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acheronsociety · 2 months ago

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✶ BLOODY CRAWLING BACK TO YOU, AGAIN

in which... you thought you absolutely hated your co-worker, the insufferable Jeon Jungkook. but then you slept together, you avoided him—and now he's at your door. -—ᯓ✶ read part one ( here ) or not, this can also be a standalone !

pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✶ ( secret agents au ) word count: 9.5k content warning: smut ( mdni ) ✶ angst ✶ mentions of blood, cuts, bruises, fights, sex, and lots of cursing. a/n: if the first part was inspired by "do I wanna know", this one's all lana's version of "you can be the boss". I'd also like to sincerely thank everybody who read it, and especially the ones who took the time to leave such amazing feedback—this would still be a single oneshot if not for you. hope you like this one as much !

⋆ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕, 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒕...

𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 Jungkook to be pissed about it. And if he was, you’d have to admit he had a shred of right.

After all, you’d started it. Kissed him like you meant it, touched him like you owned him. Let him touch you like you were fragile and ruin you like you’d begged for it.

And then you left.

Crept out of his bed with first light spilling like confession over your bare skin. Not like a street cat, no—more like a coward. A traitor to your own hunger.

Because the truth? You were scared.

That night, you thought you were scratching an itch—one born from years of tension, of mission-night adrenaline, of too-close brushes and unspoken dares. You told yourself it wasn’t lust. That it wasn’t him.

But the lie collapsed the moment he slid into you, and your world sharpened to the shape of him. This wasn’t just hate, wasn’t just need—it was a burn, a bind. A dangerous craving with teeth. A tether you didn’t want, not with him.

Because if you stayed, if you let that moment become more than heat and fury, it might become something else entirely.

And that? That was terrifying.

Because how the hell could it work between you and Jungkook? You were field agents, ghosts in the night. Partners whose existence hinged on silence and steel. There was no room for this—not when death stalked you like a shadow, not when one blink could mean gone.

Or worse, it had meant nothing to him. Just a night. Just a slip. A mistake he'd wipe clean without a second thought.

You knew his reputation. The smirks in the breakroom. The trail of wreckage with red-lipped grins.

Before you could spiral further into that hellscape of doubt, a knock shattered your thoughts.

You blinked. Shit. Yoongi.

Your neighbor-slash-informant. Supposed to stop by with intel. Beer and greasy wings—your agreed-upon cover for the handoff. One you were supposed to go through with Jungkook. Supposed being the operable word.

You’d dodged every attempt he made to meet. Ghosted him. Not out of spite. Not out of professionalism.

But because being near him now? It felt like dancing barefoot on broken glass—beautiful and brutal and destined to bleed.

No way in hell you’d sit beside him in some surveillance van with his knee brushing yours. Or worse—straddle his bike again, chest to his back, arms tight around his waist like you had some right.

Besides, it had been reckless going to him that night. The remaining ghosts from the hard drive job were your cross to bear, not his. You couldn’t risk dragging your partner into your unfinished business. So you used the time to hunt, to try and rewind your thoughts to a time when your hatred was clean and easy.

You weren’t counting on Revenant assigning a new job three days later—blowing your cover and your plans. Recon was easy to duck, but you’d eventually have to face him. You knew that. You just needed time. Time to build armor again.

You yanked the door open. “Yoongi, I—”

And stopped breathing.

Jungkook.

Leaning against the frame like the devil come to collect, his black hair a mess, frustration stitched into every strand, mouth carved into a blade.

A sleeveless black t-shirt clung to him, flashing the edge of ribs and the brutal lines of his ink-laced arm. Heat shimmered at his throat. Those baggy jeans—anchored by a punk belt, the kind that made you think of things you shouldn’t.

His eyes—glazed and wild, sharp enough to slit open every lie you’d wrapped around your heart.

And you—idiot that you were—stepped right into it.

“Not Yoongi—whoever that is,” he rasped, voice rough and scorched, like he’d been yelling or drinking. Or both.

He shifted, revealing the beer pack in his hand. Bottles clinked like accusations. He didn’t wait for permission. Just brushed past you—his arm grazing yours like a dare. Like a scar reopening.

And gods, you hated the part of you that ached at the sight. That stupid, traitorous ache that whispered he fit here.

You shut the door slowly, as if trying to cage a hurricane. “Are you… are you okay?”

There were a dozen better things to say. Like How the hell do you know where I live?

But of course Jungkook knew. You were Revenant’s best tracker—but he came close second. Only best when it came to haunting you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back, eyes glinting like broken mirrors.

You gestured at the bottles, pathetic.

He scoffed. “I can hold my liquor just fine, thanks.” But his gaze didn’t linger on you—it prowled your space like he was hunting ghosts. Like he was searching for signs you'd moved on.

You were suddenly, viciously aware of the worn band t-shirt clinging to your frame and the male boxer shorts riding up your thighs, rolled at your hips. No makeup. You looked like you would if he was coming back home to you. Which he wasn’t.

And he—he was a wrecking ball made of ink and silence.

“Why are you here, Jungkook?” Your voice was a whisper already bracing for pain.

This had to be it. His confrontation. His judgement. You running. You fucking him and leaving. Cowardice with a kiss. Like the stitches down your side, a reminder carved into you like art. Like consequence.

Or—worse and somehow better—he was here on Revenant’s orders. You’d been dancing on the edge these past two weeks, and you doubted he’d covered for you on callback day.

You were becoming a stray. And strays didn’t get mercy. They got leashes—or bullets.

But instead of a knife, he dropped the beers on your coffee table with a thud and turned.

“To work,” he said. “Thought I’d show up instead of waiting for you to.”

The guilt slithered up your throat like smoke. You took the hit without flinching.

Maybe you were being paranoid. A cocktail of no sleep and the weight of those men still hunting you. Of too many hours spent remembering the shape of Jungkook in your hands.

You weren’t being unprofessional, you inhaled as you reminded yourself.

You were still doing your job—tracking, reporting, filing notes. You just… needed space, while the field work wasn’t necessary. Distance. Needed to breathe. To exist in a room without drowning in him.

Without unraveling.

Jungkook reached into the six-pack and popped the cap off with a flick of his thumb, muscle memory smooth as murder. “Might as well drink while we sort this crap out,” he said, nodding to the files sprawled like landmines across your coffee table.

He called it crap. You could’ve laughed.

Revenant missions were never casual. They were shadows with knives, cover stories written in ash, warfare so deniable even your heartbeat lied. Blood-on-your-hands kind of work, buried intel with bodies. And the files between you now? They were preludes. Invitations to the next disaster.

You eyed the bottle like it was a loaded gun.

One rule left unbroken.

Don’t drink with him.

Because when walls thinned, and eventually came down—you knew what followed. Chaos. Heat. Want that left bruises.

And you were barely holding.

“Fine,” you muttered, grabbing one like it didn’t spell your undoing.

Another line blurred. The last one.

You ended up on the floor beside him, backs against the couch, knees brushing in the kind of proximity that shouldn't feel like drowning. Between you—snapshots of death, scribbled intel, faces frozen mid-breath. Your handwriting scratched across the margins like shrapnel.

War lived in your pen. Jungkook had always said that. Like he knew you wrote in rage.

The beer dulled the razor-edge of your posture, but not your perception. Not around him.

Jungkook wore calm like a disguise—like a bomb under a silk napkin. He exhaled cool detachment, but you could smell the lie on him along with the bourbon lurking on his breath. He was trying to be casual, but the effort showed in the curve of his jaw, in every brush of his leg against yours that never pulled back.

Every move was a push.

And you were breaking.

The tension between you snapped tighter, breath by breath. The air was too thick. Too still. One glance too long and you'd combust.

You reached for a grainy photo—light blown out, figure indistinct—and his fingers brushed yours. Featherlight. Incidental.

But it detonated something in your chest.

He didn’t look at you. Just took a swig like he hadn’t set you ablaze.

And you hated him for that. Hated the flex of his throat, the stark line of his jaw, the way his veins caught the light. That fucking light scar on his cheekbone. Hated the heat pooling in your palms, the part of you that screamed to crawl into his lap and burn all over again.

He was still Jungkook.

And you were still hopelessly tangled in the memory of that night.

His mouth on your throat, hands in your hair, breath whispering your name like a curse—those were not ghosts you could outrun.

Silence wrapped around you like a noose. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch.

But he was there.

A shadow that never left.

Focus, goddammit.

You forced your eyes to the files, to the pattern you could solve with one hand tied behind your back. Easier than untangling the way his fingers tapped that bottle, like they ached for something else to press into.

He leaned forward, pulled a folder closer. Bit at the metal glint of his lip ring.

You seized the moment to snap yourself out of it. Your voice—measured, steady. Barely.

“That shot was taken two days before the drop. The guy in the background—you recognize him?”

“Mhm,” he said. “One of Choi’s henchmen. Shows up like mold. Slimier, too.”

You huffed, dry. “Perfect. Another one to track.”

He slid a page your way, fingers grazing your wrist longer than necessary. “This spot—see it?”

You did. The pattern was clear. The message clearer. “They’re circling back.”

“Exactly.” He leaned in, voice lower. “You’d think they’d learn. But rats don’t stop running into traps, do they?”

Your spine stiffened. You weren’t sure if he meant the target.

You weren’t sure he didn’t.

The space between you quivered. A standoff without a gun. It was a fragile balance—this cold war between you. The space where hate blurred into want. Where loyalty slipped its collar and curled up next to need.

You were staring at his eyes, trying hard not to dip them to his lips like he was watching yours.

But you cracked first—anything to break this spell he had you under. “Thought the superiors sent you to keep me in line, not drink and share a slumber party.”

His mouth twitched, slow and wicked. But there was heat behind it—undeniable.

He didn’t even look up. Just murmured, “Pretty sure you were supposed to leash me. But hey, who’s counting casualties?”

The words hit like a bullet—subtext woven through every syllable.

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t trust what would come out of your mouth.

Then—ding.

The doorbell split the air like a blade.

You stiffened. Instantaneous. A tripwire pulled in your spine.

