#ugh...........release me from this hell

[kendosticks]

[lixenn]

Sending you lots of cheers Lix! They're a pain, but you can overcome this, trust 🤝✨ (this global "trend" in the job market of not getting responses from job apps sucks so hard tho :/ had this problem with job apps 2-3 years ago too, looks like it's just getting worse)

Thanks love 🥹🥹💜🫂🫂The lack of response is honestly very discouraging making me doubt myself a lot, so I hope I will get at least some kind of indicator soon.

I would focus on nicer things during the wait but then I feel guilty about not applying to more places which makes the situation even more draining. I think that's probably why I currently don't have the spoons to do anything creatively (be it writing or art) cause it takes to much energy. I mostly spend my time rereading my fav naruto fanfics so there's at least some distraction. Though I gotta say I miss writing... Maybe I should try to cook something up for the guide cause that's easier than causality 🤔We will see if the brainworms will offer me some inspiration 🫡

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[eraserbread]

pregnancy hormones don't stand a chance around your husband, nanami ✧

→ needy pregnant f!reader, whipped nanami, sexually explicit content

"hope that books not more interesting than me," you whisper, propped against the open bedroom door, dressed in nothing but a lacey babydoll lingerie set. your four-month pregnant belly peeks through the lace delicately, and your features are on fire.

kento gives you a little peek. "was wondering what took you so long." he's replying, flicking his book to the next page. you're standing, pouting in his presence.

"hello? i'm horny."

"and you do look very tantalizing in that outfit."

"so come take it off."

he gives you another look, this time lowering the leather-bound book enough to see his face. you pose, crossing your knees and jutting out your hip. you can feel those dark hazels fall over your jutting breasts, then to your widening hips, and finally to your swollen, pregnant belly. his little girl's home.

so, he sits up straight, shoving his book to the side table and ushering you over. "come on, love."

"needy girl..." kento is whispering against the back of your shoulder, pressing kisses there and letting them linger. you're hovering over his lap in reverse cowgirl, tongue pushed from your lips as you focus on staying steady.

"let me have it." you slur, cunt milking obsecnely over his bare lap. he's got a thick fist tight around his erection, making sure you're stable and comfortable before he lets you take him.

"i want you to, but i don't want you to hurt yourself... how about I be on top?"

"—no." you insist, shaking your head violently. he won't let the grip he has on your thighs loose, so all you can taste is the bulbous tip of his familiar, blushing cock.

"why do you insist on being so bratty?"

"I don't want to bottom, baby slides up and into my ribcage and ugh.." you're shivering, and if it wasn't for the abnormal influx of hormones, you'd be turned off just thinking about the pain.

the baby kento pressed into you all those months ago, was an active little girl. she kicked the hell out of you whenever you slept on your back, leading to long nights with little sleep. kento knows this, so why he's telling you to just lie there and take it, is lost on you.

though he's stubborn at times, kento is largely well-trained by you, so he lets you take him like this. his grip starts to loosen, and you can finally feel the stagnancy of his cock start to peek through your sticky folds and into you.

filled to the brim with need, you shiver instantaneously. "oh, please, pleaseplease. all the way—mmgh!!"

he's chuckling behind you—actually breathing a stupid laugh from his nose at your blatancy. "you're shaking already?"

to answer him —you're cumming, and it's a release you've never felt before. his fingers are pressing into your belly, keeping you strong and at his mercy as you cream helplessly all over him. your thighs are shaking, eyes rolling back into your skull as you cry and whine.

it feels like every single one of your nerve endings is being fanned and flamed, driving you absolutely apeshit like you've never been touched a day in your life.

"oh, baby... love."

"sh-shut up."

"that feel good?"

"keep—just keep going." you're begging, drool dripping from your lips as his cock massages that sticky, spongy bunch of nerves at an angle only his cock could hit. he's circling his hips under you, tongue tracing licks across your neck.

your pretty lace panties are ripped and disregarded as the night goes on, and your teddy is busting at the seams, sticking to sweat and dipping off your shoulders. kento's big hand reaches to cradle your swollen breasts, growling in your ear as he fucks you just right... so perfectly and deep that you can feel the slick cervix kisses every time he bottoms out.

you're crazy, and fucked off of five orgasms that night.

thank god for pregnancy hormones—thank god for your husband and all his raw talent. sure, he'll bicker softly just to ignite your needy fires, then he'd give you what you want, exactly how you want, until you're sick with it.

what a thoughtful husband.

[gloomwitchwrites]

There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?

Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!

Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader (w/ children)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, pranks, domestic, dad!141, brief suggestive themes, marriage

Word Count: 1k

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

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”

There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.

Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.

You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.

“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.

“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”

Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.

“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”

His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.

Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.

Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.

“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”

John Price

"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."

John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.

"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.

The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.

"Mum is in on it. Promise."

John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.

"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."

"Yes, sir."

Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.

"You're coming with me."

"To do what?"

He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"You’re off your head, lad.”

With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.

"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.

Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."

"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.

"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.

Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”

He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."

"But I—"

“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.

“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.

He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”

Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.

He should consider theater.

Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.

Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.

He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.

You’ve seen that look before.

Mission abort.

"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.

Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.

"Don't mean it, Dad."

Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.

Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.

In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.

Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.

[dxckgrxsonx]

Between his Teeth

Pairing - Jason Todd x (F) Reader Words - 2.1k Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Explicit Sexual Content - Biting Biting BITING!! - Lil mention of choking - Unprotected Sex - Multiple Orgasms - (F) Receiving Oral - Possessive!Jason - Overstimulation - Swearing - Crying - Dirty Talk - Fluff at the End :) Notes: Happy New Year! it’s been awhile since i've posted anything of a decent length so um?? hi?? Not sure how im feeling about the quality of this but inspiration struck and here we are! i hope you enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

**

Here's the thing: there are nights in Gotham where patrol slows down. It's not a regular occurrence, something more akin to an irregularity really–but it happens. And when it does you're faced with an interesting quirk, a personality trait most would consider concerning.

Or dangerous.

Jason Todd gets bored.

His baseline as standard is marked unnatural. The death of a child recognised and reversed. Murdered soul poured back into what feels like a brand new unmarked body–everything once recognizable to him lost by a pool of Lazarus green. A pool on some nights he can still taste like bile in the back of his throat.

Patrol slows down and Jason finds himself molar deep in something terrifyingly restless.

Sometimes, the fight never materialises and Jason, who's been fighting across two different lifetimes, doesn't quite know how to react in the face of it. There's always been a cathartic edge to combat, a catch and release that leaves him breathless and exhilarated all at once. Adrenaline is one hell of a defence mechanism, swells right up to the top of his head, and if there's no decompression at the end of it his skin buzzes, eyes glowing bright and haloed in Lazarus green.

And so when patrol gets slow, Jason seeks out the brilliance of release by fucking you absolutely stupid.

**

He’s got two stupidly talented hands and they’re touching you everywhere.

The base of your spine, the shivering curve of your waist, two fingers hooked into your smart mouth to wrench every little sound out of your chest. His cock is thick and heavy and every thrust into your spasming cunt burns like he’s tearing you open.

“Fucking Christ–” A heaving, half delirious whine vibrates against his fingers like a phantom echo of your voice and Jason grins when your eyes roll into the back of your skull. He grins because taking you to pieces like this is the absolute best, most unbelievably satisfying way to burn through the frightening magnitude of energy stirring in his veins. “Ugh shit! Are you coming again? You greedy little thing.”

He can feel you squeezing at his cock, your pussy clenched up so tight it’s almost like fucking his own goddamn fist.

Jason pulls his fingers from your mouth–the digits now dripping in spit–and curls them oh so sweetly around your throat. He tightens his grip, forces you to work for your breath and the drag of air under his palm forces blood to swell up to Jason's head.

He watches you carefully, catalogues the curve of your mouth, the way your eyes roll into the back of your skull, the bliss and trust you tuck under his skin.

Fingers flex tighter and your mouth moves but instead of words, he gets a low, drawn out moan.

“Of course you are. You just can’t help it, can you?” He pulls his hand up and away from your throat, grabs firmly at your chin, and you jolt like a live wire, eyelids fluttering, thighs shaking horribly around his hips. Pressing forwards, Jason grunts at how wet you are, the base of his cock ringed in your creamy arousal. “You can take it though. You will take it. Just for me, because you’re such a good girl.”

A broken noise drags up your throat and Jason gets the flaring urge to have something–fucking anything–between his teeth.

It's not the first time he's looked at you and clamped his jaw around the desire to mark you. The possessive flicker igniting something of near biblical proportion in his veins. You're something wonderful. A person he adores beyond measure.

There's times you look at him like he's everything and it makes him feel brand new, born into a universe where home is nothing but you and your two hands that have never once hurt him.

He thinks the urge comes from that, comes from the desperation of wanting to broadcast you as his, of never wanting to be apart.

Your head tips back, throat bare, and Jason doesn’t hesitate–not even for one single second–a feral sort of thing bubbling up from the bottom of his spine.

He bites you.

He bites you so hard your vision collapses in on itself, existence bursting into a kaleidoscope of colour.

Jason sinks his teeth into the sensitive skin above your pulse point and you choke as if he’s slipped a knife underneath your rib to steal your breath. You choke and you clench up so tight around his cock he can’t fucking move.

Your knees draw up in a desperate attempt to wedge between you, back arching into the bed. You twist your hips against his weight and you grab at his shoulders, his hair, nails scratching a long line down his back, but Jason simply renders you immobile, reminds you he’s buried balls deep in your pussy and has no intention of being anywhere else.

It’s not quite pain, but it’s a blunt sort of thing at the very edge of the scale and blood rushes up under your skin to greet each indent left behind. The sting of it detonates something permanent in your psyche, life unmoored between his teeth.

Jason pulls back and he licks at his teeth, there’s no blood, but the action alone makes you swelter nonetheless. You think it might be the look on his face, the flicker of something promising devastation in his eyes.

“Fuck you.” It’s your own voice, breathless, trapped between aggravation and arousal. “How am I supposed to cover that up?”

Jason drags his fingers down to your cunt and rubs at your fat, swollen clit. Every thought fractures apart in your mouth, vowels and consonants splintering into pieces that dissolve on your tongue. You know that’s what he wanted. You don’t care.

“You’re mine.” Jason says, like that in itself is an explanation. “You’re mine and no one else’s.”

The bite mark on your throat looks brutal even to his own eyes. A perfect match to every tooth in his mouth. Your skin is starting to puff up a little, irritation blossoming into a wicked bruise. Jason hums–mostly to himself–and fucks into you hard enough that there’s an obscene squelch of your pussy every time he bottoms out.

You’re perfect. You’re his. He wants you to come again.

“I can’t. Ah fuck! Not again–” The pitch of your voice climbs when his pace fails to falter, sticky fingers still strumming at your clit. He can feel it throbbing despite you coming twice already, and he wonders how many he can get out of you this time. “Jason–I don’t think…I can’t.”

“That’s it, empty that pretty little head of yours. You don’t need to think, y’just need to keep squeezing that sweet cunt around my cock, yeah? You’re so wet for me, and you know what that means?”

A sobs works free from your mouth, thighs clenching tight around his strong hips, each thrust into your peach flesh cunt makes Jason feel like he’s bursting out of his own skin. You close your eyes in the face of pure, overwhelming pleasure and he can see how wet your lashes are.

“Ugh–no don’t–” A whimper hooks into the back of your throat. “Don’t fucking say it.”

Jason grins, half wicked, even though he knows you can’t see it, “It means you like this, little bird. You might complain and try to get away, but your pretty little pussy can’t lie to me.” Your face screws up. Jason fucks you harder, his thick thighs smacking against your ass. He pauses his movements on your clit and listens to the pitch of your whine wobble in disappointment. “You want to come again, don’t you? Hm. No. You need to come again.”

“Nooo.” You try, embarrassment flustering up your neck. “I can’t. Please. S’too much.”

Your eyes blink open and Jason thinks it’s so sweet when you’re on the verge of tears whilst he’s fucking you. Your hands reach out to grab his shoulders, to search for comfort, and you cry out his name when he touches your poor, oversensitive clit. Jason licks at the mark on your throat, his tongue catching against the swell of your near broken skin and your cunt tries to force him out.

"Let me fuck your pussy, sweetheart. Don't push me out like that."

Another desperate cry when he forces your pussy to yield to his powerful thrusts and you suddenly gush around his cock. Wetness soaks his thighs and Jason huffs in amusement when he hears you heave in a strangled breath, then sob, tears streaming down your face.

You’ve never done that before.

By the time he’s finished–by the time he’s worked through the insistent pulse of pure restlessness and settled back into what he considers a post patrol, or postcoital haze–he thinks he’ll make you do that once more at least.

**

Jason quietly appears behind you the next afternoon as you glance in the mirror, gentle fingers probing at the huge mark splattered on your neck.

His approach is eclipsed by silence and you’re struck with the awe of how quiet he can be when he wants to. The talent and skill that must go into knowing how to plant yourself so no sound escapes your trajectory, it’s staggering, and slightly alarming.

You can easily trace the outline of Jason’s bite and there’s a heavy sort of discomfort when you touch it; the sensation of pressing on a bruise in the early stages of healing, not painful but heavy and aching, impossible to ignore.

The corner of Jason’s mouth twitches upwards when your face flickers into a slight flinch, almost like he wants to smile in a self-satisfied sort of way–how typical of him to find satisfaction in something that has you labelled as owned (loved) but you meet his reflection in the mirror and settle on a half-hearted scowl.

“You’re a real dick, Todd. You know that?”

Tugging the neckline of your hoodie up, you just barely manage to cover the mark.

“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re not wearing pants.” Jason points out, redirecting the conversation by eyeing you appreciatively. “And I don’t remember you complaining about it last night.”

Memory sparks-your own desperate, fucked out voice flaring to the forefront-and you feel heat splash up your throat.

Ducking your head to avoid Jason's stare seems like a good idea, but you know with absolute certainty that he'll request you look at him regardless–he might even press a finger under your chin to tilt your head up–all because he wants to watch you fumble over your words like an idiot.

“Yeah, uh–that’s because you fucked me stupid.” He grins wolfishly at that, then his eyes flash with either an idea, or interest. Both of which are dangerous. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing…don’t.”

Smoothing his hands from your waist, down to your hips, then the curve of your ass, Jason drops to his knees behind you. Your stomach swoops, the beat of your heart slipping temporarily out of rhythm. He hums thoughtfully and presses a kiss to the small of your back, then tugs your underwear to the side so one cheek is bare.

Confusion kicks up in your head, brain following one thread whilst Jason in typical fashion follows his own, “You've already eaten me out at least once today, for the love of fuck give me a break. Aren't you tired of eating me out?”

Jason positively growls.

"Don't ask me stupid questions." He grumbles, his tone nothing but a hard edge. "I'll never get tired of tasting your pretty cunt."

You figured that out already. Waking with his head between your thighs, talented tongue lapping at your swelling clit until you sigh his name so prettily, falling apart as he holds you open by sheer force. Reminded again when you settle down for lunch in the kitchen and Jason sits you on the counter so he can nose at your slit, mouth wrapping around your sensitive clit and sucking until you cry.

