#Shared balcony shared balcony shared balcony

[grumpoww]

Balcony smooches part one thousand

[pearlfull]

party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

[seven-supernovas]

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐆𝐲𝐦𝐫𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐜'𝐬

sfw+ nsfw hc's

cw: gymrat!ellie, afab!r, nsfw content, mentions of food/diet(very short tho), mentions of macros and protein(very short tho)

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

sfw

gymrat!Ellie who forces you to come with her to almost every session no matter the time of day because she wants you to stay healthy.

gymrat!Ellie who is really into boxing and will unintentionally keep you up all night when she's punching her bag outside on your shared apartment balcony.

gymrat!Ellie who rarely listens to anything at the gym because she's almost always with you but during those rare occasions where she's alone, especially at night will plop on her headphones and will only strictly listen rock and alt music.

gymrat!Ellie to further specify she's a big fan of Radiohead but when she's feeling more pumped she'll throw in some of your favorite songs.

gymrat!Ellie who doesn't maintain a strict diet but does now the macros and proteins of everything she eats.

gymrat!Ellie who unreasonably enjoys cookie and cream flavored protein powder. Like too the point where she got a Costco membership specifically to buy if from her favorite brand in bulk.

gymrat!Ellie who slightly injured her arm and was ordered by her doctor to relax for a couple of weeks but decided she could still do legs.

gymrat!Ellie whose gym attire is always old baggy tops and sweats. the shirts close to ripping a hole or already have one. To that all she says is "Who am I trying to impress, its only the gym."

gymrat!Ellie who only buys brand name gym clothes/items if she needs a specific thing or if you want to match with her.

gymrat!Ellie who states that contrary to popular belief that ON's and ASICS aren't as nearly comfortable as her tried and true grey converse's.

gymrat!Ellie who enjoys getting smoothies from a spot near your gym. Somehow she aways ends up drinking half your drink because she says "Your's always taste better than mines".

nsfw

gymrat!Ellie who very much loves using her strength in the bedroom. Boxing you in. Using partial of her body weight on you. Gripping your body. You name it, if it has anything to do with using the strength she's earned in the gym she's with it.

gymrat!Ellie who realized a year into taking the gym seriously that she can pick you up easily and now teases you with it.

gymrat!Ellie who can't choose if legs or arms is her favorite day because with strong arms she can easily lock you in and hold you up when she's eating you out. But with legs she can lock your face in when you're eating her out. Choices choices.

gymrat!Ellie who's favorite part of gym days with you are when you two shower together at home. A simple shower always turning into a two hour minimum sexfest.

gymrat!Ellie who is almost always waking around your shared apartment half or even fully naked. She just wants to show off her progress, what's the harm. She even encourages you to do the same. But you both know it's simply so the two of you have easier access to one another.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

original masterlist

more Ellie hc's

tlou masterlist

[not-quite-normal]

Hey there! Congrats on the whole crew on movie being out. The whole thing looks absolutely amazing to look at 😍😍 I have to wonder, which part of the movie did you worked on? 👀👀

thank you so much!! the response to the movie has been so much more than i expected haha, it's awesome to see an original IP resonate so well with everyone <3

as a lead, i didn't get a chance to animate that much on kpop (though i did a few that i'll share when i can!). my job was more to help plan and set up sequences, help animators with notes and technical workflows, and overall organize and manage the team (alongside my fellow leads and supervisors!)

the biggest sequences that i worked on were the plane at the beginning ("how it's done" up until the fall), jinu pitching the boy band to gwima, the healer, the game show, derpy and rumi on the balcony, rumi and jinu's "date", the final climax ("what it sounds like" ending), and a whole lot more smaller sequences scattered throughout!

i started on the movie super early too so i got to help discover the hyper expressive faces and our design/workflow for those! it's been lovely to see folks specifically point those out, it's not often that animation specific stuff gets noticed on a non-spiderverse movie haha

[sukunacest]

cw:: incest

because im still thinking about older brother nerdjo

and how after that gaming incident you two really became inseparable.

there were times your parents would look for you and satoru would have to come up with a lie on the spot, —saying maybe you were at the library or something—, when you were really just sitting cutely on your knees under your brothers desk sucking his cock <3

you fell for him first, but he fell harder.

it would've been so much easier if you were step siblings, then maybe you guys could find a way out of this situation :(

but alas, your blood connection to each other was just to irresistible.

satoru was fucking you before school, in between classes, and before bed. neither one of you could go a day without him being inside you

which is why when you're parents suggested a family cruise trip for summer, both of you absolutely-did-not-want-to-go. unfortunately, since it was a trip your mom won at work, it was already paid for, so you guys had no choice.

being in the backseat, of the car on the way to the docking station was absolute torture. both you and satoru sitting in the back seat, so close to each other yet forbidden from touching the way you wanted with your parents so close :(

it was a painful long eight hour drive :(

by the time you guys made it to the ship, your dad and satoru carried most of the bags while you and your mom checked in.

just your luck (or misluck in your parents case) the second bedroom got double booked by accident so now all four of you have to share one royalty-suite :(

the days dragged by, satoru trying to focus on summer reading so he didn't get behind. all the while you could only think about some alone time with your older brother :(

it wasn't until, finally, day 3 of the cruise that your parents wanted alone time for the night and went on their own adventure on the ship, leaving you and satoru alone in the suite.

the second the door latched after your parents left the room, you were pouncing onto satoru's lap like a cat. he took you, right there and then, not caring if the next room could hear you two.

the royalty suite did have a balcony, over looking the ocean through a clear glass. it was beautiful how satoru had your breasts pressed up against it as he fucked you from behind.

by the time the sun was already starting to set, you two were still going at it. satoru's mouth was all over your clit, lapping at your delicious juices — slick that only existed because of your older brother.

if it wasn't for satoru's godly awareness and reaction time, neither one of you would've noticed the beep from the door outside, signalling your parents arrival :(

in a split second he was out from between your legs and pulling you up toward the pillows— then covering both your bodies with the blanket.

"awwh honey look, they fell asleep together" your mom quietly commented sitting down on their own bed.

"feels like they were born just yesterday" your dad mentioned.

if only they knew the kids they made were in the very same room slow fucking each other underneath the blanket >...<

[thatnightlamp]

If it's wouldn't be so difficult, can I request Sanguinius for NSFW alphabet?

SANGUINIUS NSFW ALPHABET

Tags: @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @absynthe-mind @de-rachel

A = Aftercare

He holds you like something sacred. Wings around your body, face nuzzled into your hair, whispering soft praises as if worshipping you for what you gave him. He’ll brush the sweat from your brow with trembling fingers and kiss you like a vow.

B = Body Part

Your lips. Not just for kissing. He watches you speak, moan, gasp, entranced by how much they say without words.

C = Cum

Light, silken, warm as sunlit honey. It’s not excessive, but potent. When he finishes inside you, it feels like something deeper than physical. He’ll kiss the mess between your legs reverently, even clean it with his tongue if you let him.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s had visions of you dying in his arms during sex. He never tells you, but that’s why sometimes he holds you so tightly when he finishes, afraid that every moment of bliss might be the last. His passion is always tinged with the fear of loss.

E = Experience

He’s more experienced than he lets on. Sanguinius is a quick learner, every sigh, every twitch of your hips, every tremble teaches him more. He moves like poetry in flesh, giving pleasure with the grace of one born to fly.

F = Favorite Position

Lotus, with you in his lap. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands tangled in his hair, his wings enveloping you both. It lets him hold you close, see your face, kiss your neck, and thrust upward in a sensual, steady rhythm.

G = Goofy

Not during sex, he’s focused, intense, romantic. But afterward, when you’re glowing and giggling under him, he’ll smile and nuzzle your belly, humming a teasing tune as he kisses your thigh.

H = Hair

Golden and immaculate. Even after sex, his hair falls in waves, slightly tousled, like a Renaissance painting. His body is smooth except for a delicate trail of silken hair below his navel. His pubes are soft, pale gold, and faintly perfumed.

I = Intimacy

So intense it almost hurts. Sanguinius makes love like he’s saying goodbye, every time. His voice breaks when he says your name. He holds your hand while inside you, murmurs “I love you” like he’s afraid it won’t be enough.

J = Jack off

Rarely, unless he’s away from you too long. Then he does, late at night, in silk sheets, your name caught on his lips, wings twitching as he fists his cock and bites down on his own knuckle to keep quiet. He always thinks of your eyes, and how you look up at him.

K = Kink

Worship. He needs to make you feel like a god—kiss every inch of your body, pray into your skin, leave you sobbing from devotion.

Wing play. His wings are erogenous. If you stroke them just right, he’ll gasp, buck his hips, and beg.

Mutual surrender. He doesn’t want to dominate or be dominated. He wants to fall with you.

L = Location

Private sanctuaries, your shared chamber, a moonlit balcony, the heart of his temple. He wouldn’t risk being seen, not because he’s ashamed, but because what you share is holy, and not for the world to defile with their eyes.

M = Motivation

The way you look at him. The tremble in your voice when you whisper his name. The sight of you kneeling, kissing his fingertips, asking for him like a prayer. You can bring him to full arousal with nothing more than soft obedience and love in your eyes.

N = No

Degradation. Pain for its own sake. Cruelty. He’s seen too much darkness in the galaxy and refuses to drag you into it. He will never call you a filthy name. He touches you like you’re starlight in mortal form, and he won't break that sanctity.

O = Oral

Receiving. He tries not to ask. But when you do it, slowly, lovingly —he moans like a choirboy discovering sin. He strokes your cheek while you suck him, praises you in whispers, and shakes when he cums down your throat.

P = Pace

Smooth and sensual. He builds slow, coaxing each sound out of you, until he’s driving into you with angelic intensity. Not brutal, intentional. His hips roll like a wave, endless and deep.

Q = Quickie

He doesn’t prefer them, but if you catch him in the right moment, between war councils, in the middle of a heated prayer, he’ll pull you into an alcove, lift you into his arms, and fuck you with quiet groans and sharp teeth against your throat.

R = Risk

Low. He has premonitions. He’s too aware of what could go wrong. But he’ll still try new things, if it’s with you, so long as you’re safe, guided by gentle hands and trust.

S = Stamina

Inhuman. He can make love for hours, slow and deep, then fast and ragged, then soft and coaxing again. He doesn’t stop until you’re dazed and wet and clinging to him. He can go multiple rounds, but he prefers one divine, mind-shattering session.

T = Toys

Elegant, beautiful things like glass, gold, velvet-lined. Used sparingly. But he prefers his hands and tongue, whispering, “Let me be your toy instead…”

U = Unfair

A little. He can tease, especially with his fingers or featherlight brushes of his wings. He’ll edge you with patient devotion, eyes fixed on you like a starving man. If you beg prettily, he’ll kiss your tears and finally give in.

V = Volume

Soft moans, breathy whimpers, the occasional broken gasp. When he finishes, his voice rises like a hymn, your name, a trembling “Yes,” maybe even “Thank you.”

W = Wild Card

He’s bitten you, gently, lovingly, with his fangs. You bled. He panicked. But then you moaned, and he kissed the wound like an apology. Now he sometimes nips your throat during sex, but only when he's too overwhelmed to stop himself.

X = X-ray

Stunning. Long, graceful, girthy near the base. Light veins trace along his shaft like angelic script. His tip flushes a glowing pink, leaking early and staining you with something almost… celestial. The kind of cock that makes you weep when it’s inside.

Y = Yearning

High. It’s not just physical, it’s emotional. He aches for you when you’re apart. When you reunite, he’s ravenous, kissing your face, hands shaking, whispering how he dreamed of this

Z = Zzz

You fall asleep before he does. He watches you, brushing hair from your face, wings shielding you from the world. Eventually, when he’s sure you’re safe, he curls around you and sleeps like a fallen angel cradling his last prayer.

