezing her own knees.

— “But you kept going.” — “I did. Because after the pain comes something… hot. A kind of pleasure that swallows you whole. You lose control of your body. My eyes rolled back. My legs were shaking. And when he put his finger in my ass, I… I nearly blacked out.”

Jisoo bit her lip hard, her body reacting like she was living the scene herself.

— “Had you ever done it like that before?” Rosé hesitated. — “Only once before.” — “The first time… was with Lisa?”

Rosé stared at Jisoo, surprised she knew. — “At the beach. When we stayed at that house, right?” — “Mhm.” — “The guy we met… was big too. I still remember how I walked funny afterward.” She giggled, teasing. “But nothing compares to Bruno. Bruno is… real BBC. Thick. Veiny. The head’s so wide it feels like it’s splitting you in half going in.”

Jisoo swallowed hard. Her shorts were clinging to her again, her panties soaked once more.

“Show me.” “What?” “Show me how it looks.” “My pussy?” “Yeah.”

Rosé held Jisoo’s gaze for a moment, weighing if this was really happening. Then, with deliberate slowness, she spread her legs on the mattress, the cotton shorts sliding down her thighs. The lace panties were soaked, glued to her skin. When she tugged the fabric aside, Jisoo’s breath hitched.

Rosé’s cunt was swollen, pink, throbbing. Her lips were flushed, tender to the touch. Her clit jutted out, faintly vibrating, as if reacting to the cold air alone.

“See?” Rosé murmured, fingers gently parting her folds to give a better view. “This is what happens after. Swollen. Burning. But…” She smirked. “…I love it. Coming like this is easy. Just a little friction and I’m shaking all over again.” “Does it hurt now?” “Yeah. A little.” “And you like it?” “Fucking love it.”

Jisoo moved closer without realizing it. She was on her knees now, wedged between Rosé’s spread thighs, staring at that slick, swollen flesh still marked by hours of brutal fucking. Her mouth was dry. Her throat tight.

“You let him shove it all in?” “Every inch.” “No condom?” Rosé bit her lip, grinning. “Condom… at first.” “And then?” “I asked him to take it off.” “You wanted to feel everything?” “I wanted his cum inside me. Hot. Thick. Heavy.”

Jisoo let out a quiet moan. A mix of shock, envy, and raw, untamed want.

“You’re sick.” “Maybe. But you’re getting there too.” “I wanna know what it’s like…” Jisoo’s voice trembled, “…to have a cock that big pushing all the way in. Tearing me open. Leaving me sore for days.” “You’ll get addicted.” “I don’t want love.” “Then you’ll just crave it.”

They fell silent for a few seconds. Jisoo leaned in, her hand settling on Rosé’s thigh.

“Can I…?” Rosé nodded, that devilish smirk still playing on her lips.

Jisoo dragged a finger along her friend’s soaked slit, watching her muscles clench involuntarily.

“It’s hot.” “It’s alive.” “Would you let him fuck you again right now if he walked in?” “In a heartbeat.”

Jisoo smirked. Then stood up. Her whole body trembled with need, but her mind had already locked onto the next move.

“I’m gonna find out. With my own eyes.” “Find out what?” “What Cassian and Jett are packing between their legs.”

The air between them thickened—heavy with pheromones, stifled breaths, and the sweet, wet stench of freshly exposed pussy, seeping into the curtains, the carpet, the walls. An animal, feminine musk, clinging like the hunger still hanging between them.

Rosé, perched on the edge of the bed, lazily pulled her shorts back up, movements careless, unbothered by her own nakedness. The oversized shirt she slipped on did little to hide her stiff nipples, pressing against the thin fabric.

Jisoo stayed frozen for a few seconds, heart pounding, senses dulled. She wanted to say something—maybe a joke, maybe thanks. But her throat felt locked. Rosé noticed her stillness and arched a brow, that same light, almost innocent smile curling her lips, dripping with mischief.

“You good?” Jisoo took a sharp breath and forced a grin. “Think so.” “Gonna be able to sleep after all that?” “No fucking clue.”

They both laughed, but there was something underneath—unresolved tension, a silent current of electricity between them.

Jisoo stepped toward the door. “Thanks… for telling me.” Rosé smirked. “You asked.” “And you showed.” “If you wanna see again…” “Don’t tease.” Jisoo laughed, more genuine now, though her cheeks were still flushed. “I’ve got enough problems to deal with tonight.”

She turned the doorknob slowly, as if hesitating to break the moment. The air in the hotel hallway felt too cold, almost hostile, compared to the humid, secret heat of that room. Before opening the door, she cast one last glance at Rosé.

— "Goodnight." — "Goodnight, Ji." — "And… take care of that pussy. It’s in a state of war." Rosé let out a loud laugh. — "It was born to fight."

Jisoo smiled back and finally opened the door.

But the second she moved, she came face-to-face with Lisa.

She was standing there, knuckles raised like she was about to knock, her arm frozen mid-air—completely out of place in the visual context.

She wore nothing but a black lingerie set—a lacy top that left part of her tits exposed and a thin pair of panties, black as fresh ink, hugging her hips with sensual straps. The contrast between her pale skin and the deep black lace made her body look like a living work of art.

Lisa’s eyes widened the second she saw Jisoo. She froze, startled, unsure whether to step back or explain. Jisoo stopped too, mouth slightly open.

— "Lisa…?" — "Ji…"

The silence between them didn’t last long. Lisa looked away, embarrassed, and with an instinctive gesture, braced one hand against the hallway wall. Her body swayed slightly, knees looking unsteady.

Jisoo frowned immediately, concern overriding shock.

— "You okay?" — "Yeah, yeah…" Lisa took a deep breath, her chest still rising and falling subtly. "It’s just… I needed to talk to Rosé."

Jisoo’s gaze dropped reflexively—first to her cleavage, then to her panties, then to her thighs. Lisa was glowing. Literally. A thin sheen of sweat, arousal, or both coated her skin, like she’d just stepped out of a… compromising situation.

— "Right…" Jisoo replied with a half-smile, confused and suspicious. "Good luck with that." She sidestepped, brushing past Lisa in the narrow hallway. As she did, she felt the heat radiating off her friend’s body and… a sweet scent, similar to the one clinging to Rosé’s room. But not the same.

It was different.

It was Lisa’s.

Jisoo pressed her lips together and kept walking without looking back. She passed Lisa with one last wary glance and disappeared down the hall, Rosé’s perfume still clinging to her fingers.

The second Lisa closed the door behind her, Rosé burst into laughter.

— "Oh my God, you picked the worst fucking timing." Lisa laughed too, walking to the center of the room with careful steps. — "I almost came in the elevator," she whispered. Then, without ceremony, she peeled down her black lace panties.

Rosé watched, chin propped on her hands, eyes locked on what was being revealed.

Lisa slowly pulled out a medium-sized, pink vibrator, glistening with fluid, from inside her own pussy. It came out with a wet pop, drops of her natural slickness trailing down her bare thighs.

Rosé grinned like a kid who’d won the game.