Sometimes he might as well be dating your pussy and not you.

You feel the warmth of his breath for a single, shining moment, "Then what the hell are you doin–"

He bites you.

On your goddamn ass cheek.

“There. Now you can’t complain because the only person who’s going to see that is me.”

Spinning around in retaliation you glance down and level Jason with a glaringly unimpressed look, “Yeah, congratulations. But you’ve failed to consider one very important thing.”

“No I haven't." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "What else is there to consider?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to sit down?”

**

[jeonsweetpea]

Will It Fit?

Roommate!AU | Roommate!Jungkook x Reader

genre: fluff, smut, comedy, lil angst, slight idiots to lovers

rating: explicit

description: So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…

word count: 6.7k

warnings: size kink, JK has a big dick (no, really), slight pain kink, light choking, dirty talk, Dom!JK, flustered/shy JK at first, unprotected sex (this is fiction, we all wanna be raw-dogged by JK okay), lube, JK loves OC’s panties a LOT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, OC gets embarrassed at first but JK is sweet about it, oral sex (male & female receiving), cursing, Soft Dom!JK, JK is overly concerned with how big your dildo is, embarrassing moments from both parties, spanking, prone bone, creampie, confession scenes, 

a/n: As soon as I saw JK’s OJO face from that GCF, it kicked me into gear to write this. I’ve had this idea for SO long, but never had the motivation to finish it. I was supposed to release it last winter, so hope you’re all excited for it! Asks and reblogs are much appreciated (I read them all!). Also, much love to @jkeuphoriadreamland for bouncing ideas around with me. 

“[Y/N], I can hear you in there.” 

The muffled, disgruntled voice came from the other side of your door. Your eyes fluttered open and your hand stilled in your panties, your heart rate spiking. Maybe if you didn’t move a muscle, he’d go away. 

“I know you’re up,” he added. You rose up from your bed.

“Um… exactly what did you hear?” you squealed, face burning up at your terrible acting skills.

“Unlock this door.”

You didn't know what compelled you to saunter over and open the door a mere crack, but oh the sight before you was almost worth the humiliation. Jungkook was in nothing but gray sweats that sat dangerously low on his hips. He had a bad case of bedhead, but his locks looked so soft that you wanted nothing more than to grab onto them and make out with his beautiful lips, which were captivating you just as much as that intense gaze of his. 

“Hey… you…” you said with a meek smile, which he did not return.

“It’s 2 AM in the morning. I have work at 5. As hot as you sound, we either do something together so we both get satisfied or you let me get my rest because I am incredibly frustrated right now.”

Your eyes widened at his curt response. You’ve never seen him so tense, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as his glare bore into you. He leaned against your door frame with one arm, leaning in close enough to make you break eye contact. He tapped on the wooden frame with his index finger, awaiting your response. 

“Sorry…” 

God, you sounded absolutely pathetic . 

“Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?” Before you could respond, he let out a tsk sound and retreated back to his bedroom. You stood there in a trance until his door shut loudly, snapping you out of it. You wondered if he realized how much worse he left you than when he found you. 

Fuck, was he always this hot when mad? 

You went back to your room after closing the door. Climbing into bed, you got under the covers and laid flat on your back deep in thought. The only reason you were masturbating in the first place was because your room was freezing cold. You thought the heater was fixed, but your room was somehow still the coldest one in the apartment. You knew you’d never be able to go to sleep at this rate, so you decided to do something that would tire you out and hopefully lull you into the rest you craved.

It was supposed to be simple. You, your hand, your phone, and sweet, sweet release. Damn Jungkook for interrupting you. It’s bad enough his room was nice and toasty while you were suffering. Yeah, you heard his loudass snores. You assumed he was deep in the REM cycle so how the hell did he catch your moans? Ugh.

If he was so annoyed with you, then he should have warmed you up instead!

You shook your head and got under the covers, groaning at your lewd thoughts. 

He’s my roommate. And he’s too good of a roommate for me to fuck things up. 

“Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?”

Those words echoed in your mind. The way he changed his tone to a lower register with his Busan dialect slipping through was incredibly sexy. It was the perfect mix of frustration and anger and made your thighs rub together in want. Leaning over your nightstand, you opened the drawer and grabbed a velvet drawstring bag. Slipping off your pajama shorts, you pulled out your trusty dildo. Impatient, you closed your eyes and imagined Jungkook taking you right then and there. However, the moment you allowed the tip of the dildo to touch your entrance, all pleasure was lost. It was cold!

“Damn it…” you muttered. “I gotta warm it up. Ugh!”

You left your room in frustration and entered the bathroom, turning the sink on to the hottest setting and running it over your toy. 

This might’ve been the most desperate masturbation session you’ve ever had, but you didn’t care. This was all Jungkook’s fault!

The next morning was Saturday. You were eating your breakfast on the kitchen island while mindlessly scrolling on your phone when Jungkook came out of his room. As soon as you two locked eyes, you almost choked on your food and had to chug some water to calm down. The man, confused, ruffled his hair and watched you through drowsy eyes.

“Are you okay?” he said, followed by a yawn. 

You nodded as you beat your chest with your fist to get everything down. “Yeah… I just… didn’t expect you to be home. I thought you had work.”

“Oh,” He sounded more awake now. “I read my schedule wrong. Turns out I’m off every other Saturday now.”

“... Oh. Cool.”

He circled around the kitchen island to get to the fridge and you recalled last night’s events, mortified he had heard you. Should you apologize again? After all, you’re both two grown adults; there’s nothing to be ashamed about. If you didn’t say something now, that icky feeling would only fester inside you. 

“Hey Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he said from behind the fridge door.

“About yesterday… I hope you can forget all about it.”

As the refrigerator door shut, you were greeted by the sight of the most adorable man sipping a carton of banana milk. His eyes were wide and brimming with curiosity from your words. 

“Did something happen yesterday? I was knocked out.”

You blinked at him twice. “Do you… not remember talking to me last night?”

“Hmm? I did? I was fast asleep, don’t remember a thing.” He took the seat next to you. “Why? What did we talk about?”

Pure relief washed over you like a tidal wave as you shook your head. “Oh, nothing much. My room’s a bit too cold. It was hard for me to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to the landlord. Do you want to sleep with me?” You shot him an incredulous look and he began to stutter. “I-I mean! Sleep in my bed! Not with me in it. Unless you wanted to—ah—fuck me!

There. That’s the Jungkook you knew. He’s never crossed the line and flirted with you, so you didn’t either out of respect. But… It was too hard to resist teasing him. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Unless I wanted to… fuck you?” you repeated innocently. This was new territory for you—teasing him. His flustered reactions were so damn adorable though. The way his nose scrunched and his eyes darted around everywhere except for your face. If anyone was watching you, they’d swore you had hearts in your eyes. 

He set his drink down and proceeded to cover his face with both hands, panicking at his poor choice of words. “That didn’t come out right. Oh god… this is embarrassing.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your giggles. “It’s okay. I don’t want to peg you—I mean, take your bed.”

Jungkook dropped his hands, speaking the next sentence in pouts. “Hey, I don’t want to be peg—not the point. No, seriously. My room’s really warm.”

“I mean… if you really want me in your room, all you have to do is ask, you know,” you remarked. Jungkook’s cheeks were flushed with a tinge of pink, adding an extra charming element to his already cute self. Were you being too bold? 

It didn’t matter because seeing how his lips trembled and how he could barely hold himself together was fun to watch.

“I didn’t realize it was that easy…” he mumbled, more to himself than you. You tilted your head at him and he noticed how you crossed one arm over another “Not that I’m calling you easy!”

“Uh huh. I’m watching you, Jeon Jungkook. Hmph.”

“No, wait. I’m sorry.”

You placed your index finger on his lips to shush him, even going so far as to tap his lip piercing teasingly. “Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?” 

You watched as his eyes widened once more and that caused you to realize what you were doing. My god. Using his own words against him was satisfying, but all this newfound confidence was going to get you in trouble. You cleared your throat and withdrew your hand, grabbing your breakfast plate and heading over to the sink before things could escalate.

“Uh… I’m gonna go to the gym. Run some errands or something,” Jungkook stammered as he got up, nearly toppling out of his stool. You bit your lip to hold in your laughter as he recomposed himself. Walking in the same direction, he flinched when you got near his proximity. “W-What are you doing?”

He’s so cute when nervous.

“Nothing. Grabbing my keys. I’m heading out too.”

“O-Okay.”

Your smile made his heart rate escalate. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

You spent the day with your closest friends on a brunch date, followed by a trip to the mall, and then hot cocoa in the evening. It was much needed after the week you had and after bidding them farewell, you went back to your apartment. Upon entering, you took off your shoes and put them on the shoe rack.

“Jungkook? Are you home?” you called out. 

“Yeah! I just finished showering!” he called back in the distance. You went further into the apartment and plopped down on the couch. 

“Damn,” you muttered, rubbing your arms. “Wish I could have showered with him. It’s so cold outside…”

As if on cue, Jungkook called for you again. “[Y/N]? Could you come here?”

You took off your purse and slowly rose up from the couch, hesitant. This had to be a dream. Why would he need you to come to the bathroom? He must’ve forgotten a towel. Or a t-shirt. Or pants. The specifics didn’t really matter because your hormones were going berserk at the possibilities. 

You walked through the narrow hallway and stood in front of the bathroom door, excited at the thought of teasing him again. “I’m here. What’s up? Did you forget your towel or something? Silly boy.”

The door swung open and the shit-eating grin you had on your face dropped to the floor in an instant. 

“Why is there a dildo in the bathroom, silly girl?”

Shit. Quick, say something. Anything. Don’t just stand there like a gaping fish! Oh dear, how many seconds have passed? You must look like a total idiot.

Fuck! I forgot I left it here!!!

“Well…” you started to say, “I’m assuming it’s yours.”

Out of all the things your roommate could be calling you for, this was not on your radar. The awkwardness was more suffocating than the steam from his blazing hot shower minutes ago and you wished it lingered around long enough to make you disappear. 

Jungkook made a puckered face at your accusation, picked up the object, and shook it side to side, the bendy silicone material flopping everywhere. His big doe eyes were the highlight of his classic OJO face, the blatant confusion so adorable if you weren’t absolutely mortified. For the second time this week. 

God, and how could you even focus when he was dressed in nothing but a towel, his hair still slightly damp. The bulging muscles of his biceps were a feast for the eyes as well as his tattooed sleeve. You yearned for the day he’d use his arm as your necklace, but of course that shouldn’t be a priority at the moment. If anything, it was his fault you had to use a dildo anyway.

“[Y/N], you know damn well this isn’t mine.” He met your gaze and flashed you a soft smile, biting his lower lip. “I like mine bigger.”

You covered your face in shame, wishing the floor could open up and swallow you whole. “Good god, Jeon.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why is it in the bathroom?”

You gulped, finding enough strength to not die of embarrassment. “It’s getting colder outside and the heater doesn’t reach my room as well as it reaches yours. So…”

“Yeah…? But I’m not following.”

“The… thing in your hand—”

“Dildo?”

You visibly cringed. “Yes, okay, THAT. It got cold and I don’t like cold objects... Inside me. So I took it to the bathroom to run hot water on it to warm it up.”

“Before you use it?”

“No, to melt it. Yes, to use it!” you snapped, feeling the humiliation burning through your body. “I wasn’t aware you weren’t working today, remember? I clean it after each use so please just give it back!”

You ran over to yank it out of his hands, but he lifted it up high out of your reach. While cackling. That motherfucker. “Hey, maybe I want a turn.”

You had to bite back. “I knew you liked being pegged.”

“I do not!”

“Then give it back!”

“This thing is huge though. It fits?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” You jumped up but failed to reach it due to his quick reflexes. 

“Doesn’t it hurt? Because if something this big went up my—”

“Jungkook!”

“I’m just saying!” he said with his arms up in the air like you were about to tase him. “I find it hard to believe, that’s all. It’s really big. Like damn.”

Without thinking, you ripped his towel off his waist and he gasped, scrambling to shield his privates while you seized the opportunity to get your toy back.

You stormed out of the bathroom and ran to your room, locking the door afterwards. Falling to your knees, the embarrassment caught up to you, causing you to hang your head low in shame. You could hear the soft shuffling sounds of his footsteps approaching your door, followed by a gentle knock.

“[Y/N]? Are you okay?” He pressed his ear against the door to hear small sniffles. “Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you upset. I was teasing, I thought you wanted to tease me back and—I guess I took it too far.”

“Go away, Jeon,” you said, throwing the dildo at the door. Jungkook nearly had a heart attack at the loud thump and jolted back, clutching his chest. 

“Holy shit, that scared me,” he said, which earned a small chuckle from you despite the tears. “Hey… come on out. Please. I’m not judging you.”

“No. I’m humiliated. You heard me yesterday and now caught me today. I can’t face you ever again. It’s over!”

He placed a hand on your door, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t even know we started, so how could we be over? You’re cute.”

That made you snap your head up. You quickly wiped away your tears and rose from the floor. “This isn’t fair… I’ve been embarrassed twice now.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You heard me masturbating yesterday!” you exclaimed, frustrated at his obliviousness. “You woke up and told me I had pretty lips or whatever and suggested we do something about it together!”

“I mean, you do have pretty lips. Yup. That sounds like me, yeah,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I really don’t remember. Come on out. I wanna see you.”

“No.”

“Would it help if I shared something embarrassing about me?”

You narrowed your eyes at the door, considering his offer. “... Go on…”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Well… you know how I’ve been doing your laundry for you?” 

“Yeah…”

It was your most hated chore. Putting the clothes into the washer and dryer wasn’t your issue, but folding them was so tedious. So you and him made a deal. You were in charge of dishes and he would do the laundry. However, the one thing you refused to let Jungkook wash for you were your bras and panties. Those you handled yourself.

“You… left a pair of panties in my basket once by mistake.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I washed them for you but um… before that, I might’ve… sort’ve… jerked off with them.”

Your doorknob jostled for a second as you unlocked it. Jungkook waited as the door swung open and was greeted by a displeased you, hands on your hips and all.  

“What? They were really pretty…” he added. “They were pink and had lace—”

“You… PERVERT!” you shouted, hitting his chest repeatedly. Of course, you were aware your feeble punches did nothing to his insanely toned pecs. Jungkook stared at you fondly, catching the hint of a smile that threatened to spill from your lips. 

“Oh, I’m a pervert? Says the girl who has an 8-inch dildo,” he countered, snatching both your wrists. 

“At least I’m able to take 8-inches!” you retorted, laughing at the situation. He joined in your laughter and then said,

“Good! That means you’ll be able to handle me!”

Your brain fizzled out at this point as the laughter subsided. “... What?”

Jungkook’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. “... You heard me. Go ahead, take off my towel again. See for yourself.”

He guided your hands downward to the soft fabric, which was already on the verge of unraveling itself with his prior movements. You stared at his pelvic lines, excitement bubbling beneath the surface while you tried your best to maintain a calm expression. 