[skmhlml]

Now that you made a Burning Spice cookie x sweetheart wife reader, could you do an one shot "drama to comfor" where it was a normal day at the Spice Kingdom but when Burning Spice just went to go grab a gitt for his precious wife, but then some random killers almost got her but Spicy saved them but because if how badly the killers got her she got very badly injured but still alive. .

Please I need it !!!

Burning Spice Cookie x Sweetheart!Wife | One Shot |

Date requested: 6/18/2025

Warning: angst -> Fluff

The Spice Kingdom was basked in warmth that day, the sands glittering under the blazing sun. Trade was steady, music filled the streets, and laughter danced on the wind. It was just another peaceful morning—until fate decided otherwise.

Burning Spice Cookie had excused himself early from your shared morning tea. He was cryptic, muttering something about “a quick errand” and “no peeking at my side of the bed,” the way he always got when preparing a surprise.

You smiled, still in your flowing desertwear, humming as you swept the balcony of sand that had settled overnight.

You didn’t see the cloaked figures scaling the stone wall.

You didn’t hear them until the blade caught the sunlight, the glint searing your vision.

⸻

They came fast. Too fast.

Three of them—dressed in foreign garb, weapons slick with oil and poison. Assassins. Mercenaries. Hired blades with no cause but coin.

You managed to scream once before one tackled you into the ground. Your cheek scraped against the sandstone, a blinding burst of pain erupting as a dagger sank into your side.

⸻

He felt it.

Burning Spice Cookie was halfway through bartering with a jewel merchant—holding a delicate amber pendant the same shade as your eyes—when the air shifted.

The wind howled.

The sun flared.

And his heart stopped.

He didn’t run. He ignited.

⸻

By the time the killers realized the ground beneath them was melting, it was already too late.

A geyser of flame erupted through the floor, incinerating one immediately. The others tried to flee, but were swallowed in a cyclone of burning glass and sand. Burning Spice Cookie’s roar echoed through the walls like a dragon from the oldest scrolls.

He didn’t say a word as he approached you—bloodied, unmoving, your chest barely rising.

He dropped to his knees, cradling your body against his chest, hands trembling. You were still warm. Still alive. But barely.

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking with a rage only eclipsed by grief. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

⸻

You woke up three days later.

Wrapped in silk sheets. The room was dark, the torches low, but the air was warm—not from the desert heat, but from the Cookie hunched beside your bed.

Burning Spice Cookie hadn’t moved in three days.

He looked different—haggard, hair untied and disheveled, his cloak thrown to the floor and forgotten. His flame eyes were dim, almost dull, as he stared at you with a haunted, aching silence.

“…My spice,” you croaked.

The second your voice reached him, he broke.

He lunged to your bedside, gripping your hand with both of his, pressing kisses across your knuckles, your wrist, your forehead. His flames flared dangerously near the bandages, but you didn’t care. You only felt his warmth.

“You’re alive,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours, eyes clenched shut. “I wasn’t sure I could bear a world without you.”

“I thought I was dreaming…” you whispered. “You saved me.”

“I wasn’t fast enough,” he growled, voice thick. “They touched you. Hurt you. You bled—and I wasn’t there. I should’ve—I should’ve burned the world down the moment I felt something was wrong.”

You reached up, despite the pain, and cupped his cheek. His breath hitched, his head tilting into your touch like a wounded beast.

“You’re here now,” you murmured. “You always find me.”

His jaw trembled. “I shouldn’t have left you alone…”

“You were getting me a gift, weren’t you?”

“…Yes.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Then give it to me now.”

He hesitated. Then, from beside the bed, he pulled out a delicate chain—the amber pendant now blackened at the edges, singed from the heat of his return.

“I ruined it.”

“No,” you whispered, letting him clasp it around your neck. “It’s perfect.”

⸻

He stayed with you through every hour of recovery. He fed you, bathed you, held you as your body healed and the nightmares came. You never cried alone.

And when the sun rose again over the scorched remains of the assassins’ corpses—displayed in warning on the edge of the kingdom—you knew no one would ever dare to touch you again.

Not while Burning Spice Cookie still breathed.

And burn, he would. For you.

Always.

[mona-risms]

Also in way less wholesome thoughts about Rumi, I think she has a insane breeding kink.

I don’t even think she would know it until she slept with someone. But I feel like that would send her into a feral frenzy.

Like, all that shame and guilt her whole life from being a demon, and all the other repressed emotions she had to bottle up would explode if she was fucking someone and they told her they wanted to have kids with her.

I feel like for irony sake that may just turn her into a succubus. A simple fuck would turn into a day long feral mating marathon.

Like it would probably work it’s way through the whole living space, starting in the bedroom, for an hour or two until the bed is completely ruined, tears from claws, a broken bed frame, stained with sweat, squirt, and seed.

Moving on to the couch eventually that would get much of the same treatment.

Pressed against those big windows, juices seeping down the glass.

On the kitchen table with claw marks in the wood from Rumi.

Using the cabinets to keep her standing as you rail her eventually pulling them off the walls.

But neither of you care.

It’s not pretty sex.

You’re both flushed, scratchs, bite marks, squirt, seed, spit, and sweating all over. Ran ragged like you just ran a triathlon.

Rumis hole looks like a glazed donut from how much seed has been put in and spilled out of her at all angles.

By the time you are halfway through moans have just devolved into her shrieking from overstim.

But she just can’t stop herself. And you don’t wanna stop either.

People are calling phones… Rumis missing a interview rn.

Eventually the girls just find you both passed out in the middle of the apartment covered in all the fluids that could possibly come from sex passed out from exhaustion.

Sincerely

Tsaritsa Pyro Archon Anon

I have a breeding kink too there we go we're Perfectly compatible! And this is obviously why me and Rumi should be married!!!!

But fr shit would go CRAZY HELLO 😭😭😭😭😭 I mean tbf a demon's gotta have their sustenance somehow 😜😜😜😜 JOKING JOKING maybe not joking shhh you're out here doing my job for me fr though actuallg LMFAOOAAO

Her bedroom must be so fucking wrecked before you two migrate to the balcony, a mix of fluids everywhere as she finally lets out the loudest fucking noises instead of her biting it down and restraining them, and then to the shared living space. Like Zoey and Mira are both out for promotional material they'd probably have to do individually, so they left much earlier and now the penthouse is empty as hell, save for the two of you

NOTHING survives in the shared space though you're right in this—EVERY surface is thoroughly defiled and utilised. Should Rumi care? Yes. Would she care under different circumstances? Definitely yes. But right now the only thing in her mind is making sure she drains you dry, everything else blurs away from the sheer intensity of your coupling

If you're using an ejaculating strap then ugh FUCK yes it makes no difference to her as long as she feels full and thoroughly bred. If anything? She'd probably want you to get the strap with the most capacity. But is it a good idea, if you have a working dick and could Potentially get her pregnant? No, probably not, but the way you fucked her and never let go, the way you were so achingly sincere in the way you'd Want to have kids with Her. Even despite the whole half-demon thing, the main insecurity she's had for her entire life? She'll take the risk for once either way, after avoiding risks on herself for so long

Mira and Zoey most likely got contacted by Bobby in a panic bc "WHERE IS SHE??????" so they come back home.....and SCREAM at the state because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST??????? SORRY didn't REALISE they needed HAZMAT SUITS????????????? You probably get woken up and honestly good luck trying to explain why the Fuck there's so much damage and. Fluids. EVERYWHERE. They're never letting either of you live this down, ESPECIALLY Rumi considering she caused most of the extreme damage (thanks demon heritage!!!!) and how she's stained and dripping nonstop 😭

If you even dare try to explain what happened to Bobby the poor guy might faint. But it's okay it's why they're paying him the 3% right.....though he might need to be compensated via 4% GAHAHAHAHA

[obx-may]

Together -Rafe Cameron

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, lots of fluff at the beginning, angst with a happy ending, self doubt (rafe), comfort, excessive alcohol consumption.

summary: after telling rafe he was going to be a father you were surprised with how well he took it, though when he felt the first kick everything got a little to real and he freaked out, leaving you crying in your shared apartment and hoping that he’d come back to you.

notes: this is an unofficial part two to this fic that i wrote a little while ago (which you don’t need to read to understand this). i’m stuck on ideas so i decided to just add to that original story! hope you enjoy angels🧸🤍🫶🏼 - this is a long one for me so strap in!

The first few weeks after telling Rafe were hard. You were so stressed about telling your family and everyone on the island possibly whispering about how stupid you could’ve been to get knocked up at such a young age. But Rafe was always there to reassure you.

He was surprisingly calm and collected. He was nervous, anyone would be in that situation but he kept himself together for you.

“It’s okay baby, let it all out.” He’d whisper as you battled morning sickness, one hand on your back rubbing soft circles as the other held the hair out of your face.

He held you when you cried and sobbed about how you were just so scared. He’d let you talk before reassuring you, “I’m here, we’re going to be okay. We can do this.”

When you eventually broke the news to your and his parents he held your hand and did as much of the talking as you wanted him too.

Ward was disappointed, Rose managed to crack a fake smile, you were so relieved when your mother pulled you into a hug and told you she’d be there for you, even though your father sat straight and glared at Rafe with rage in his eyes.

Eventually he calmed down and after around a week he became accustomed to the idea. You knew he was accepting when you were going to spend the night at Rafe’s house and before you left he said, “now you be carful driving on those roads, it’s been raining and you’ve got my grand baby in there.” He gestured to your stomach. You hugged him and he hugged you back, which is something the both of you didn’t know you needed.

After that Rafe proposed moving in together. He knew it was inevitable so he said he’d rather be settled at a place when the baby arrives than scrambling last minute.

Within a few weeks he - with the help of Ward - had found and bought an apartment, it was spacious yet cosy. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open plan kitchen and living room with a sweet little balcony overlooking the sea. It was perfect.

News spread fast once you went to your first appointment, told your friends and began to show - just slightly but it was there.

The stories were ridiculous. “She baby trapped him for the money.” ���I heard it’s not even Rafes.” “She’s faking it for attention.”

You tried not to think about it too much and Rafe helped with that. Though sometimes he made the situation significantly worse by reacting to the stares when you were out. “What the fuck are you looking at punk? Huh? That’s what I thought.” His excuse always being that he was just protecting his girl, which you didn’t argue with.

Your old life was completely gone, being pregnant meant no drinking, partying or staying up late since you were always exhausted anyway.

Though Rafe on the other hand did continue his drinking and partying late, just now without you by his side.

You were pleased at first. You hadn’t wanted him to give up all the tings he did before since you thought he’d be much worse if he had to suddenly change his lifestyle.

Unfortunately, at some point - actually around the time you started to show and a small bump formed on your stomach - it got excessive.

You brushed it off at first, the coming home at two in the morning completely plastered, the increasing nights spent at the country club with Topper and Kelce, but you now realised he was beginning to slip away from you.

Arguments about his behaviour became a reoccurring thing. You cried all the time, though he was never there to hold you and tell you everything was going to be fine like he would’ve in the beginning.

Something had changed in him but you couldn’t understand why.

You felt so alone. Pregnancy is weird like that, even though you’re actually never alone because you constantly have a little human in your stomach it makes you feel like you are, even when there’s people around you who do care.

One night, you heard Rafe stumble through the door as usual. The door to your shared bedroom swinging open just moments later. “Hey baby,” he murmured drunkenly.

You sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with your knees to your chest, tear marks on your face.

His brows furrowed as he immediately sobered up a little, noticing your state.

He sat on the side of the bed. You flinched when he went to place his hand on your leg. “y/n-”

“I’m going to live with my parents for a while,” you blurted out, voice shaky.

“You’re- what?” He was surprised, caught off guard.

“We- no I need some space. In five months we’re going to have a baby Rafe and you’re off getting drunk twenty four seven. I’m tired and I don’t know what’s happened to my Rafe. The one who took care of me when I was sick, the one who reassured me when I was scared, the one who actually seemed like he loved me-” your sentence broke with a sob, “I don’t recognise you.”