Jungkook’s head snapped up at the same moment. His gaze cut from the door to you—catching everything. The flicker. The twitch you hadn’t meant to let show.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

He was already rising, fluid and dangerous, moving like the door was his to shield. Like you were.

And that—

That was what you couldn’t fucking stand.

You weren’t a damsel. Not a kept thing.

You didn’t need saving. You were his partner for fucks sake!

You moved fast. Intercepted him. Your palm met his chest—not harsh, but hard enough to stop.

Hard enough to remind him.

His body didn’t yield, but something behind his eyes shifted. That burn—low and dark—ignited again. The kind you didn’t dare name.

“You’re not my bodyguard,” you snapped, blade-edged, jaw locked.

His jaw clenched. The muscle under your hand tensed like it wanted to defy you. “No… I’m not.”

And there it was. That weightless second where neither of you moved, both too proud, too furious, too wired.

You knew his tells. He knew yours.

You pushed him just enough to block the door from his view, then yanked it open.

And there was Yoongi.

Leaning against the frame like the world owed him something and he planned to collect in charm. Hoodie half-zipped, eyes glittering with unbothered precision. A smirk pulled at his mouth like he knew he could get away with anything.

“Damn,” he said, low and deliberate, amusement bleeding into every syllable. “If I knew you were answering doors looking like that, I’d have brought dessert.”

His gaze trailed over you—lazy, unapologetic. From the defiance in your stare to the shirt clinging too well and the heat blooming in your throat. He drank it all in.

And for once, you didn’t bite back. Didn’t spit your usual venom. Because you felt Jungkook before you saw him.

His presence unfurled behind you like a stormcloud. Heavy. Electric. Half of his chest brushed your spine, his breath grazing your neck—hot and possessive. Not touching, but near enough to feel the warning in it.

Mine, it seemed to say.

Yoongi’s smirk faltered. Just a little. Just enough.

“And who’s this?” he asked, head tilting like it mattered.

You answered too fast, too sharp. “My partner. And you’re late.”

Yoongi’s brows ticked up, but he didn’t push. He just held out the chicken wings delivery bag, fingers loose, like he wasn’t dropping dynamite between two unstable elements. “Got the intel. Movement patterns. You’ll want to check the second location listed. It’s all inside, like always.” he pointed the packaging with his chin.

You reached for it, but Jungkook was faster.

He moved around you, body encaging yours like a wall of heat and intent, hand closing over the bag strap—over Yoongi’s fingers. Not hard. But pointed. Held it a beat too long.

A message without words: Back off.

Yoongi didn’t blink. Just arched a brow, amused. “Didn’t know you’d been having company.”

“Didn’t know I needed to check in with you about that,” you said, slicing your voice thin and cold. Ice over a fire.

Behind you, Jungkook went still.

Like you’d just lit a match and dropped it in gasoline.

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back, unbothered. But his gaze lingered—bouncing between you like he could read the unsaid. And maybe he could.

“Guess I’ll let you get back to… whatever this is,” he said, voice wry.

He lingered just long enough to grind his heel in it.

“I’ll be up in my apartment if you need me.”

The weight in his stare as he said it was intentional. You gave a small, polite smile—sharp-edged. Dismissive.

But Jungkook—through your periphery you saw the way his tongue pressed into his cheek like it was trying not to bite through.

Yoongi vanished into the hall.

The door shut behind him with a snap.

And then you turned.

You were on him before he could breathe.

A weapon unsheathed.

Your movement cut through the silence, quick and decisive, and just like that your chest was brushing his. Standing on the tip of your toes so your faces were just inches apart, eyes locked on the black pools in front of you. You could see everything—every flicker, every fracture.

“Do not make me check you.”

Jungkook’s eyes flared wide. But it wasn’t fear. No—what lived there was something hungrier. Darker. His breath shivered. His fists clenched.

He wanted to break something.

Or take you apart.

He was vibrating with restraint. With that desperate, wild thing that had clawed its way loose the moment you slipped out of his bed like a thief. He hadn’t gotten to chase you. To claim what you took with you.

Now? He was seconds from snapping.

“You had me once,” you whispered, venom-laced velvet. “Once. Not even long enough to piss and mark territory. Don’t forget that.”

Then you turned.

Cold. Precise. Beautifully cruel.

Like you hadn’t just sliced him open with your teeth.

You walked away with purpose, spine straight, blood roaring beneath still skin. Left him there in the ruins.

He didn’t follow.

Didn’t speak.

But you could feel him—rage coiled tight in his gut, heat rising like a fever. When you sank into the couch, you didn’t have to look to know he was gripping the air like it betrayed him.

“I shouldn't have come,” he muttered finally. “It was a mistake.”

His voice—low, scraped raw—crackled through the room like static. He stalked toward the table, dropped the delivery bag and snatched up his keys. His stride was all anger and ache.

But before he reached the door, your body moved without thought catching up.

“Wait—Just wait.”

Your hands lifted to your hair, dragging through with frustration. “We should talk about this. We’re partners, Jungkook. We can’t let one night get in the way of our work.”

He stopped like you’d shot him.

Tension rippled through his frame. When he turned to face you, it was slow. Dangerous.

“One night…” he repeated.

Voice like gravel. Like regret. As if it tasted like blood in his mouth.

“God, you must really hate me…” he huffed, the dimples appearing as he gnawed at his bottom lip. “Is that what it was for you? Just one night?”

And there it was.

The air between you thickened. Dense. Combustible.

Every breath you shared was a threat.

A challenge.

A lie neither of you could keep telling much longer.

Then—

Clang.

A metallic thud slammed through the stillness.

The fire stairwell.

Adrenaline sliced through the haze like a blade to the jugular.

The heat between you evaporated—consumed by instinct. No words, no delay. Just the clean, brutal snap of motion as both of you shifted gears like twin chambers firing. He pivoted. You dropped to the shoe bench near the front door, lifted it with practiced efficiency. Underneath—your weapon. And the spare you always kept, just in case. Just for him.

You tossed the Glock in his direction.

He caught it without looking—like your hand and his were parts of the same weapon, forged to work in tandem. His keys hit the ground, but neither of you so much as flinched.

This wasn’t chaos. This was code.

You and Jungkook moved like a language only your bodies remembered. Poetry written in violence. He stepped left as you went right. Breaths synced. Limbs mirrored.

Partners indeed. But not just that.

The stairwell door creaked again.

You moved into the hallway, silent as ghosts.

“One. Downstairs,” you murmured, voice razor-thin.

Jungkook nodded, just once. “They’re running scared.”

Then the chase detonated.

You sprinted down the concrete steps, the cold biting into your bare feet like punishment. Jungkook’s boots struck beside you, each step deliberate, brutal. Every movement between you practiced, precise, deadly.

You hit the garage’s lower level. Shadows clung to the corners like predators watching from the dark.

Jungkook’s hand snapped to your lower belly, half his fingers grazing bare skin beneath your t-shirt as he halted you. The touch seared, more dangerous than anything else in the room. Your breath hitched, traitorous.

Focus.

Ahead—a figure, caught mid-motion. The guy turned—saw you.

Recognition flared in Jungkook’s voice. “Guy from the photo. Snake tattoo.”

The man bolted.

Jungkook fired. The shot rang clean, ruthless. The SUV’s tire exploded before the target’s foot even left the ground. Rubber shrieked against pavement.

But it wasn’t over.

Two—no, three—more.

Armed. Unafraid.

Professionals.

“Split,” Jungkook muttered, low and lethal.

You peeled right, vanishing behind a beam. Gun raised. Heart hammering. Jungkook ghosted left—faster than light, heavier than wrath.

First one came at you with a crowbar, the arc whistling death.

You ducked the blow and fired—right into his thigh. His scream echoed off concrete. Another came behind him, bulletproof vest thick on his chest. Your second shot knocked him back but didn’t drop him.

You barely adjusted before Jungkook slammed into the guy, body to body, sheer force. The man hit a car hood with a sickening crunch.

You turned—

Too slow.

Another came in low, fast. Trained.

Fuck.

Your arm lifted, but his hand was already there, wrenching your wrist wide. Pain sparked. You fought back—knee snapping up, breath a growl—but his grip held.

And then you felt him.

Sudden, fierce. Jungkook’s hands on your waist, lifting, flipping you back over his hip. Your body hit the ground—hard.

But his body cushioned it.

Your breath stuttered.

He was under you. Hot and solid. Every muscle taut, every breath ragged. His fingers lingered too long just below your ribs, brushing over skin no one should be touching. Heat bloomed.

Time stopped.

“Show off,” you muttered, lifting your arm. You fired. The man dropped, clean.

“I like dramatic entrances,” he replied, his voice low and a promise, his eyes all flame.

Another guy emerged from the shadows, slipping behind a van with his gun already raised.

Jungkook moved instantly.

No hesitation, no question—just his body between yours and the threat, shielding you like instinct. The shot rang out, ricocheting off metal, too close. Jungkook didn’t flinch. He grabbed you and rolled you both behind the SUV’s bumper, one fluid movement, his arms tight around you.

Your hand clutched his bicep. His thigh wedged between your legs. His arm beneath your head. The concrete should have been cold, but all you felt was him—hot, tense, grounding.

Your heart thundered. His echoed it.

“Close one,” you breathed, shaken, eyes locking with his.

His breath washed over your lips. “You okay?”

“You’re on top of me.”

A slow grin tugged at his mouth. Dangerous. “Yeah. Not complaining.”

You shoved at him—but it lacked force. Like you needed to push him away before you did something worse.

Jesus. You were still on the clock.

You rolled to a crouch, nodded toward the final attacker. The heat in his gaze vanished. The smirk? Gone. He snapped back into mission mode like it was a second skin.

The last man bolted.

Jungkook pursued.

You followed.

Your heels slammed the concrete. Pain screamed up your legs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your blood roared in your ears. Jungkook closed in first, tackled the guy without mercy, slamming him into a pillar so hard the echo cracked down the garage like thunder.

The man fought hard—rage in every limb, desperation in every move. Jungkook was still buzzed from the alcohol, still bleeding—but still stronger. You reached them in a blur. Drove your elbow into the guy’s spine. He dropped like a felled beast. Motionless.