“... Pervert,” you mumbled. Jungkook chuckled, taking one of your hands and placing it directly on his boner. 

“Maybe. But only you can make me feel this way.”

You bit your lip, feeling the heat radiating from beneath the fabric and your curiosity peaked. Tucking a finger into the towel, you pulled it down and let it fall to the ground. 

A loud squeal came from your lips as you covered your mouth. “Holy shit!”

Jungkook covered himself after seeing your reaction with both hands, embarrassment crawling up his spine. “Sorry, I’ll put it away.”

“No, no, no!” you said, putting your hands out in a stop motion. “Sorry, I just… you… you weren’t kidding.”

“Does it scare you?” His tone was sincere, his eyes genuinely showing concern. “Because… I don’t want to hurt you. And I know it can hurt. That’s why I was so curious about the dildo. Will it fit? Will I fit…?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how he phrased it, but quickly stopped when you noticed the fear in his eyes. Your thoughts wandered to if he had slept with someone prior and if it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Truth be told, you’ve never been with anyone as big as him so it’s all new for you.

“Well… if I’m prepared well enough, I can take it. The dildo fits but sometimes not all of it goes in. Um… man, this is embarrassing to talk about, ahhh. I feel like I keep making a fool of myself in front of you.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened at your vulnerability, taking your hand and placing it on his chest. His heart was beating just as rapidly as yours if not more. Then he put his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you close. 

“That makes two of us. But you make me crazy.”

He was so close that your senses were intoxicated with the fresh scent of eucalyptus and cotton wafting off him. His eyes shifted to your lips for a split second before meeting your gaze once more. 

“I really want to kiss these pretty lips of yours… If you’ll let me,” he said, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and whispering the last part.

You begged him to kiss you already, so he leaned in and finally pressed his warm lips against yours as you closed your eyes. It started off as a gentle smooch, like a little tease to test the waters. When he pulled back, you leaned forward and chased his lips urgently. You felt him smiling into the kiss as he moved in tandem with you, deepening the kiss while switching positions to press you against a wall. One of his hands pinned your wrists above your head while his free hand slithered down the side of your body until it rested on your hip, giving you a firm squeeze.

“Jung—mmph—Jungkook…” you moaned. He used that chance to ease his tongue into your mouth and the kiss went from passionate to messy. When you moved your wrists in the slightest, he asserted dominance and pinned them back down into place. 

“You think I’m going to let you go so easily now that I have you?” he asked, the hunger in his voice evident. He carefully tugged your bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled it back in a seductive motion, which turned you on even more. 

Once he broke the kiss, the only thing that remained was a string of saliva that broke seconds later.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he said in between pants.

“Since you’ve jerked off to my panties?” you teased while catching your breath.

He rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve never rubbed one out to me before.”

You scrunched up your nose at his response, unable to counteract his statement right away. “Hey… I wouldn’t have had to rub one out if you warmed me up in this cold weather.”

He smirked. “All you had to do was ask, you know.”

Releasing your hands, Jungkook went into your room and grabbed the dildo off the floor. He left you for a short moment and you waited there, confused, until you heard the sound of running water. He came back a minute later and then grabbed your hand, leading you to his bedroom.

“Had to wash it. Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up properly for the real thing.”

He guided you to his bed and helped you remove your jacket, blouse, and leggings. His grin was extra toothy because the set you were wearing was the exact set he jerked off too before. 

“What?” you asked, amused.

“N-Nothing.”

When your back was turned for a second, he mouthed the words ‘Oh my god’ and pressed his hands together as if thanking the universe for this very moment.

Now left in your bra and panties, you laid on his bed and he climbed on top of you, his lips latching onto the side of your neck. You mewled at the sizzling contact, pulling him close by his soft locks so that his hot skin was pressed against yours. He trailed his searing kisses down to your collarbone and then settled between the valley of your breasts. 

“The bra is pretty… you’re so pretty,” he said, full of admiration. He pulled one of the cups down to gain access to your breasts, capturing your perky nipple between his lips. He sucked tenderly, swirling his tongue around before tugging on it hard enough to elicit a moan. His other hand was greedy, slithering into your already soaked panties. His middle finger dipped in between your folds and he rubbed in circular motions to coax some more slick out of you. 

As you arched your back and moaned his name, he dipped one finger into you and began to pump it slowly. He added another one when you begged for it, sounding so desperate that he had to oblige. 

“Please fuck me already. I can’t take it,” you breathed. Jungkook only curled his fingers deeper inside, grazing your sweet spot while shaking his head. 

“Patience, beautiful. I need to make sure your sweet pussy can take it, remember? Gotta prep you well.”

“But I can take it, I can, oh god please.” 

“If you’re a good girl for me. Can you take another finger?”

You nodded eagerly, so he added a third finger and you squeezed your eyes shut from the delicious burn. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, observing your expressions carefully. You clutched onto the pillow and panted heavily. 

“Y-Yeah, I—god—your fingers feel good…”

He began to finger you with all three digits, the tightness of your walls bringing some resistance to his actions. But with a few more neck kisses to relax you, it became easier and you became more undone. 

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered into your ear, his heavy breath tickling it. He finally removed his fingers and grabbed the dildo at the end of the bed, bringing up to your lips. 

“Show me what those pretty lips of yours can do.”

You stuck out your tongue and licked a long stripe on the toy in a tantalizing slow motion, causing Jungkook to grunt. That damn smile of yours was going to kill him. You were the perfect minx—sweet and naughty. He didn’t have to tell you to suck it because you already were. 

“Such a good girl. You’re going to handle my cock so well.”

He removed the dildo out of your mouth and reached into his nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube. You stared at it like it was foreign to you and Jungkook was quick to notice.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it. I know it.”

He chuckled, admiring your determination. “Still, I want to take my time.  Besides… it’s not every day I get to fuck someone so beautiful.”

He popped open the cap and squeezed a decent amount of lube onto the toy. Then he got back in between your legs and slowly began to insert it into you. You squirmed from the slippery, cold contact but Jungkook captured your lips into a deep kiss, igniting your body with fervor. 

He thrusted the dildo as deep as he could, stopping when there was resistance from your panties. Which you were more than thankful for because you already felt full. But then he began to pump it in and out of you at a steady pace, only accelerating when your moans became more constant. 

“Shit, shit,that feels so—“ Your words were swallowed by his lips and that stirred something within you, allowing Jungkook to easily glide the toy back and forth. He soon increased his speed, the obscene sounds your pussy was making the only thing that could be heard in the room. 

You broke away from the kiss and began tearing up from the intensity. 

“J-Jungkook, I think—“

You couldn’t, actually. Your orgasm crept up on you and made your entire body convulse. You shut your eyes to only see white, your ears were ringing, and your pussy surrendered to the pleasure. 

Jungkook removed the toy out of you gently and then kissed your sweaty forehead, giving you a bunny-tooth smile as you calmed down from your high. 

“Did you cum?”

You smacked his arm playfully. “Did I cum… pfft. No, actually. I’m waiting for a real man to make me cum. With a fat cock.”

“Well not to toot my own horn but…” He grinded his swollen cock against your thigh. “I think I meet the requirements.”

Now that things slowed down, this was the first time you really got to look at his cock properly. He wasn’t kidding about needing to prep you. It was as big as your dildo but much more girthier. It was a mouth-watering sight. 

Flipping the switch, you got on top of Jungkook this time. His eyes widened in surprise but then eased into a smile. You leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Let me take care of you now.”

“But I want to fuck you so bad.”

“You can wait, darling. My pussy is yours.”

His dick twitched at that. You giggled as you got in between his thighs, stroking his member a few times to hear those cute, breathy moans of his. 

Will it fit…? God, I hope so.

“Are you afraid you can’t take it?” Jungkook asked with concern. Shit. Did you say that out loud???

“I can. I will.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t—“

“Jungkook,” you said, squeezing his dick tightly, almost like a warning. “I can take it like a good girl. And if not, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

He closed his eyes and nodded as you began to suck him off. There was no way you could take all of him in your mouth but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. You went as far as you could and stopped when your gag reflex kicked in. Using your hand to stroke the area you couldn’t reach, you swirled your tongue and bobbed your head up and down. 

Jungkook’s abs clenched and unclenched at the action and he rested on his elbows to watch you. The way your bra cupped your breasts at this angle was enticing, your pretty lips working so hard to please him, and the view of your ass in those panties could make him cum right then and there. 

“Fuck, you’re so good at this—don’t stop.”

You smiled at the praise and continued, loving how he took a sharp inhale of breath when you cupped his balls. He put his hand on your head and pushed you down gently, not wanting to overdo it with his size. You controlled the pace, but he just wanted to touch you and admire you. 

“You’re too good to me…” 

You released his dick with a satisfying pop sound, kissing the tip and smiling. “Teach me what you like.”

“I love everything you do,” he said, grunting when you began stroking him again from the base to the tip. “Your hands are so much softer than mine.”

You stopped momentarily to spit on your hand before resuming your lewd actions and he threw his head back. 

“Fuck [Y/N]. That’s so hot.”

“Yeah? Have I been a good girl? Are you going to reward me?” He snatched your wrist, his eyes darkened and full of lust. 

“Can you handle it?”

You turned around on all fours, shaking your ass side to side to tempt him. “Take me, baby. Raw.”

His OJO face returned from your bold suggestion and you flashed him a wink. 

“I’m on the pill. Promise,” you informed. 

A burst of energy surged within him as he grabbed the bottle of lube and hurriedly squeezed some onto his cock. You giggled when he squirted a bit too much, haphazardly trying to divide it between two hands and spreading it evenly. But things turned serious when he grabbed your hips, yanking you closer to him.

He pulled your panties to the side and ate you out from behind first, loving how delicious your backside looked with them on. You moaned in delight and he placed a hand on your upper back, forcing your face down into the mattress. His tongue dipped into your folds and he flicked it on your clit a few times, loving the whiny sounds you were making. Then he pressed his entire mouth onto your pussy and sucked hard. 

You were overwhelmed with pleasure and were on the verge of cumming when he removed his mouth and replaced it with something else.

“Are you ready?” He teased his tip at your leaking entrance and you shuddered. 

“Yes, please fuck me.”

“Breathe baby. Relax as much as you can.”

You obeyed, feeling him push himself into you smoothly, knowing he prepped you more than enough. At least, that’s what you thought until he got in halfway. From there on, it felt like he was invading your walls and stretching you to new limits. 

There was a mild discomfort and Jungkook kissed your back lovingly to relax your tense muscles. You sighed and allowed him to bottom out, feeling the wind knock out of you when he did. 

“God!” you shouted, fisting his bedsheets. 

“F-Fuck… you feel amazing I—can I move? Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt… I just feel really full.”

“Okay,” he said in a restrained voice. “I’ll go slow.”

He gripped your hips tightly, like he needed something else to focus on or else he’d lose control and fuck the living daylights out of you. He eased himself out of you but only half way, wanting to savor your warmth a bit longer. Then he pushed himself back into you, making sure to go as slow as possible.

“Your ass looks amazing in these. You should wear them again.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of doing this with him again. “Maybe if you spank me.”

He stilled his hips. “You really want me to?”

You began rocking your ass back and forth on his cock. “Yeah. I’m not that fragile… I can take it rough when I want to.” You swore you felt his cock twitch at this. “Hmm, looks like that excited you. You wanna fuck me rough, Jeon?”

He delivered a spank on your cheek, the sensation sending waves of pain and pleasure through your body. Your pussy tightened from this and it made Jungkook hiss. He spanked the other cheek and then both cheeks and you moaned, the slight pain distracting you from the girth of his big cock. 

“You think you’re in a position to be a brat?” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you up so you were on all fours again. Laying on top of your back, he whispered in your ear, “Do you know how badly I want to fucking ruin you?”

He bit the shell of your ear and you let out a content sigh as he slowly thrusted in and out of you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he reminded you. “But god, you feel so good. So tight. So slippery and wet. I just wanna have my way with you.”

You couldn’t wait anymore. “Please do. Make my pussy remember the shape of your cock. It’s yours to wreck.”

Jungkook got off your back and grabbed a nice fistful of your hair into a makeshift ponytail, forcing your head up as he thrusted into you to the hilt. That feeling of being full hit you full force and you submitted, letting him rock his hips back and forth to the pace he deemed fit. He undid your bra with his free hand, letting the undergarment fall onto the bed as he cupped one breast.

Your moans came out unashamed and full of whiny desperation. The intensity was becoming too much, but it felt too good to stop. There was no more discomfort, only lust and the desire to be fucked so hard that it had your eyes rolling. And Jungkook was more than willing to deliver.

He then grabbed a nearby pillow and placed it under your stomach, pushing your back down until you laid flat. 

“I’m not sure, but I read this makes things feel better on Reddit,” he explained quickly as he helped remove your panties. “But let me know if you want me to stop.”

You’re smitten by the fact he cared this much about you but also trying hard not to laugh at how he admitted to going to Reddit for sex advice. He was too precious.

“I will.”

With your ass propped up higher thanks to the elevation of the pillow, Jungkook eased into you once more and you bit into your pillow. He started to slam his hips into you, gripping onto the headboard to steady himself. 

“Fuck!” you said through gritted teeth. 

“Am I going too fast?” he breathed, slowing down his thrusts.

“No, it’s okay. I want it. I want you.”

Your words unleashed his primal urges to finally give it to you. He shoved his cock deep inside you, each thrust making your ass jiggle, the sight so unbelievably sexy that he had to spank you again.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me harder!” you shouted. Jungkook laid on top of you, wrapping his bicep around your neck and planted a kiss on your cheek as he fucked you harder. You begged him to choke you and he obliged, squeezing your neck just enough to make you slightly dizzy. 

It was euphoric having that slight danger while being used for his pleasure. Your pussy tightened so much that Jungkook felt he was going to cum. 

He slowed the roll of his hips and then pulled out, quickly flipping you onto your back. Thanks to the pillow from earlier, your hips were propped up at the perfect height. 

“Spread your legs for me. Wider. Hold them open.”

You were so drunk on lust that you did everything he asked. He held onto your thighs and inserted his cock into you again, the new angle making your moans come out strangulated. He was so huge, you swore his tip was brushing against your cervix. Picking up the pace gradually, you took the abuse of his fat cock and screamed at how good it felt. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” Jungkook said through pants, wrapping a hand around the column of your neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

His hips began to stutter and you felt your pussy growing sore from the stretch. Anymore and you’d be in tears. You wanted to cum too, so you snuck your hand down to your clit and rubbed in circular motions. Jungkook used the last remaining bits of strength to fuck you for a few more minutes, which was more than enough for you to reach your climax. 

Cumming a second time was more painful than the first time due to the over sensitivity. But somehow it was more enjoyable because you had never felt something so intense. Jungkook kept coaxing you with sweet words, promising he was almost finished. 

He rutted into you for the last few seconds, counting 3, 2, 1 before spilling his seed inside you. His body laid on top of yours, the two of you sticky and sweaty but it was comforting just being in his embrace. 

“Jungkook?” 