He sat there, blindsided. “I… yeah, maybe you should go stay with your parents,” he replied.

You couldn’t believe it. He really wasn’t going to fight for you? Not even a little bit?

With one nod you got off the bed and started to pack. Was it two o’clock in the morning? Yes. Could you spend even one more second in his company? No, no you couldn’t.

So you packed, left without another word and drove to your parent’s house.

Rafe remained in the same position on the bed. He’d fucked it all up.

In the following few weeks there was little to no contact between you and Rafe. It actually did you good to focus on yourself for a little while though after two weeks you were really starting to miss him.

One night, you were sat on the floor of your childhood bedroom folding your laundry when your phone rang.

It was Rafe. You took a deep breath and answered the call, bringing it to your ear.

“y/n?” Was the first thing he said but he didn’t give you time to respond, “I’m so sorry, I freaked out okay? I love you so much and I know I want this with you. This life, this baby, I want it all and I fucked it up. I’ve stopped drinking, I promise I’ll do better. Can you forgive me?”

You slowly took in his words. You knew what you were signing up for when you got with Rafe and you’d been through worse. “Of course I’ll forgive you, I always will because I love you Rafe. But if this happens again-”

“I know.” He knew he only had a limited number of chances and that you might not forgive him so easily next time.

After that night everything slowly but surely got back to normal. You moved back in, he went to your appointment with you where you found out it was going to be a little girl and he spent every night with you in his arms.

A week later you were mostly back into your usual routine. You woke up, took a shower with Rafe, he left for work and you had recently started a job that you could do from home so that’s what you spent your day doing.

His parents were rich and so were yours - everyone knew that - but the both of you wanted to live your own lives, not relying on your parents for everything, so that’s why you started working and you were slowly building your savings that would mostly go to things for your baby girl.

Hours later Rafe finally arrived home. He greeted you with a gentle peck on the lips before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

He sat down next to you on the sofa and peered over at the website you were scrolling through on your laptop.

“Looking at cribs already?” He asked, before opening and then chugging some of his water.

“There’s a sale on - thirty percent off. I just thought I’d have a look,” you replied calmly.

“Get whichever one you want babe,” he mumbled before kissing your forehead and then standing up.

He got halfway to the bedroom to freshen up before you gasped.

He turned around quickly. “You alright?” He asked, slight panic in his voice.

“Come feel!”

He noticed as he moved towards you that you’d moved the laptop and now had your hand resting at the base of your stomach.

As soon as he was close enough you grabbed his hand and placed it where yours was.

“What- oh? Is that…?”

“She’s kicking! The doctor said it might take a while but she was starting to worry me, I’m so relieved,” you excitedly rambled.

He just stood there, slightly bend down, hand still on your stomach with an emotion you couldn’t quite read on his face.

“Rafe?” You questioned, brows furrowed, “are you okay-”

He pulled his hand away and stood up straight. “I just,” he cut you off, “I can’t- sorry.”

He glanced from your stomach up to your face without fully meeting your eyes then he turned and made b-line for the front door.

Leaving you, now stood in shock. What the hell just happened.

You tried to convince yourself that he’d just got a little overwhelmed and would come back in a minute.

A minute turned into thirty which turned into an hour and then two.

You were now a mess. Just when you thought you’d got him back he was slipping again.

You sat on your bed, head in your hands as you cried. The raging hormones causing through your body definitely weren’t helping the situation.

He’d left everything. His keys, his phone so you couldn’t even call him. You called Topper though, then Kelce, then Sarah, no one had seen or heard from him.

When the clock hit nine you were seriously worried. You decided you couldn’t just sit around any longer so you got up, slipped some shoes on, grabbed your keys and left the apartment.

Since he hadn’t gone to any of his friends or family you decided to go to his most frequented places.

First you went to the country club, he wasn’t there. Next you visited the beach by tanning hill, nope. Lastly you drove to the place you used to hang out at in your early teens, the place you shared your first kiss.

It was a long shot since it’d barely been mentioned since you left school but you were running out of options.

You parked at the bottom of the cliff edge and then walked the ten minutes up hill to get to the top.

By the time you reached it you were huffing and puffing. The baby now pushing down on your lungs meaning you were out of breath doing the simplest of tasks.

But it was all worth it because there he stood. Hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly as he stared out at the crashing waves below the cliff.

“Rafe?” You called from a few meters behind him.

He was quick to turn around, clearly not expecting you to have found him.

You approached him slowly, as if you were trying not to scare him off.

“What’re you doing up here? It’s almost dark,” he asked, his voice soft and quiet.

“I was looking for you dummy. You scared me,” you replied, now standing next to him with your hands crossed over your chest as the evening breeze passed over your skin.

He sighed, a deep, troubled sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. “Talk to me Rafe,” you whispered gently.

“I’m worried,” he began.

You placed your hand on his arm, insinuating that he should continue.

“I’m worried I’m going to turn out like my dad,” he finally admitted.

Your heart sank.

“Look at me.”

He did, finally meeting your eyes.

“You are nothing like him. I know you, I know you’re going to be the best father. You already care so much and the fact you’re worried means you do. Your childhood wasn’t easy, I know, but that’s not us.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for you to laugh or take all that you said back but those things didn’t happen, all he found in your eyes was genuineness.

Rafe never had a way with words so instead he just leaned down and pressed your forehead against his.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“I love you more,” he replied, his voice full of emotion before he closed the gap between the two of you.

The kiss that you shared was full of love and relief.

His hands moved to grasp your waist as yours intertwined with the hair on the back of his head.

Once you pulled away the both of you were smiling, because in that moment you knew everything was going to be okay.

[gtops-thirdwheel]

~My heart belongs to you~

Warnings~cheating~ angst with comfort~ I love to cuss~ mdni~ piv~ fingering~ age gap if you squint~ porn with plot~ unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it!~ toxic relationship.

Summery~ji-Yong fell for a woman that’s not his fiancée, after finding her cheating on him countless times..but with his wedding in a month, his liver decides to end things..

Word count~4933

Ji-yong groans, using his arm to try and shield the morning sun from waking him up. It doesn’t work, his eyes slowly peeking open with a tired glare towards the window. He shuts his eyes again, rolling onto his side to face his lover. He’s not quite ready for it to be morning yet, knowing that means his two week trip in Paris is over..and that means that he has to go back to his shity fiancé. So he keeps his eyes closed, hoping that the world will evaporate around him, leaving him with his lover forever..

ji-yong doesn’t know what he was thinking proposing to his soon to be wife. Their relationship was struggling already, fights every night, along with the many men he caught her cheating on him with..and marriage never fixes things..so why..why did he have to go and propose to her?

He pulls the warm body in bed next to him closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of y/n’s neck, breathing in her scent. She smells like fucking heaven to ji-yong, her perfume smelling like daisys and honey.. he starts leaving soft, lazy kisses along her neck, smiling into her skin.

”mmm~ ji..stop it..” y/n mumbles lazily, swatting his head away from her neck lightly. He slowly pulls his head away, opening his eyes with a tired smile. “Jus wanna kiss you~” he mumbles, his eyes trailing up and down her barely covered body..the sheets of the bed leave nothing to the imagination, and are only half on her body. The sun that he was previously frustrated with, now baths his lover, giving her an angelic glow.

”shit..” ji-yong bites his lip gently, reaching over to his nightstand and snatching his phone so he can immortalize this moment forever. He snaps a few pictures, each one better than the last. “You look so fucking hot~” he groans, looking at the pictures in awe..this..this is why he loves his phone so much..

Y/n's eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of ji-yong on his phone yet again. She playfully rolls her eyes, a small amused smile on her face. “You're on your phone more than I’m on mine, old man~” she teases with a lazy smile. Ji-yong pears over his phone with a small playful pout. “I’m not old..” he huffs, his small smile giving away his true feelings.

Y/n yawns, sitting up with a groan. “I’m going to smoke..” y/n swings her legs off the bed, grabbing her cigarette pack from her bedside table before standing up and stretching her sore limbs. Ji-young’s eyes land right on her ass, groaning quietly at the sight of her bare body. “I need a smoke too…” he mumbles, grabbing his own pack from his bedside table and standing up, his eyes never leaving her body.

They both pull on robes, not wanting to get too dressed just so they can smoke then have to strip before getting back in bed. Ji-yong frowns at y/n's body being covered, silently cursing their shared addiction for being the reason y/ns covering up. They both walk to the balcony, ji-yong's arms wrapping around y/n's waist the moment they both stop moving. Y/n leans onto the railing, lighting her cigarette and staring at the eiffel tower.

y/n gets lost in thought, wondering why she’s with ji-yong when he’s getting married in a month..she knows she needs to end this..move on..she doesn’t know why she still waits for ji-yong to leave Nam-Gil, like he actually will.. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Ji-yong asks, examining her dazed expression. “Nothing..just sad the trip is coming to an end..”

ji-yong sighs, kissing the back of her neck. “Me too.” He mumbles against her neck. Y/n looks down at her burning cigarette..she loves ji-yong..and she knows…knows he loves her too…but she knows she can’t be his dirty little secret anymore..y/n finishes her cigarette, leaning against ji-yong's chest while she waits for him to finish his.

“One day…one day I want to come back here with my husband for my honeymoon..” y/n mumbles wistfully. ji-yong's heart aches in jealousy, he knows that won't be him..and it hurts more than he ever thought it would.

“That sounds nice..what..what would you guys do?” He doesn’t care that he’s torturing himself by asking..y/ns still his right now, and until she’s not he’s going to imagine himself as her future husband. Y/n smiles softly. “We will go to the Eiffel Tower..and i’ll drag him around sight seeing of course..” she giggles softly, the kind of giggle that melts ji-yong right to his core..

Ji-yong's eyes soften as he looks down at the top of y/n's head..”and we will try new foods every day, and go wine tasting~” ji-yong nods, a sad smile on his face. “Sounds amazing…” the silence between them is loud after, they both wish ji-Yong could be the man y/n comes back with. “Enough about that..let's go back inside and enjoy each other until we have to check out.” Y/n whispers, Ji-yong grunts, tightening his grip on y/n for a moment, before letting his arms fall to his sides.

y/n pulls away, walking back into the hotel room. Ji-yong stays on the balcony for a few minutes, processing everything they talked about.. he lets out a deep sigh, taking in the hotel's view one last time before joining y/n inside. A smirk forms on ji-yong face as he takes in y/n's bare body on the bed, her robe thrown on the floor haphazardly. “Ouuu~” he smirks, stripping off his own robe, and throwing it somewhere unknown.

y/n rolls her eyes softly, turning to face him with a playful look on her face. “I fear what’s going through that head of yours~” y/n giggles softly as Ji-yong plops down next to her on the bed. Ji-young’s arms immediately find y/n's waist, pulling her bare body flush against his. “Why would you fear my thoughts?~” he mumbles in her ear, gently kissing the lobe of it. A shiver runs down y/n's spine as ji-yong trails more kisses down her neck and shoulder, gently sucking small marks into her skin every now and then. “Ji…” y/n mumbles, her body betraying her better judgment, leaning into his touch.

ji-yong smirks, his hands running down her sides and stomach until they finally reach their destination between y/ns thighs. “Fuck jagi~” he groans into y/ns ear pressing one finger between her folds to play with her clit teasingly. “your so fucking wet~” y/n's thighs clench around ji-yong's hand, moaning softly at his touch. “F-fuck~ what’s with you and morning sex~” y/n lets out a breathless giggle. Ji-yong smirks, grinding his growing erection against her ass.

”what can i say, you look so fucking irresistible~” ji-yong growls in her ear. Y/n gasps as ji-yong slowly slides one of his fingers into her weeping cunt. “Mmm~” she moans quietly as he easily slides a second finger into her, slowly pumping them in and out teasingly. “Do you hear that jagi?” He grins against y/n's shoulder at the wet sounds coming from her cunt.