— "You actually did it?" — "Yep. Went all the way down to the lobby with this inside. Smiled at everyone." — "And nobody noticed?" — "The receptionist gave me a weird look when I adjusted myself at the counter… but that’s it." Lisa twirled the toy between her fingers. "You’re a fucking menace, Roseanne." — "I just wanted to test your limits," Rosé replied, biting her lip. "So?" — "I passed."

Lisa walked over to her, flopped onto the bed with her legs spread, and tossed the toy aside.

— "Now, I need help with the other one." Rosé arched a brow. — "There’s another toy?" Lisa nodded. — "Butt plug. Still in. Put it in before I left. Couldn’t get it out on my own." Rosé laughed. — "You’re a brave little slut." — "Not as brave as you think. Help me, please. It’s starting to hurt."

Rosé knelt behind her. Lisa lay on her stomach, hips slightly arched. Her still-lowered panties revealed her round, firm ass, faintly marked by the elastic. Rosé gently spread her cheeks and let out a low whistle.

— "Well, well…" The plug was black, with a round base and a dark jewel glinting between the folds of soft skin. Rosé ran her fingers around the rim, feeling Lisa shiver.

— "Too deep?" — "A little. I stretched when I sat on the lobby couch…" — "You sat with it in?" — "Mhm." Lisa chuckled under her breath. "There was an old lady next to me." Rosé burst out laughing. — "You’re insane." — "Just get it out, please."

Rosé gripped the base firmly, twisting slowly to loosen it. Lisa let out a quiet moan, fingers clutching the sheets. — "Slow, slow…" Carefully, Rosé pulled.

The plug came free with a wet pop, leaving Lisa’s asshole twitching and pink, slightly stretched. A drop trickled between the folds, making Rosé smirk.

She tossed the plug aside and draped herself over Lisa, pressing her body against hers. — "You know I’m turned on now, right?" Lisa turned her head, cheeks flushed. — "Me too. But…" — "But?" — "Not now. I just wanted to tease you."

Rosé got up, wiped the vibrator clean with a wet wipe, and tossed it onto the dresser before lazily flopping back onto the bed.

— "By the way," Rosé said, sitting up with the air of impending gossip, "Jisoo told me she saw everything." Lisa raised her brows, feigning surprise. — "The scene with Bruno?" — "That scene. Against the wall, on all fours, dripping." Lisa let out a low whistle. — "Damn. How’d she react?" — "Turned on. Obsessed. Curious." Rosé grinned. "Mommy’s finally letting herself have fun."

Lisa let out a quiet laugh and rolled onto her side, watching Rosé through half-lidded eyes.

— "Yeah… guess we should keep an eye on her. A very close eye." — "Was thinking the same thing."

The tension between them softened but didn’t lose its heat. Rosé dragged a hand along Lisa’s thigh, like an absent-minded caress, but let her fingers slip into the curve of her inner leg.

Lisa didn’t move. Just let out a quiet sigh and smiled.

Suddenly, Lisa’s phone vibrated on the nightstand.

A message from Jennie. Just a picture.

Lisa unlocked the screen… and froze for a second. It was a photo of her back in the hotel lobby, snapped by some sneaky bastard with a hidden phone. The image clearly showed her perfectly shaped ass molded by the black panties, the straps of her lingerie accentuating her curves in an almost pornographic way. The angle was low, as if the photographer had deliberately crouched down.

In the bottom corner, a notification: "X: content removed by the moderation team."

Jennie had written below it:

"Someone missed that juicy little ass." 🍑🔥

Lisa let out a laugh, shaking her head.

— “Rosé…” — “Hm?” — “My lingerie-clad ass just went viral on X.” — “Seriously?” Rosé moved closer to look. “Oh hell… that’s borderline criminal.” — “Jennie says she misses it…” — “She’ll have to get in line,” Rosé teased, sliding her hand down Lisa’s waist until her fingers reached the exposed edge of her panties. “Because this ass is still mine for tonight.”

Lisa rolled her eyes but didn’t push her away. She lay on her stomach, sighing as Rosé’s fingers lightly traced one of her ass cheeks.

— “Hands getting frisky, huh.” — “Just saying goodnight,” Rosé murmured, kissing her shoulders. — “Then kiss slower.”

The two settled under the sheets, still in their lingerie, legs tangled, fingers wandering lazily. Neither of them was looking for anything more than that soft, intimate warmth—the quiet complicity between them.

In the darkness of the room, between touches and hushed laughter, the world outside ceased to exist.

But neither of them forgot about Jisoo. Or the photo. Or the look Lisa had gotten from Jisoo in the hallway.

They were just waiting for the right moment to play with it all.

The hotel hallway was silent when Jisoo finally closed her room door behind her. Her heart was still pounding, her fingers slightly trembling as they brushed her own neck, where the heat of arousal hadn’t yet faded.

She took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts.

Rosé. Bruno. Her swollen pussy. The smell of sex in the air.

And now… Lisa.

Lisa, in black lingerie, sweaty, with that look in her eyes—like she’d just been caught red-handed.

Jisoo bit her lip, feeling the throbbing between her legs return with a vengeance.

She walked over to the room’s mirror, staring at her own reflection. — “Fuck…” she whispered, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric, finding her soaked panties.

She couldn’t resist.

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, fingers plunging into her wet cunt without ceremony.

Rosé moaning. Bruno fucking her hard.

Her mind wouldn’t stop.

She closed her eyes, imagining… Cassian.

Cassian, the quietest dancer in the group, the one who always watched her during rehearsals but never approached.

What was his cock like?

Thickness? Length? Did he know how to use it?

Jisoo sped up her fingers, pressing firmly against her clit, her body arching into the mattress.

And then… Jett.

Jett, the youngest, the boldest, the one who always smirked like he knew something she didn’t.

Had he ever thought of her like this?

Had he ever touched himself imagining her on all fours?

— “Ah, shit…” Jisoo moaned, her hips moving on their own, her fingers thrusting in and out in a frantic rhythm.

She imagined both of them.

Cassian, standing in front of her, cock hard and dripping.

Jett, behind her, hands gripping her hips, voice rough in her ear:

— “Open wider, Jisoo…”

Jisoo came with a muffled cry, body shaking, muscles clenching in violent spasms.

She collapsed back onto the bed, breathless, fingers still inside herself, feeling the last waves of pleasure roll through her before dragging her into sleep.

The next morning dawned stifling in Los Angeles, the gray sky hanging over the city like a damp blanket. Jisoo woke with the sheets tangled between her legs, her body sweaty, her mind hazy. She’d barely slept—and when she had, she dreamed of big hands gripping her waist, rough voices whispering filth, and a cock so thick it would make her scream before it was even fully inside her.

It was frustrating.

It was humiliating.

It was unbearably hot.

Rosé and Lisa had planted the seed the night before—the dirty talk, the shameless display, the scent of wet pussy in the air that Jisoo could still smell if she closed her eyes and focused. Now, that throbbing need consumed her from the inside, a hunger she couldn’t ignore any longer:

She wanted to see. She wanted to touch. She wanted to get fucked until she couldn’t walk.