You stood over the body, breath jagged. Heart roaring. Body trembling with more than just adrenaline.

Jungkook leaned against the pillar, bruised and split-lipped. Blood painted a line down the side of his face—sharp, bright, and brutal. It caught the light like a vow. He looked like a tornado just barely held in place.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, voice tighter than you meant.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

He looked at you. And for a beat—under the flickering garage lights—he wasn’t your enemy. Or a mistake made in a night, the one you’d run from. Or even just your partner.

He was everything you feared you wanted.

His chest heaved. Yours mirrored it.

And then he stepped closer.

You didn’t move.

“You hesitated,” he said quietly.

You blinked, thrown by the shift. “When?”

“When that cameo scumbag came at you. You looked at me first.”

Your jaw locked. “So?”

His gaze didn’t waver. He stepped closer until you could taste the bourbon on his breath. Blood and sweat clung to the air between you like incense in a burning church.

“So don’t,” he murmured. “Next time, just take the damn shot.”

Your spine stiffened. “You saying I can’t handle myself?”

That dangerous smirk flickered again. But this time, softer. Less weapon, more wound. He reached out—and his fingers brushed your jawline. Just barely. Just the edge of it—slow. Intentional. Reverent. As if memorizing the shape of your defiance.

“I’m saying I notice everything you do,” he rasped. “Especially when it’s for me.”

Your breath caught mid-throat. The confession gutted you more than his touch.

But before you could speak—

A grunt. Wet and gurgled.

One of the bodies on the ground wasn’t quite done dying. He writhed, breath rattling like a broken instrument.

You both turned.

Jungkook stepped back.

Not far. Not enough for the space to cool. Just enough to draw his pistol. Calm and quiet, his fingers wrapping around the grip like it belonged to him, like it knew the shape of him.

And he fired.

One shot. Final.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—It throbbed.

It hit harder than the bullet. Not because of what he did. You’d both done worse. God knows you were past redemption.

But you stared. Not at the body. At him.

Because this?

This was different.

This was standing in the middle of the fire. Not running. Not denying. Just… burning.

“We—we need to deal with the bodies,” you said, but your voice sounded mechanical, hollow. You could feel the revelation of your feelings sending your body into shock. “If they trace this back here... I can't—The ones from the hard drive job, they’re still out there. I can’t risk—”

“Shut up.”

The words hit like a whip and you froze.

The bastard knew it. Knew your body, your mind like it was his.

“I got this,” Jungkook said, eyes gentle, steady, locking onto yours. “Take the guns. Check on your informant. I’ll be up in a few.”

Your mouth was dry. You couldn’t leave him, you needed—

“You’re hurt. Not to say drunk,” you bit out, more afraid than angry.

He gave a short laugh—lacking energy, his body was betraying him too. “I’ve had worse.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And yet.”

“I have contacts too, you know. I’ll burn the mess before anyone smells it. Go upstairs.” Then he looked at you again—really looked. And everything in you fractured.

“Trust me.”

And you did. You fucking did.

That was the real problem.

It wasn’t the blood or the mess or the ghosts that haunted you.

It was that.

You trusted him more than you feared what your feelings for him could do.

You’d checked on Yoongi.

Safe. No tail. Still smirking like the devil had given him his lines personally.

By the time you returned to the apartment, the sky had bled into ink—thick, suffocating. One of those nights that clings to your skin, whispers against your pulse. The kind that knows your secrets. The kind that feels sentient.

You’d been pacing ever since. Barefoot. Restless. Your heartbeat ticking like a landmine.

You kept glancing at the window without realizing. At the door. At your phone. Not checking it. Just… listening. As if some part of you knew the kind of mess Jungkook possibly walked into and hadn’t come back from. As if your body was betraying the fear your mouth refused to voice.

Then—

Three knocks.

Soft. Deliberate. One pause. Then two more.

His rhythm.

Always his.

You opened the door before your mind caught up. Like instinct had already laid out the red carpet for your ruin.

And there he was.

Relief hit you like a sharp exhale. Not loud. Not visible. But it bloomed in your chest like pain. You didn’t let it reach your face—didn’t dare. You still hadn’t decided what scared you more: the idea that something had happened to him… or the fact that you cared that deeply if it had.

Bruised. Bloodstained. Sweaty strands of dark hair plastered to his temple like shadows, eyes heavy-lidded and shining too dark in the hallway light. He looked like the aftermath of a war—and yet, you couldn’t look away.

“It’s sorted,” he said. “I identified two of them as Choi’s underdogs, but it’ll take a while to—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“Let me check that cut on your brow,” you said, already grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside. The door shut behind him with a quiet finality.

If something serious had happened, he would’ve led with it. Jungkook was nothing if not brutally efficient—he didn’t bury the lede. Which is exactly why, despite the wreckage on his skin, your focus stayed on him. Not the mission. Not yet.

He followed wordlessly. Heavy-footed. Letting you lead him toward the bathroom like he was tied to you by something ancient and binding.

You rummaged through the cabinet, refusing to look at his face too long, refusing to feel that heat that still hadn’t left your skin from earlier.

Behind you, he laughed—a lazy, low, lopsided sound. The kind that always came with trouble. The kind that curled into your belly and settled there, warm and invasive.

“Baby, it’s a tiny cut,” he drawled, voice syrupy and wrapped in alcohol. His eyes edged something like endearment through the mirror. “I just need a shower. Don’t worry about it.”

Baby.

That nickname again, cutting like a silk against bare skin. A reminder from that night together. A trigger. A temptation.

You turned.

Just in time to catch the sway in his stance. One shoulder slumped against the doorframe. His pupils were dilated. Lips slightly parted. And God, he looked feral—like want was eating him alive from the inside out.

“You’re too drunk,” you said, your voice low and clipped. “How much did you drink before coming here on your fucking bike like a lunatic—before continuing to drink?”

You glared at him, jaw tight. “And don’t even deny it. I saw the damn thing parked out there.”

He grinned, all teeth and danger—boyish and wicked. “Just a bit.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “You fucking—”

You moved before the thought even formed, your hand going straight to the exposed skin above his belt—where his shirt had ridden up. Palm flat. Skin too warm. Muscles tight beneath.

You shoved him back. A push that lingered too low. Too intimate.

He stiffened. But didn’t stop you, kept walking back.

His breath grew shallow. His eyes dropped—to your mouth. The air around you turned charged, electric.

“I told you I can hold my liquor,” he murmured, voice fraying at the edges. “I am holding it. Barely. I’ll admit that. But God, you—”

His hand hovered near your throat, clawed fingers curling just short of contact. Not grabbing. Just wanting.

But didn’t.

“You’re— Fuck.” he struggled.

Your knees nearly buckled. That memory—his hands on your throat, mouth on your skin—flared so bright you could taste it.

“You look at me like you want to kill me,” he said. Voice cracking on something too real. His hand dropped. A surrender. But not defeat.

“And maybe I do,” you snapped, though your hand stayed where it was—gripping his side like you needed the anchor. Like you didn’t want to let go. Your nails curled slightly between his belt and his V line. He shivered beneath the pressure.

His pupils dilated further, eyes locking on yours as if remembering everything you too were failing miserably to forget.

And then—he reached.

His hand slid behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Not yanking. Not dragging.

Just there. Claiming without question.

Breath warm against your lips.

Your heart stuttered.

Then you reached behind him—found the faucet—and yanked.

Water exploded over both of you, steam rising instantly, curling around your limbs like smoke from a fire you couldn’t put out.

He gasped, startled. His shirt clung to him instantly, outlining every line, every inch, water running in rivulets down the slopes of his body.

“What the—?” he started.

“You said you needed a shower. I agree,” you cut him off, hissing. Stepping into the spray with him, heat crawling down your spine. “You need to sober the hell up.”

He stared at you for a breath, stunned.

Then that look flickered into place.

Dark. Amused. Dangerous.

Water traced a slow path down his jaw, dripping from the cut above his brow. Down his throat. His chest. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a growl.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Or I’ll begin thinking the secret to have you under me is getting you wet.”

You pressed your finger to his cut meaning to hurt—to shut his mouth—, hovering close enough to feel his pulse beneath the skin. Your own shirt was soaked through, clinging to your curves like a dare, and you were suddenly too aware.

He grunted but didn’t pull away. Instead, he smiled. That insufferable, knowing smirk that said he could read every inch of your skin. Worse, that he could get under it.

“You wish,” you snapped, pulling your hand away.

His laugh was low and rough, soaked in sin. “I did,” he said, leaning in until the mist between you was all but gone. “And look at you now. Drenched. Again.”

Silence collapsed over the bathroom like a loaded gun.

You stared at each other like it was war. Like one word, one twitch of muscle, would set the whole damn room on fire.

His gaze locked with yours, dark and searing. Possessive. Like he’d never stopped seeing you as his. Like he knew every thought crashing through your mind in that moment.

And you wanted him.

God, you wanted him.

But the wanting didn’t make it less dangerous.

It made it worse.

You wanted his hands on you. His mouth. His body pinning you to the wall so hard you forgot your name. You wanted him to ruin you—devour every inch, mark every part, leave nothing untouched, nothing sacred. Just like he did that night.

You wanted him because you weren’t supposed to.

Because it would burn everything you’d built—every wall, every rule, every lie. And still, you’d do it again.

His voice broke the silence, rough and low, like a sandpiper doing his best to lure you in.

“I killed them.”

The words crashed into you like thunder.

He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Just stared, soaked and still, letting the truth settle slowly in your lungs like you were taking a drag from one of his cigarettes.

“The rest of the guys from when I…stitched you,” he said, voice hoarse, eyes hollow and burning. “Every last one of them. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Your breath caught—snagged hard in your throat.

“What? When?” The whisper barely passed your lips.

His jaw flexed, twitching like he was chewing on the weight of it. “I had a lot of time on my hands the past two weeks,” his chest kept rising and falling, eyes unrelenting. “A lot of anger to burn.”