Y/n moans, squeezing her eyes shut and squirming in pleasure. “You sound so beautiful~ keep moaning for me, ok?~” he mumbles, kissing back up her neck. Ji-young’s thumb lightly grazes her clit, making her whole body jolt against him. “P-please ji..” a needy whimper falls from y/n’s lips. Ji-yong teasingly runs his thumb over her clit again.

”please? What~ what do you want jagi~” ji-yong smirks against her skin. Y/n would roll her eyes if she didn’t feel so good, instead she moans loudly, her hands finding ji-yong's free arm and gripping hard. “N-need you to touch my clit.. p-please ji~” y/n squeezes his arm, having to physically fight the urge to dig her nails into his skin, knowing she can’t leave any marks on him.

ji-yong's thumb finally makes contact with y/n's aching clit, rubbing fast circles to match the pace of his fingers. “Shit your clenching down on my fingers so hard~” ji-yong groans, kissing her jaw, leaving hickeys in his wake. Y/n moans, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. “S-shit ji~ g-gonna-“

y/n groans in disappointment as ji-yong pulls his hand away, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing. “Not yet jagi~ i want you to cum on my cock~” he whispers in her ear, gently biting her earlobe, tugging it gently as he pulls away. Y/n moans, bucking her hips against his, desperate for some kind of friction. ji-yong groans, gripping her hips, holding them down.

“I want you to ride me y/n~” he groans, laying on his back, pulling her with him so she’s straddling him. y/n smirks down at him, grinding her wet cunt on his stomach. “I’m starting to think this is your favorite position~” she teases. Ji-yong just smirks up at her, gripping her hips tighter. “Maybe it is~” y/n giggles, rolling her eyes.

y/n sits up on her knees, grabbing ji-yong's cock and stroking it a few times before positioning him at her slick entrance. Ji-yong groans, his cock twitching in interest as his eyes trail down her body and to where they are about to be connected. “What do you say ji~” y/n teases, a small smirk playing on her lips as she rubs his cock through her wet folds teasingly.

Ji-yong throws his head back with an annoyed groan. “Plea-“ y/n doesn’t let him finish, sinking down on him fully. “A-ah~” he moans, looking up at her in shock. “Fuck..you’re so hot” he groans, bucking his hips against hers. Y/n smirks down at him, trailing a finger down his chest and stomach, stopping where their connected. “Your so big ji~ fill me all the way up..” y/n moans, starting to roll her hips slowly. Ji-yong's grip on her hips tighten, bound to leave finger shaped bruises.

Ji-yong lets out a needy groan. “N-need you to move faster jagi~” he grunts, lazily thrusting up into her from below. Y/n starts bouncing faster, her back arching at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. She presses both her hands to his chest for balance as she throws her head back. Ji-yongs thrusts start to match her pace, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. “S-shit ji~” y/n moans, leaning down and connecting their lips in a sloppy, needy kiss.

y/n feels the knot start to form in her lower stomach again, so she pulls away from the kiss, speeding up her pace while she starts to rub her clit. She immediately throws her head back, moaning loudly. “I-I’m cumming ji~” ji-yong groans, the feeling of y/n clenching down on him so hard sends him over the edge. He continues to thrust up, riding out both of their highs for as long as he can.

y/ns body slumps down on him, coming down from her high. “You felt so good, jagi~” Ji-yong mumbles lazily, running his hand through her hair. Y/n smiles against his chest, leaving small kisses where her head is resting. They sit in silence for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of sex.

”We should get cleaned up.” Ji-yong gently rolls y/n off of him, laying her on the sheets next to him. “I'll go run us a bath, be right back” he kisses her softly, before jumping up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. Y/n sighs, watching the closed door for a few seconds before finally looking up at the ceiling and zoning out.

y/n loves ji-yong..and she’s sure he loves her..he treats her like he does, yet.. he always goes back to Nam-Gil…y/n has been thinking about ending this for a while..months even, but a part of her always hopes he will leave Nam-Gil for her. Y/n knows that ji-yong doesn’t love his bride to be..yet he still always chooses her over y/n..well..y/n is sick of being the side piece.Y/n know this is the last time her and ji-yong should see each other, she wants to get married and have kids..and so she can’t have that with ji-yong..

ji-yong walks back into the room with a wide grin. “Baths ready~” he says, stopping at the side of the bed. Y/n smiles softly at him. “Ok ji~” y/n is going to enjoy her bath with ji..then she will tell him.. he lifts her off the bed, causing her to squeal quietly before giggles start to pour from her lips “so strong~” she teases, placing her hand on his chest. Ji-yong smirks proudly at her, carrying her all the way to the edge of the bathtub. He sets her down, grabbing her arm to help support her on her wobbly legs. “Be careful when you get in..” ji-yong mumbles, gripping her arm tighter as she steps into the tub. “Thanks ji” she says as she lowers herself into the tub.

Ji-yong lets go of her arm and climbs in behind her, resting his head on her shoulder once he’s sat down. “You're so perfect~” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around y/n's waist and pulling her closer. He pants a soft kiss to the back of her neck, breathing in her scent. “I love you y/n~” he sighs softly, leaving kiss after kiss in the same spot as before.

y/n has to hold back tears, her voice a little choked up as she responds. “I love you too ji-yong..” y/n mumbles, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling of ji-yong's lips on her neck. They sit in silence for a while, ji-yong never stopping his affections on y/n's neck..y/n enjoys it while she can, knowing this is the last time she’s going to get to be like this with him.

The water is starting to get cold and y/n is dreading what’s about to come, but she knows this is what she needs to do, not just for herself, but for ji-yong too. “Ji-yong?” She whispers, she needs to tell him..it’s eating her alive and she can’t wait any longer.. “yeah jagi?” Y/n tenses slightly, and ji-yong feels it, frowning as he pulls away from her neck, concern filling his eyes.

“I-i…” y/n sighs sadly while ji-yong eyes her from behind, he doesn’t like where this is going.. “What's wrong?” He asks, his hands rubbing small comforting circles on her stomach. “I-i think this should be the last time we see each other..” ji-yong fully pulls away, looking at her with betrayal in his eyes. Y/n sighs, turning her body so she’s facing him, giving him the space he needs.

“Listen ji-yong..did you really think i was going to be your side chick forever..that’s not..that’s not what i want..” ji-yong shakes his head. “No..I didn’t think you would be my side chick forever..” ji-yong can’t bring himself to look at her..he thought he had more time with y/n..he needs more time..this can’t be the end..not yet..tears well up in ji-yong's eyes, he wishes he took more time to memorize y/n. The way she laughs, feels..looks…”i-i love you y/n..” ji-yong grabs her hands, bringing them up to his lips as he continues. “Why does it have to end now?”

y/n frowns, squeezing is hands. “You're getting married in a month, ji-yong…i need to move on from this..us..at least somewhat before your big day comes.” Ji-yong's heart aches, he hates the thought of y/n moving on from him..he knows it’s selfish..but he loves her..and the thought of her with someone else breaks his heart in ways he can’t describe. He nods his head, holding back the tears threatening to fall.

”when we separate at the airport..that’s when we’re officially over..ok?” Y/n asks, her eyes full of unshed tears. Ji-yong looks at her with sad eyes for a moment, but nods in agreement anyways.

Y/n rests her forehead against his. “I love you ji-yong…and i'll never forget you or the time i spent with you…the memories of you will haunt me until the day i die~” a tear slides down y/ns cheek. “I will always love you y/n..i'll always-..always think about you..everything i do thoughts of you will follow..” y/n smiles sadly, nudging him in the side. ‘How cheesy of you~” she teases, causing him to chuckle sadly. “It’s true though y/n…i will find a piece of you in everything i do..”

ji-yong pulls her closer, their body’s flush against the others. He wraps his arms back around her waist and crashes his lips against hers. They savor the feeling, holding each other as close as possible. “The water's cold ji..” y/n whispers as she pulls away from him completely. ji-yong’s hands linger on her hips as he gives her a sad look. “I’m not ready to let go yet..” he mumbles, looking at her with pleading eyes. “I know..but it's time..

y/n stands up, ji-yong's hands falling away from her sides. She frowns down at him before stepping out of the bath, wrapping a towel around her body. “Come on ji” ji-yong watches her for another second, before pulling the plug on the bath and stepping out, wrapping a towel around his own body. “this sucks” ji-yong grumbles before walking to the outfit he planned the night before.

y/n nods in agreement. ”Your right…this does suck..” y/n sighs pulling on a cute pair of gray sweats and a dark red crop top. Ji-yong eyes her outfit and smiles softly. “You look beautiful y/n..” he mumbles lovingly, sad eyes taking her in one last time. Y/n sighs. “Don’t do this ji..” she groans sadly, avoiding eye contact. He huffs and crosses his arms. “Do what?” he glares, making her laugh humorlessly. “Acting like were a couple..i-i just..I’m in fucking airport clothes..a-and…ji..i just..” y/n can’t finish her sentence, tears streaming down her face.

Ji-yong’s anger vanishes almost instantly, his eyes widening slightly. “N-no! Don’t cry..i get it ok? I wont act like we're a couple anymore..” he reaches over and gently wipes her tears. “Please stop crying..” she whispers, hating when she cries. He pulls her into a comforting hug, she melts into it much to ji-yong's relief. “We have to check out now..” y/n sighs, pulling away from ji-yong's embrace. She turns to the mirror, hiding any evidence of her crying.

they both quietly grab their bags, stopping at the door to turn and take one last look at the hotel room, which has now become a capsule of all their last memories together. “If you ever change your mind on marrying Nam-Gil you know where to find me…” y/n says before leaving the room, not giving ji-yong enough time to even process what she said.

y/n and ji-yong don’t really talk unless they need to the whole way back to Seoul..they don’t know what to day to each other..so they just stayed quiet, they didn’t want to accept that this is actually the end of them.

Nam-Gil meets ji-yong at the doors of the airport, jumping into his arms and kissing him deeply, even though they both know that she doesn’t give a shit about him… as he’s putting his bags in the trunk of his car, he turns and watches y/n get in a taxi, realizing that’s the very last time he’s going to see y/n..the love of his life..

*one month later*

it's the day of ji-yong's wedding..he’s all dressed up in a fashionable suit that matches his style perfectly, the only part of the wedding he got any say in. he feels nauseous standing in front of all the waiting guests, and not the good, excited but a little scared nauseous..no, this is the most dreadful, gut wrenching, heartbreak kind of nausea. Today he’s going to marry the wrong person..

Ji-yong scans Nam-Gil’s family..they're all happy for the two, not knowing that their relationship had crumbled beneath their feet months ago. That's why he proposed in the first place, to fix things after he caught Nam-Gil cheating the first time..but he knows that this marriage won't change her behavior..she’s just using him..and he’s just letting her.. y/ns words at the hotel have been ringing in his ear since they split. “If you ever change your mind about marrying Nam-Gil, you know where to find me” ji-yong sighs, tearing his gaze away from his soon to be wife’s family.

The music starts, and ji-yong's stomach drops..this is it..why is he doing this?.. he sees Nam-Gil, a fake joyful smile plastered across her face, along with fake tears of happiness falling down her cheeks. She’s really selling this, and if ji-yong didn’t know what real love felt like because of y/n..he would have probably fallen for it too.. he lets tears of his own fall, but not tears of happiness, they are tears of heartbreak, it's not like any of the guests will know otherwise..

Nam-Gil steps up in front of him, and he forces himself to look up at her..y/n in a wedding dress flashes through his mind, and his heart aches, the fact that he will never see her again eating away at his soul..

y/n stares up at the wedding venue, a small frown settling on her face. Tears well up in her eyes, he’s still doing it..marrying Nam-Gil..so why is y/n even here..ji-yong doesn’t want her or he would have fought for her..but y/n knows she needs the closure from doing this, no matter how much it may hurt at first.