And she knew exactly who could give that to her.

The Game Jisoo spent the entire morning on her phone, fingers swiping across the screen with near-desperate urgency. She’d created a fake account weeks ago, just for moments like this—a discreet but provocative profile. The name was generic (Mila), the profile picture a mirror selfie from behind, wearing a black lace top and a thong that barely covered enough to leave any man wondering.

It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for.

Cassian.

The tall dancer with broad shoulders and an easy smile, the one who always wore tight pants during rehearsals—the kind that left nothing to the imagination, outlining every curve, every movement. Jisoo had watched him from afar before, fingering herself in silence after shows, imagining what it would feel like to have those big hands gripping her hips as he slammed her against the wall.

She added his number on WhatsApp, heart pounding.

Cassian: Who is this?

Mila: Just someone who saw you dancing last night… and got curious.

Cassian: Curious? About what?

Mila: About what you’re packing under those tight black pants.

A pause.

Then, a fire emoji.

And then:

Cassian: You always this direct with everyone?

Mila: Only when I think it’s worth it.

The game had begun.

Hours passed, the conversation heating up slowly. Cassian was confident, playful, but careful—like someone who’d played this game before. Jisoo, even behind a fake name, could feel her arousal building, her pussy growing wetter with every message.

She started teasing him.

First, a selfie lying on the bed, the strap of her nightgown slipping off her shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her breast.

Then, a short video—her legs crossed, the sheer satin nightgown making the white lace panties underneath visible. No face. Just enough to drive him wild.

Cassian: This is driving me insane.

Mila: It’s just the beginning.

Cassian: Do you want to see something too?

She hesitated.

Mila: Only if you’re generous.

Cassian: I am.

And then…

The photo arrived.

Jisoo held the phone with both hands, fingers trembling, her heart pounding so hard she could almost hear it.

She opened the image.

And…

Nothing.

It wasn’t small. Far from it.

It was a decent cock—well-groomed, clean, thick enough to be satisfying. But…

It wasn’t what she’d expected.

It wasn’t the monster she’d imagined. It wasn’t the kind that would make her scream before he was even fully inside. It wasn’t the kind of cock that would split her pussy open, leaving her marked for days.

It was just… okay.

A wave of frustration rose in her chest, hot and bitter. Her heart, which had been racing with excitement, now throbbed with anger.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, lips pressed tight.

"Fuck…" she whispered, almost feeling like crying.

All those hours of conversation, all the built-up tension, all the fantasy—crumbling with one click.

Without thinking, she grabbed the phone again and typed:

Mila: Thought it’d be bigger.

And then she blocked his number.

The photo vanished.

The conversation disappeared.

The fake profile went silent.

Jisoo exploded out of bed, pacing the room like a caged lioness.

She was furious.

Furious at Cassian.

Furious at herself.

Furious for craving more than any ordinary man could give.

She didn’t just want a big cock.

She wanted to be ruined. Wanted fear. Wanted pain and pleasure tangled together until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

She wanted something that would erase her from the inside, leave her body marked for days.

And Cassian…

Cassian wasn’t that man.

She marched to the mirror and stared at her reflection—the wrinkled old T-shirt, the messy hair, the dark, obsessive eyes.

"I need more," she whispered to herself, fingers sliding between her legs, finding her soaking-wet cunt.

More than Cassian.

More than any pretender who claimed to dominate her.

She wanted size.

And she wanted it now.

The setting sun bathed Los Angeles in gold as Jisoo stepped out of the hotel, her denim dress clinging to her body like a second skin. The thin fabric swayed with each step, flashing glimpses of her smooth thighs whenever the breeze caught it. Her chunky heels clicked against the pavement, a steady, decisive sound that clashed with the storm inside her.

She was furious.

Furious at Cassian and his mediocre cock. Furious at her own body, still hot and dripping, begging for something no one seemed capable of giving. Furious at the world, at the day, at the unbearable throb between her legs.

She tried texting a friend, but the message went unanswered. So she walked aimlessly, passing shops and cafés without really seeing anything. The dress rode up with every step, her panties sticking to her soaked pussy, the friction almost painful in the best way.

And then she stopped.

The parking lot was nearly empty, except for a dark car a few spaces ahead. Inside, a man watched her—sunglasses, arm hanging out the window, the air of someone with all the time in the world.

"Hey," he said, like he already knew her.

Jisoo paused. He wasn’t handsome. Wasn’t young. Early thirties, maybe older. But there was something in his voice—firm, casual, unafraid—that made her stomach twist.

"You talking to me?"

He smirked. "Damn right."

"Why?"

"You’re pretty."

She took two steps forward. The car was still running, low music humming from the speakers.

"What do you want?"

He tilted his chin, eyes dark behind the shades.

"Whatever you feel like giving."

Silence.

Jisoo glanced around. The lot was deserted.

She didn’t know why she was doing this.

Or maybe she knew exactly why.

The anger. The pent-up lust. The filthy urge to be used, to say fuck it all and drown in depravity.

Without thinking, she circled the car, yanked the passenger door open, and slid inside.

The empty parking lot echoed with the engine’s growl as Jisoo locked eyes with the man in the dark car. Her reflection in his mirrored shades said it all—the dress riding up her thighs, her fingers trembling with need, her lips parted like a hungry slut.

"No one’s ever seen me like this. Not even me."

"Hey," he spat, like he was greeting a bitch in heat.

His scent hit her before his cock did—raw sweat, gasoline, cheap whiskey. When the zipper gave way, that thick, veined monster pulsed against the fabric like a trapped animal.

"Get that fucking thing out before I change my mind."

His laugh was rough as he yanked it free—bulging veins, a swollen purple head, foreskin pulled back with brutal confidence.

"Take it down to the balls."

"This. This is what I needed. To disappear."

Jisoo gripped the base hard, feeling his pulse in the veins. When her tongue swiped the salty pre-cum, the taste made her roll her eyes back in pleasure.

He reacted exactly how she wanted.

Rough hands grabbed her hair and smashed her face against his hairy sack.

"Smell that, bitch. That’s a real man."

The stench of testosterone made her dripping pussy clench. When he yanked her head back, the slap of his cock against her cheek rang out like a gunshot.

"Open that pretty little mouth."

Jisoo gasped as the swollen head invaded her throat without mercy. Three brutal thrusts and she was gagging, drool spilling down her chin.

It didn’t take long for Jisoo’s lipstick to smear and her nose to run.

Perfection.

He picked up the pace, ramming her uvula with every thrust. When she gagged hard, he laughed:

"Want a video to jack off to later, you filthy whore?"

She moaned in reply—he propped her iPhone on the dash to capture everything.

The end came when he yanked her hair back:

"Take this fucking load as a gift."

She coughed as the first shot hit her throat, then he pulled out and the rest painted her eye and nostril white.

When she pulled away, her reflection was unrecognizable:

Cum crusting on her lashes

A white string dripping from her nose

Lips swollen like she’d been punched

The engine roared. She stepped out.