You lost yourself in the black pool of them, able to catch your reflection, thinking that the better question would be why, but you knew the answer. And it wasn’t because Jungkook would always have your back, because you were partners. It was the something more.

Whatever thin, frayed thread had been holding you back—snapped.

For a second you had to remind yourself—it’s okay to want something that might ruin you. To crave what cuts. And maybe you were already bleeding.

Your hand reached his collar, tugging. He let himself be pulled, leaning down like a storm bending toward you, moving slow, steady, devastating—giving you time to run. But you didn’t.

Because you wanted him to kiss you.

The moment his lips caught yours, everything burned off like fog meeting sun. The ache. The exhaustion. The war.

The kiss was slow at first—sinful, soaked in longing. The kind that studied every edge of you. Then your teeth caught his bottom lip, dragged with just the right pressure. He moaned—a dark, low sound that made your insides twist.

Jungkook leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavy through the water falling over your heads.

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, eyes closed as he teased your lips.

He trailed a hot path toward your ear, fingers curling around your hips. “Since when do we follow good ones?”

A bite on your lobe, soft. You lost control.

You pressed into him harder, hand locked in his jaw, seizing his lips completely. He shuddered, fingers coming to slide from your temples through your damp hair. Clutching, desperate. Your bodies taut with desire, tension razor-thin.

You moved, hands falling on his shoulders, then a push—you climbed him without mercy. His hands immediately under your thighs, squeezing. You were dizzy—drenched in him—just like that night, feeling feverish. Each kiss made your thoughts blurrier, your skin tighter, your breath more ragged.

Jungkook slammed you against the tile wall like he could read your mind, his hips grinding against yours. God, he was so fucking hard. You moaned, he grunted. Water rained down, steaming over your flushed skin, making every nerve feel electric.

You gasped with another roll of his hips, body trembling with every throb of want.

Fuck, you needed out of your clothes.

Needed them gone—

One leg came down, then the other. You shoved him back, his raven eyes searched for yours, dizzy. Almost supplicant.

Your lips parted, clit throbbing as you stripped the soaked t-shirt clinging to you. It peeled away slow, like silk over embers, baring you to the heat of his stare.

Jungkook froze.

Breathing heavy. Watching.

His gaze licked your chest, then fell to the stitches still holding on your side, right underneath your ribs.

“You should’ve taken those out,” his was voice low, raspy, “Now it’ll leave a scar,” and you caught the way his teeth found his lip, that damned dimple deepening—like he was already claiming it. His name etched in flesh.

Good, that had been your intention.

“No shit…Sherlock,” your lips curled into a knowing smirk. A laughter almost fell from your lips when you saw the realization befalling his eyes. His knuckles whitnening, balled in fists.

That fuelled you.

Your fingers fell to strip the boxer shorts next, leaving you only in your black lace panties. You stood bare before him, water sliding down your curves like an offering.

He stared in a daze, gulped.

Like you were a sin too beautiful to resist.

And he was ready to confess the only way he knew how—with worship and destruction.

Jungkook’s inked fingers found the back collar of his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion—water trailed down his chest like a whisper. Boots thudded to the tile, cast aside like fallen armor. Still, his gaze never left yours.

Your thighs pressed together as you took him in.

He was bare but for drenched jeans, dangerous and unguarded. The belt fell next, with a splash, and then his fingers found the button—until you closed the distance, taking over. You dragged his zipper down, slow, eyes piercing his.

His breath hitched.

Not even blood had undone Jeon Jungkook like this. This wasn’t vulnerability. It was exposure. Raw. His chest rose hard; pierced lips parted, begging for that final push—like if you did so, he’d come undone right there.

And you liked the feeling.

You liked the power humming beneath your fingers. The way he vibrated with the effort of not losing it.

Just to test him, to twist the wire tighter, you dropped your hand after unzipping him, let the distance stretch—mocking a retreat. Your steps pulled back, every line of your body begging to be chased.

“Don’t—Come here. Now,” Jungkook snarled, one step faltering.

You chuckled, slow and dangerous, stopping. Your eyes stayed on his, playful and defiant.

Jungkook could twist your mind into knots. Wreck your logic with a look.

But two could play.

And you had fire in your lungs now.

You stalked back toward him, eyes never dropping, and slid to your knees with the kind of poise that could unravel a man.

Tilting your head, biting your lip, you murmured, “Is this what you wished for? When you kept thinking to yourself I’d crawl back to you? That I was yours to keep?”

His breath was wrecked. His jaw flexed.

“Yes,” he said, the word broken with need. “That—and so much more.”

The confession hit the air like a lit fuse on dry kindling.

You smiled—slow and knowing, like a promise draped in danger. “Really?” you whispered. “And what else did you wish I’d do?”

Your hand slid up his thigh—slow, commanding—knuckles brushing soaked denim, the heat of his skin bleeding through. You felt the muscle tense beneath your palm, a quiet shudder betraying his restraint.

Jungkook’s eyes flared—black, volatile, molten. Then he moved. Fast.

He surged forward, seized your waist with fingers that dug into flesh like he was claiming a victory he hadn’t yet earned. He yanked you upright, effortless, like your body weighed nothing to him—like control was already his.

You barely had time to blink.

With a grunt, he flipped you over his shoulder, and the air rushed from your lungs. Your wet hair clung to your back, your cheek pressed to the plane of his spine. A yelp caught behind your teeth.

Then—smack.His palm fell to your ass like a whip, loud and ruthless.

You gasped, startled and electric, the sound swallowed by the hiss of steam and the wet splash of water against tile. The sting bloomed through your skin and burrowed down into heat.

"You're a fucking menace," he muttered, voice rough and thick with something darker than amusement—like each word had been dragged over gravel, heavy with the battle he was losing against himself.

Your laugh came out breathless. Aroused. Dangerous. "Funny, you seem to like it."

He growled—actually growled—and the sound lit up your nerves like dynamite. With one hand steady at your thigh, he reached out and turned off the shower, then walked you out like a man done pretending.

He carried you down the hall like a stolen prize, like something sacred and savage he’d fought to win. No hesitation. No falter. His gait was confident, practiced—and yet you’d never walked this route together before. He still knew exactly where your bedroom was.

The door creaked open and shadows welcomed you. Moonlight spilled across the sheets like it, too, had been waiting.

The room pulsed.

He didn’t lower you gently. He tossed you down like a challenge, like he was daring you to run again so he could catch you all over.

You landed with a bounce, limbs splaying, hair a halo across the bedding, lips parted. The moment held, thick with the throb of everything unsaid.

Then he was over you.

Jungkook’s body came down like a waterfall—damp denim scraping over lace, his weight pressing you into the mattress, heat bleeding through every inch. His arms caged your head. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

He was everywhere.

You arched into him, chasing friction like it might answer the ache inside you. His skin was slick with water, warm and wild. His jeans rubbed with exquisite cruelty between your thighs.

And his eyes—God, his eyes were flame.

He dipped his head, brushing lips to your throat—once, soft enough to almost hurt. Then he bit. A sharp press of teeth that said mine, that said run again and I’ll follow.

“You left, you ghosted me,” he pulled the soft skin beneath your ear between his teeth, like it was penance.

“Ah,” you moaned, your head tipping back, hair plastered to your face, his heat bleeding into you as steam still clung to your skin. One of his hands slid to your breast, bold, hungry, and you could barely think around it.

“I—I’m…”

But the words died in your throat. Thought scattered.

Jungkook’s breath stuttered against your mouth. Hot. Shaking. And then—

He moved.

Devastating.

One hand wrapped around his cock, dragging it out of his jeans with a groan that sounded broken. The kind of sound that could tear open ribcages. The kind that made your breath catch, knees press inward, thighs shake.

The other—

He hooked rough fingers into the lace clinging to your soaked skin, yanking your panties aside like they’d offended him by existing. No finesse. No delay.

You spread your legs before you realized you had. The want in your chest curled like claws—sharp, urgent, feral.

Then he thrust.

Hard. Deep.

You cried out. His name caught on your tongue like a spell gone wrong. He filled you—inch by inch—with a slowness that wasn’t mercy, but control. You arched. He didn’t stop. Buried to the hilt, the stretch a brand, a claim.

He felt perfect. Like he’d been made to wreck you.

You remembered—fuck.

The condom. It hit you mid-moan, a flash of ice through the heat. You weren’t on the shot—you never were. Not with how it messed with your body, your reflexes. Not in your line of work.

Your hands flew to his hips, trembling as you tried to stall his rhythm, tried to choke out words through the haze.

“JK—ah, fuck—Stop. Wait—”

He started to pull back, the motion sudden, his breath sharp, panicked. His eyes found yours and they pleaded.

“No. No, please. Baby, please—”

A breathless laugh fell from your lips. You couldn’t help it. His desperation—it was fucking adorable. You dragged your nails down his back, slow, soothing. “We forgot the condom.”

Relief transformed him, but he didn’t waste a second. He slipped out cursing under his breath, and was on his feet in an instant, already moving.

“Bathroom,” you said, still catching your breath. “Second drawer.”

He came back fast, foil in hand, eyes locked on you like a man starved.

You were already on your knees, waiting for him at the edge of the bed, panties gone. One hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him in. The kiss was slow, deep. Sin-drenched. You toyed with the damp strands at his nape, shivering at how they curled against your fingers.

Jungkook pushed his soaked jeans off. Finally. Your mouth watered. The white boxers clung, transparent, and left nothing to the imagination. You licked your lips.

You helped take them off too. Then his inked hand found your chest, pressing you back into the mattress. A smirk playing on his lips. The condom hit the sheets a second after. You chuckled, low, breathless.

And then he was on you.

His weight pressed into yours, lips at your ear, voice low.

“Tell me again what you said that night.”

“What?” you breathed. You could barely remember your own name.

“That you hate me,” he bit your jaw. “Lie to me again, and tell me that you hate me.”

“I hate you,” you said—except it came out soft. Like a kiss. Like a confession.

His mouth traveled down. Kisses trailed heat. You whispered it again. He sucked one nipple.

“Fuck, I hate you.” and again.

His chest rumbled, a dark chuckle as he closed his eyes and trailed down. He dragged his teeth through your lower belly. It coiled. You fisted the sheets.