“Yeah?”

“Get off. We gotta pee.”

He laughed at your serious tone. “I think I need another shower. Care to join me?”

Your roommate literally just fucked your brains out 5 minutes ago. Why were you feeling self-conscious in the shower with him? It didn’t make sense!

With the hot water on, you took a deep breath before feeling a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Questions, comments, concerns?”

Oh my god, you had to marry this man. “Um… I think I’ll be sore for the next few days.”

“I’m sorry.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it a lot.”

He turned you around, so that you were facing him. “Enough to do it again?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

“W-Well… I mean—“

Look at him fumbling over his words. Adorable. “You’re such a pervert.”

“I can’t help it. You turn me on.”

You covered your chest, feeling shy. “Is that all I’m good for…?”

He immediately understood what you meant. “Of course not. Look at me,” he said while tilting your chin up. “Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

Your lips curled into a smile. “Well I learned today that you jerked off to my panties and you count down before you cum.”

You couldn’t help but explode into laughter at his OJO face when he heard you say that. 

“Hey! I do it to let you know when it’s coming!”

“Yes sir,” you teased with a salute. “I appreciate your punctuality, sir!”

“Oh my god, you’re so cheeky.” He hugged you again and booped his nose into yours. “I like you. You know, when a boy likes a girl and they go out on a date and then—oh shit, I did things backwards.”

You giggled. “I think I prefer it this way. I like you too. I’ve… liked you for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because! I didn’t want to make things awkward. But I guess things ended up being awkward anyway…”

“Because you were masturbating to me?” 

He had such a proud smile on his face. 

“Whatever! Panty thief!”

“You left them there.”

“You should’ve told me!”

“I did!”

“After you had your fun! You are so—”

He gave you a surprise peck on the cheek to distract you. 

“Awesome?” He smooched you again. And again. You couldn’t help but giggle. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Mmhmm. So… do you want to stay in my room tonight?”

“As long as you warm me up.”

“Oh, for sure. I’m great at that.”

“Because of experience or Reddit?”

There was his OJO face again. “Hey~!”

I truly hope you enjoyed the fic! Thank you for giving my writing a chance. :) Also I have an AO3 if you're more comfortable commenting there. Thanks!

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Restraint | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Oneshot 1.6k

You rush to Bucky's side when he's hit with a a super serum booster out in the field so that you can...take care...of him.

Warnings: 18+ smut, if you're looking for an medical ethics this isn't it, p in v, oral (m recieving), unprotected sex, orgasm denial, dirty talk. Topping from the bottom a bit? Bucky is restrained/slightly subby Bucky if you squint, but also dominant Bucky. Bucky is horny, reader can't help herself and they're both crazy possessive.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Sam asked, his warning look at Joaquin came too late. 

“Tell me!” You turned on the younger man, “where the fuck have you put him?” 

“He's -”

“No, it's for her own safety,” Sam pulled Joaquin away, trying to dodge around you. 

“Where's Bucky? Tell me - please.” You were desperate, running through the hanger as soon as you heard he'd been hit, you needed to see him- now, needed to know he was okay. 

“I really don't think-”

“Sam I'm going to find him, I don't care if I have to search every inch of this airfield I'll find him. So you might as well just tell me and get it over with.” 

“Fine, but you've gotta leave him to it, he needs to recover and we don't know -”

“Sam!” 

“Upstairs, room 205.” 

You could hear him before you could see him, the sound of metal on metal unmistakable, and then the door to room 205 slammed shut behind a fleeing doctor and his cry of anger was released into the corridor. 

“Bucky?” You pushed the door open again, peering inside. 

“Don't, baby, just go and I'll come to you when -” he cut himself off, thrashing side to side. 

205 was somewhere between an officer's quarters and a hospital room, it was furnished like a bedroom, but away from the mess hall and regular sleeping areas downstairs. You'd expected to see Bucky hooked up to machines, maybe an IV drip, at least a monitor. 

But Bucky was handcuffed to the bed. The vibranium cuffs attached at each corner, spreading his body across the sheets. He’d shed his shirt and leather jacket, but his tactical pants still stretched over his thick thighs, his boots kicking out despite the restraints around his ankles. 

“Bucky, what happened?” 

“Doll, please -” he grit his teeth, jaw ticking, and set his head back on the pillows, “I don't want you to see me like this, go home, I'll come back.”

‘Like this’ was sweating and writhing, veins bulging in his already flexed muscles, sweat forming on his brow. 

“I can't leave you, what happened?” 

“Hit,” he tugged at his bonds again and you noticed red welts forming on his right wrist, "serum booster something, they were trying to - ugh -” he arched up, a vein in his neck pulsing, “enhance, but I - hit. We don't know - ugh - what it will do to me.”

Despite his otherwise out of control appearance, Bucky's blue eyes were clear and pleading. This was painful, you were sure, made worse by his movement in the cuffs. 

“You need to calm down, baby, stop moving.”

“Can't,” he tugged again, rattling the cuffs. 

“Let me help,” you stepped forwarding, shedding the big coat you'd pulled on when you left the house in a hurry. Your nipples pebbled under the flimsy nightdress you'd been wearing when you got the call. Bucky took a deep inhale at the sight. 

“No, no, no - I'm here because I could - fuck, baby, I could hurt someone. I don't wanna hurt you, go - fucking hell you look so damn delicious - go home!” 

But you ignored him. Instead you knelt on the end of the bed and unlaced his tactical boots, sliding them slowly off and setting them to the floor. Bucky kept his eyes squeezed shut. 

It did feel better to have them off though, and he rolled his ankles in relief, despite the cuffs. 

“Better, baby?” Your hand was on his leg and he managed to get out a quick nod before your hand moved higher, higher. He thrashed. 

“Seriously, you have to stop, what if I -” 

“You won't hurt me, you're a good man, Bucky. And look at you.” 

Your hand left his leg, the bed moved and he cracked his eyes open in time to see you settle in his lap. He bucked up, involuntarily he was sure, and revealed in your giggle as you grabbed his tac belt for stability. 

“Hmm, later, Bucky baby. Let me take care of you first.”

Your hands were back, sliding up his chest. He'd put on weight, since moving in with you, coming home to a hot dinner every night, desserts on the weekend, treats on dates. You liked seeing him well and happy. Beneath your hands the feel of his abs was still there, an undeniable strength, but he was so soft too and you loved that about him. The softness that he only shared with you, that he had gained through your love and care.

“Doll-” his warnings were beginning to sound whiny, pleading, and you could feel his familiar hardness growing beneath you now. 

“Just let me look after you,” you repeated, though you weren't sure if this was for him or you.

Your hands grazed higher, over his pecs, brushing your thumbs against his nipples, and up to his tense shoulders. It would hurt, you knew, to have his arms pulled like that. Especially his left, where the vibranium met skin and muscle. You'd massaged that spot enough times to know exactly where to dig your thumbs to make him say - 

“Fuck - I can't -" the cuffs rattled again, his hips driving upwards and knocking you off balance, leaving you in one of your favourite places, sprawled over his chest. He was thick beneath you, spreading your thighs wide, his cock straining against his zipper and pressing up between your legs.

“Bucky - let me take some of that pressure off, I love you so much - I” 

He tipped his head, catching your lips in a bruising kiss. Your hands clutched at his hair, turning his head to the perfect angle, lips parted you kissed him back fiercly in a whirlwind of his desperation and your need.

“We shouldn't - the doctor said -” 

Your hands were gone again, leaving his hair mussed on the pillow. 

“You're mine, Bucky, I won't have anyone else telling us how I take care of you.” 

The zip on his pants was close to splitting and so was Bucky's sanity, back arched from the bed, teeth bared. Slowly you popped the button and lowered the zip, allowing the hard length of his cock to spring free.

Like the rest of him, Bucky's cock was beautiful, thick and ready, the vein running up the side pulsed beneath your palm, precum beading at his red tip. He looked delicious.

“Do something,” Bucky's hips pumped again and again, thrusting up into your grip. You let go and he growled, low and throaty, body straining against his bonds. “Get your hands back on my dick right now.” 

You shivered, lust coursing through your body like fire. "I thought you told me to leave? Besides, wouldn’t you rather have something else?” You teased, leaning forward and licking a long stripe from his base to his weeping tip, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue and groaning lewdly in satisfaction. 

“Fuck!” He tugged again and the bed groaned. “Do that again.” Instinctively, you lent forwards and wrapped your lips around his head, sucking slowly and dipping your tongue into his slit. It was Bucky’s turn to groan now, head tipped back. 

He was thrusting up, trying to get himself as deep into your mouth as possible and - fuck - you loved him like this. Raw and wild and passionate. You had to have him, the need was so strong you could feel your heartbeat between your legs, arousal making your thighs slide together when you moved to sit up. 

“No, no, no, doll, please, what are you doing?” He pleaded, eyes wide in understanding when you climbed up to sit in his lap. 

Bucky’s cock lay hard against his soft stomach, your lips perfectly molded around it to push the tip against your clit when you rocked back and forth. It was delicious, this temptation, the tease. But Bucky was beyond teasing. He needed to be inside of you now.

With one last pull he broke free of the restraints. His hands, vibranium cuffs still hanging from his wrists, went straight to your waist, lifting you enough to impale you on his cock. 

He was so ready, throbbing inside of you, and the sensation of being empty and then so wonderfully full had you clenching around him immediately, teetering on the edge of an orgasm you weren't prepared for.

“No, no, Doll, this was your idea so you can fucking wait for me.” 

You wailed but clenched down, willing yourself to hold on for now.

Bucky set a bruising rhythm, holding you still as he thrust up into you, using your body to chase his own pleasure.

“Bucky I'm gonna -”

“No you're fucking not, you're gonna hold it like a good girl and cum when I say.” His voice was low, gravelly from shouting.

God. You needed it. It was like an electric shock, the power looking for an escape and ricocheting around your body until every muscle felt sore from holding back. 

“I can't, Bucky, I've got to-” you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes from the effort. 

“Cum,” he grunted, holding you down and grinding you onto his cock while your body went tight, light exploding behind your eyes, “look at me.” 

You opened your eyes and met his, dark with lust, and you twitched again, milking him as he filled you in three harsh pumps.

“Fuck,” he dropped his hands to the bed and you rolled off him. 

“Well, at least you didn't get sick from the serum, right?” You flopped back onto the bed. 

Bucky rolled into his side, looking down at you with a grin on his face, hand pumping his already hard dick again. 

“No ill effects, anyway.” He laughed, before sliding back between your legs. 

[societyfolklore]

Trapped Together

Title: Trapped Together

Pairing: Sheild!Bucky Barnes x Sheild!Female Reader

Summary:  A mission doesn’t go as planed. The result?  Bucky and you find yourselves handcuffed together without the key and no easy way out.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Accidental Handcuffs, Forced Proximity, Smut, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Soft Dom Bucky, Mild Dubcon Elements (squint), Mentions of thigh riding, Porn with min plot.. but yeah.. No Beta

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event – Final square! Square: A2 – ‘I didn’t do a thing’ Card Number: 4B003 The mission was supposed to be simple- just a routine investigation of an old HYDRA base. No hostiles, no active threats, just a sweep for any lingering tech or classified intel. But, of course, things didn’t go to plan.

The air was thick with dust and the scent of rusted metal as you navigated the dimly lit corridors, your boots scuffing softly against the cracked concrete floor. The remains of outdated HYDRA technology sat abandoned, wires frayed, panels dark, the remnants of a long-dead organization still clutching at relevance. It should have been nothing more than a cleanup job- catalogue the junk, confirm there were no active threats, and get the hell out.

You were scanning a particularly decrepit-looking console, fingers grazing over a series of faded HYDRA insignias, when something clicked.

A sharp snap echoed through the room as a metal cuff clamped down around your wrist.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, instinctively tugging at it.

“What happened?”

Bucky’s voice was immediate, sharp with concern. He was at your side in an instant, his vibranium hand gently gripped your forearm as he inspected the cuff. His brows furrowed as he studied the mechanism, and before you could warn him to be careful, his metal fingers drifted too close.

With a soft hiss, another cuff snapped into place- this time, locking around his vibranium wrist.

You both froze.

“Seriously?” you exhaled, staring at the unforgiving metal that now physically attached you to Bucky Barnes.

He let out a slow, deliberate breath through his nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your heart hammered as you gave the restraint a sharp tug, testing it. The metal didn’t so much as shift. You turned, twisting your wrist, but Bucky moved with you- because there was no getting away.

Panic crept into your voice. “Okay, okay, we can just take these off, right?”

Bucky pulled at his side, first experimentally, then harder. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he yanked at it, but the cuff refused to budge. His frown deepened as he examined the lock.

“No keyhole.”

You blinked. “What do you mean ‘no keyhole’?”

“I mean,” he muttered, voice edged with irritation, “there’s no keyhole. No latch, no release.”

Your stomach did an uncomfortable flip. “So… what? We cut them off?”

Bucky flexed his vibranium fingers. “They’re HYDRA-made. If I try to break them, I could crush your wrist in the process.”

The realization settled between you, heavy and unshakable.

You inhaled sharply. “Fantastic.” Then, with far less patience: “We’re stuck.”

Bucky exhaled, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Yup.”

And then the inevitable happened.

“This is your fault!” you snapped, yanking at the cuff in frustration, your wrist burning from the chafing metal.

Bucky had the audacity to smirk. “Doll, I didn’t do a thing.”

“You- ugh!” You yanked again, but it was pointless. You weren’t getting out of this without cutting off his damn arm, and even you weren’t cruel enough to suggest that he try to dismantle parts of it.

Being this close to him was already annoying on the best of days. His constant 'follow my lead' attitude, the way he always seemed so sure of himself- it drove you insane. And now? Now you were literally stuck to him. Your pulse kicked up for reasons you refused to acknowledge, and you scowled, masking the unease with irritation.

You huffed, turning your attention back to the restraint. “We need to find a way to break these.”

Bucky tilted his head, looking far too entertained. “Oh, I dunno. Could be fun like this.”

Your glare could have cut through steel. “We are not staying cuffed together, Barnes.”

Bucky shrugged, tugging lightly at the cuffs again. “I’m sure Stark will get us out of these once we get home.”

You grumbled under your breath. “Great. Our extraction isn’t scheduled until tomorrow.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. "Guess that means we're getting real cozy till then, huh?" He glanced down at where your wrists were bound together and smirked. "Hope you don’t snore, Doll."

Despite your efforts there was no solution. The cuffs were far beyond ordinary restraints. No brute force, no backdoor override, no simple trick was going to free you. And with Bucky’s metal arm restrained, even he wasn’t willing to risk hurting you to break them.

Which meant you had no choice but to wait for Tony to take a look.

And that? That was going to be a problem.

By the time night fell, exhaustion was settling in. You both managed to find a somewhat decent place to rest- an old, creaking bed in a safehouse nearby. The mattress was thin, the sheets smelled vaguely of dust and damp, but it was better than nothing. But sleeping while attached to Bucky Barnes was proving to be a nightmare.

“Stop moving,” you grumbled, trying to get comfortable without your arm getting yanked.