"Best fucking head I’ve had—better than paid sluts."

Jisoo dropped to her knees on the asphalt as the car peeled away, her hand already in her panties before the dust settled.

She came in 12 seconds.

On her knees on the hot pavement, thighs still shaking, she opened her eyes—cum still oozed from her nose. A sticky white strand clung to her lashes, refusing to fall. The taste lingered in her throat like a brand—salty, thick, that bitter pre-cum tang she could recognize blindfolded.

The wind blew through the parking lot trees, lifting her dress to reveal glistening thighs and soaked panties.

She dragged her fingers between her legs. Even wetter. Worse than before. What should’ve been the climax, the release, was just another trigger.

She laughed to herself.

Weak. Dirty. Starving.

"I’m a hole that never fills."

When she got into her car, she slumped in the back seat, panties glued to her cunt, dried cum still streaked in her hair. The smell was overpowering—sweat, sex, perfume drowned in filth.

Jisoo rested her head against the window and opened Instagram.

Jun’s story.

One of her former backup dancers. Tattooed arms. Smirk full of sin.

He and five other guys filled a badly filmed clip—some random apartment, beer bottles in hand, loud music, laughter muffled by clouds of weed smoke. Big men. Sweaty. The kind who don’t ask—just take.

She didn’t think.

Didn’t rationalize.

"I’m nearby. Can I come over?"

The reply came instantly:

"Always, princess."

Princess. Hah. If he only knew.

…

The house was one of those modern ones, full of indirect lighting and expensive furniture. There were about six guys there—all dancers or models, sculpted bodies, tight jeans, silver chains gleaming around their necks. Some smoking, others drinking, one in the corner already jerking off discreetly while staring at her.

When she walked in, the music even dipped.

Everyone stopped to look.

The ridiculously short denim dress, showing her thighs with every step. Her tits nearly spilling out of the neckline. And that hungry slutty look she didn’t even try to hide.

Jun was the first to approach, that smirk of someone who’d already imagined her on all fours a thousand times.

— "The queen has arrived," he said, opening his arms.

She let him hug her—his warm body pressed against hers, his cock already hard, grinding against her thigh.

She sat on the couch and started drinking. Straight vodka, no ice, burning her throat. One of the guys sat beside her, his leg glued to hers. Another stood behind, his fingers playing with her hair like he already had the right.

Then things started heating up.

Jun moved closer. His hand slid up her thigh. And then he kissed her—no asking, no warning, just took her.

She opened her mouth instantly, his tongue pushing in, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes. He moved to her neck, and Jisoo then looked at the others, biting her lip. She didn’t say a word. Just stared at them, one by one, feeling their gazes claw at her skin like invisible talons.

"I’m here for you." Her voice came out firm. Hot. "Six against one. Let’s see if I can take it."

"We won’t go easy. Just warning you."

"I don’t want you to. I want all of you. At the same time."

"You sure?"

"Since the moment I came in the parking lot."

They lunged at her like a code had been unlocked. Their scent now completely surrounded her—every pore oozing sweaty virility, every hot breath against her nape, her shoulders, her back. Big hands began touching wherever they wanted: one slid up her neck, another dove between her legs, a third squeezed her ass over the dress fabric.

She closed her eyes and surrendered.

They led her to the center of the room like a living trophy. The thick air of weed and beer mixed with the heat of bodies now closing in like waves of sweaty desire.

The heat made the air vibrate. Hands still roamed over her, impatient fingers tracing the seams of her dress—thick denim, dark blue, already damp at the back from her sweat.

One of them ran his fingers along the row of metal buttons down the center, starting just below the V-neck.

"Cute little dress… Almost like you came here for coffee."

Jisoo didn’t answer. Just bit her lip and arched her chest slightly, pressing her tits against the fingers undoing her disguise, one button at a time, like they were unzipping a cage.

"Each button is a ‘yes’ from you, huh?"

One, two, three buttons—and the fitted part around her torso loosened, revealing the skin beneath.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her tits sprang free with the last button, not as a spectacle—but as an inevitable surrender.

Her pinkish-brown nipples hardened instantly under the air and the collective gaze.

"Real tits." "This shit’s too fucking natural."

Another knelt behind her and slid his hands between the dress and her waist, slowly moving down the inner lining, feeling the warm skin of her belly, then the elastic of her panties clinging to her ass.

"So wet it’s soaked through the jeans."

Jisoo gasped.

The dress, now unbuttoned, slipped off the sides of her body like it had lost its purpose as clothing. It fell from her shoulders with the help of impatient hands—the thin straps sliding over her collarbone, down her sweaty arms, until it pooled at her feet in a crumpled mess.

The skirt’s volume collapsed to the floor, as if the garment itself had surrendered.

And there was Jisoo.

Standing.

In soaked, sheer panties.

No bra.

Hair messy.

Tits jutting out.

Clit throbbing under the thin fabric.

— "I took off the dress. Now what?" she asked.

The response came as a firm slap on the ass and two fingers slipping under the side of her panties, instantly wetting themselves.

"Now you're ours."

Jisoo stood completely naked. Her skin glistened with fresh sweat and streaks of spit. Eyes half-lidded, breathing ragged, body exposed without a trace of shame—just hunger.

"Fuck. Looks like she’s been painted with honey… look how she drips." "This pussy’s swollen from craving cock… look how it throbs when we blow on it." "Look at this little button, pulsing like an angry heart. Wanna bite it."

They surrounded her again, but this time not to undress—now it was time to explore. Hands invaded her intimacy with brutal ease. One finger pried open her outer lips, revealing the slick, pulsing flesh inside. Another gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks with both hands, exposing her tight pink hole—clenched and tense, as if begging for attention yet dreading the touch.

"Damn… she’s tight as hell. You can tell just by looking." "This little asshole’s never taken anything, huh?" "Let’s see how much it can handle with just tongue and fingers."

Jisoo laughed, her voice rough with lust:

"You’re not fucking it. Not yet. But you can play till I beg you to stop."

She deliberately arched her hips, pushing her ass out, spreading her legs wider in front of them. Her pussy was open, throbbing, dripping. The inner lips were uneven, glistening with her own wetness. When one of them dragged a thumb over her swollen clit, Jisoo moaned and ground against it, feeling the electric current shoot up her spine.

"She’s shaking. So fucking hot." "This cunt’s alive—you can feel her pulse right in your fingers." "Let me get a better look."

Another man knelt behind her and began licking slowly, bottom to top, from her dripping slit up to the tight clench of her asshole. Jisoo writhed:

"Deeper with your tongue—get my ass too. I wanna feel all of it."

The tongue invaded her perineum, then moved upward with purpose, circling the small, hot ring of muscle. When he spat and began massaging it with two slick fingers, she moaned loudly, knees buckling.

"Fuck, it’s twitching. This asshole’s gonna bloom like a flower if we keep going." "I wanna cum just from you fucking my holes open with your mouths," Jisoo gasped.