She walks up the steps and through the venue doors, the sound of the officiant speaking filling her ears. She shouldn’t be doing this…but if he tells her to leave she will be free to take the job offer she got in Paris, and they’ll never see each other again..hopefully. Y/n peeks around the wall, watching the wedding secretly.

Y/n’s eyes land on ji-yong, he looks…defeated..yet still so devastatingly handsome.. she can see that he doesn’t want this, it's written all over his face..how can the guests not tell his tears aren’t from joy? Y/n’s frown deepens..she knows ji-yong feels trapped in this engagement, she doesn’t know why she waited for him, she should just turn around now, move to Paris and never look back..but he’s the only person holding her here and she doesn’t want any regrets when she leaves..so its time for her to finally close this door for good.

”Does anyone object to this union?!” The officiant calls out. Y/n takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for potential heartbreak. She steps out, her eyes landing on ji-yong. “I-i do!” The whole room freezes, before everyone silently turns to face y/n. Y/n shrinks under the gaze of so many people, focusing her eyes solely on ji-yong. His eyes light up when he sees her, looking at her like she hung the stars, and in that moment she was confident she would be walking out of the venue with ji-yong by her side.

y/n takes a few steps, keeping her eyes on ji-yong’s the whole time. Nam-Gil scoffs angrily. “Who even are you?” she shouts, glaring at y/n with a certain fire in her eyes. Y/n ignores her, the only person that matters to y/n right now is ji-yong, and she wants him to know it.

Ji-yong feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs, he hasn’t seen y/n since the airport..and he’s missed her so damn much. Now..seeing her in front of him after all this time apart..y/n looks breathtaking. Nam-Gil glares at him angrily. “Do you know her ji-yong?!” she stomps her foot demandingly, looking like a small child who got told no when asking for a new toy.

Ji-yong doesn’t answer, he just starts slowly walking towards y/n. Nam-Gil gasps. “J-ji-yong! Tell your fan to leave!..now!” She shouts, once again stomping her foot like an angry child. Ji-yong continues to ignore her meeting y/n in the middle of the aisle.

Y/n grabs his hands and looks him dead in the eyes. “I’m so sorry I crashed your wedding..i-i just..i had to do this..” she sniffs, squeezing his hands. “If you tell me to leave..you’ll never see me again..i'll never call or text..i won't seek you out..and I’ll pretend nothing ever happened between us..” ji-yong's heart aches at the thought of never seeing y/n again..never hearing her voice or her laugh..he shakes his head, before looking her in the eyes again.

”i love you so much ji-yong..a-and i want to be with you for real…this is our last chance ji..if you send me away now..I’m going to move countries and never look back…” ji-yong's stomach drops, she‘ll leave? No! That can’t happen! The idea hurts..a lot..he smiles at her softly. “You know..it's funny, I didn’t have to find you when I changed my mind..you came to me~” he grabs her cheeks gently pulling her in for a deep loving kiss, people around them be damned.

ji-yong missed y/n's lips this last month, there’s no stopping him now..The crowd gasps, and Nam-Gil practically screams. She storms over, grabbing ji-yong by the arm before pulling him away from y/n. Nam-Gil slaps y/n..hard, the sound echoing off the walls. Y/n rubs her cheek, her cheek red and tingling in pain. Y/n admits she deserves it..she knew ji-yong was engaged the whole time she was with him and its a shitty thing for her to do.

ji-yong is appalled by the slap though, his eyes widening angrily. “What do you think you're doing?!” ji-yong shouts. Nam-Gil raises her hand to slap him too, but he catches her wrist gently, not wanting to hurt her. “I can't believe you would do this to me! I thought you fucking loved me!?” Nam-Gil shouts, trying to pull her wrist from ji-yong's grip so she can slap him.

ji-yong laughs angrily at her. “Maybe if you hadn’t cheated on me all those times I wouldn’t have fucking cheated myself!” She scoffs, finally getting her arm free, she doesn’t go to slap ji-yong though. “I thought this whole engagement was to fix our relationship!” Ji-yong scoffs, a small humorless chuckle falling from his lips. “To fix our relationship you need to actually stop cheating on me!” Ji-yong yells, gently putting his hand on y/n's back before starting to lead her out of the venue.

“Where the fuck are you going!?” Nam-Gil shouts after him. “The weddings off! we‘re over!” He yells back, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he leads y/n outside. They both let out a sigh of relief, the cool air feeling amazing on their flushed skin. “Come on, let's get you home~” ji-yong purrs in y/n's ear as he leads her to his car. He opens the door for her, smiling as he watches her sit down..he’s so happy he made this decision, he knows it’s the right one, he knows he will be way happier with y/n who he actually loves, and loves him back.

he hops in the driver's seat, his hand immediately finding y/n's thigh. She smiles, grabbing his hand in her own and resting her head on her seat, gazing at him lovingly. “Sorry it took so long jagi~” he frowns, pulling the back of y/n's hand to his lips. She smiles at him, savoring the feeling of his lips on her skin after weeks of nothing. “I would have waited centuries if it meant i get to be with you like this~”

he grins at her words, his heart fluttering in his chest. “Well your waiting is over” he mumbles, leaning over the center console to give her a quick kiss, before pulling out of the wedding venue parking lot. Ji-yong holds y/n's hand all the way to her apartment, not wanting to let go even for a single moment.

When they get to y/n's apartment building, ji-yong practically drags her inside, before pushing her up against her apartment door and smashing their lips together. Ji-yong pulls away and observes her cheek with a small frown. “Does it hurt?” He asks, bringing her palm to his lips, kissing down to her inner wrist. “Not anymore~” y/n whispers, before grabbing his face and pulling him into a deep kiss.

ji-yong will think about the fact that he still lives with that she witch later…right now he’s going to enjoy the love of his life’s body~

Hey guys! I’m starting a tag list so comment or message me if you want to be in it!! 💛💛

[sixeyesxtodd]

꒰ ❤︎ ꒱ satoru gojo! queen of the kingdoms he destroys

🗁category : romance

🗐 content : AU. slightly based on the novel and manhwa “the remarried empress”. prince!satoru, empress!reader . ᵎ!ᵎ reader is married with someone else at first ⚠︎ warning : mdni. cheating, angst, comfort, aristocracy, historical inaccuracies, emotional/psychological manipulation, period-typical sexism, jealousy, possessiveness, divorce, verbal abuse, eventual relationships, eventual smut, (there will probably be more warnings later, idk) english isn't my first lenguage so, grammar mistakes, maybe . 🗐 synopsis: being the perfect empress had been your whole life, but after six years of an arranged marriage with the emperor, he arrives out of nowhere with a concubine whom he favors to the point of making a fool of you and asking for a divorce, the prince of the neighboring kingdom, satoru gojo, arrives to show that he is more interested in you than just for diplomacy.

chapter one: my castle's crumbling down

snow fell gently on the stone steps of the imperial palace, painting the capital city of the empire. though the arrival of the new year was close, the air was anything but festive, at least not for you.

the empress.

you stood before the window of your private chambers, hands clasped behind your back, watching the snow accumulate on the balcony's railing. the fire inside crackled, warming the place but not your heart.

a month ago, your husband —the emperor ryusei— had paraded through the imperial capital with a trembling girl in a pale blue dress clinging to his side. he'd introduced her not as a guest, not as a servant, but as his first concubine. her name, misara, had quickly become an echo in the palace halls. her innocent eyes and tear-streaked cheeks might have charmed the public, but you were the one left to weather the political fallout, the gossip, the stifled pity of foreign envoys. just yesterday, in a formal court session, ryusei had granted her a title. 

you hadn’t shed a single tear. not in public, not in private. you wouldn’t grant them that satisfaction. but the exhaustion behind your polished poise had begun to eat at your spirit. every visit to the central court, every glance thrown your way as the “discarded empress,” every whisper about your supposed coldness had piled up into a weight that no amount of grace could lift.

what hurt more than the betrayal itself was the way ryusei looked at you now: aloof, distracted. as if you were an old treaty he was bound to, rather than the girl he had once sworn to love. you had been married six years. three of them under his crown. but you had grown up beside him, trained together, studied side by side. you had thought, naively, that your marriage was built on more than duty. still, you fulfilled your duties, perfect as ever. you oversaw winter court preparations, calmed the tensions among the nobility, and welcomed foreign dignitaries with the same regal smile you’d worn for years. even as whispers grew louder. even as misara began calling you “sister,” claiming that you now shared “the same husband.”

you wanted to scream. but you didn't. a single tearful girl with a soft voice had made your place in the world seem replaceable. if you started acting deliberately cruel, the criticism would fall on you, not her. of course not, after all, “she didn't know what she was doing.”

and in the midst of it all, the letters had started to arrive.

the letters were a breath of fresh air in the middle of all that chaos, you had never allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of anyone, it was not the right thing to do, the empire needed a strong empress made of steel. but between ink, paper and anonymity you allowed yourself to be vulnerable, to be more human, even if it was with a stranger --one who seemed to understand your position despite revealing so little--, those had been your only moments of peace lately.

you weren’t ready for the dove’s owner to show up in person. not yet or ever.

the dove’s owner—satoru gojo, second prince of the  western kingdom—had arrived in the capital that morning under the pretense of attending the upcoming new year’s celebrations. no official delegation, no formal reception. he had arrived early, almost intentionally so, and had not made an effort to mask his reasoning. “i wanted to breathe before the pageantry begins,” he had said.

you had just returned from meeting the treasury council when shoko, your closest lady-in-waiting, entered your chambers with a faint smirk and a twinkle in her eyes.

“your majesty,” she said. “it seems the second prince of the western kingdom has arrived. without any traditional escort, no formal ceremony. just walked in like he owned the place.”

you blinked, pausing your steps.

“the second prince?” you echoed. “of the western kingdom? now?”

“he says he's here for the new year banquet,” shoko replied, shrugging, then she leaned close enough so that only you could hear her whisper. “ he's quite handsome and single, in case you'd like to cause some trouble.” your heart skipped a beat and your cheeks flushed at shoko's comment. more than just a lady-in-waiting, she had been your friend for years, so she realized the low mood you had been in for weeks. she had certainly been the first to suggest that you get a concubine more handsome than the emperor, but to suggest that this one be the prince of the neighboring kingdom... was scandalous. but that would only make it more interesting.

“he’s in the central courtyard,” she said. “and he asked specifically for you to greet him.”

you paused, brush hovering above your parchment.

“me?” you asked, too quickly. the western kingdom was nearly equal in size to your native empire, but in recent years, it had grown stronger—both militarily and economically. were they a threat to the empire? perhaps. which was why maintaining a good relationship with the next heir was essential. naturally, welcoming him was something you would do, though the fact that the request had been made specifically for you, and not the emperor, was... unusual.

either way, making him feel at ease was the priority. so, you took one last look in the mirror to ensure your appearance was flawless, then made your way to greet him.

prince satoru gojo was next in line to the throne of the western kingdom, he had a complicated reputation, but the rumors that stood out were those about how attractive he was. you thought they were exaggerated, after all people love to dramatize.

but clearly this was not the case, for the rumors didn't compare to the reality. he was even better in person.

dressed in a midnight blue coat with silver trimming and a baby blue sash tied loose at his hips, satoru gojo stood like a man who had never faced a single consequence in his life . tall, striking, his snow-white hair tousled like he’d just stepped out of wind. his eyes—those impossible, cerulean eyes—landed on you the moment you entered, and his smile widened. and his smile?

his smile was the kind of thing you'd fight for. swinging between innocent and devilish, but utterly bewitching. “your majesty,” he greeted with a bow far too casual for a prince. “an honor to finally meet the famous empress of the eastern empire. you certainly are more gorgeous in person.”

you narrowed your eyes, heart hammering at his choice of words. but he only winked and kissed the back of your hand. you said nothing as you gestured for him to rise. he did so with a smile that was more playful that it should.

ryusei stood a few paces away, a stiff smile frozen on his face. his eyes flicked from you to the prince, then back again. satoru didn’t seem to notice the tension, or more likely, he simply didn’t care.