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Kinda hard when you’re sprawled all over me, Doll.”

Your cheeks burned. “I’m not- ”

But you were.

There was no way around it- his arm was wrapped around you, keeping you pressed against his side. Every shift, every twitch of his muscles, sent a jolt of awareness through you. The heat of his body, the solid weight of him, the sheer size of him against you…

You tried to shift away, but the cuffs made it impossible. Every tiny movement just pressed you closer, your body molding against his like a puzzle piece that fit all too well. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell, steady, unbothered- while your own breath was coming far too fast for comfort.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, twisting slightly, only to freeze as Bucky's grip instinctively tightened around you.

“Doll,” his voice was low, rough with sleep, “if you keep wiggling like that, neither of us are getting any rest.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. “I’m not- ” But you were, again, shifting just enough to feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the slow flex of his vibranium fingers resting against your waist.

You swallowed hard, willing your body to ignore the way he felt against you. But it was impossible- the warmth, the solid weight, the steady, controlled power that had you feeling far too aware of every single breath he took. You could smell him, the faint traces of sweat and gunpowder mixed with something unmistakably Bucky.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Just go to sleep.”

Silence stretched between you before Bucky let out a slow chuckle, the vibrations rolling through his chest, through you.

“Whatever you say, Doll.”

And somehow, despite everything, you did.

You blinked awake, mind still foggy. The sky outside the safehouse window had shifted to muted shades of gray, the first signs of dawn creeping in through the thin curtains. The air was thick with early morning stillness, broken only by the soft creaks of the old bed beneath you. As you stirred, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, something stopped you.

Something warm. Solid. Heavy. The unmistakable weight of an arm draped over you, pinning you in place. Not just any arm- his arm. The hard, unyielding pressure of metal wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him even as he slept. The sensation was grounding and suffocating all at once, leaving you hyper-aware of every shift, every breath, every slow, unconscious squeeze of his vibranium fingers against your bare skin.

But it wasn’t just his arm. Sometime during the night, you had gotten tangled together, his leg slipped between yours, pressing up against your crotch in a way that made your breath stop. The pressure, subtle yet insistent, had you far too aware of how sensitive you felt, of the heat pooling low in your belly. The way your body responded, the way the tension in the air had shifted from mere discomfort to something else entirely.

You tried to move his hold was  unyielding  so you shifted back.

Only this time your butt was pressed firmly against something unmistakable.

Bucky was hard.

Heat rushed up your spine, your senses suddenly painfully aware of everything- the solid warmth of his chest flush against your back, the slow, deep rhythm of his breathing, and the way his hips had begun rocking against you, even in sleep.

You swallowed hard, torn between panic and something far more dangerous as another slow, instinctive roll of his hips sent a spark of heat straight to your core. You should move- you should wake him up- but then a quiet, needy sound slipped from his lips, muffled where his face had buried against the back of your neck.

His vibranium hand flexed, the cooler metal splaying over your stomach. Skin to metal. Your shirt had ridden up during the night, leaving you bare beneath his touch, and when his thumb brushed the soft skin just beneath your ribs, your entire body tensed. A shiver rolled through you, unbidden, and that’s when you felt it-

Your own arousal.

The ache that pulsed in time with the steady press of his body against yours. The sharp awareness of how easily, how seamlessly, your bodies fit together, the tension stretched so tight between you it felt like a live wire.

You needed to wake him up.

But trapped as you were, there was no room to press your thighs together- only to shift, just barely, along the firm muscle of his leg between yours. The motion sent a ripple of sensation through you, what had you done in the night that had gotten you as wet you were becoming. Shifting your hips again trying to do something to make it better- Bucky growled.

His nose brushed against the back of your neck, breath hot, lips so close to your skin. His hips pressed against you again, slower, deliberate, sending a shockwave through your already tense body. His grip on your stomach tightened, just enough for you to feel it, to need more.

Then came the sharp, teasing graze of teeth against your nape.

His voice was hoarse, rough with sleep and something else entirely when he muttered, “Stop moving, Doll. You’re making it worse.”

His breath fanned against your skin, sending another shudder through you, and suddenly you weren’t sure who was torturing who.

You stiffened, before trying to move away.

"I just- "

"Said stop moving." His grip tightened, pulling you back against him, his leg pushing up harder, and you swallowed the moan that nearly slipped past your lips.

"Been teasing me all damn night in your sleep."

"I didn’t do a thing.”

"Really?" His breath was hot against your ear, voice rough and edged with something dangerous. "'Cause I can smell it, you know..."

Your stomach flipped. "What?"

Bucky's fingers flexed against your bare skin, his tone dark with amusement. "You. Been leaving little wet patches on my leg with all your grinding…"

His words sent another wave of heat through you, your breath hitching as your body betrayed you yet again. Bucky hummed, his lips grazing your neck as his grip on your waist tightened. "Drove me crazy, y'know. All those little sleepy moans while you were riding my leg. Thought I was imagining it at first, but nah- " his teeth nipped at the delicate skin just below your ear, making you jolt, "- you were using me, weren’t you?"

"I wasn’t- "

"You're always such a brat in the field, you a brat in the bed, too, Doll?" His voice was smug, teasing, completely in control now. Your fingers clenched around the cuffed hand as he slowly dragged it down your stomach, his movements deliberate, testing. You tensed, instinctively trying to pull his hand back up, but the metal was unyielding. His fingers merely flexed beneath yours, a silent warning that he could take control if he wanted to.

"Don't get all shy on me now, sweetheart…" Bucky murmured, his lips tracing a slow, heated path down the side of your throat. "Not after all the trouble you've already caused."

Bucky's hand cupped you through your pants, his palm pressing against the damp fabric, making you gasp. A dark chuckle rumbled against your neck as he felt the heat radiating through the thin material.

"Undo your pants," he murmured, the command cutting through the thick haze of tension.

You found yourself shifting, your own shaking fingers undoing the button and pulling down the zipper, Bucky’s hand sliding in without hesitation. The sensation made you arch, your body betraying you as his fingers made contact. A little whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

"All that grinding made you all ache and sensitive, Babydoll…" His metal finger barely pressed your underwear against your swollen clit, the faintest amount of pressure making your breath stutter.

Bucky hummed in satisfaction, his fingers starting a slow, teasing circle over the fabric still covering you. "Bet you've been dripping for me all night," he murmured, his lips tracing the shell of your ear. "So wet and needy, and you don’t even wanna admit it."

His hand slid further, fingers pushing past the final barrier of fabric to find you bare beneath, slick and ready. He groaned at the feel of you, his grip tightening as his fingers slipped through your wetness, coating themselves in evidence of your arousal. "Fuck, sweetheart… you're soaking."

A strangled sound caught in your throat as his fingers circled your clit, the cool contrast of metal making you shudder. You tried to resist the pleasure flooding through you, but Bucky was relentless, keeping you spread open with his thigh between yours.

"Bucky- "

"Shh, sweetheart. Just let me feel you," he whispered, voice thick with desire. His hand moved with intent now, slow and devastating strokes that had you trembling against him. "That’s it, good girl… just like that."

His fingers slid lower, teasing along your folds, gathering the slickness that betrayed just how much you wanted this. A wicked smirk ghosted across his lips as he pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in before pulling back, his touch agonizingly light.

"So sensitive," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. "So fuckin’ wet for me."

You let out a strangled moan as his metal finger circled your clit again, more pressure this time, more purpose. Heat coiled low in your stomach, each slow stroke sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. Your hips moved before you could stop them, chasing the friction he so cruelly teased you with.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Bucky coaxed, voice laced with dark amusement. "Knew you wanted this. Knew you couldn’t resist."

You barely had time to bite back another moan before he flipped you onto your stomach, his grip firm as he pressed your cuffed hand down against the mattress. His free hand slid to your hip, tugging your pants lower, the cool air ghosting over your bare skin making you shiver.

The bed creaked as he moved behind you, the unmistakable sound of his belt being undone making your breath hitch. The rasp of his zipper sent anticipation curling through your spine, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His own pants coming down, the clank of his metal belt

"Been waiting for this all night," Bucky murmured, his hand smoothing over the curve of your ass before squeezing. You felt your hips raise back to meet his hand, instinctively seeking friction, rubbing against the heavy, hard length pressed against you.

He groaned at the contact, his breath coming out harsher as he gripped your waist, his flesh hand against your skin. "That’s it, sweetheart," he muttered, grinding his cock against you slow and deliberate. "You want it, don’t you?"

You barely had time to answer before his free hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing along your already slick folds. "So fuckin' wet for me," he groaned, his touch purposeful as he spread your arousal with slow, torturous strokes. "Bet you were dreamin' about this, weren't you? Ridin' my leg, gettin' yourself all worked up..."

Your breath stuttered, a whimper slipping from your lips as he pushed a finger inside you properly, curling it just right, making your body jolt. The pleasure was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.

"Bucky- " you gasped, barely able to form the words as he worked you open, his touch both devastating and precise.

"Yeah?" His voice was low, teasing, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed another finger in, stretching you further, our cunt clenching and holding onto his fingers. "That feel good, sweetheart? You gonna admit how bad you wanted this?"

Your fingers curled into the sheets, a desperate moan slipping from your lips as he thrust his fingers deeper, stroking the spot that had you trembling.

"Fuck- Bucky, I- " you tried, but your words cut off into a whimper when his thumb circled your clit, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Let me hear you."

Bucky chuckled, dark and pleased, withdrawing his hand only to replace it with the heavy press of his cock against your entrance. "Gonna take my time with you, Doll," he murmured, voice thick with hunger. "Gonna stretch you open nice and slow... make sure you feel every inch."

And then, with a deep, steady push, he sank into you, stretching you inch by inch, until there was nothing left between you but heat, pressure, and the raw, unrelenting pleasure of being completely, utterly filled.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, the weight of him making it impossible to properly move. Your walls fluttering around him as you let out a soft whine.

Bucky’s fingers tightened against your hips, his breath ragged against the back of your neck. “That’s it, not so sassy now, are ya baby?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. His thrusts deepened, each roll of his hips sending pleasure spiking through you. “Just needed my fat cock to make you behave.”

A choked moan escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively, pushing back against him. The stretch, the pressure- it was too much and not enough, and you couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your throat.

Bucky chuckled darkly. “Fuck, listen to you,” he groaned, his pace picking up, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the room. “Moanin’ like a needy little thing. Thought you hated being stuck with me?”

You couldn’t even answer, couldn’t form words between gasps and whimpers.

“C’mon, sweetheart, use your words,” he taunted, his flesh hand slipping beneath you, fingers finding your clit. “Tell me how good I feel stretching you out.”

Your breath hitched, your back arching as pleasure ripped through you. “Bucky- I- fuck- ”

He groaned, thrusting harder, deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars. “That’s it, take it, baby,” he rasped. “You’re so fuckin’ tight- so fuckin’ perfect wrapped around me.”

Your body clenched, heat coiling in your belly, the pleasure unbearable as his fingers worked you mercilessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

““Gonna come for me?” Bucky growled, his grip on your waist tightening. “Gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

Your breath hitched, your body tightening around him, the pressure building unbearably fast. His fingers on your clit never relented, pushing you closer and closer, his thrusts turning sharper, rougher, until it was too much-

The pleasure crashed over you in a blinding wave, your cry muffled into the pillow as your body convulsed beneath him. You clenched around him, squeezing him so tight he let out a strangled moan, his grip on your waist turning bruising.

“Fuck- just like that,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering, his body seizing as he drove into you one last time before he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering groan. The heat of it sent aftershocks rippling through you, your body still pulsing with the remnants of your orgasm as he slumped over you, both of you panting, sweat-slicked, and utterly spent.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress. His breath fanned over the back of your neck, warm and uneven, his heart hammering against your spine. Neither of you spoke, your bodies still tangled, still connected, the cuffs a firm reminder that there was no pulling away just yet.

Bucky chuckled breathlessly, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as he murmured, “Guess being stuck together ain’t so bad after all, huh?”

His words sent a lazy shiver through you, but you were too boneless, too utterly wrecked to argue. Instead, you let your eyes drift shut, exhaling slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Yeah, you were definitely in trouble.

By the time backup arrived, you were fully dressed again, but nothing about the tension had faded. If anything, it had settled deeper. The flight home was quiet, and you were quiet too.

Bucky hadn’t let go of you the entire time. His fingers brushed your thigh every so often, casual, like it was nothing. Normally, you would have said something- told him to quit it, nudged him away- but right now, your brain was too hazy, too fluffy to form a real thought. The ache between your legs made every small movement an unspoken reminder of where he'd been, of what he'd done.

You kept your eyes on the window, forcing yourself to breathe, to act normal. But in the reflection, you saw it-

Bucky watching you.

That same small, satisfied smile on his face.

As the jet touched down, Bucky finally pulled at the cuffed connection, his vibranium arm giving a gentle but insistent tug. Your gaze snapped up, attention pulled from the window as your fingers instinctively curled into your lap.

"On your feet, Doll. Don't wanna keep Stark waiting."

"Yes, Sir." The words left your lips before you could even think about them, your breath hitching the moment you realized what you’d said.

Sir? When had that slipped into your vocabulary?

Bucky’s smirk deepened, though he didn’t comment, just gave a slow hum of amusement as he stood, the cuffed hand ensuring you followed right after. Blinking, heat creeping into your cheeks, you cleared your throat and got to your feet, falling into step slightly behind him as you made your way toward Stark’s lab.

Tony raised an eyebrow at the sight of you and Bucky, still cuffed together. "What the hell happened here?"

"Long story," Bucky muttered, avoiding your gaze, though his grip on the cuffed hand lingered a second too long before finally letting go.

Once the cuffs were finally removed, you should have felt relief. Should have been grateful to be free. But instead… you hesitated.

Bucky hesitated, too.

You both lingered, standing too close, the air between you charged with something unspoken. His fingers flexed at his side like he was fighting the urge to touch you again, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered over you, lingering on the places he'd marked just hours ago. And for one, sharp moment, you thought he might- might say something, might pull you back in, might remind you exactly how good you felt under him.

But then, he just smirked. Slow, knowing, dangerous.

"Don’t think this means you’re off the hook, Doll."

Your breath caught. "I’m not?"

Bucky leaned in, his voice dipping into something husky. "Not even close."

His eyes held yours, heavy with meaning, and your stomach flipped, heat flooding your face and running down your chest. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering as he finally stepped back-

But instead of leaving, he gave your cuffed hand a light tug, guiding you toward the hallway. "C'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, his smirk deepening. "Think it's time I take you somewhere a little more comfortable."

Your breath hitched, your body still too warm, too sensitive from everything that had happened. "Bucky- "

He shot you a look over his shoulder, teasing but firm. "Unless you wanna sleep alone tonight?"

A nervous giggle bubbled up before you could stop it, and you cleared your throat, shaking your head as he led you toward his bedroom.

[inupibaldspot]

Back off, kid.

Pairing: gojo satoru x reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : this is a part 2 but you don’t really ly need much context haha.