The words lit the room on fire. One man bit her nipples, leaving teeth marks. Another sucked her clit hard, loud wet pops filling the air. Two fingers played her slit like an instrument—thick digits spreading her wetness, making sticky threads snap between her swollen lips. And as one of them pressed gently against her ass, circling the tight ring, Jisoo squeezed her own tits and smirked, lips parted.

"It’s going in…" he muttered. "Still too tight." "That’s because I like it like this," Jisoo panted. "Tight. Hot. Controlled." She turned her head. "But you can stretch it. One finger. Two. Your tongue. Whatever fits. Just don’t fuck me with your cock. Not yet."

"She’s in full heat." "This slut’s got us drooling."

The living room carpet was rough, scraping Jisoo’s bare knees, but she didn’t care. She stayed on all fours, body on full display. Her panties, torn off with teeth by one of the guys, still left red marks on her waist, the broken elastic biting into her skin. The cold air hit her swollen pussy, already dripping, her clit throbbing untouched. Six men surrounded her. Three in front, three behind. Those at the back stroked themselves hard, fists gripping thick cocks, reddened tips glistening with precum, eyes locked on her like they wanted to devour her alive. Jisoo trembled, hips rolling in the air, thighs slick with arousal. She wasn’t thinking—just craving more.

Jun, the first, stepped forward. His cock was veined, straining under tight skin. He grabbed Jisoo’s hair, yanking hard, forcing her head up. Without a word, he shoved his dick into her mouth, the head stretching her lips until it hurt. Jisoo swallowed, spit gushing on the first thrust, dripping from her chin onto her bare tits, which swayed with the motion.

The wet slaps filled the room. "Slap. Slap. Slap." Each thrust hit the back of her throat, making Jisoo gag, tears welling—but she didn’t pull away.

"Swallow it all, slut. I want to feel your throat squeezing every last inch."

The second man, his cock just as hard, rubbed the swollen red tip against her cheek, smearing her skin with sticky precum as if marking a canvas. He slapped his dick across her face, leaving red welts, while the third forced his way in from the side, his shaft grinding against lips already stretched wide by Jun.

Jisoo drooled like a bitch in heat. Thick strands of saliva dripped onto the carpet, mixing with the sweat rolling down her neck. Her thighs trembled, her pussy dripping untouched, her clit throbbing with desperate need. She sucked both cocks at once, her mouth stretched to the limit, the corners of her lips cracking, her tongue dancing between swollen heads. The third man grabbed her chin, forcing it open even wider, his thumb slick with precum rubbing over her exposed tongue before yanking her off those cocks and shoving her face into his balls.

"Lick my balls, bitch." Jisoo (obeying with her tongue out): "You’re all the same… only know how to demand." (lightly bites his sack, making him groan).

The three behind them sped up their strokes, spit and precum dripping from their hands as they growled like animals. They closed in, their swollen cocks aimed at Jisoo, ready to explode. Jun gripped her head with both hands and fucked her throat with brutal force, his dick slamming so deep she gagged, her nose running, her eyes rolling back from pleasure and lack of air. But Jisoo didn’t stop. She pushed her head against him, swallowing every inch, her throat clenching as if trying to devour him whole.

The second man forced his cock into her mouth alongside Jun’s, the two shafts squeezing together, stretching her cheeks until it hurt. Spit gushed out, soaking her chest, her tits glistening with drool and sweat. Jisoo sucked hungrily, her tongue licking veins, balls, anything she could reach. The third man rubbed his cock over her face, cumming in hot spurts that splattered her cheek and dripped down her neck, marking her like a trophy.

"I’m gonna claim you as mine. Want my milk dripping from that idol hair of yours?" Jisoo pulled both cocks from her mouth, took a long, gasping breath, and smirked. "Cum. I want to be covered in all of you."

The three behind her closed in, their cocks pulsing, ready for the final assault. The first one came, thick ropes shooting into Jisoo’s hair, white streaks clinging to her black strands like paint. The second aimed for her face, hot cum splashing across her forehead, dripping into her eyes—she blinked but refused to close them. The third unloaded on her chest, her small tits now glazed with cum, sticky trails running down her stomach.

Jun and the second man came almost at the same time, flooding Jisoo’s mouth until it overflowed, white liquid spilling past her lips, dripping onto the carpet. She swallowed what she could, her throat working, the salty-bitter taste overwhelming her.

"Swallow. All of it. If you spill a drop, you start over." Jisoo (gulping with a moan): "So thick… I want more." (opens her mouth to prove it’s empty).

Jisoo collapsed onto her knees, then sat back, her body shaking, her soaked pussy dripping onto the carpet, her clit still throbbing—untouched. Her face, her hair, her tits—everything was covered in cum, sweat, and spit, a portrait of submission and desire. She struggled to breathe, her eyes glazed, a crooked smile on her swollen lips. The men around her, panting, their cocks still hard, looked ready for more.

"None of you even touched my pussy… Afraid of driving me completely wild?" (She rubs her fingers over her clit, showing just how wet she is).

The effect was instant.

The first man—a bronzed brute—grabbed Jisoo’s legs and yanked her hard, the rug scraping her back as he dragged her down. Two fingers plunged into her pussy, the wet slap echoing as he stretched her open, her juices dripping down to her ass. Her cunt clenched, sucking his fingers in, while her clit throbbed, untouched, begging for more. Another man, his cock thick and heavy, knelt between her legs, the swollen head dragging along her slick entrance, pre-cum smearing her skin. Then he shoved in all at once, his entire length invading her with brutal force, stretching her to the limit.

Jisoo arched, a scream tearing from her throat, her eyes rolling back as pain and pleasure collided.

"Ngh—! Fuck, slow down! You’re tearing me—!" "Too fucking tight, princess. We’ll get you used to it properly," he growled, gripping her hips and starting to move.

The sound of his thrusts was filthy, wet—every slam making her pussy clench tighter, sucking him in like it wanted to devour him. It got even better when he flipped her on top, forcing her to ride him as she looked down, moaning and licking her lips.

As she bounced, another man positioned himself behind her, making her freeze when his tongue attacked her clenched asshole. He licked hungrily, spitting on her tight ring, circling it with two slick fingers before forcing them in. Her body trembled, sweat pouring down in streams, dripping onto the rug as her hips writhed—unable to decide whether to escape or beg for more. Her pussy pulsed with every thrust, her ass clenched under his tongue, and her clit throbbed, pushing her closer to the edge.

The first man still had his cock buried to the hilt, his tip pressing against her cervix. The second, equally thick, positioned himself beside him, his swollen head rubbing against her already-stretched entrance.

"Two in here? It’s tight enough with just one," Jisoo gasped. "We’ll take it slow."

The two heads pressed together, forcing her pussy to stretch even wider, the pressure insane, the burning heat tearing her apart from the inside. Jisoo tried to spread her legs further, her lungs locked, her heart hammering. Sweat dripped from her face onto her small, hard tits, her nipples stiff with arousal.

"No— It won’t fit, fuck! You’ll split me—!"