“Mhm, I hate you.” you kept chanting like a shield.

He reached between your legs and moaned into you.

“Ah— I fucking hate you,” you gasped, back arching, fingers clawing at his hair, desperate to keep him there.

“I hate your mouth…Those goddamned hands,” and as if on command he squeezed your thighs, his tongue circled, teased, playing with your rationale. “I hate— I—” you started losing yourself, hips undulating, trying to meet his pace.

Jungkook groaned—devouring you like he’d never tasted anything real before. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just moaned, begged, burned.

“Don’t stop,” you panted. “Jungkook—”

He didn’t. He ate like a man dying. Sucked and swirled and bit until your body broke, splintered into light, your orgasm ripping through you like it had claws. You cried out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other holding him there.

“Oh, God— Fuck!”

He looked at you from between your legs, licking you through it, slow.

Then he rose with one last long lick, grinning like a feline, crawling back up, mouth crashing into yours—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You kissed him back hard, wild, lips swollen, mind reeling.

He groaned into it, and the condom was in his hand in a second. He ripped the foil and rolled it on. His eyes—blown and wild—never left yours.

His hands found the back of your knees, and he pulled, fast. Like he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer.

He dropped.

And thrust into you—no warning, just heat and pressure and that tight, perfect stretch.

Your mouths clashed. You kissed like addicts, like two people who had tried everything else but nothing ever came close to this.

Your nails sank into his shoulders, searching for something to hold as he drove into you. Over and over.

Jungkook moaned. Deep and raspy. Feral. One arm braced beside your head. The other—he slid under you, gripping your ass, dragging your hips up to meet every punishing thrust.

He fucked you like he was possessed. Like he wanted to possess you.

Your orgasm started building again—fast, feral. He felt it. The way you clawed at his back, your moans climbing in pitch against his neck.

“You thought we were done?” He wrapped that hellish inked hand around your throat—not tight, just there, a tether. His pace slowed. Unbearably slow. His eyes dark, locked to yours. “I’m not done. Understand?”

You barely had time to gasp before he slid out, flipped you like you weighed nothing.

A whimper escaped your lips, thighs clenching.

He reached out, his hand gripped your jaw, angling your head back to him. His breath came hot over your lips. “Head down. Ass up.”

You stared at him, defiant—because you could. Then, slowly, you leaned even more toward him, let your tongue flick his lip piercing. A challenge.

“I’ll let you be the boss tonight, then.”

You caught how his tongue poked his cheek. How rage and lust twined in his eyes, before going on all fours and sinking your head further into the mattress, tauting him.

“You—” he shook his head, jaw tight. He gripped your waist with one hand, the other guiding him to your entrance. “I swear you’ll be so spent you won’t be able to run. Not tonight.”

Then he slammed into you.

The sheets muffled your moan. Your clit throbbed as he forced your knee out and drove in again—Hard, fast, vicious.

“JK…” you cried out.

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging, arching you flush against his chest. Mouth to your ear. “Ngh, fuck, baby—it keeps getting better–”

He pounded into you. You could barely breathe. Barely think.

“Yeah,” was all you managed, and you squeezed your eyes shut, taking it.

Your walls clenched. Hands pressed into the sheets, rocking back into him, chasing every stroke.

You arched again, his hands pulled, squeezed—slick skin on his thighs, water still clinging to both of you, and all you could think about was that you could be doing this for two weeks had you not been such a coward.

He hit deep. Again. And again.

“Harder,” you whimpered. “Ah, right there—!”

He grunted and gave it to you.

“Jungkook, I— Mhm–” You shattered. Your orgasm burst white-hot and ruined you.

He kept going, chasing his own end. His hand closed around your breast as he came, groaning against your back, filling the condom with that sexy, throaty moan of his. It echoed deep in your core.

You both collapsed—sweat and steam and aftermath.

“Fuck,” he panted against your shoulder blades.

A second passed, just your breaths filling the bedroom, then—

“JK… You’re crushing me.” You chuckled against the sheets, and he pulled out, breath ragged, rolling onto his back beside you.

You stretched out your legs, sore and blissed out. Watched as he rolled the condom off, tossed it toward the bin.

Then he dragged you to his chest. Lazy grin. Warm eyes.

You kissed him—lazy, honey-slow. His throat rumbled with a sound that made your stomach flip.

“Stay with me,” he breathed against your lips. “Just—”

“I missed you,” you whispered, fingers sinking into his damp hair.

You felt more exposed than when you were beneath him, neck bare and exposed.

“I missed this.”

He went still. Eyes finding yours. Then—he kissed you again, deeper, longer. You wondered if it would ever stop being this… head-spinning.

When he pulled back, he nuzzled your nose. “I fucking missed you too.”

You lay there. Still breathing. Still burning. Still tangled.

“They can’t know. No one can.” your voice was barely a whisper.

You didn’t say why. You didn’t need to. Jungkook knew.

If your superiors caught wiff of it—worse, if whoever was your enemy next did… You’d both have a grave marked with your names.

“I know,” he said. Then added—grumbling, “But that informant of yours should. The nerve on that guy!”

You snorted. Rolled your eyes. One hand untangled from his hair to cover his face, pushing gently.

He bit your palm with eyes closed. Dragging the flesh there. The vision did something stupid to you.

In a swift motion, you straddled him.

And he looked up at you like you were everything. Just laid there beneath you, round eyes ravaging on the shape of your body on top of his.

Your hands slid to the space between his chest and abs, feeling him, pinning him. He started to breathe hard, slowly hardening under you again.

Holy fuck.

His grip returned—your hips in his rough palms. Fingers curling.

You arched, dipping towards his mouth. Brushing, featherlight, teasing.

“You should know by now I’m not the most patient guy,” he grunted, fingers running along the expanse of your legs. You laughed against his mouth, low, satisfied.

Then you bit. His lip. His jaw. His throat.

When you returned to his mouth and he tried to kiss you—eager, barely in check—you stopped him. Smiled. Your lips just hovering, his breath rough.

You held him there, hand on his jaw.

Then you rolled your hips on his cock, slow, hard.

Jungkook moaned, head tipping back.

“My turn,” you clashed your mouth against his.

A faint rustle broke the silence.

Cold air kissed your bare skin—an empty space beside you where warmth used to be. Your arm instinctively reached out, fingers curling into the mattress before you stirred, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Jungkook…?

You blinked awake. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, lit only by the soft morning sun sneaking in through the curtains. His back was to you, spine a canvas of light and shadow. He bent forward, pulling something from his jeans. The screen of his phone lit up once, a low buzz vibrating through the silence.

Shit. You’d soaked his phone the night before. Please be working—

He answered it with a rough, still-sleep-heavy “Yeah?”

You moved before your thoughts could catch up—sliding across the sheets like you were weightless, drawn by the scent of him, the pull of him. Your body folded around his, forehead pressing to his shoulder, your mouth tucked into the space just beneath his jaw, breathing him in. He smelled like sweat, like cotton, like you.

He shifted, pulling you closer.

Jungkook was so deliciously warm it hurt.

“You owe me, you know,” a voice crackled through the line—male, lazy drawl layered with something sharp underneath. “You dropped a bomb on me last night. Took me four hours to cover it. I want answers.”

The contact.

You hadn’t known a name, hadn’t needed to. But Jungkook had mentioned someone last night. Someone who could clean up a mess. Now, the puzzle was whole.

Jungkook’s fingers found your thigh, skimming over your skin like it was habit. Like he didn’t need to look to know where you were.

“You’ll get them, Taehyung,” he muttered, mouth brushing your hair as he spoke. “Got anything for me?”

A pause. “Yeah. I have what you wanted. Meet me in thirty.”

He turned, lips catching yours—barely there, like he couldn’t not kiss you. Then his hand slid lower, slipping between your legs, teasing, slow and confident.

“Make it two and a half hours,” he said into the phone, voice quieter now, voice that always made you ache.

“Two and a half? What the hell are you—”

“I’m busy.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Send the address.”

He ended the call without waiting, phone thunking softly onto the nightstand. His body turned fully, slow and heavy with sleep and want. He looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense.

“Morning,” his lips found your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Where were we?”

You laughed into his skin, teeth grazing the scar on his shoulder—the one you’d given him that first mission, when you didn’t trust him and he’d called you reckless.

“You were just about to take off my stitches and then make me breakfast.”

Jungkook grinned, unrelenting. “Then round three in the shower?”

You groaned, but you were already folding, fingers running through the soft and haparzed strands of his hair again, lips catching his.

“Regroup. Round three now, everything else later.”

And he was already on top of the situation. Already on top of you.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #jungkook oneshot #bts smut #jungkook ff #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook

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yes-im-a-simpp · 2 months ago

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How I think Bruce acts with his kids and why :

Tim gets what he wants because he's convincing. (if he asks then it'll be something like a computer to work, if it's something that he could enjoy, Bruce will offer it without asking)

Jason gets things cause he died. (whatever Jason is talking about whether it's a car or an apple juice, Bruce will buy it for him. He'll buy a hundred.)

Cassandra gets everything. (she's the princess. It's canon .)

Stephanie gets things cause she's annoying (Bruce cares but he waits until Stephanie starts begging and threatening him to not show her how much he cares.)

Damian gets things but only if he doesn't ask. (you want watercolor? No. But tomorrow it'll be on your bed)

Duke gets things because he deserves it. (he cleans his room, help Alfred around the manor, do all the mechanics on their bike for weeks before asking for something, he has yet to understand that he doesn't have to do all of that for a plushie.)

Dick doesn't ask for things. (Bruce has to force him to accept gift)

#dc comics #batfam #dick grayson #batfans #batkids #dc batfam #Jason todd #stephanie brown #damian wayne #tim drake #duke thomas #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #he loves his family so much

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neimaami · 3 months ago

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You dream about me? (M)

SYNOPSIS: Jungkook takes you out to eat...except food isn't the only thing he's having tonight. aka, he fucks you against his bike :)

WARNINGS : SMUT, unprotected sex (this is purely fantasy! I condone safe sex), dirty talk, titty sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, JK pretending he's a bad boy but he's actually a sweetheart, FLUFF, non-establish relationship, friends to lovers (?)

word count: 5.3k

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your usually neat and respectable bedroom was an absolute disaster.