·:*¨༺ Part 1 ༻¨*:·

“You know you guys don’t really look alike.” You say as you bring your hands up and rearrange the tuft of hair to your liking, you hum when the other wise spiky persistent hair bends obediently.

While in-front of you there was a younger dark haired boy, face completely pink but doesn’t dare let any part of his body move from your touch. “We aren’t related so we shouldn’t look alike.” Fushiguro tries to act as normal as ever.

“You know he has been introducing himself as your dad in your PTAs.” you pull away with a smile. “Satoru says they get so shocked and think he is a teen-dad.” You laugh as you trail back to the memory, Gojo’s snarky comment on ‘If I’m Megumi’s dad then you’re his mom; Which makes you my wife~’ remains unsaid.

When you pull away, Fushiguro finally feels his body release tension and finally he lets out a sigh. He hopes Tsumiki comes back finishing her club meeting soon.

“Why are you sighing like a old man, Megumi?” You get up from cushion floor as you then proceed to sit on the nearby sofa and cross you legs, giving him a teasing smile.

Fushiguro looks away from you with a huff. “Just a small headache.” and maybe even a chest pain. Both caused by you.

You hum as you then let out a ‘ah—!’ as you then proceeded to smile and pat on you nap. “Come here.” You smile proudly.

Poor Fushiguro Megumi’s face burst into steam from the heat radiating off his face. “Like hell I can!”

“Megumi…” you said in a soft tone which make the younger boy flatter. “I’m not teasing, I’ll just give you a massage.”

The boy huffs and sits infront of his feet as he felt your gentle soft hands guide his head to you lap. His frown dissipates as he then lets out a sigh of relief upon the movement of your hands near his temple.

You let out a giggle to how Fushiguro was acting like an old man, maybe this is what happens to people who deal with Gojo on a daily basis. “How’s school? from next year you’re going to be a middle school student,megumi.”

It’s been a while since you visited, already finished with highschool and now acting as an active jujutsu sorcerer has kept you busy but still then you would always visit once a week, make them a good meal while also bringing in some groceries. You didn’t have to but you’ve always done it, your soul was so unwavering it warmed Fushiguro to his very core.

“I’ve been using the notes you’ve prepared for me so school is pretty smooth for now…” Fushiguro finally replied as he still doesn’t move his head from your lap, his eyes closed and arms crossed infront of him, cheeks with a rosey color.

“Thank god.” You beam, Fushiguro watches from the crack of his eyes. “It was actually my notes from back in the days. I always kept them with me.”

Fushiguro closes his eyes, the more he watches you the more he feels his heart constrict as if it ran a marathon. “y/n, I want to say… thank you—ugh!” The poor boy’s was pushed off your lap with a sudden but controlled push. “What the hell?”

“I’m so tiredddddd, y/n.” The voice almost purrs as there is a tuft of white hair on the plush of your thighs. You blink at Gojo who seemed to be looking at you from behind his bandages with a wide smiles plastered on his face. “Gimme a massage too~”

Fushiguro knows this scene too well.

Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he thought but any time he was too close to you, Gojo who is in his early 20s and almost a decade older than him always manages to throw him away. And now he watches you frowning and reprimanded Gojo for acting like that.

He sighs. “I’m leaving.”

You and Gojo quickly turn to his direction. You had a confused look to your face then it contours to something of worry. Was he mad at Gojo? Fushiguro could almost hear your thoughts.

Where as Gojo who currently has his head on his lap and one of his hand playing with your finger, give him a confused look before it turns into a full blown egotistical. ‘I won!’ smirk.

“Got homework.” Fushiguro turns and leaves.

“Satoru, you’re always acting like that to Megumi.” You say as you tear your hands away from his and then give his head a light ‘chop’.

“Then he shouldn’t touch what’s mine.” He huffs , as he closed his eyes and forms a sassy pout.

“What’s mine?” You question. “Did Megumi take something of yours?“

“No…Right now, it’s still with me.” Gojo opens his eyes, which makes your breath hitch. his eyes ever so beautiful as the evening glow assist its glimmer. “You know what I mean right?”

Your breath hitches and suddenly the room is much hotter,your heart races as it blooms in warmth.

Gojo’s face softens as he looks at your flustered face. “What I mean is… I’m in lo—UGH!”

“Sorry”

Suddenly a new enters the room, the same dark haired boy who left moments earlier. “My pencil slipped from my hand.”

“Megumi, you brat!” Gojo stands up, with currently a pencil stabbed on his forehead. Megumi threw it because he knew Gojo wouldn’t even think of letting his infinity be active when he was near you after all.

Gojo watches as Fushiguro gives him his usual deadpanned look before it turns into a full blown egotistical. ‘Hah! As if I’ll let you confess on my watch’ smile.

Taglist ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡— @lysaray @thirtykiwis @sillysillygoofygoose @hotvinimon @olivianyx @anan-baban @shirabaee @genticcs

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

[dadsbongos]

sweetnerd

@toxycodone / @maniacpixiedreamboy been waiting to post this one for ya (based on this post of his)

summary - daisuke -desperate for some release after months of passionless jerking- begs to eat you out one night.

1 k words / 18+! mdni

Recently, the lock on medical had been snapped off. Thankfully, you knew the culprit to be Swansea after a belligerent search for painkillers. And unfortunately, you were responsible for watching over the numerous drugs each night.

Well, you claim it’s a misfortune but really you placed the burden upon yourself. Anya insisted that she would sit with you -- seemed borderline inconsolable at the idea of you being there alone. Then she told you where she hid the ship’s gun.

You weren’t sure why a nurse and her assistant had access to the gun when even Captain Curly didn’t, but you also weren’t getting paid enough to ask. Besides, you’ve never had a reason to use it so why concern yourself?

As if sensing all such serenity, the Tulpar bangs outside. Then Daisuke is clambering inside, hands on the doorframe and cheeks flush. His knees are pressed together, his whole body bent like some cheap hanger. Hair tousled, strands upright in odd angles -almost electric in nature. If not for the utter strangling silence behind him and his heavy breathing, you might’ve thought the rest of the ship was on fire.

“Dai… suke..?” you sit up groggily, scrubbing exhaustion from your eye, “The hell’s wrong with you? Do you know what time it is?”

“Do you?” he shoots, abandoning the argument a second later in favor of quietly humming, “I wanted to ask you…”

“Yeah?”

“Uhm, ugh… It was easier in my head… earlier…” he mumbles, hand drifting down toward his pelvis. He scrunches the crotch of his sleep pants, a lofty sigh escaping at the squeeze, “Can you- I’m just, you get it? You’ve gotta,” he clenches his eyes, seemingly shaking away the humiliation that very instant and looking at you with the biggest, wettest plead you’ve ever seen, “Can you please sit on my face while I jerk off please? Please?”

The pinched look on your face does not scream disgust, which only relieves him slightly -- he hadn’t really considered what he’d do if you reported his question to Captain Curly. Head too hot with want to forethink something as trivial as a sexual harassment lawsuit.

“Why…?” you lean back, hesitant though not appalled.

“I need to get off, like crazy,” he stumbles forward, slow enough for you to roughly shove him back if you want to, “All I got is an old mag, and it’s junk!” you can hear the delirium thrumming through him the longer you keep him waiting, “You’re so hot, I just wanna eat you out… You don’t even have to do anything, just ride my face! I’ll be good, I promise. We can stop whenever, too, I don’t need to finish,” he swallows harshly before whispering something you’re not totally sure you were meant to hear, “Just the memory could make me cum anyway.”

“Uhm…”

“I’ll give you some of my sweetener stash!”

“I don’t want that, Daisuke…”

“Then forget you heard it!” his dark eyes scramble over your body, “What else can I give you?”

Your own gaze flips over his shoulder, out the still open medical door and down the hall. Empty. Quiet. You snag him by the loose collar of his spare Pony Express shirt, sunshine fabric pillowing between your finger, wrangling him into the bay.

“Just be quiet,” you hiss, “The lock’s busted.”

Daisuke’s rosy lips drawl upward, loose and loopy and disbelieving, “You’re serious?”

“Aren’t you?”

He nods hastily, jumping back onto one of the care beds before flattening across it -- pleading silently up at you with wet puppy eyes while scrubbing sweaty palms down his thighs. Crinkling the soft material until it’s ricketing down his knees; watching hawklike as you slowly strip. Then you crawl atop of him, he clutches you by the hips and blows out a wildly uneven breath.

Barely able to find the strength to blink -lest he be cursed to cut the sight of your bare skin from his eyes- Daisuke only just scrounges the wherewithal to assist you into kneeling over his scorched face.

Exhaling between your thighs, Daisuke winds one hand around your thigh -blunt nails digging into the fat- while wrapping his cock with the other.

Craning his neck, he approaches eating you out the exact way you assumed he would: eagerly and without forethought. Absent of technique, but so full of hunger; his tongue parting and swirling wherever he pleases in that moment. As rhythmless as he is, he’s overtly sloppy -- wet clicks livening the silent room.

Billows of loose breath echoing. You sigh as he whimpers into you. Your weight jostling over his face as he bucks wildly into his tight fist -the resulting gasp only makes him thrust up harder.

“Ah, Daisuke,” pure instinct encourages you to reach down and wrangle his hair, keeping him still for you to grind down and fuck his face. Swirling your hips for that wet friction and Daisuke puts up no fight: only moaning louder into you. Vibrations making you shudder and weep again, “Ah- Daisuke!”

He croons beneath the praise, thumbing the soaking head of his cock while tongue-fucking you open. Desperately stretching his neck to nuzzle deeper into you with his own mewls leakier than a broken faucet. The messy sound of his clenched fist rapidly working his cock grows louder -- you glance over your shoulder to find him shiny with precum. Hand a mere blur over his thick erection. Ruby head peeking at you with every thrust until pearly ropes are painting his knuckles -- some more ambitious shots flying onto your back.

You’d somewhat expected him to slide back like some content, melty goop.

Daisuke surprises you when he smears cum over you whole before using it as lube to slide in, nearing knuckle deep. He moans in time with you as if he can feel it -or maybe just because feeling you clench around him is that good.

“God,” he whimpers beneath you, fingers curling inside you, “I could die down here…”

It might’ve been alarming, if he hadn’t said it so dreamily.

Maybe you’ll let him go down on you more often, if he’s always going to be so eager.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.

Series Masterlist

It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.

You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.

It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.

The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.

You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.

The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…

Then it happens.

The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.

What. The. Hell.

You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.

So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?

The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.

And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.

You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.

And that’s when it happens.

Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.

Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.

Your last thought is:

“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”

And then, you die.

You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.

Oh no.

First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.

And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.

“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”

Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.

You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?

Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.

Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.

Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.

But before anything else? Shopping.

You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.

As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.

Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”

They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.

You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.

But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”

Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.

When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.

Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.

As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”

His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”

And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?

He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”

Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.

For what this book did.

And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.

You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.

Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.

Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.

“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.

“Everything?” they stammer.

You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"

Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.

Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”

You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”

A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.

The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.

Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”

But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.

"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."

Power couple goals, indeed.

The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?

As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?

Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.

“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.

By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.

"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"

Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.

"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.

You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"

He blinks. “No? What happened?”

Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”

There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”

You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.

From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.

You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.

“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.

Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.

And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.

The whispers intensify.

Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."

"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.

Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.

The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.

The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.

Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"

Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.

The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.

Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.

He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.

You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."

The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.

“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”

Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.

And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.

“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”

You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—

THUD.

You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.

“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.

He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.

You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.

"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.

You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.

Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”

There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.

“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.

“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”

He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”

Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.

You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.

It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.

“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.

“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”

“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.

You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”

The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?

Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.

The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”

Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.

The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.

“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.

When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.

Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.

The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.

“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”

The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.

Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”

He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.

“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”

Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”

You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.

But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.

And honestly, with you around, it probably would.

You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”

“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.

Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.

There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.

So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.

And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.

The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.

"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"

But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.

"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”

You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"

“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”

It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”

Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.

All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.

"Oh, they're perfect together."

“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”

Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”

He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.

As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.

The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”

Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.

The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”

Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.

Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?

The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.

And that was your breaking point.

You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”

The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”

“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”

“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”

You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”

The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.

“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”

The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.

You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.

The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.

“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”

Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.

When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.

You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.

Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.

As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.

The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.

The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.

But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.

That alone wasn’t even the worst part.

“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.

She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.

Dead silence fell across the ballroom.

The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.

You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”

Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”

“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.

The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”

The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.

And who did they turn to for help?

You and Jamil, of course.

Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.

The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.

“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”

You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”

“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.

The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”

Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”

The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”

Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”

You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”

With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.

Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”

“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”

Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”

And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.

The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.

“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”

You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”

Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.

You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.

The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.

The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”

And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.

In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.

But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

The next one is Floyd!

[acrosstheujiverse]

About Last Night…

【📂】 summary: every time you drink with choi seungcheol, you ask the same question—“what do you think of me?”—and every time, he laughs it off with a smile and calls you his precious friend. you pretend it doesn’t hurt. but after one blurry night that you can’t quite remember, everything starts to shift. he looks at you differently. lingers longer. and maybe, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to ask him the same question—sober. 【🖇️】 pairing: oblivious!seungcheol x flustered!reader. 【💿】 genre: friends to lovers, slow burn, FLUFF (with emotional tension). 【🧺】 tags: mutual pining; drinking; drunken confessions; drunken kiss; teasing; soft angst; idiots in love; DIMPLES; (slight) jealousy. 【📦】 w/c: 2.4k+

📬 — author’s note ！i wrote this back in 2022 (11.05) and i'm FINALLY releasing it. °՞(ᗒ╭╮ᗕ)՞°

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“earth to (y/n)~” 

you were staring again.

“if you stare any harder, he might catch on fire.”

hands cupped around your face, elbows resting on the cafeteria table, gaze glued to the boy sitting across from you.

“is this some kind of psychic courtship ritual?”

choi seungcheol.

your crush. your classmate. your friend. the worst combination of all three.

he was lazily spinning his drink bottle between his hands, distracted, and completely unaware that your brain was currently running a highlight reel of all the ways you had accidentally—but very much wholeheartedly—fallen in love with him.

he was good at everything: basketball, speeches, essays, leading your class like it was second nature. he was sharp, reliable, annoyingly handsome, and then, to balance it all out, he also whined like a toddler when he was hungry and sulked when someone beat him at cards.

he was so full of contradictions, so good at getting under your skin, and so stupidly oblivious to your feelings.

... or maybe he wasn’t. maybe he knew. but if he did, he sure as hell never acted on it.

“i swear, the way you look at him... if he doesn’t get the hint soon, i will start drawing hearts in his notebook for you.”

“shht–! don’t jinx it, jeonghan!” 

jeonghan’s words finally pulled you out of your trance.

you blinked, cheeks warming, and sat up straighter.

he chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you, then let out a long, dramatic sigh. “why do i feel like i’m the third wheel here?”

you always picked him first for group projects. always sat beside him at lunch.

always ended up next to him during class outings, festivals, dinners, parties.

it wasn’t even a conscious choice anymore. it just happened.

people had started teasing you about it. you always brushed it off with a laugh—blaming familiarity, comfort, convenience. anything but the truth.

but the truth followed you anyway—especially when you drank.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

your hangout tradition with seungcheol was sacred. casual, cozy, and dangerously routine. cheap drinks, shared snacks, music humming low in the background, conversations that dipped in and out of serious and silly.

and every time you drank together, the same thing happened.