The pain grew, twisted with perverse pleasure, but her body resisted—her vaginal muscles locking up and violently forcing both cocks out in a fierce contraction.

They slipped free, leaving Jisoo’s pussy gaping, pulsing, dripping with cum, spit, and her own slick. She panted, her chest heaving, tears streaming down her face—but a crooked, defeated smile on her lips. Her clit throbbed, untouched, and then the orgasm hit, unexpected and overwhelming. Without penetration, just from the tension of failure, her pussy squirted, juices gushing onto the cock beneath her. "Oops." Her muscles trembled as if her body was celebrating the limit it refused to cross. Her thighs convulsed, sweat mixing with cum as the men around her growled, impressed by the intensity.

"Such a greedy little pussy, but this rich girl’s body can’t take it, huh?"

A third man lay down and pulled her onto him, his thick, hard cock slamming violently into her pussy with a single forceful thrust, filling the empty space with brutal precision. Another positioned himself in front of her, driving his cock deep into Jisoo’s mouth, the head hitting the back of her throat, making her gag, saliva spilling past her swollen lips. The man behind her returned to her ass, his tongue licking her tight, clenching ring before spitting and forcing a finger inside, stretching her slowly. Jisoo trembled, her body trapped between the three of them, every hole invaded, every movement amplifying pleasure and pain. Her pussy clenched around the cock inside her, her ass gradually loosening, and her throat worked tirelessly, swallowing what it could.

The other three men, stroking themselves around her, closed in, their cocks throbbing, ready to mark her body once more. A hot jet of cum splashed across Jisoo’s face, semen dripping down her cheek and onto her chin. Another came on her tits, thick white streaks coating her nipples before running down her stomach. The third aimed for her hair, her dark locks now sticky with spunk. Jisoo, lost in the chaos, couldn’t think. Her body was a battlefield, covered in sweat, saliva, cum, and tears, every part of her vibrating with total surrender. The room, thick with heat, was an altar of lust, and Jisoo—the idol turned object of desire—was at the center of it all.

The man in her pussy sped up, his hips slamming into her with brutal force, his cock pulsing as he buried himself to the hilt. With a guttural groan, he came, hot jets flooding Jisoo’s channel, semen spilling past her swollen lips. She shuddered, her pussy clenching, squirting more fluids as another orgasm wrecked her. The man in her mouth followed, gripping her hair, forcing his cock down her throat. He exploded, cum shooting straight down, filling her until it overflowed, white liquid dripping from her lips onto her chest. Jisoo gagged, swallowing what she could, her body convulsing, her clit throbbing untouched.

The man at her ass pulled his fingers out, her tight ring glistening with spit, but he didn’t fuck her—leaving her marked by partial invasion. Jisoo collapsed onto the rug, her body trembling, her pussy and mouth leaking cum, her face and tits smeared with fluids. The rug, stained with sweat and semen, was a testament to the chaos. The men around her, panting, their cocks softening, watched the ruined idol—now a canvas of lust, surrendered and satisfied. The stifling, silent room held the secret of what Jisoo had become that night.

The silence after the last moan felt sacred. Bodies still heaved, sweating, glistening under the dim light. The air was thick, humid—reeking of cum, saliva, faded perfume, and moans that still vibrated against the walls.

Jisoo lay on her side on the rug, her body painted with semen like an unfinished masterpiece.

There was cum in her hair, between her lashes, at the corner of her left eye. In her navel, slowly trickling down to her pubic mound. On her tits, clinging to her stiff, reddened nipples—sucked and bitten raw.

And her pussy… still gaping, swollen, twitching on its own.

The skin of her inner thighs was pink, marked by fingers and nails. Her asshole fluttered faintly, slick with spit. No penetration, but it almost looked like it had been fucked from how much it had been licked and teased.

She blinked slowly, her eyes still wet with pleasure.

“Is she breathing?” “Think she came so hard she passed out.” “She’s alive… look at that smile.” “Holy fuck… never seen a woman come that hard before.”

Jisoo opened her eyes, slowly. Her voice came out hoarse, broken.

“Now you’ve completed me.”

She ran her fingers down her own abdomen, smearing a streak of cum that dripped from her breast to her hip. Then she brought her fingers to her mouth. Sucked.

“She’s cleaning up the mess with her tongue…” “This woman…”

With effort, Jisoo sat up. Her legs still trembled. Her pussy still dripped. Her asshole still clenched. But she smiled. A filthy smile. Almost romantic. Her hair stuck to her face. Her lips were swollen, slightly parted. Her face, flushed. Her gaze, empty and satisfied. She struggled to stand, staggering to the bathroom. Opened the door, looked at herself in the mirror.

“Is that me…? Or the me I’ve always been, just hidden?”

Her reflection stared back—mouth dirty, eyes shining, cum drying on her chin. The bathroom was small, humid, lit by a flickering fluorescent light. The mirror was fogged, but the smell left no doubt: this was the battlefield left behind after six men came inside one woman. Jisoo stepped in naked, dragging her feet, the wet sound of her soles on the tile mixing with the drip of the old shower. She turned on the water. Cold. Stood there motionless under the spray, arms limp, strands of cum sliding from her hair, her lashes, her chin, her back, washing herself slowly. Each drop carried away part of the physical memory, but it couldn’t erase what her body still felt inside. She grabbed the soap—neutral, cheap hotel scent—and started with her thighs. Then her breasts, feeling her nipples burn under the touch. The soap slid down her stomach, and she hesitated before touching her pussy.

Still throbbing. Still pulsing. Still open.

She spread her lips with one hand, glided the soap with the other, feeling the sting where she’d been rammed without mercy. Her skin was tender, swollen. Tiny scratches from nails left their marks. The lather turned pink. She sighed. Slipped a hand between her ass cheeks. Touched her little hole. It was clenched. Licked. Tight. Still wet inside, as if her body refused to close. She ran a careful finger over it, massaging in circles, licking her lower lip.

“You all split me wide open… and I still want more.”

After long minutes, she turned off the water. Stepped out dripping, grabbed the towel, and dried herself slowly, as if piecing together something broken. She put the denim dress back on. The straps slid over her shoulders, the buttons fastened one by one, covering her still-marked body—but now calm. The fabric tight against her braless tits. The torn panties—she didn’t bother changing them. Jun was leaning against the kitchen counter, still naked from the waist up, beer in hand, hair tied in a messy bun.

“Good to drive?” “Good to drive, good to sing, good to fuck again if you give me ten more minutes.”

He laughed. She grabbed her phone, walked out without looking back. The car waited in the dark. She got in. Silence. Hands on the wheel. Her whole body still loose. Pussy throbbing with every heartbeat. Parking in her building’s garage, she unzipped the dress down to her stomach. Slid a hand inside, parted the lips of her swollen cunt, clicked the phone’s camera.

Flash.