“i must say,” satoru added, “your palace is even more beautiful than the stories claim. though i doubt they do you justice.”

a breath caught in your throat. right in front of the emperor.

you felt the sharp gaze from your husband but ignored it. you tilted your head with a neutral smile. “prince satoru, i trust your journey was smooth?” 

“uneventful. but i’m hoping that changes.” he answered, his eyes did not leave your face even when he blinked. ryusei coughed falsely behind your back, clearly not used to being overlooked, let alone you being looked at the way the prince was. “prince satoru will be staying in the eastern wing,” he said coolly. “i trust the accommodations are to your liking.”

“i was told the empress herself oversaw them. if that’s true, i already know they’ll be perfect.”

you bit the inside of your cheek. this man was irredeemable, he wasn't even trying to be subtle and everyone in the place could tell.

└──» ✎ 𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐔𝐕 🖇 2025

[bookobbsesedgirly]

I want a partner who'll stay up with me at 3am, standing on the balcony while everything's quiet and the world feels like it's just ours. We'd share a cigarette, taking slow drags not really saying much, just existing together. Then they'd lean in and kiss my shoulder, soft and slow, like they mean it. We'd stare up at the stars for a bit not needing to fill the silence. Just peace. Just us. And then we'd head inside, curl up together and fall asleep like nothing else matters.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/785982432169148416/it-seems-to-me-that-people-who-complain-about?source=share

Oh people understand. But it's pretty disingenuous that all these fanon enjoyers don't understand that there is inherent tension between people who are completely bought into the fanon and people who don't like the fanon.

Canon is a sandbox right?

So imagine there's a huge chunk of people on that beach collect 80% of the sand and make a castle.

The rest 20% says "what the fuck? we thought we're together in this!"

and the 80% goes "we are! come into my castle and we will be!"

And the 20% says "I don't like castles I love little cottage houses."

They look around and see there almost no sand to build more than one cottage house and most people went into the castle so there's not even enough people to make the cottage house. And tourists pull up and all enter the castle because it's the biggest thing and it's flashy and everyone loves a castle right??? Someone from time to time will come out of the castle and visit the cottage house but in the end as they're talking to the owners of the cottage house they keep bringing up how good the castle is and it's a shame that the cottage house is not like castle.

And the 20% says in their small cottage house: "I don't like this it's almost like I have no one to talk to."

and 80% yells at them from the balcony of their big castle "you are bullying me! why don't you let me have fun! All castles are valid!!!!! Our castle is the only right way to play with the sand and you're weird for making cottage houses just so you know!!! I've been in another castle on another beach and all people like you do is make other people who like building castles unwelcome."

Thank you for coming to my impromptu stage play!

--

[nikifyme]

HYBE HOUSE: IDOL EDITION

Disclaimer!!: this is still idol!reader x idol!niki but I didn’t focus on them that much

🎬 Episode 1: “The idols have entered the building”

The sun’s barely up when the first van pulls up to the massive villa in the countryside.

Inside, cameras are already rolling as idols start flooding in, dragging suitcases and shouting over each other about rooms, snacks, and who’s already being annoying.

⸻

First to arrive: TXT. Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Huening Kai step in, immediately spreading out.

“This house is bigger than my will to live,” Taehyun mutters, eyes wide.

“I’m claiming the master bathroom,” Yeonjun declares.

Beomgyu already starts poking around cabinets. “Where the snacks at?”

⸻

Not far behind: LE SSERAFIM and NewJeans enter at the same time. The hallway is instantly filled with voices.

Chaewon: “Let’s not share rooms with anyone who snores.”

Hanni: “So… not Minji then?”

Minji, faking offense: “Excuse me?”

Yunjin flops dramatically onto a couch: “I’m living for this chaos already.”

You laugh as you pull your suitcase through, giving Hyein a high-five on the way in.

⸻

SEVENTEEN arrives in style—Seungcheol and Joshua leading the charge like older brothers on a mission.

“If we don’t get a proper closet space, I’m turning this place upside down,” Jun says.

Vernon just mutters, “We’ve been here five minutes.”

The younger groups—BOYNEXTDOOR and TWS—follow right behind, already hyped up from the bus ride.

Woonhak’s yelling, “Last one in the pool’s a coward!”

Kyungmin trips over his suitcase.

Jaehyun and Riwoo are fighting over who gets the top bunk.

⸻

Then there’s ENHYPEN: Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Niki. They step in, looking equal parts amazed and slightly overwhelmed.

Sunoo: “We’re definitely being watched right now.”

Jungwon: “Smile for the hidden cameras.”

Niki: “Where’s the food? And where’s YN?”

Heeseung: “You’re obsessed. Get help.”

Niki: “You’re jealous. Stay mad.”

⸻

Last but definitely not least, KATSEYE storms in—laughing, yelling, carrying ten bags each.

Sophia: “This place is nicer than my dreams.”

Megan: “If I don’t get a room with a window, I’m sleeping in the living room.”

Manon: “No one told me there’d be this many people.”

Daniela: “I’m mentally assigning everyone a role in a drama already.”

⸻

The Room Chaos Begins.

People are sprinting, dragging duffels, calling dibs on beds, fighting over who sleeps with who.

Lara and Hanni immediately claim the sunroom.

Chaewon tries to room with Yunjin but gets roped into a NewJeans dorm.

Joshua gets dragged into a boy group combo room by Sunghoon and Jake.

Beomgyu and Woonhak argue about night lights.

You and Yoonchae sneak a two-person room quietly and high-five when no one notices.

⸻

Dinner Time.

Everyone’s sitting around the massive kitchen island, devouring delivery food.

“Let’s do icebreakers,” Megan suggests with a mouth full of noodles.

“What are we, trainees again?” Jay laughs.

“Say your name and your most toxic trait,” Yunjin says instantly.

Everyone groans.

They go around one by one:

• Hyein: “I ghost people mid-conversation.”

• Sunoo: “I fall in love too fast.”

• Beomgyu: “I emotionally attach to inanimate objects.”

• Daniela: “I start fights just to see what happens.”

• Joshua: “I’m too perfect. Sorry.”

• You: “I keep secrets.”

• Niki: doesn’t even hesitate “I eat other people’s food.”

“YOU WHAT?” you shout, dramatic as ever.

Everyone turns. You and Niki lock eyes.

He raises an eyebrow.

You: “Touch my leftovers and I’ll end you.”

Niki: “You love me too much to be serious.”

The table erupts.

⸻

Later That Night…

People are all over the house. Some are unpacking, some are filming TikToks, some are exploring.

• Taehyun and Jungwon are doing push-ups in the hallway for no reason.

• Kazuha is meditating on the balcony.

• Sophia is filming a chaotic vlog with Megan and Lara in the bathroom.

• Seungcheol is already trying to organize a morning workout group.

• Heeseung is stealing pillows from other rooms.

• Yeonjun is sneaking around with a bucket of snacks.

• Minji and Jay are bickering about bedtime playlists.

• Yoonchae’s fast asleep in a beanbag.

In the kitchen, a small group is snacking before bed: you, Niki, Manon, and Jake.

Manon sips her tea. “So… what happens if someone starts dating in the house?”

Niki immediately chokes on his water.

You turn to open the fridge.

Jake just grins. “Popcorn-worthy, that’s what.”

⸻

Confessional – Manon:

“I think I know who’s got a secret. And I’m not saying names. Yet.”

______

I love this so much u don’t get itttt

[carnalcrows]

LIKE WE MEAN IT

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader

synopsis: You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple at a luxury retreat crawling with secrets, soft lighting, and surveillance. The mission’s simple: blend in, get intel, get out. But somewhere between fake kisses, shared beds, and bathhouse steam, the line between pretending and wanting starts to blur—and when the op goes sideways, the only person you can trust is the man you were supposed to hate.

content warnings: 18+ bottom male reader, explicit sexual content (handjob, oral, p in a, overstimulation), enemies to lovers dynamic, violence and brief fight scenes, power imbalance (mission/cover-related), public intimacy (bathhouse, massage scene), handcuffs (implied kink and tactical use), emotional repression, mutual denial, mild voyeurism (surveillance themes).

word count: 5.1k (I've learnt how to write smut again yipeee)

The last time you were this close to Bucky Barnes, he’d slammed you into a concrete wall and called it “team-building.”

Now he was standing beside you in a knit sweater, holding a duffel bag and scowling at a bowl of complimentary potpourri, as if it personally offended him.

The Edelhaus Retreat did not suit him. Not the soft lighting. Not the muted jazz trickling through unseen speakers. Certainly not the host with the lavender scarf and fake accent who had just welcomed you to your week of rekindled intimacy.

“Couples therapy,” Bucky muttered under his breath, jaw tight. “Seriously?”

You didn’t look at him. You were too busy smiling at the receptionist like your fake marriage wasn’t already circling the drain.

“It was this or a fake honeymoon cruise,” you said. “Personally, I didn’t trust you near that many piña coladas.”

He shot you a sideways glare. You returned it with a grin that showed just enough teeth.

The mission file had been clear: embedded intel suggested that a major buyer was using Edelhaus as a meeting point to exchange encrypted biometric data on Thunderbolts agents. You’d been chosen because you could fake charm. Bucky had been selected because he didn’t do charm, and that apparently made him less suspicious.

The “undercover couple” thing? That was someone’s idea of a joke. Or a punishment.

Maybe both.

✧✧✧

Your suite was on the third floor. Private balcony. Heated floors. The fireplace was already lit when you walked in.

And, of course, one bed.

A massive one, with too many pillows and a note on the nightstand that read Welcome back, Mr. and Mr. Barnes. We hope the healing begins tonight.

You dropped your bag with a heavy thud. “Charming.”

Bucky stood in the doorway like the room offended him on a spiritual level. “You gonna make it weird, or can we get through this without the usual commentary?”

You turned. “This is me restraining myself.”

“You’re doing a bad job.”

You stepped toward him, slowly. Smiling, friendly, murderous. “Listen, Barnes. I’m not the one who broke a guy’s wrist last week because he said you had ‘resting murder face.’”

His metal fingers twitched where they rested at his side—silent, gleaming, and just slightly clenched.

“He was wrong?” he asked, tone low.

“No,” you admitted. “But some of us use words.”

“Some of us use results.”

You laughed sharply. “God, you must be fun at dinner parties.”

There was a silence after that. A beat too long.

Then, quietly:

“Which side of the bed do you want?” he asked, eyes still on the window.

You blinked.

“What, no threats? No passive-aggressive ‘you take the floor’ speech?”

“Just pick a side.”

You hesitated. Then moved toward the left, throwing your jacket onto the mattress.

Bucky said nothing, just walked to the opposite end of the room and started unpacking with clinical precision. Toothbrush. Socks. Knife.

The dull thunk of metal against wood as he set down a prosthetic care kit.

You watched him for a moment longer than you should’ve.

It wasn’t attraction. Not exactly.

Just—curiosity. Frustration. That permanent weight in his shoulders, the way he never quite let go of the tension in his jaw. He was made of control and violence barely leashed, as if you looked at him too long, something might break. Maybe in him. Maybe in you.

You turned away. Sat on the bed and muttered, “Think we’ll make it through the week without strangling each other?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “I give it three days.”

You grinned. “Optimist.”

✧✧✧

The room smelled like eucalyptus and vaguely overpriced essential oils.

A diffuser hissed from the corner like a tiny, passive-aggressive snake. There were knitted throws folded over armchairs, a “gratitude bowl” by the window, and a chalkboard on the wall with a looping message that read: "Welcome to Day One of Your New Forever."