“cheol,” you slurred, cheeks warm, breath just a little too quick, “what do you think of me? do you... have feelings for me?”

you always asked that question. like clockwork.

and he always answered the same way. voice syrupy-sweet, tipsy grin stretching across his face.

“my (y/n)-ieee~ you’re a very precious friend of mine. i like you sooo much. my friend~ hehe.”

you wanted to scream.

friend. precious, sure. but friend.

you groaned, dropping your head onto the table. he flashed you those dimples — his signature, unfair, heart-ruining dimples.

those damn dimples. i should’ve brought shades so i wouldn’t have to see them, you thought, bitter and foggy.

“ugh. again?” jeonghan’s voice filtered in, dry and unsurprised.

he dropped into the seat beside you with all the ease of someone flipping open a well-worn book. he didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised anymore.

“jeonghaaan,” you mumbled, half-whine, half-sob. “i’m losing my mind…”

“you’re losing your liver first,” he said, plucking the drink from your hand like a babysitter. “and for what? the same damn heartbreak on loop?”

“well. i’m not gonna argue with a drunk person,” he added, patting your head like a tired cat. “but honestly, (y/n)... you do this every time.”

you turned your face slightly to glare up at him with bleary eyes. “’s not like i plan it…”

“but you do it,” he said, gently. “like muscle memory.”

you blinked slowly, words swimming. “maybe if he knew… maybe… maybe then…”

“what? he’d suddenly realize he loves you back?” jeonghan asked, not unkindly.

you winced. “that’s mean…”

“it’s honest,” he said. “and i’m saying it now while you’re too drunk to remember how mad it made you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the door opened.

familiar laughter. light, effortless.

your body stiffened. even drunk, even dulled, your senses still caught her the way a wound catches salt.

“uh-oh,” jeonghan muttered under his breath, sipping his drink like it was tea. “she’s here.”

younghee.

seungcheol’s childhood friend. the other person he was close to—so close it made something in your chest twist.

she breezed in like she owned the air around her, sliding into the seat beside him as if it were hers. her arm looped around his like it belonged there. her head rested easily on his shoulder.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t move away. just smiled—those dimples again—and let her stay.

your stomach twisted.

you told yourself it was fine. they were practically siblings. they'd known each other forever.

but she didn’t act like a sibling.

she touched him like it meant something. whispered things that made him laugh. she always knew where to stand, where to lean, how to fold herself into his space.

and the worst part? he let her.

he looked happy.

and it made you feel ridiculous. childish. petty.

but the jealousy still bubbled up anyway, thick and sour.

jeonghan followed your gaze, then sighed like this was his personal soap opera. “you really know how to pick a time for your breakdowns.”

“sh-she’s… so close,” you muttered, slumping further down into the table, as if it might swallow you whole.

“they grew up together,” jeonghan reminded you gently. “she’s always like that with him. it doesn’t mean—”

“i know,” you said, too quickly. too loud.

you winced at yourself, then tightened your grip on the edge of the table. “i know that. but…”

but you hated how easy it was for her. how she never had to wonder what she meant to him. how she wasn’t you.

“i feel like a joke,” you whispered.

jeonghan didn’t respond. didn’t need to. he just stayed beside you, one hand resting on your back. steady. quiet. there.

and across the table, seungcheol smiled like nothing had changed.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

jeonghan spotted you the moment he walked into the bar.

he didn’t even try to hold it in.

“oh, no way,” he laughed, loud enough for three tables to turn. “you’re actually wearing them.”

you didn’t look up. just raised your drink and sipped like nothing was out of the ordinary.

he slid into the booth across from you, eyes gleaming. “indoors, (y/n)? really? in public?”

“i’m committed,” you said coolly, pushing your sunglasses higher up the bridge of your nose.

“to being a menace?”

“to my healing.”

he snorted. “sure. healing from what? weaponized dimples?”

you didn’t respond—mostly because he was absolutely right.

and then, like fate had a sense of humor, seungcheol arrived. he placed his drink on the table, looked between the two of you, and paused.

“(y/n)... why are you wearing sunglasses? we’re indoors.”

you didn’t flinch. didn’t even blink. you simply pushed the frames higher up the bridge of your nose, silent.

he blinked at you, waiting.

you stared straight ahead, lips pressed into a flat line.

i shall never see those dimples of his ever again, you thought firmly. they’re simply too dangerous. i can’t take any chances. i might fall for him again… and again… and again.

he tilted his head, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “you seriously not gonna answer?”

“they’re prescription,” you said flatly.

“prescription sunglasses?”

you shrugged. “light sensitivity.”

jeonghan snorted so loudly he nearly choked on his own spit. you kicked him under the table. he doubled over, wheezing.

“worth it,” he coughed, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “you’re so dramatic. god, it’s inspiring.”

seungcheol just laughed, flicking your forehead. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m a survivor,” you muttered. “barely.”

and like every other night before this one, you sank back into the comfort of routine.

still too scared to shatter it.

still too scared to see what might be waiting if you did.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you cursed jeonghan silently as you stared at your phone.

jeonghan🍻: hey, i’m gonna have to bail tonight. not feeling great. sorry, (y/n).

you frowned but said nothing.

across the table, seungcheol picked up his phone, unlocking it without thinking. the group chat was open.

he cleared his throat and read aloud, amused: “‘guys, seriously sick. gonna crash early. no hangout for me.’”

you glanced at the screen just as seungcheol scrolled. the next messages appeared:

seungcheol🍒: dude, you ok? feel better soon. jeonghan🍻: thanks man. (y/n), you owe me one ;)

jeonghan always hated missing your hangouts—but he hated your tortured heart even more.

and you were certain: he bailed tonight on purpose.

to give you space. to give you a sign. to push you, silently, toward the confession you kept holding back.

you rolled your eyes, lips twitching at the thought of his sneaky little plan.

seungcheol looked up, flashing that lazy smile, dimples and all.

“guess it’s just us then.”

you nodded, heart thudding, knowing tonight wouldn’t be like any other night before.

a few drinks in, you settled into the booth beside him, closer than usual. your knees brushed under the table, a quiet spark passing between you. your hand hovered near his, fingers twitching, until your pinky grazed his. once. twice.

on the third touch, your finger lingered.

his eyes found yours—steady, patient. you held his gaze.

“i think i’m gonna kiss you,” you breathed, voice barely louder than the music.

his breath caught too.

no laughter. no teasing. only a quiet, “then do it.”

your lips met clumsily, soft and short. a spark ignited—something crackled beneath your skin.

your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

instead of pulling away, your eyelids grew heavy. your head tilted, settling gently against seungcheol’s shoulder.

he let out a faint chuckle, warm and quiet, as you slowly slipped into sleep.

his fingers found yours under the table, squeezing softly, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile moment.

“sleep tight, (y/n),” he whispered.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈��� · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and one vivid flash burning behind your eyelids—the kiss.

your phone buzzed sharply against the table.

seungcheol🍒: we’re still on tonight, right? usual spot.

you stared at the screen, heart pounding. panic bloomed in your chest.

was it real? or just a drunken dream?

“ughhh,” you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “why don’t i remember?! this can’t be happening!”

you promised yourself you’d stay sober.

but one drink turned into two. the two became three. and somewhere in the blur of warm lights and soft laughter, you asked again, voice barely steady: “cheol… what do you think of me?”

he tilted his head, eyes amused but serious. “you always ask me that.”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

“every time we drink,” he said, voice low. “you ask me that question.”

your heart skipped a beat. “and you always say the same thing.”

he smiled, but it was small. almost sad. “do i?”

you stared at him, desperate. “cheol…”

then a flicker of mischief crossed his face—a smirk just barely there—and you pointed at him, eyes wide. “YAH—CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!! you remember something, don’t you?!”

“maybe.”

you rolled your eyes. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you were already seated when he walked in—library quiet, sun warm across your table. he waved at you, dropped his bag into the chair across from yours, and settled in like it was routine. like this was just another afternoon.

his phone buzzed.

he glanced down, smiled faintly, and picked it up. “hey, younghee. yeah, no, i can’t today. rain check?”

a pause.

“mhm. okay. take care, kid.”

he hung up, set his phone down, and turned back to you.

your expression must’ve betrayed you—because something in his eyes changed. softened. sharpened. knowing.

“what?” he asked.

you shook your head. “nothing.”

he tilted his head. “you’ve always been weird about her.”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he said, without judgment. “and it’s okay.”

you stayed quiet, unsure if denying it again would make it worse.

“she’s like family to me,” he continued. “like a little sister. not someone i’ve ever liked like that. not even close.”

your breath stalled.

“but you…” he looked at you then, really looked. “you’re not like that.”

you blinked.

“just wanted you to know,” he said softly. “i figured maybe that’s something you needed to hear before anything else.”

the warmth in your chest spread slowly.

quiet. certain.

you nodded. “thank you.”

he smiled.

“now,” he said, leaning back, “wasn’t there something you wanted to ask me?”

and so you did. “cheol?”

“yeah?”

you took a breath. “what do you think of me?”

he set his pen down. leaned back. looked at you fully. “don’t ask me again unless you want the truth.”

your heart skipped. “…i do.”

his smile was soft, almost shy—but it didn’t waver. “then here it is: i’ve been falling for you for a long time.”

your fingers trembled slightly on the table, still curled around your iced coffee. your heartbeat was wild in your chest.

he wasn’t teasing. wasn’t hiding behind dimples or laughter.

just him.

and his answer.

“you’re not drunk, right?” you whispered.

“not even a sip.”

you nodded slowly. “good.”

“you okay?” he asked.

“yeah.” you let out a shaky smile. “just... kinda hard to believe i’m not imagining this.”

his hand brushed over yours, warm and steady. “you’re not imagining it.”

you laughed under your breath. “can i say something embarrassing?”

“please do.”

“i’ve liked you for so long it stopped feeling like a crush. it was just... you. always you. all the time. everywhere.”

his grip tightened gently. “you think that’s embarrassing?”

you looked up. “it’s not?”

“(y/n)...” he leaned in. “i’ve been waiting for you to ask me sober.”

you blinked.

he smiled. “you asked so many times when you were tipsy. i wanted to answer differently. but i didn’t want you to forget.”

“i’m not gonna forget this time,” you said, voice steady.

“good.”

and then—finally—he kissed you.

not clumsy. not rushed. not a maybe.

his lips found yours with quiet certainty. it was soft, slow, but deepened like gravity had always been pulling you toward this moment.

your fingers curled into the sleeve of his hoodie. his hand cupped the back of your neck.

and when he pulled back, just barely, his voice dropped: “no more pretending, okay?”

you smiled.

“okay.”

- fin.

[...epilogue]

[chocochiffonnn]

Dial Tragedy

➸ Pairing: Idol! Lee Heeseung x Fem! Reader

➸ Word Count: 1.5k

➸ Synopsis: Working an eight to five had you in the absence of your phone, and leaving you with a boyfriend spamming you like crazy with missed calls and messages.

➸ Warnings: Fluff, based on Heeseung's snippet on 'Dial Tragedy', a bit of kissing, the plot strays off a bit, not proofread.

➸ Author's Note: lol just a lil short release from my drafts guys! writer's block been hitting me like CRAZY. also, i refuse to believe her wouldn't call their partner this callsign lmao.

●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·

SOMETHING ABOUT TODAY WAS STRESSFUL— dressed in piles of stress from the tedious workload, buried beneath documents and documents, all of which were due the following day.

The clock inside your lit apartment hit 7PM. Way past your official dismissal. Something you failed to realize as you left the building, simply too busy to get the hell out of there and sink into the comfort of your own couch.

So you do. You take off your feet-killing heels, removed your jacket, and practically threw yourself at the comfort of the soft mattress you’ve been dreaming of since morning.

Then you breath a long, heavy, tired sigh.

It was like a repeat. Paperworks, emails, calls, meetings, brand deals, eat, sleep, repeat. And when you get too tired the world keeps spinning and it tells you, no, it practically demands you to repeat the process you’ve grown accustomed.

You rolled your eyes, reaching towards your bag to open your phone which you had not touched since you left your apartment—

Five missed calls.

Twenty unopened message.

Fuck.

From all the the work and exhaustion you felt from today’s event, you forgot you had boyfriend. Something which you never usually forget so easily. You must’ve been worked to the bone to even let go of the thought that your boyfriend had been leaving you calls and messages.

He must have been worried sick.

Worries ebb your features as you hurriedly open your phone, only to be greeted by another incoming call by none other than the said man. You picked it up, and the first thing that you heard was his hoarse voice—

“… Angel?”

He whispered. You smile, opening your mouth for a brief moment then closing it again.

“Heeseung, baby?”

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls and messages?”

You sigh. As much as it made you sound mean, you do love it when your boyfriend is clingy. Usually, he rarely has time to do so given his schedule of practically touring the world. But then again, it was something that you had to get used to in the midst of your relationship.

“I’m sorry, I was bombared today at work. My boss kept nagging me about some documents that were due the following day. Ugh.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought of your stupid boss.

Heeseung sighs on the other end, “have you eaten yet?”

Smiling, you bit your bottom lip to suppress the chuckle that came along your way. Despite having every reason to be upset and perhaps stubborn, Heeseung had always been one to put others first before himself. A trait which you absolutely adored about him.

“Not yet, I didn’t touch my breakfast nor lunch today.”

“Okay, well… What are you doing now?”

“I’m sitting at my sofa. I can’t even move. Enough about me, what did you do today?”

On the other end, you heard a bit of shuffling. Heeseung grunts a little. “Takeout?”

“Hmm?”

“You like takout?”

“… Yes, why?”

He goes silent on the other end. Then, your doorbell rang. Though exhausted, you pushed yourself forward and looked through the peephole only to see none other than your boyfriend, standing there, a plastic bag in hand.

He spoke on the phone,

“I got you takeout, angel.”

The same words you heard from the other end of the door. With a gasp, you swiftly opened it. Heeseung stood in full view, dressed in a pair of hoodie and sweatpants, holding up your favorite takout with a smile. His hair was a bit disheveled, eyes a bit puffy from the lack of sleep.

“Heeseung?”

“Hi.”

He steps forward, grabs your waist with his unoccupied hand, and kissed your forehead gently. Warmth spread across your stomach as you felt the heat from his body spreading across yours.

“I thought you said you were in Japan for tour.” you mumble beneath him, Heeseung continued to press little kisses on your forehead.

“Mm. We got home earlier than planned. I guess you forgot to backread the message.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I—”

He cuts you off, “it’s alright angel. Just missed you.”

Heeseung drags you a but forward, closing the door with his foot. All the while, he keeps your body close to his, not once letting go. For a minute, he stays there, and you slowly engulf your arms around his waist in a hug. Despite being pressed against his chest, Heeseung seemed comfortable with the way you were positioned.