The one thing your parents had drilled into your head, over and over again since the moment you were born—was how to behave like a woman. You had old parents. A mother and father who were two whole generations behind yours. Parents with mindsets set in stone—unchanging, no matter what. It wasn’t exactly torture growing up with them, but it did come with a whole lot of expectations—ones that no longer fit into modern day society.

One of them being, ‘a lady should have a clean room no matter what, in order to appear civilised and educated’ two words come to mind - fuck that. You were a woman through and through, whether your room was in pristine condition, or if your room looked like a pig sty, which was currently the latter. Putting together an outfit you never imagined yourself wearing wasn’t easy—especially one that went against everything you’d been taught. So why did something so wrong feel so damn good?

Usually, your closet was full of bright, pastel colours, ones that rightfully represented your outgoing and bubbly personality. Even though most of your articles of clothing were picked out by your mother, somehow your tastes aligned…for the most part. Sometimes she’d show up with a shopping bag full of crocheted ponchos and actually expected you to wear them. That is one thing you refused to wear - ponchos. They were unflattering, baggy, uncomfortable, hideous even - and they hid everything you had going for yourself.

Ponchos? A big no.

This time you were in search of clothing on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Jungkook had invited you to go out to a diner with him. You weren’t exactly sure what it entailed, he didn’t specify, but in your mind it was a date, at least it’s what you hoped it was. You wanted to impress him above all else, you wanted a jaw dropping, show stopping outfit that would land you in his bed - tonight. Thinking back on all the times you had spent in Jungkook’s company, you had learned that his usual attire consists of black leather and worn out jeans. Even though you were sure he’d tease you relentlessly for ‘stealing his lingo’ as he likes to call it, you wanted a change. You used Jungkook’s name as an excuse, because truthfully, for the longest time, you have wanted to break this continuous cycle of being a notorious rule-follower. Even if it was as silly, as simple as an outfit change, it was a step in the right direction. One that you wanted to - no, needed to go in.

As you rummage through options on the floor, you feel your phone buzz in the back pocket of your sweatpants. You reach behind you and drop your gaze to the home screen of your iphone. Your heart races in your chest at the sight of the contact name; there is a singular text message from Jungkook:

omw princess, wear something sexy for me, yeah? ;)

Oh sexy you’ll give him, alright. Then the words ‘on my way’ dawn on you and realisation strikes you. Shit, you hadn’t even picked out an outfit, let alone showered and done your makeup. Thankfully you had already picked out 3 suitable options for clothes and had tried them on countless times. The hardest part was picking out which one out of the three was best. But you didn’t have time to dwell on the options, Jungkook would be showing up at any second.

“Arlight, let’s do this shit.” You mutter under your breath, walking over to your messy bed and eyeing the three options wearily. It was almost embarrassing how seriously you were taking this - especially for someone who you weren’t even dating, but alas, this was Jungkook, the hottest man you have ever had the privilege of seeing. Your hand instinctively reaches out for option 2. The outfit consisted of small leather shorts that stopped just below your ass, and a tight, below the shoulder black top.

The moment you step foot outside, a chilly breeze greeted you—not surprising for 8:35 PM. You muttered a curse under your breath, annoyed at yourself for forgetting a jacket. As you walked down the pavement and rounded the corner of your apartment building toward the parking lot, your eyes landed on Jungkook. Leaned back against his sleek black motorcycle, he looked as sexy as ever. His black hair pushed back, tattoos giving him that edgy look craved to want. You caught the slight raise of his eyebrows, surprise evident as you approached.

He lets out a low whistle, straightening up and taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “Fuck…look at you.” He drags his eyes over your figure, desire simmering beneath his gaze, a look so intense that it sets your whole body on fire. With a flick of his fingers, he tosses the cigarette onto the gravel, embers glowing for a fleeting moment before fading. “Are you trying to impress me, baby?” His lips curl up into a cocky smirk, taking yet another step forward - his chest grazing against yours.

“Depends…did I succeed?” He hums in response, reaching out to grip your hips with his big hands and pulling you further against his chest. You couldn’t help but admire the colorful, intricate designs of his tattoos covering his left arm, it made you want to trace them with the tip of your fingers. They especially popped under the soft glow of the moonlight. You remember him mentioning how he was going to get them re-colored - and by the looks of it he has. The parking lot was relatively quiet, with only a few people locking their car doors before heading out.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on anything tonight with you looking like this” Your heart flutters at his words. It’s almost laughable how just a few sweet words from the man in front of you can stir such strong reactions from your body. His thumbs run smooth circles on the small strip of skin between the hem of your top and the waistband of your leather shorts.

“Maybe that was the goal” You flirt with a teasing smile, your hands run over his arms, feeling the way his muscles ripple beneath the palm of your hands. He wore his usual white wife beater - it was skin tight and displayed his bulky stature perfectly. He lets out a raspy chuckle, leaning in to press a featherly light kiss to your cheek, his lips barely grazing the warmth of your skin.

“Yeah?” He smirks against your cheek “you wanted me to look at you, didn’t you baby? To notice you…” He lifts his head up to meet your gaze, one of his hands reaching out to softly grip your chin - forcing your eyes to lock on his. He lets his gaze wander over your face tentatively, noting the way your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. He was definitely making a mental note of this moment. It made his smirk widen, a hint of cockiness pooling within the depths of his eyes. “Well I see you…here, in my thoughts, in my dreams…” His voice is low and sultry, using his thumb to pull down on your bottom lip. At this rate you weren’t sure if the both of you would be making it to the diner.

“You dream about me?” you whisper - eyes wide and shining under the moonlight, you press a light kiss to the tip of his thumb, all while your eyes are locked on his. The cocky smirk on his lips falters slightly at your action. His eyes intensify, boring deeply into yours. Your breath catches in your throat as the world around you stills. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, his cocky, playful side coming back out.

“I jerk off to you too” He smirks and shoots you a wink, clearly feeling very proud of his quick wit. You groan in annoyance and take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. Slightly disappointed.

“You ruined the moment” You complain, to which he lets out a boisterous laugh, his bunny teeth coming to view. The sight alone momentarily distracts you from any frustration you had been feeling.

“Come on, let’s get out of here, princess…” He wraps a hand around your wrist, fingers curling against your pulse point, as he tugged you towards his motorcycle. That darn motorcycle, you were afraid he’d choose that piece of machinery over you one day. You couldn’t help but think back to the day where he so trustingly gave you permission to drive his motorcycle around the block of his apartment. He had been a nervous wreck, babbling on and on about how you should be careful, that if you got so much as a scratch on the paint he’d kill you. It wasn’t your first time driving a motorcycle, so you had somewhat of an experience, you weren’t blindly going at it - which had given him a sense of relief. Still, Jungkook remained a nervous wreck, his chest had pressed against your back as he hovered his hands over the handlebars of the motorcycle…just in case. You smile at the fond memory.

He grips your hips and lifts you up to straddle the leather seat of the machinery, before swinging his own leg over the seat. He hands you one of the protective helmets.

“You okay to put this on? Or do you need help?” He says as he reaches out for his own helmet. You roll your eyes and successfully tug the helmet on and tighten the strap beneath your chin.

“I’m not a child, kook. I know how to put on a damn helmet.” He shoots you a smile over his shoulder, not at all phased by your remark. The dimple on his left cheek popped out momentarily. Your heart races in your chest.

“Sass. That’s what I get for trying to be a gentleman.” He scoffs as he successfully puts on his helmet and revs up the motorcycle.

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, scooting forward on the leather seat to press your chest against his muscular back. “The last word I’d use to describe you is ‘gentleman.’” It was a teasing jab, no real cruelty behind your words.

“I never said I was, I said I’m trying to be.” With that he kicks up the stand. You tighten your arms around his waist instinctively, it was always quite nerve wracking sitting on the back of Jungkook’s motorcycle - he was unpredictable in more ways than one. The tires crunch against the gravel as he eases out of the parking lot, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows over his sharp features. Then, with a smooth twist of the wrist, he takes off, the wind whipping past you as the city blurs into streaks of neon and asphalt.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“You drive me crazy-” Jungkook rasps out, his breath fanning across the shell of your ear. “Can’t get enough of you…” His hands reach down to grip the back of your thighs, arms flexing as he hoists you up effortlessly and walks all the way back towards his motorcycle. He wastes no time latching his lips onto the side of your neck, sucking deep dark, purple marks. You were a whimpering mess against him, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life, your legs tightening around his waist. You didn’t even care for the fact that the two of you were just about done exiting the diner, that the owner could catch you both if he so much as looked out the big windows. Apart from him, the parking lot of the Diner was empty, the two of you had been the only ones left inside.

The date had gone better than expected, you laughed, talked, kissed, but the both of you didn’t last much longer - couldn’t last much longer. The long gazes, the lingering touches, it was becoming all too much to handle. Jungkook had treated you like a princess all night, not that you were surprised. From the moment you met Jungkook a couple of months back, you have always had an inkling feeling that Jungkook wasn’t this ‘badboy’ everyone said he was. Not with the way his doe-eyes shone big and wide as they looked into yours, head nodding with each word you spoke. You didn’t expect the way he treated you so delicately, so softly, like you might break if he said the wrong thing, touched you the wrong way…He truly was a gentleman, no matter what others may come to believe. Or maybe, just maybe, he was this way with you, and only with you.

He sets you down onto the leather seat of his black motorcycle. His hands squeeze the muscles of your thighs as he settles his body between your spread legs. His chest molds against yours - His growing erection pressing directly against your clothed clit. You bite your lip to stop the moan threatening to spill from your lips. You tighten the grip of your hands on his shoulders. He couldn’t help but let out a low groan as he started to grind his hardened cock against you. The tight confines of his jeans were starting to feel like torture. The friction was so delicious it made your brain turn to mush. You spread your legs even further, bucking your hips up to grind your hips against his, as a result he throws his head back in a deep, drawled out moan. His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. Your heart stops in your chest at the unforgettable sight. This man was going to be the death of you.