The close-up captured it all: the reddened lips, the glisten of slickness, the marked skin. Real. Swollen. Used. Alive. Sent it to Rosé in private. No caption. Just: “Didn’t get one big one. But got several at once.” Three minutes later, the blue double checkmarks appeared. But Rosé didn’t reply. Jisoo smiled. She knew, right then, Rosé had her hand between her legs. Jisoo went back to her room and just collapsed on the bed. It didn’t take long for Rosé to walk in without knocking. She was in sweatpants, hair tied up, expression curious. Jisoo lay sprawled on her side, the denim dress loose, half-open. Rosé sat slowly on the edge of the bed: “That photo you sent me yesterday… I was… speechless.”

Jisoo laughed, rough: “That was the point. No words. No strength. No filter.” Rosé studied her carefully: “You really okay?” Jisoo opened her eyes slowly, fixed them on the ceiling: Define “okay.” Rosé: “Your eyes are red. And you’re walking like you got your ass kicked.”

Jisoo: “I did—” she smiled, but it was tired—“A delicious ass-kicking. But still an ass-kicking.” She shifted with a soft groan. “My pussy’s so swollen it feels like a heartbeat outside my chest.” Rosé smirked, a hint of guilt: “You hurt yourself?” Jisoo: “Just some stinging. My throat’s fucked. Literally—” she coughed lightly—“Pissing was… an experience earlier.” Rosé, more serious now: “And your ass?” She paused, then laughed. “Sorry for asking like that, but…” Jisoo: “They just played. A lot. Licked me so much my asshole’s still twitching. Never thought I’d love it that much without them even fucking me there.” “You scared you went too far?” “No. But I’m scared I’ll want more. And that one dick will never be enough again.” Rosé lay beside her—“I get that.” (lightly touched her arm) “I feel that sometimes. That hunger… that even the best orgasm can’t fix.” “It’s not just the body. It’s what breaks inside here.” (tapped her forehead) “Like I stopped being the ‘me’ from before. And turned into… I don’t know.” “Turned into what was always there—” Rosé whispered—“Just never let out.”

[chimckenns]

Barista!Asher noticing when Babe comes in for the second day in the row. He gives them his signature smile and feels his heart skip a beat when they blush.

Barista!Asher committing their name to memory when he writes it on the cup.

Barista!Asher making note of their usual order and their schedule. He has their coffee made just in time for them to come in, and loves the appreciative smile they give him in return.

Barista!Asher slightly taken aback when they changed their order from their usual. They apologise and offer to just take the coffee he pre-made for them, but he just gave it to them for free and made their new order.

Barista!Asher noticing how their order changes depending on their mood. When they seem more tired and stressed, they’d get a black coffee, extra strong. When they have a little more pep in their step, they order something sweet - a caramel latte with extra syrup. When it’s their day off - a rare chance for Asher to see them in something other than their work clothes - they try one of the limited time menus.

Barista!Asher drawing on their cup before handing their coffee to them. It started off as a smiley face, which made Babe’s eyes sparkle as they showed him his drawing and said “this is so cute!”. Now it’s doodles of stickmen doing random things. When he managed to make Babe laugh with one of them, he could feel his cheeks warm at how beautiful they looked and how their laugh sounded so perfect.

Barista!Asher watching Babe drink inside the cafe, scrolling through their phone. The rays of the run hit them just right, making them glow somehow in a way that had Asher so distracted his manager asked if he was ok.

Barista!Asher deciding to shoot his shot and wrote his number on the cup this time, with a stick man pointing to it with a bashful smile. When Babe saw it, their eyes sparkled and gave Asher an eager nod, holding up their phone in a promise to text him, before heading off to work.

Barista!Asher jumped to hear his phone ping, and an unknown number texting him a hand drawn picture of a stick man on their phone with a huge smile on their face.

Barista!Asher texting Babe on a daily basis, making small talk and getting to know them better.

Barista!Asher stopping them before they walked out the door the next week, inviting them out to dinner. Babe couldn’t help but jump in excitement, nodding enthusiastically, and told him that they’ll come by the cafe after work.

Barista!Asher and Babe spending the whole night talking, never running out of conversation topics, laughing and smiling so much that their cheeks hurt.

Barista!Asher making this a weekly routine, meeting up with Babe after his shift, and going on dates.

Barista!Asher laughing at the blush on Babe’s face when he took off his shirt at the beach. They came to watch the sunset, but in a moment of spontaneity, he invited them to go for a swim. Babe, although hesitating initially, indulging him and stripping down before running to the ocean with him, their hand in his.

Barista!Asher and Babe having their first kiss in the ocean, the sunset’s golden glow illuminating the sparkle he loved so much in their eyes. He held them up, their legs wrapped around his waist, and leaned his forehead against theirs, a rare shy smile on his face as his eyes went to their lips, asking for permission. Babe was the one that closed the distance, arms around his neck and pulling him in for the kiss.

Barista!Asher and Babe moving in together, him brewing their favourite coffee in their shared kitchen every morning and waking up his partner with kisses peppered all over their face.

[starconstruction]

Club for the Broken.

Yandere Jinsoul + Haseul x Reader

welcome back to another "shit I just wanna write something random quickly" hope you enjoy.

You've always put yourself last.

Keep the door open for the crowd and hope the weight doesn't shut you out.

It's how you've ended up here, alone in the dark.

Ironically the people you saved has left you in disrepair.

An eye for an eye.

One rotten, one cleansed.

The doom scrolling felt heavier this time, watching all your friends now in the light. You were happy for them, just wishing for reciprocity. New partners, new cars, new jobs, new life.

Where did it all go wrong for you.

Whatever, this train-wreck thinking is just going to drag you into a mental hole.

You shot your friend a message, see what he's up to.

Read.

Ignored.

A bit harsh, but whatever.

Another message.

Read.

Ignored.

That's enough for now.

The water tasted bitter now, the night was still young. Maybe you could go out and enjoy life for a moment no matter if it had to be done alone.

Yeah, that was the call.

-

The club throbbed with life, heavy and palpable. Clusters of people populating every inch of the floor, this was not your scene in retrospect.

But you've already paid for this drink, might as well finish it.

You sat down in the corner, in some sedate dark wood booth, surprisingly clean given the atmosphere of drunkards. Glass sat on the table, your head resting faintly against the backboard.

The music was awful, truly generic stuff, overpowering anything and everything that dared to provide its own audio to the bustling atmosphere.

Your inner reflection was cut short suddenly by two girls sliding into the booth directly opposite you, eyes now looking directly into yours. The one on the left had long black hair, black jacket, not exactly normal club attire. The girl next to her fit more into the element, wearing a short pink dress. What caught your eye was more was the angel wings attached to their back, alongside why they sat here of all places.

Too many seconds passed, you broke your silence to avoid anymore awkwardness. "Can I help you two?" you spoke firmly.

"Can we help you?" The girl on the right responded, her voice was serene, pleasant on the ears. But her words didn't answer the question, disorientating you further.

"You two came up to me, not the other way around."

The girl on the left furrowed her brows, "Don't need to snap, we mean well."

"Right, yes, sorry. It has been a stressful few weeks." You sighed, taking a sip of the overly expensive drink in your hand.