“You’re oddly clingy today.” you muffle against his chest, he laughs, caressing your hair with his free hand. “Angel, I was worried sick. I’ve been trying to reach out since this morning, and you weren’t responding. I was performing with you at the back of my mind and everything.”

Heeseung pulls away from the hug, forming his lips into a thin line. His fingers reach out towards your cheek, squeezing it.

You groan. “Ow.”

“I can’t blame you, but I can’t help but be a bit upset, angel.”

Okay, maybe he was upset.

He plays around a bit, gently dragging your cheeks to the left, right, until eventually, Heeseung just squeezed both cheeks with one hand and kissed you abruptly. “You gotta tell me what’s up, yeah?”

You nod. Your job, perhaps in comparison to him, was much less of a loadwork. Answering calls, dealing with papers, and sitting in front of your desk for ten hours straight. While his consisted of constantly moving around, exerting his body to perform— though, Heeseung had never failed to keep you well aware of his whereabouts and things that’s been going on in his life.

“I’m sorry…” you pout, Heeseung’s little bambi eyes soften and sparkled a little. He couldn’t possibly stay mad nor upset with that face. So, he softened, smiled, and kissed you once more on those plump little lips.

“Let’s eat this takeout I got you, angel.”

“Okay…”

You weren’t budging, shoulders slumping slightly. You felt guilty, you really did.

Heeseung sighed, clasping his fingers with yours as he dragged you to your couch.

“C’mon angel. Don’t stress it out too much.”

Eventually, the two of you reach the sofa, Heeseung carefully sat you down, ignoring the mess of your belongings everywhere. He unwraps the takeout, taking the utensils and generously giving you a piece of the food.

“Aah.” He instructs, playing around a little making airplaine noises and gesture as you giggle at his little antics. You play along, mouthing an ‘o’ as he feeds you what felt like heaven beneath your tastebuds. Heeseung saw you jolt a little, nodding aggressively at the taste of the food.

“Good bite, angel.” he mumbles, prepping another bite for you to take. Occasions like these were rare for you, barely having the time to get your boyfriend all to yourself given his schedule. There were times where you’d wish he hadn’t become an idol at all, maybe settle for a job that’s less intense. But Heeseung didn’t work that way, and the both of you knew it. He thrived in the thrill of the industry. As for you? You supported him as much as you could, knowing performing had always made him happy.

“We had a little post-tour celebration today.” Heeseung brings up, giving you another bite of the food.

“With the members?”

He nods. “They’ve been asking me about us and our relationship.”

“What did you say?”

“And… I’ve been thinking, angel— is it alright if we make this known?”

“Make what known?”

Heeseung hesitates a bit, dropping down the fork and keeping his eyes glued to you. One of his hands find a way to crawl to yours, slowly intertwining them together. “Our relationship. I’ll announce it at our next tour.”

You felt your mind buzz at the thought. To make your relationship public would practically be comparable to throwing yourself inside a lion’s den. You’d be eaten alive. Heeseung would be eaten alive. The group would be eaten alive. Their company—

Heeseung lightly flicked your forehead with his finger.

“You’re overthinking it again, angel. I’ve talked to the manager and the members about it.”

“… What did they say?”

“They asked me if I was really sure about it, the manager even scolded me–”

You lightly pushed him in the chest, “Heeseung!”

“But we’ve talked about it thoroughly. Everything, I swear. This, and us. I don’t want to keep you in the shadows, angel. It’s unfair to you.”

Heeseung gently picked up your hand that he was holding, pecking your knuckles gently. His other hand brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“I’ve never felt that way, baby. Don’t worry about me.”

The way Heeseung’s eyes shift to concern make you soften a little. Always so kind and thoughtful.

“I want the world to know I have the prettiest girlfriend, though.”

He keeps your forehead close to his, the warmth off his body radiating to you in such a comfortable manner. It was like he always cradled you like a child, careful and considerate. It was practically second nature to him at this point.

“Is that okay, angel?”

He whispers, kissing you softly like it was the first time.

And when you nod slowly, giggling like a toddler, Heeseung simply cooed and cradled your cheeks.

“Okay. I’ll let the whole world know— that’s my girl.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ END *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

[soangelbaby]

can you do one with bigbro rafe where topper and kelce find out, but they lowkey fw it??? ily your writing btw !!

😏 this was kinda chaotic buttttt nonnie u literally read my mind n tysm bb ily TW ; INCEST don’t like, don’t read 💋 might be sum typos too idk 😞

“ugh rafey — it’s so hot in here! why do you never have the ac on when your gross friends are over?” you whine, arms crossed above your head, chest pressed out, top rising above your hips. topper and kelce are slouched on the sofa, legs spread, controllers loose in their hands as they fumble around with the controls. rafe’s sat back on the recliner opposite of them, he glances to you briefly, eyes scanning over your outfit, stopping on your bare thighs barely covered by black spandex. exhaling through his nose, head snapping back to the tv, “get the hell out,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear and deep enough to send a shiver up your spine, because he was giving you the exact reaction you wanted. you bit your lip to hide your smirk, stepping deeper into the den, pushing hair back that was sticking to your face, “i’m serious rafe!” huffing, hands flying to your hips, stomping at the floor like a child throwing a tantrum, “everytime you have them over—”

kelce leans over muttering something to topper with a smirk on his face as both their eyes trail down your frame. rafe’s jaw clenches and he rises from his seat, still trying to mask how much you’re affecting him, “i said get. out.” he repeats stepping closer to you, pointing towards the door. your breath catches in your throat, blinking up at him, he’s so close and so angry, you could literally feel the heat radiating from his body. “make me,” you say, voice full of challenge and defiance, tilting your head up and crossing your arms. rafe watches you for a second, tongue poking into his cheek before he reaches out snatching your wrist, “you wanna act like a slut? keep testing me,”

now he was making them watch, tugging your little shorts and panties down to your ankles, kelce and topper were in shock, but not because they didn’t think rafe was capable, they knew he was sick and fucked up. but the way you practically begged for it from the start? that’s what got them going, “you wanted this huh? acting like a little whore in front of my boys, wanted them to see you get ruined?” you tried to shake your head, whimpering ‘no’ but rafe doesn’t appreciate that, reaching up to slap you hard across the face, “don’t fuckin’ lie, say you wanted it, slut” you can already feel his dick lining up with your slit, daring to push in. and you do, crying out for your big brother’s dick in front of his friends.

“what the fuck is going on in this house?” kelce choked out under his breath, despite his eyes being glued to where rafe’s cock teases your cunt. topper’s already slipping his hand into his sweats, no shame, rubbing at his throbbing shaft, “bro, you’re sick” kelce mutters to topper, shifting in his seat. topper groans, “you’re watching too — don’t pretend you’re not into it,”

rafe shoves into you, no preparation, tip kissing your cervix as he bottoms out, “ah — fuck rafe!” you whine, trying to move up the couch, hands pushing at his chest, but he grips your hips tighter, slamming into you again, “don’t run baby, you needed this remember?” slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch, you clench so hard around him, release already building in your gut, “rafey — please, s’too deep,” you’re trembling under him, furniture rocking against the wall, and his friends are still getting off to you being split by him. rafe laughs low, “too deep?” grunting, driving in harder, hips flush against yours, “should’ve fuckin’ thought about that before you strolled in here like a bratty little bitch huh?”

your mouth falls open in a silent cry, head dizzy as your brother bulldozes your poor little cunt. topper groans, thumb rubbing over his glistening tip one last top before he spills right in his sweats, sticky cum soaking through the fabric. kelce isn’t far behind, leg bouncing and hips bucking against his denim jeans, just enough friction to make him bust at the sight of his best friend fucking his own little sister, “fucking shiit—“ he hisses, eyes fluttering shut for a second. rafe just laughs, reaching up to grab a fist full of your hair, yanking your head back just for them to see your face. “you see that? see how pathetic they are for you?” his hand comes in contact with your ass, sharp sting of the smack sending a jolt through you.

“gonna cum in this stupid little pussy — maybe next time you’ll think twice before acting out,” rafe thrust into you so hard the couch actually slides across the floor, scraping the tile, your body locks up as your orgasm washes over you, body going limp under him, whimpering as you scream rafe’s name. and then you feel it, thick hot ropes staining your walls, animalistic growls falling from his lips as he bites down on your shoulder, “fuck — that’s my girl,” he pants, not pulling out, cock still twitching inside you. his gaze snaps to kelce and topper, “next time she’s gonna ride me, wanna see how fucked out she looks on top,” and the way they nod? you knew he was serious..

[misctf]

Experiential Learning

“Dude, I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?” Mike grinned.

The two men paused their jog, taking a few deep breaths and basking in the warmth of the summer air. Jason wiped some sweat from his forehead and looked towards his friend.

“I guess I can understand it, well in theory.” Jason continues, running a hand through his blond hair, “But you’re telling me you’ll fuck around for hours and still not blow? Like, what’s the point?”

“That is the point, bro.” Mike stretches his muscular arms, “When you're right on the edge, so close to release... it's like nothing else. Fuck... and when you do finally let go.” His grin widens, “Fucking mind-blowing, best orgasm you’ll ever have.”

“Yeah but dude, isn't it just torture? Having to hold back all that time?” Jason shakes his head, “I'd rather just bust a nut and be done with it. Fuck, how do you get anything done? I feel like I’d be so fucking horny all day.”

Mike chuckles and slaps Jason on the back, “Oh man, it’s about the journey, not the destination. And that journey could last for hours, even days if you get as good as me.”

Jason raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Hours? Days? Dude, I don't know if my balls could take that much punishment. Sounds like a case of self-inflicted blue balls.”

“Ah you’re boring, man.” Mike shrugs, “But if you ever want a lesson.” He winks playfully.

“Gross dude.” Jason chuckles, “You do you, man. Just glad I’m not your cock.”

“You wish you were.” Mike laughs, “C’mon, lets finish this run.”

----------------

It’s the next morning when Jason is awakened by the sound of an unfamiliar alarm.

“Ugh fuck.” He thinks. His body feels stiff- more so than what he would’ve expected from the intensity of his workout yesterday, “I didn’t go that hard.” He thinks, his thoughts shifting to the blaring alarm, “Okay, okay... I can’t see anything...” It was so dark, and he was covered in warm fabric, “Those black out curtains are good...” He tries to reach out towards the sound of the alarm, “My arms... I can’t move my arms...” It’s a strange sensation, as if he doesn’t have arms to move.

As the realization slowly dawns on Jason, panic begins to set in. He tries to sit up, to move his legs, but feels only a strange, throbbing heat emanating from below. Each movement he makes just causes his body to twitch. He tries again and again to move, but nothing responds to his mental commands. Even his desperate attempts to call out for help are useless. No words are able to leave his mouth, which feels forced open in an circular shape. The only thing Jason can feel is his form rubbing against something soft with each weak twitch of his stiff body.

“Ugh fuck...” Jason perks up at the sound of Mike voices, “God damnit... this fuckin’ alarm.”

The alarm is silenced and Mike throws the sheets off of him. The light shines through the room, illuminating it and giving Jason a better view. Jason can barely process his new perspective. He finds himself looking directly up at Mike's toned abdominal muscles, the individual abs clearly defined. His gaze traces up further, taking in the expansive, sculpted pectoral muscles above. To either side of Jason, towering and filling his entire field of vision, are Mike's colossal thighs. He can feel the warmth radiating from them.

“C’mon dude! Don’t you see me?” Jason thinks, an increasing sense of panic welling up from inside him.

Mike yawns and looks down, a slow grin forming across his face. Jason can feel Mike’s eyes on him and he wants to ask why the hell his buddy is smiling at him. More importantly, he wanted to ask why the fuck he was apparently in his bed, wedged between his bro’s thighs. But he couldn’t- for whatever reason he could form the words.

“Well hello there, handsome.” Mike chuckles to himself, “Looks like someone's ready to start the day.” Mike reaches down at wraps his meaty hand around his throbbing cock.

A jolt of intense pleasure shoots through Jason's entire being as he feels Mike's strong hand wrap around his body. The sensation is overwhelming - every nerve ending seems to come alive at once. He can feel the texture of Mike's skin, the slight calluses on his palm, the firm yet gentle grip. As Mike begins to stroke, slowly at first then picking up speed, waves of ecstasy pulse through Jason's new body. He twitches and throbs in Mike's grasp, growing even harder.

“Oh god oh fuck what the hell is happening?! I.... ohhhh.... please stop..... I'm not a dick.... I'm not a damn cock! I’m a man!”

Jason's mind reels as the sensations intensify. Mike's grip tightens, stroking faster now. Jason's thoughts grow increasingly slurred and fragmented.

“Nnngh f-fuck... s'too much...” Jason's brain fogs over with each pump of Mike's fist. The pleasure is all-consuming, wiping away coherent thought, “Can't... can't think straight...”As Mike's strokes become more urgent, Jason's resolve crumbles. The boundaries of his identity blur and fade, “I'm... I'm not... hnnngh! 

Jason's protests dissolve. In his hazy, lust-addled state, the idea of being separate from Mike's cock starts to seem absurd. After all, everything that made him Jason was gone. His firm pecs, muscular arms, toned legs- gone, his body just a veiny, thick shaft. His handsome features, killer smile- gone, just a pink cock head. Jason's mind goes completely blank as the pleasure peaks. All rational thought vanishes, replaced only by pure, primal need.

“Yes... I am a cock... Mike's cock...” Jason thinks, his remaining shreds of identity merging fully with his new role, “This is all I am, all I've ever been...” His purpose becomes clear, “Need... to... cum...”

But the hand stops. And as it does, Mike throws back his head and moans, basking in the pleasure and pain of denied release. All the while, Jason is suddenly jolted back to reality, his thoughts becoming clear, as a sense of clarity washes over him.

“Fuck...” He thinks as he regains focus, “I nearly...”

A sense of dread washes over him. He was so close. So close to losing himself. If Mike hadn’t stopped... if he kept going...

“...and when you do finally let go... Fucking mind-blowing...”

Mike’s words repeat in Jason’s consciousness. And Jason realizes that there is certainly a truth to his bro’s statement. If... when Mike finally released... Jason tries to push the thought out of his head. He had time- maybe he could find a way to communicate or reverse this. But before he can think more on it, Jason feels his perspective change again as Mike gets out of bed.

“Gotta hit the gym first.” Mike mumbles, grinning down at his slowly softening dick, “It’s been a few days, hasn’t it? Workout first, then...”

And Jason begins to realize he might not have as much time left as he thought. Mike grabs a pair of compression shorts and plunges Jason back into darkness, the feeling of the soft fabric teasing him even more. His thoughts growing foggy once again as each of Mike’s movements send a wave of pleasure and pain down the length of his sensitive, semi-hard body. The aching need nearly unbearable. Despite his earlier determination to escape this predicament, a small part of Jason finds himself craving the release he was denied. To fully experience Mike's take on edging.

"Maybe..." he muses dreamily, "maybe letting go won't be so bad....might be nice to finally...cum..."