You were already considering lighting it on fire.

Bucky sat beside you on the loveseat, legs planted, arms folded, expression blank. He was wearing that stupid oatmeal sweater again—the one that made him look irritatingly approachable—and staring so intently at a ceramic owl on the bookshelf that you wondered if he was trying to will it to explode.

You smiled thinly. “You look like you’re enjoying this.”

He didn’t even blink. “I’ve had dental surgery that was more relaxing.”

Across from you, Dr. Elise Monroe—licensed marriage therapist, facial expressions carved from granite—was jotting notes in an elegant leather notebook.

She looked up, eyes mild. “Let’s talk about communication.”

Here we go.

“What’s something your partner does that frustrates you?” she asked.

A beat of silence. You started to speak.

“He talks too much,” Bucky said, deadpan.

You turned your head slowly. “He grunts at furniture.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched.

Dr. Monroe didn’t react. “Interesting. Do either of you feel seen by the other?”

Bucky gave you a sideways glance. “I feel surveilled.”

You smiled brightly. “He stares like I owe him money.”

“Do you feel emotionally supported?”

You both said, at the same time: “No.”

✧✧✧

You were halfway through a passive-aggressive worksheet called ‘Touch-Based Reconnection’ when Bucky leaned over and whispered, “I can’t believe this is our job.”

You didn’t look up. Just muttered, “We’re here to sell it, remember?”

“To whom? Her?” His eyes flicked toward the therapist. “She already hates us.”

You smirked. “Then act like you love me a little harder.”

He went still. You could feel it through the cushion between you—the sudden shift in his posture. Not tense. Not angry. Just…off-balance.

You didn’t press.

Because the mission was real, even if no one else in this stupid spa knew it. Somewhere in this tangle of yoga classes, massages, and fake intimacy, there were answers. Intel. The Thunderbolts weren’t the most subtle team in the world, and you were the only two who could fake domestic without scaring off the rest of the retreat.

So for now?

You were married. You were in therapy. You were trying.

Kind of.

✧✧✧

Dr. Monroe closed her notebook and said, “We’re going to try a simple exercise. Stand facing each other.”

You both groaned at the same time.

“Hands up. Palm to palm,” she said.

You sighed. Bucky stood stiffly. Your hands met, awkward and dry, his vibranium fingers cool against your skin.

Dr. Monroe spoke softly. “Now, I want you to look each other in the eye and say: ‘I want to be understood.’”

You stared up at him.

He stared back down, unmoving.

You exhaled first. “I want to be understood.”

Bucky was quiet for a second too long.

Then, with a voice so low you barely heard it: “I want to be understood.”

Your fingers were still touching. And for a split second, neither of you was faking it.

✧✧✧

The Edelhaus bathhouse smelled like citrus, cedarwood, and secrets.

Steam curled from sunken stone pools fed by mineral springs, diffusing the light into a soft, opalescent blur. Everything was warm marble and flickering candlelight, the kind of rich, cultivated calm designed to make you forget you were being watched.

You hadn’t. Not for a second.

There were cameras. You could feel them behind the mirrors, tucked into corners, somewhere beneath the low hum of spa music. The mission files had confirmed what you already suspected: Level 4 wasn’t just for luxury. It was where the real data extraction happened. Therapists were trained to coax things out of people they didn’t even realise they were saying. Hidden mics. Heat-sensitive tracking. Eye movement analysis.

All of it buried under massages and vulnerability exercises and cucumber water.

“Take a deep breath,” said the staff member beside the pool, smiling like a cult leader on a cruise. “Let it all go.”

You glanced at Bucky. He looked like he’d rather be stabbed.

✧✧✧

There were four other couples in the Level 4 program, each as curated as a photo op: one older gay couple in tailored robes, a pair of influencers doing slow-breathing selfies, two corporate execs with matching jawlines, and a silent, intimidating duo who hadn’t spoken all day. One of them wore a ring with an embedded micro-gem scanner you’d flagged immediately.

This wasn't just therapy. It was surveillance.

The attendant offered you each a small, carved stone.

“A cleansing ritual,” she said sweetly. “To hold during your confession.”

“Confession?” Bucky muttered, low.

You elbowed him. “Go with it.”

“Each partner will share something they’ve never told the other,” she continued. “In the pool. Eye contact. No interruptions.”

You stared at her, then the hot spring, then Bucky. “So... spiritual waterboarding.”

Her smile didn’t waver.

✧✧✧

You stepped into the water first, careful not to slip on the marble because that would be a stupid way to die. The heat licked up your spine, steam curling around your throat like silk. It should’ve been relaxing.

Then Bucky took off his robe.

You didn’t look.

You really didn’t look.

You looked.

It was a flash. A mistake. A full-body snapshot your brain took without permission and immediately carved into the back of your skull like a Renaissance painting with way too much emotional damage.

Scarred thighs. Strong hands. That long, lean back lined with tension, he didn’t even know how to let go of. The shimmer of his metal arm, already beaded with condensation. The very naked, very rude reality of James Buchanan Barnes stepping into the bath like it wasn’t a war crime.

You stared straight ahead. Dead ahead. Into the steam. 

Into God’s indifferent eyes.

He sat across from you with all the casual grace of someone who had absolutely never cared what anyone thought of his body.

You wished you had goggles. Or blindness.

He shifted, water moving with him, heat rising like a threat.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yup,” you said. Voice an octave too high. “Totally fine. This is all extremely normal.”

He raised an eyebrow.

You refused to meet his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen better.”

“Sure.”

“Like. On statues. In museums.”

“Right.”

You coughed into your fist. “Anyway. Emotional vulnerability time.”

And he smirked—smirked, the bastard—like he knew. Like your brain had tripped over itself and left your soul face-down in the dirt.

You hated him. You really, really hated him.

And you were definitely not thinking about anything below the waterline.

He sat across from you in the spring, steam curling between you like breath. For a moment, the world felt muffled. Too close.

Someone coughed behind you. The air changed. Eyes were on you now.

It was time to perform.

✧✧✧

You adjusted in the water, faced him. “I’ll go first.”

Bucky blinked. “You sure?”

You nodded, looking him dead in the eye. And said:

“I think you judge people before you know them, and then punish them for not living up to who you decided they are.”

There was a long pause. The stone warmed in your hand. You weren’t smiling.

Bucky stared back, face unreadable. Then he said, slowly, “I think you hide behind sarcasm because if you ever said what you really meant, people might actually believe you.”

Silence. The steam thickened.

You almost looked away. Almost.

But you didn’t.

✧✧✧

Later, after the ritual ended and robes were handed out and the candles blown out one by one, you walked back to the suite in near silence. The sky outside had gone black, the snow glittering like sugar under the moon.

Inside, the bed was still unmade. The fire was still warm. The pillows had shifted from last night—his on the right, yours on the left, as if some invisible line had been drawn.

You changed in the bathroom, dried your hair with one of those stupid embroidered towels. When you came back out, Bucky was already in bed, facing away.

You hesitated at the doorframe.

“That thing you said,” you said quietly.

He didn’t move.

You exhaled. “Was it part of the cover?”

A pause.

Then: “No.”

You didn’t answer.

You just slid into bed next to him, one inch closer than the night before.

✧✧✧

You didn’t sleep well that night.

Maybe it was the heat of the spring still stuck to your skin, or the weird softness of the mattress, or the fact that Bucky Barnes was three feet away, breathing like he wasn’t ruining your entire night by existing.

You were hyper-aware of every shift of weight on the bed. Every exhale. Every stretch of silence where he might’ve fallen asleep, except you knew he hadn’t.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

At some point, you ended up on your back, staring at the ceiling, counting the slow press of your own heartbeat.

You weren’t thinking about the bath. Obviously not. That was the mission. Surveillance. Forced intimacy. Not real.

Not him sitting there bare in the steam like a carved accusation.

Not the water rolling down his collarbone. Not the—

Nope. No.

You rolled over and buried your face in a pillow like it owed you money.

✧✧✧

The next morning, you were both called into a “Partners Harmony Seminar.”

It turned out to be couples’ yoga.

The kind with guided touch, breathwork, and a horrifying lack of personal space. The instructor, a man named Rune who looked like a sentient crystal, greeted you both with folded hands and far too much eye contact.

“Trust begins with the body,” Rune intoned, handing you both rolled towels. “Today, we learn to surrender control.”

Bucky looked like he’d just swallowed a nail.

You muttered, “Bet you’re great at surrendering.”

“Keep talking,” he said under his breath, “and I’ll surrender you off this balcony.”

The first pose involved sitting back-to-back, legs crossed, hands resting on each other’s knees. His palms were warm. His thigh brushed yours.

You were definitely not aware of how solid his back felt against yours. Or the slow rhythm of his breathing. Or the fact that his thumb kept flexing like he didn’t know what to do with it.

It wasn’t intimate. It was tactical. You were blending in. Selling the role.

You leaned back just a little more. He didn’t move away.

✧✧✧

Later, after a very confusing partner pose that ended with your arm under his and both of you face-down on a mat, you were walking back toward the main building when someone called out—

“Mr. Barnes?”

You both turned.

A man was walking toward you. Sharp suit. Designer glasses. Hands behind his back like a polite serpent.

He smiled. “Still haven’t worked out who gets to keep the name, I see.”

You recognised him instantly: Carlo Veidt, tech consultant to several defence contractors. Civilian on paper. Ghost on the dark web. The man who shouldn’t have been here.

But he was smiling.

“I was hoping to see you again,” he said. “Both of you. You made quite an impression last time.”

Bucky’s voice was smooth and cold. “That so?”

Carlo’s eyes flicked between you. “It’s rare to see something real in a place like this. I’d love to talk more.”

You gave a rehearsed laugh. “We’re all about real.”

“Dinner, then,” he said, still watching Bucky. “Tonight.”

And with that, he left.

You didn’t speak until the elevator doors shut.

Then you said, “He made us.”

“No,” Bucky said quietly. “He made me.”

That night, there was only one change in your routine.

When you got into bed, Bucky didn’t turn away this time.

And neither did you.

✧✧✧

Dinner was held in the mountaintop lounge: dim lighting, panoramic views of the snow-drenched valley, and a jazz trio playing something low and slippery in the corner.

You hated it immediately.

Bucky looked unfairly composed in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show a sliver of the metal arm. His hair was pushed back like he hadn’t tried, which meant he definitely had. You had no business noticing that.

Carlo Veidt was already seated, sipping something gold and ancient. He stood as you approached, hands outstretched like this was a reunion.

“Mr. and Mr. Barnes,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You look well.”

Bucky didn’t speak. Just sat down slowly beside you, close enough that his thigh touched yours. Warm. Solid. Anchored.

You leaned in, playing the role. “We’ve been working on ourselves.”

Carlo’s smile sharpened. “Have you?”

✧✧✧

The conversation was a test.

Not a casual dinner, not a friendly chat—just layers of subtext and smiling knives. Carlo asked about trust. About power. About vulnerability. All while swirling his drink and watching you both like you were bugs under glass.

You matched his tone. Played flirty, a little bored, touched Bucky’s knee once just to see if Carlo flinched.

He didn’t.

But Bucky did.

Not much. Just a shift. A breath. Like he wasn’t expecting you to do it.

He didn’t pull away.

It happened near the end of the night, over dessert.

Carlo said something like, “And what do you think love is, Mr. Barnes?”

And Bucky didn’t answer with sarcasm.

Didn’t deflect.

He turned to you—looked at you like he was trying to remember the lines—and said, clear and low:

“It’s showing up when you don’t want to. Even when it’s easier to run.”

You blinked. Forgot your own breath. That wasn’t in the script.

Then his hand slipped into yours under the table.

And held.

✧✧✧

The walk back to the suite was silent. Tense. Something unspoken is thick in the air between you, like static.

You opened the door. He followed.

And then you said it. Too sharp. Too fast.