"We can tell, it's painted on your face yknow?"

"That obvious huh?" Now you regret coming out here even more so.

"A little bit... But that is okay, we like to talk to those types. I'm Haseul, she's Jinsoul and we'll be your company for the night." Their force came as a bit of a shock, but who else would you be talking to?

"Nice to meet you, forgive me if it's a bit abrasive but whats with the wings?" You asked, Jinsoul gave a small giggle.

"We just like them, you can try them on if you want."

You stuttered, nearly dropping your drink at the simplest joke. "No–no I'm fine."

"So nervous, how cute." Haseul said, the heat ran to your cheeks.

"So, Y/N." Wait you didn't tell them that. "What's bothering you? You can vent all those frustrations to us if you want. We'll listen." Jinsoul offered, all voices were hard to hear under this noise but that didn't mean you were willing to confide to strangers.

You kindly shook your head "I, its okay. I'll be alright."

"Wouldn't it feel good though? Let those worries be heard? We won't judge, if that's the problem." Jinsoul's fingers crept onto your palm, tracing slowly. You rescinded.

"I– no, I need to go the bathroom."

"Go, don't worry we'll look after your stuff." Haseul's hand embraced your phone gently, sliding into her grasp. Smiling brightly at you.

Fuck.

There goes that plan, you dismissed yourself away from them. You were going to have to think of another way, your brain was telling you that just trying to leave was going to have resistance.

The sounds of the club died away temporarily when the bathroom door slammed, giving respite in the chaos. You stared at the reflection in the mirror, running the automated tap as cool water rushed down into your awaiting palms.

You splashed it.

The cool water fell down your face, the impact making your breath hitch.

That calmed you down slightly, you could do this. And then you'd never come to a club again.

Breathe.

It was best not to wait, they were expecting you.

You took your seat again, your drink was refilled and now they had one each. "Welcome back, we thought you'd need another one." Haseul pushed it closer, alongside your phone.

"Thanks, but I need to drive back– probably shouldn't be drinking more than the one." You lied, Haseul raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"But we saw you walk here? Are you trying to get rid of us? That's not polite Y/N."

"How do you two know my name?! I didn't tell you it!" Your voice raised.

"Shh shh shh, it's okay. We've just been– well, watching. You've been struggling recently, that's fine. We just want to help you feel better."

The alarm bells were ringing, loud.

Beautiful danger was staring you in the face.

This was past the point of subtly, you needed to leave now.

"I am just going to leave, can't deal with this." A leg snaked its way around yours, binding you.

"Why are you so dismissive? It's hurtful, if you want to leave the bar we can come with?" Jinsoul offered, no way in hell were you going to give them your address. Your heart was pumping against your chest, fear creeping in.

"No, I just want to go home and sleep. Now let me go." Whoever held you relented.

Sigh. "Fine, we tried. What more can we do, its a shame. We thought you'd be more receptive."

You didn't even reply, getting your shit and leaving before it was too late.

The walk home was deeply unsettling, making sharp looks back every few seconds just in case. But there was nobody, thankfully. The anxiety that they would follow you made every emotion run far more potently than before you ever pondered going to that fucking club.

You didn't even have the energy to get upstairs, those 14 steps looked like a task for Sisyphus. Opting to just fall into your sofa face first, numbing your nerves with the sweet sound of the television that was broadcasting whatever it felt like.

You drifted asleep slowly.

-

"so cute.... asleep ...you think?" Hazy words filled the room.

"the fox... murdered..." Eugh.

"Yeah... stress.. it's fine." You started to wake up properly.

"the... silver rabbit."

"Shame that we were rejected. It's okay." There's a hand in your hair. Stroking it.

That feels nice.

"Shot dead." That's the TV.

Wait, you live alone.

Your eyes shot open, she was there. Jinsoul. An arm was on your chest, "Evening."

"What the fuck..." Your voice was slow, dragging on, still coming back to life. Their wings were on the floor.

"Sleeping on the sofa is going to hurt your back yknow?" You tried to get up, Haseul's grasp tightened.

"Don't move, unless you want to go to your bed? More room." Haseul whispered into your ear, making you shiver.

You were sobered up now.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" You kept struggling, to no avail. Jinsoul inched closer, straddling you like she was your girlfriend.

"Well, when we let you go. We realised that no, you need our help. Our guidance."

"Get off of me, get out of my house." You reiterated, you could see her smirk.

"Not a chance, we need you to listen. Haseul will make you be quiet if we have to but baby, we really don't want to." You let her continue, your nerves were into high alert.

"You see, we were planning to just lull you in. But you are like so awkward, it was quite endearing. Sadly you ran from us trying to save you, so we had to follow."

You didn't talk, your eyes scanning around the dark room for any sign of escape.

Haseul begun to whisper again. "You helped your friends, now let us help you."

"How the fuck do you know about that?! Who are you people!" You snapped.

But they didn't falter.

They were calm, so calm.

"I'm not going to reveal who, that's irrelevant. You are never talking to any of them again. But they told us of your actions. Imagine how sad I was when they ignored you, a savior forgotten..."

Haseul got out from behind you, crouching on the floor, both of them now visible. You could probably move with just the right amount of force.

You waited.

"I don't need to be saved!"

"You do, we've been watching. You haven't noticed the unlocked windows, you haven't noticed anything. Y/N, look around. These rooms used to be so clean, trash lies everywhere. Dishes are stacking up, you are barely surviving anymore. Too ignorant to see it, too desperate for autonomy in your own life." Jinsoul stated. Like it was so simple.

"I– its fine, I will be fine." You were slipping, they could see that. The surroundings weren't avoidable anymore, the mold was visible. The decay on the walls, no longer muted, it was real. Green blooming like a rotten flower.

The food boxes on the floor you avoided taking care of, it threatened to consume the floor. You were just used to stepping over it.

Was it always this bad?

"Y/N, open your eyes." No, you can reclaim your life. They will take the opportunity from you.

You threw Jinsoul into the trash, their wings now rested on dirt.

"No! No! I'm fine, I'm FINE!" You sobbed angrily, standing up quickly.

"Relax now, we fell hard for you. That level of nobility, sweetness, you've talked to us before. It's a shame you could forget such a moment. Let us save you, don't make us force you to come to us."

You ran.

Her arms caught you.

"There we go, there we go, shh shh." You thrashed, she held.

"Let me go! I can save myself, I. I can!"

"I can't, you are destroying yourself. They neglected you, let you drown. But we won't."

-

Their definition of saving wasn't making you better, it was just stopping you from harming yourself more.

They were soft, sweet but didn't let you do anything. From making food to even sleeping alone, everything was done for you.

You felt empty, not safe. You started to break down more than you ever did on your own.

And the worst part?

You couldn't do anything to stop it.

A dirty cage to a clean one.

[kokii-omii]

oh my god i just remembered the whole black blood madness thing in soul eater

oh my god Maddie tweaking out hard cuz of the Madness for sure which is why Lulu is his new partner to take away his madness

i am a genius

prime yaoi hours