“Fuck…you’re gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep doing that” He rasps out, his hands moving up your body to grip your tits over the black top you wore, giving the mounds a good, rough squeeze - Your strangled moan echoes across the empty parking lot. With gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, Jungkook tugs the material down your arms, letting the fabric pool against your waist. You shiver when the cool air hits your newly exposed skin, nipples pebbling against the fabric of your bra.

“J-Jungkook…we’re still outside…” You remind him nervously, taking a quick peek behind his shoulder for any living soul. He doesn’t seem to even acknowledge your words - his hand already sliding around your body to toy with the clasp of your bra. He cursed under his breath as he struggled against it for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle to, which he shoots you a glare before the bra successfully unclasps. The cool air of the night only serves to send a shiver down your spine.

“Relax, there’s nobody here…” When your bra falls to the dusty ground, he leans in to capture one of your rosy nipples into his mouth. Your brain is suddenly too fuzzy to even remember what you were worrying about as you felt his tongue on your skin. His hands gripped your waist tightly, pushing your tits even further against his face. You reach out to thread your fingers against his black locks, giving it a rough tug as his tongue swirls around your sensitive nub - teeth grazing against it.

“Hmmph…Kook…” You moan out breathlessly, your hips moving on their own accord against his growing erection. He releases your nipple with a small ‘pop’, a string of saliva connects your nipple to his lips before it breaks. He stands up straight, looming over your smaller frame.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” His breath comes out slightly ragged, his hooded eyes darkening at the sight of your reddened cheeks. “So sensitive…I love it when you blush for me.” He whispers under his breath, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, taking a couple seconds to admire the way your tits rose with every breath you took.

“Touch me kook…” You whimper, hands desperately reaching out to grip the waistband of his jeans and giving it a good tug towards you. He’s impossibly close now, his pelvis pressing tightly against yours. Gripping the back of your thighs, Jungkook forces them to wrap around his slim waist. “Or are you all talk no bite?” You challenge, to which he raises a brow - surprised at your sudden confidence, A smirk tugging at his lips. He leans down, breath fanning across the shell of your ear.

“Oh I’ll touch you alright, maybe even fuck the attitude right out of you while I’m at it.” He releases his grip on your breasts, settling them against the cool leather of his bike instead. He grips the edge of the seat, one arm on either side of your body, caging you in. His face was now inches away from yours. “Is that what you want, baby girl?” He whispers huskily “Does the princess need a good, rough fuck?”

Your cheeks bloom at his lewd words, the palm of your hands already feeling clammy with sweat. You could only nod dumbly, your eyes shining with pure, unadulterated lust. This man could so easily reduce you to something resembling a brainless zombie. He lets out a dark chuckle, the deep sound sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. “So eager” He hums, leaning in and placing his lips on your uncharacteristically softly. You moan against the warm, soft, pillowy lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lips enough to where your breath hitches in your throat. His big hand cups the side of your face, tilting it slightly to the right as he deepens the kiss. His tongue sliding against yours naturally. It felt so right, so good. He suckles on your bottom lip before pulling away.

“Tell me baby, what is it you need from me, hm?” His voice is a breathless whisper, grinding back against the heat of your core that pressed intently against his painfully hardened cock. One of his hands travels between your bodies, to cup your pussy over the leather of your shorts, the palm of his hand grazing over your clothed clit. You could only gasp at the feeling, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric.. His lips continue their torturous graze across the skin of your neck. “Want me to taste this sweet pussy? Maybe use my fingers on you?...”

You shake your head, your arms shooting out to grip his biceps. He pulls back with a tilt of his head “No?” He questions, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he had misread the situation? He pulled his hand away in case you were second guessing yourself.

“I don’t want to wait.” You reach out to pull his hand back, the other already reaching down to toy with the button of his jeans, he quickly captures your wrist in his hand, pulling it away from where he needed you most. “Wha-” You look up at him in confusion.

“I don’t want to hurt you” His eyes softened ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest at the sight. “I’m not exactly…small.” He could have easily said that for an ego boost, but looking deeply into his eyes you could tell this wasn’t the case, all you could see was concern…care.

“I’m not a virgin, Jungkook.” You argue back, mind still fuzzy from lust, clearly not reading the situation or reacting to it as you probably should have. Using your other hand, you reach out to toy with the button of his jeans impatiently, successfully undoing it. He shakes his head, face scowling in disagreement as he captures your other wrist in hand, gripping them in one of his large hands.

“That doesn’t matter.” His voice comes out slightly frustrated, but mostly caring, he releases your wrists to grip your waist instead, pulling your chest to his. “Just because you’ve had sex before doesn’t mean you don’t need the proper foreplay-”

“But I’m so wet for you, kook…” You whimper.

That makes Jungkook short-circuit. He swears he almost came in his pants.

With not so much as a word he pulls the zipper of his jeans down enough to where the fabric pools down to his ankles, leaving him in his white wife beater and tight boxer briefs. “You’re positive?” He eyes you wearily, eyes raking your face for any sign of regret or reluctance.

You gave him a reassuring smile and nodded “Positive.” You promise. “Just please…touch me kook, I don’t think I can wait much longer…” desperation was evident in your voice as your hands raked your nails down his back. He visibly shudders at the feeling.

“Fuck…you’re going to be the death of me” He groans, pulling the waistband of his boxers down enough so that his cock sprung free. Your breath gets caught in your throat. He wasn’t lying, he was huge. His cock was girthy, long and had veins running up the base. You could see the way it shot straight up, slapping against his abdomen. The tip is bright pink, shining with beads of pre-cum that slid down to lube his shaft. You gulp.

“You okay?” He asked in concern, reaching out to cup the side of your cheek, thumb rubbing smooth circles against your skin.

“Y-yeah…on second thought…maybe I do need the foreplay…” You bite your lip nervously, slightly embarrassed - you take in the way he let out a breathless chuckle. He reaches down to unbutton your leather shorts, you raise your hips off the leather seat of his motorcycle to help him slide them off. He easily slides them down the expanse of your legs, placing the material across the leather seat - not much could be said for your bra.

“What do you need?” It was a simple question really, but your mind was going miles per hour. Too unfocused for coherent thoughts. He decides for you, slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties as his fingers graze over your slick folds. You let out a shuddering breath. He leans his free hand back down against the leather of his bike, pressing his chest to yours as he rubs your clit in deliberate circles. The calloused pads of his fingers run up and down against your slit, coating them in your wetness before circling your entrance. His eyes remain locked onto your face at all times, searching for any signs of discomfort.

“Please…” Your eyes flutter closed, voice coming out in a breathy whisper, almost inaudible…but he heard it - oh he heard it alright. His cock pulsed painfully in his jeans. He began to slip two of his fingers inside you, hissing at the way your walls tightened around them. He easily glided them knuckles deep inside you. You were so damn wet there was practically no friction.

“So tight…” He rasped, slowly starting to pump his thick fingers in and out of you. His fingers curled and motioned a ‘come here’ sign. You shudder at the feeling, letting out a small, breathless moan against the side of his neck. Your right hand comes up to cradle the side of his cheek, pressing your lips against the side of his face. Your warm breathy pants fanned his scorching skin.

“That’s it baby” He coos, his fingers working even faster inside you, watching transfixed at the way your face morphed into one of pleasure. The tips of his fingers curl to find that spongey, soft area inside you, the area to which he begins to slam his fingers against, over and over again. You let out a surprised sound, a loud moan tearing from your throat as he begins to part his fingers in opposite directions, scissoring your pussy open, stretching you out for what was to come. “You’re so fucking wet…all for me, isn’t that right?” His voice dripped with oozing confidence and overpowering lust. His fingers only picked up the pace while his thumb worked in tangent, applying just enough pressure to your clit that leaves you a whimpering, moaning mess. The parking lot was still empty, still dark, the two of you caught up in your own little bubble.

“Ohh my…oh god-” You gasp, throwing your head back, his eyes narrowing to the sensitive skin of your neck to which he takes the opportunity to latch his lips against, sucking even more deep, purple marks. His breath hitches when he feels your velvety walls clamping down against his fingers, your hands were a scrambling mess against his body. Gripping his hair, shirt, wrist, arms…anywhere you could latch onto, bracing yourself.

“That’s it pretty girl, that’s it…let go for me princess” His deep voice encourages, leaning down to crash his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling against yours. You hum into the kiss, your body trembling against his as you feel the growing burn in your lower abdomen. His lips against yours muffle the moans that threaten to spill as your orgasm finally crashes over you. The hand gripping onto his hair only tightened as your eyes rolled back in your head, your pussy spasmed around his fingers. He pulls back just enough to see your face contorted in pleasure, he groans at the sight.

“Fuck yes, so sexy baby” He slurs, his eyes dark and hooded as he slows down the frantic movement of his fingers, helping you ride out your mind-blowing orgasm. When your breath calms down he extracts his fingers from inside you, bringing them up to his mouth for a taste. Your cheeks redden at the site of his tongue swirling around his coated fingers. He hums deeply at the taste before pulling his fingers out from between his lips and crashing them against yours. “I can’t wait-” His voice was muffled against your lips, reaching down to give his painfully hard cock a couple of fast strokes.

He stands up straight, gripping the back of your thighs and using his strength to manhandle you, scooting you towards the edge of the seat. He brings your thighs towards your chest, tapping the back of them. You reach down to grip the back of your thighs.

“I’ve got you, baby” He says through ragged breaths, his eyes filled with lust - one of his hands gripping your hip, the other gripping the base of his cock as he slaps it against your slick folds. You moan at the lewd slapping sound. “You’re on birth control, yeah?” He pauses, eyes on yours.

When you nod he groans and presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. He let out a shaky moan before pushing inside. The initial stretch is a lot, almost painful as your nails dig into the skin of your thighs. His grip on your hips tighten as he lets out a whimper. Your whole body shudders at the sound. Never in a million years would you think Jeon Jungkook was the type to whimper.