“You didn’t have to touch me like that.”

He stopped in the middle of the room. “It sold it, didn’t it?”

“That wasn’t selling it.”

His jaw flexed. “Then what was it?”

You stared at him. “You tell me.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “Was any of that real?”

A beat.

“Does it matter?”

✧✧✧

Later, you stood by the fireplace, trying to breathe past the knot in your chest.

He came up behind you.

You didn’t move.

His hand touched your waist, light, uncertain. Not demanding.

You turned. Not fast. Just enough to face him.

The look in his eyes wasn’t angry this time.

It wasn’t even guarded.

It was something else. Something hot and scared and wanting.

Your mouth was dry. “This is a bad idea.”

His voice was low. “I know.”

You said it again.

And then you kissed him.

Hard.

And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting all damn week.

His mouth crashed into yours again—hotter this time, hungrier.

You’d kissed before. For show. For optics. But this wasn’t for them.

This was personal.

His hands found your face like he didn’t trust it was real, thumbs rough against your jaw. You let yourself lean in, just enough to press your chest to his, and the contact lit a fuse up your spine.

The next kiss was uglier. Teeth. Breath. Frustration. Like you hated him just a little less now, and it made everything worse.

You walked him back without thinking, half-shoving him into the wall by the fireplace. He grunted, low and surprised, and then tugged you forward by the waist—his grip bruising, desperate. That metal hand was cold through the fabric of your shirt, and when it slid up your ribs, you choked on air.

“Still pretending?” you breathed.

“Shut up,” he said, voice wrecked.

You kissed him again, harder. One of you bit the other. Maybe both. His shirt came off. Yours too.

There was no grace in it—just hands and heat and need, like you were both trying to get rid of the distance you’d built between you.

The bed creaked. Your knees hit it. He dragged you down with him, all strength and tension and that impossible mouth on your neck like he wanted to mark something.

You made a sound you didn’t mean to.

He froze.

You opened your eyes—breathless, strung out, half-naked in his arms—and said, “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

His mouth found yours again, slower this time. Like he needed to taste it properly, like the heat wasn’t enough unless he drowned in it.

He moved over you—one hand braced beside your head, the other dragging down your chest, calloused and hungry and not the least bit careful. His fingers dug into your skin like he wanted to leave marks. Like he didn’t care who saw.

You kissed him like you wanted to prove a point.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and rasping. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

You laughed—short and wrecked and barely there. “Because I hated you.”

His hand slipped lower. You inhaled sharply. “Still do?” he asked.

Your hips arched up into him. “Ask me again when I can think.”

That earned a groan—a real one, deep in his throat, full of want. He kissed his way down your chest, teeth catching on skin, and you gripped the back of his neck like you’d fall apart if you didn’t.

The room tilted.

Clothes disappeared. Logic, too.

The last thing you remembered clearly was the sound he made when you pulled him in closer, like he hadn’t expected you to want him like that. Like something in him cracked wide open.

He buried his face against your shoulder, chest heaving.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, already half-gone. “Bucky. Yes.”

And then he moved—slow at first, like he wanted to feel every inch of it, like the moment would shatter if he wasn’t careful. Like he was still giving you time to say no.

But you didn’t. You couldn't. You just pulled him closer.

His breath hitched against your throat, low and guttural. One hand braced by your head, the other trailing down your side like he was memorising it, gripping your hip, grounding you.

And when he finally pushed in, all of him, deep and sure and devastating, your body answered before your brain could.

You gasped—sharp, helpless. Eyes slamming shut.

He stilled. Completely. Chest heaving. Forehead resting against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

And you did.

With your voice. With your hands. With every sound you couldn’t swallow down.

It wasn’t careful anymore after that.

It was teeth and sweat and low, broken noises in the dark—fingers digging into muscle, skin against scarred metal, the sharp rhythm of two people who should’ve known better but never stood a chance.

You told him not to stop.

He never did.

His hand slid down your body, fingers tracing the curves of your muscles. He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you fully. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours, his hardness evident even through the layers of clothing that separated you.

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and wicked. "Not yet, love. I'm going to take my time with you." 

He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the lube that had been left there for… couple activities. He coated his fingers generously, his eyes never leaving yours as he brought them back to your entrance.

You gasped as he pressed a single finger inside you, the sensation foreign but not unwelcome. He worked it in and out slowly, teasing you with shallow thrusts that left you aching for more.

"That's it," he purred, adding a second finger and scissoring them inside you to stretch you open. "You're so tight, baby. I can't wait to feel you around my cock."

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillow as you savoured the feeling of his fingers moving inside you. He curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot deep within you that had you seeing stars.

"Fuck, right there," you gasped, your hips rocking against his hand in search of more of that delicious sensation.

Bucky chuckled, continuing to work you open with his fingers. After a few moments, he pulled away, leaving you feeling empty and wanting.

But before you could protest, he was shifting down the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He leaned in, his breath hot against your aching cock.

"Let me taste you," he murmured, his tongue darting out to lick a long stripe up your length.

You let out a low moan, your head falling back against the pillow as you lost yourself in the sensation. He took you into his mouth, his lips wrapping around the head of your cock as he began to suck.

His hand came up to wrap around the base of your shaft, working in tandem with his mouth as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure building in your lower belly, your release approaching rapidly.

Just as you were about to come undone, he pulled away, leaving you gasping and frustrated. You opened your eyes to see him smirking up at you, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Not yet, pretty," he purred, crawling back up your body. "I'm not done with you yet."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your. You let out a low moan, your hips bucking up in search of more of that delicious pressure.

He teased you for a moment, just the tip breaching your entrance before pulling away. You growled in frustration, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you.

"Bucky, please," you begged, your voice strained with desire. "I need you inside me."

He grinned, finally pushing forward to sheath himself fully inside you with one smooth thrust. You let out a low moan, your back arching off the bed as you savoured the feeling of being so deliciously full.

He began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. You met each of his thrusts with your own, the room filling with the sounds of skin against skin and low, guttural moans.

The pleasure built with each passing moment, your bodies moving together in perfect sync. You could feel the tension coiling tight in your lower belly, your orgasm approaching rapidly.

Bucky leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing down your moans as he continued to pound into you. He reached between your bodies, his hand wrapping around your aching cock and stroking in time with his thrusts.

It was too much, the overstimulation sending you hurtling towards the edge. With a few more well-placed strokes, he sent you over, your body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

He followed shortly after, his body shuddering above you as he came deep inside you with a low, guttural moan.

✧✧✧

You lay there after, both of you silent. Breathing. Sweating.

You didn’t touch. Not yet. But the air between you had changed.

“You still think it doesn’t matter?” you asked, voice quiet.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly: “No. I think it matters too much.”

✧✧✧

The Ceremony took place on the top floor of the resort—an open-concept temple of white stone and glass, full of soft candlelight and couples in pale silk robes, like a damn cult that smelled like bergamot.

The final ritual was meant to be symbolic: partners “laying bare” their souls in front of one another. But underneath the woo-woo language and therapeutic ambience was a full-scale data extraction.

Hidden in the ritual was a tech system: low-frequency neuro-mapping, paired with heat-responsive skin sensors and proximity-based AI to pull “emotional vulnerabilities” from surface memory. It didn’t read minds. It read reactions. Facial tics. Pupillary response. Muscle tension.

Your files called it the Haruspex Protocol. The market called it a billion-dollar blackmail machine.

And now it was online.

✧✧✧

You and Bucky stood on the platform, robes cinched at the waist, fingers loosely twined in front of an audience pretending not to watch. A soft voice prompted you through the Ceremony:

“Speak your truth. Share your secret.”

Your heart pounded. Not from fear. From what you knew was coming.

You looked at Bucky.

He looked at you.

And then, under your breath: “They’re uploading it now.”

He didn’t blink. Just whispered back: “Where’s the receiver?”

You flicked your eyes to Carlo, standing near the back with a champagne flute in one hand and a tech ring on the other. The same one from the bathhouse.

“The ring,” you said. “We need it.”

✧✧✧

It happened fast.

Carlo caught your glance and smiled. A soft, knowing smile. Like he knew exactly what you were.

You broke first.

Leapt from the platform, crowd parting with gasps. Bucky followed a beat later, knocking down a decorative arch with one arm and sending flower petals everywhere like the world’s most violent wedding crash.

Security moved.

You hit Carlo hard—hard enough to dislodge the ring and drive him into the polished floor. He hissed, trying to reach for something hidden in his robe.

Bucky got there first.

You don’t remember the blow, just the sound of it. Crunch and wet.

The ring skidded across the floor, blinking red.

You grabbed it.

✧✧✧

Thirty minutes later, the uplink was dead.

The data was erased.

Carlo unconscious. The guests scattered. Edelhaus was officially shut down for “renovation” by an unnamed corporate entity with a suspiciously Thunderbolt-shaped logo in the footer.

You sat on the edge of the now-empty hot spring, still damp from the chaos, breathing hard.

Bucky dropped down beside you. Robe torn. Hair a mess. Lip split.

You were both quiet.

Then you looked at him. Really looked.

“Was any of it fake?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly: “No.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Guess we blew our cover.”

He glanced at you sideways. “I don’t think I want it back.”

You swallowed. “So now what?”

Bucky leaned in.

Not for a kiss. Just enough to rest his shoulder against yours.

“We figure it out,” he said. “Together.”

✧✧✧

Somewhere underground, in a windowless office that smelled like espresso and bureaucratic rot, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine snapped her gum and tapped a pen against a file folder labelled:

MISSION REPORT — PAPER VEIL Status: Terminated. Casualties: 1. Compromises: 2. Outcome: Acceptable.

She flipped the folder shut.

Across from her, you and Bucky sat side by side, both in civilian clothes, both looking like you hadn’t slept in a week and didn’t care.

Val raised a brow. “So. You’re still together.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “Is that a problem?”

She smiled. “No. It’s a liability.”

You shrugged. “So’s putting us on your next mission without telling us it’s at a fertility cult masquerading as a couples retreat.”

Val grinned wider. “Which reminds me—how do you feel about Tuscany?”

She slid a fresh file across the table.

It read:

OPERATION: HONEYMOON PHASE

You glanced at Bucky.

He looked at you.

And then, at the exact same time:

“We’re in.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

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[vedicinsights]

How to Make Sun Water

You’ve probably heard of moon water — but have you ever tried making sun water? It’s warm, energizing, and a lovely way to invite confidence, clarity, and healing into your day.

What You’ll Need:

A clear glass jar or bottle (bonus points if it’s cute)

Clean water (filtered or spring)

A sunny day (morning or noon sun is ideal)

Optional: citrus peel, cinnamon stick, or gold-colored crystals (like citrine or sunstone — no water-soluble or toxic crystals!)

Intention — always. Even if it’s just “I want to glow.”

How to Make It:

Fill your jar with water. Speak or think your intention while you pour. Something like: “I invite the energy of the Sun to fill this water with power, clarity, and vitality.”

Place it in direct sunlight for 1–3 hours. You can set it on a windowsill, balcony, or garden. Morning sunlight is gentle and energizing. Midday sun is bold and potent.

Visualize the sunlight charging the water. Imagine golden light pouring into the jar, turning it into a liquid sunbeam.

Seal, label, or store it when done. Keep it in a glass container, in a cool place (but not for too long — sun water is best used within a few days).

How to Use Your Sun Water:

Splash on your face like liquid confidence 🌞

Add to your bath for radiant energy

Water your plants with it to share the joy

Use in spellwork for success, motivation, health, or solar deities

Sip a little (if you used drinking-safe ingredients and containers)

Pro Tip:

Don’t mix crystals unless you’re sure they’re water-safe (no selenite, pyrite, etc.).

LET ASTROLOGY CHOOSE YOU!

I offer personalized paid consultations, email at insightsvedic@gmail.com Join us on our instagram and Quora for more astrology updates!