“Ssooo…” He hisses, shuddering as he bottoms out inside you. “Tightest pussy ever.” He strains, a vein popping out from the side of his neck, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hooded eyes locked onto where the both of you were connected. “Can I…?”

“Please” You breath out impatiently. He pulls back just enough to leave the tip inside before slamming back down against you, taking you to the hilt once again. He throws his head back in pleasure, eyes shuttering closed.

“Oh fuck-” He chokes “I’m gonna…” He bites his lip, stilling his cock inside you, the grip on your hips tightened. Your eyes widen at the implications of his words.

“W-we can take a break, kook” You let go of the back of your thighs and circle them around his waist instead, reaching out to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He leans his forehead against yours as he shakes his head.

“Shut up-” He growls in frustration and embarrassment, a pretty pink blooming across his cheeks. His hands snake around your body to grip the globes of your ass. You let out a strangled moan as he uses his grip as leverage, slamming his cock inside you in fast, rough thrusts. He groans against the side of your neck, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as one of his hands lets go of your ass and grips your thigh instead. He throws it over the crease of his elbow before leaning his hand back against the edge of the leather seat. His hips never faltered their relentless pace.

“Oh Jungkook!” You cry out in ecstasy, your fingers digging into the skin of his back, clutching onto his wife beater for dear life. He nips the lobe of your ear, teeth grazing against the skin, only further igniting the assault on your senses. The cool air around you only dropped in temperature the darker it got. It was practically pitch black except for the singular street light which lit up just a small circle of concrete below it. The diner lights closed, the both of you completely isolated in the public parking lot.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the empty lot, except for the moans and groans spilling from both your lips, lost in the throes of passion. His lips were on yours, silencing your needy whimpers as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your ass. He groaned deeply against your lips as he felt you tighten around him, your walls squeezing him so hard his hips stuttered. He pulls back from the sloppy kiss, his nose brushing against yours with each thrust of his hips. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” His voice comes out ragged and out of breath, eyes hooded and dark. You nod through heavy pants.

He reaches down to rub fast, hard circles on your clit, adding just enough pressure to drive you insane. With a last shuddering whimper, the second orgasm of the night washed over you, coating his cock with your juices. He let out a strangled moan at the feeling of your juices dripping down his shaft and onto his balls. With a couple more deep, hard thrusts, he pulls out with a reluctant groan. He fists his cock in his hand, throwing his head back as he strokes it hard and fast. Spurts upon spurts of thick, hot cum land on your bare tits, some on the black top that was still bunched up around your waist. Jungkook looked like he was in pain - in the best way possible. His head was thrown back, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly ajar.

As both of your orgasms start to subside, he pants and gives you a one-over. A goofy grin broke onto his face. You couldn’t help but smile back. “What is it?” You giggle breathlessly.

“Oh nothing…” He shrugged, reaching down to grab your bra, using his hand to remove the dust as he handed it to you. As you take the bra you raise a brow at him suspiciously. He reaches down to pull up his boxers, tucking his softening cock back inside. He then adjusts his baggy jeans into place. He reaches down into one of the pockets to hand you a kleenex packet. You gratefully take it and start to wipe yourself clean before clasping your bra in place.

“Tell me.” You press even further, sliding your hands into the sleeves of your black top before hopping off the bike, the gravel of the parking lot crunching underneath your black boots. You quickly put on your leather shorts. He takes a step forward, reaching out to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest.

“After that…I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you” His teeth grazed against the lobe of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re mine now, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “My girl.”

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norrisradio · 3 months ago

Text

little spoon

⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ⚡︎ WC: 1.1K ⚡︎ GENRE: fluff! ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: based on the latest landolog and the chicken shop date where lando said he'd never been little spoon // dedicated to @tsunodaradio, to whom i promised little spoon! lando

Lando melts into you before the door even shuts, his body sagging forward, forehead finding the curve of your shoulder like a prayer answered.

His breath is uneven, frayed at the edges, warm where it fans against your collarbone. His entire body trembles—fine, imperceptible shivers rolling through muscle and sinew, the remnants of a day spent wringing himself out to the last drop.

You feel it in the weight of him, how he isn’t just leaning against you but pouring himself into you, a slow and silent collapse.

He smells of sweat dried into fabric, of rubber and asphalt, of adrenaline still lingering in his bloodstream. His shirt clings to his back, damp and heavy, and when your hand slides up his spine, your fingers meet heat—his body still burning from exertion, from the sprints, from the bike, from pushing himself to his absolute limit just hours ago.

“Tough one?” you murmur, pressing your lips into his curls. They’re damp too, still tangled from his helmet, still holding the weight of everything he’s had to endure today.

He exhales, the sound thin, almost empty. “Yeah.”

Just that. No complaints, no details, just the word. But his body tells the rest of the story—the way his fingers twitch uselessly against your waist, the way his knees buckle slightly, how his weight leans into you so fully, so completely, like standing on his own is simply too much.

“You made it through,” you say, voice soft, coaxing, the way you would speak to something fragile.

Lando hums, a sound low and breathy, like the simple act of existing is a burden.

You let him stay there, let him take from you, let him breathe in your presence, let him feel you. Your fingers card through his curls, untangling the mess left behind by hours of training, hours of pushing, hours of his body being reduced to numbers and stats and thresholds. He shudders when you scratch lightly at his scalp, his body sagging further, breath hitching on a sound that’s almost embarrassing in its relief.

“Felt like I was dying,” he mumbles. “Lower body stuff first. It wasn’t too bad, at the start.”

You hum in sympathy, fingers still moving, and he leans into it, like a cat seeking warmth. “I know. Keep going.”

“Neck strength test was next,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Thought Jon was going to pull my head clean off.”

You smile softly at the absurdity of it, but Lando isn’t smiling. He groans instead, and you can feel his body tighten with the memory.

“Then the VO2 max test…” He swallows, and you feel the shudder that runs through him. “They make me run on a treadmill, but they keep pushing the incline up, and the speed’s faster than I can keep up with. It’s supposed to push me to exhaustion, but by the end, I was pretty much… ready to just collapse right there.”

You press your lips into his temple. “But you didn’t.”

“I should have,” he argues, and you laugh softly, rubbing little circles into his scalp.

He sighs, body finally slackening, boneless in your arms.

You sigh in sympathy, brushing your lips across his temple. “And the heat test?”

He groans. “The worst. Forty degrees. I had to ride the bike for 30 minutes under that heat, my body was a furnace. I nearly couldn’t finish it.” His voice drops into a whisper. “But I did. Nearly threw up.”

You press your lips into his skin, and he leans into it, a little shaky, like your touch is the only thing anchoring him to the floor.

“You’re incredible,” you whisper.

He hums, barely a sound, and it feels like he’s gone somewhere quieter now, somewhere inside himself where the noise of the day doesn’t reach.

You let him stay there, holding him as he starts to fall into the silence, and when he finally looks up, his eyes are tired, but there’s something softer in them—something more vulnerable than you’re used to.

You press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Come on,” you murmur. “Bed.”

It takes effort to peel himself away from you, but he follows, sluggish and heavy, through the quiet hum of your apartment. He moves like his body doesn’t belong to him anymore, bumping into corners, misjudging the distance between the doorframe and his shoulder. You let him trail behind you, watching him in the mirror as you wash your face, and when you glance over, he’s just standing there, blinking slowly, watching you.

“You’re staring,” you say, voice light.

He shrugs. “You’re pretty.”

His voice is a whisper now, something slow and weightless.

He moves on autopilot, brushing his teeth, stripping out of his sweat-dampened clothes, tugging on one of the old shirts he keeps here. And then, when he finally climbs into bed, he does something he never does.

He turns onto his side, pressing his back against your chest, curling into himself.

It surprises you. Because Lando isn’t this—he isn’t the one who seeks comfort, he isn’t the one who clings. He’s the protector, the one who holds you. The one who fits himself around you at night, arm draped over your waist, fingers skimming your ribs, lips pressed into the back of your neck. That’s how it always is. That’s how he likes it.

But not tonight.

Tonight, his body is heavy with exhaustion, his mind still buzzing, and he just wants. Wants to be held, wants to be soothed, wants to let go for once.

So you let him.

You press yourself against him, wrap an arm around his waist, nose nuzzling against the nape of his neck. Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing slow, gentle shapes into his skin.

He exhales, long and slow, like all the tension in his body is finally bleeding out.

“You wanna be the little spoon tonight?” you tease, voice half-laughing, warm against his skin.

Lando makes a small, sleepy noise, the kind that makes your chest ache with fondness.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice muffled against your sheets.

“Always,” you murmur. “You’ve got me.”

Your lips press against his shoulder, soft and lingering, your touch featherlight where it maps the lines of his ribs.

And in this moment—after the sprints, the heat, the tests, and the pain—you both drift into a quiet, steady rhythm. Because no matter how much he gives of himself, no matter how much he sacrifices for his dream, this is the part of the day that truly matters.

He has you.

And tonight, that’s all he needs.

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tgcg · 1 year ago

Text

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #comix #an open fly walking

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simswhenccfinds · 2 years ago

Text

A Comprehensive Guide: How to Clean and Maintain Your eBike for Peak Performance

Electric bicycles (eBikes) are investments that deserve proper care and maintenance to ensure optimal performance and longevity. Regular cleaning is a fundamental aspect of eBike maintenance. Let's explore the step-by-step process of effectively cleaning your eBike to keep it in top-notch condition.

Essential Tools for Cleaning Your eBike:

Before starting the cleaning process, gather the following tools and materials:

Soft-bristled brushes

Biodegradable bike-specific cleaner or mild soap

Sponges or microfiber cloths

Water in a bucket or hose with a spray attachment

Degreaser for drivetrain components (optional)

Lubricant for chain and moving parts

Protective gloves (optional)

Step-by-Step Cleaning Process:

Preparation: Park your eBike in a well-lit and accessible area. Remove any accessories or bags attached to the bike, ensuring access to all parts.

Initial Rinse: Use a hose or a bucket of water to rinse off loose dirt and debris from the bike's frame, wheels, and components. Avoid using high-pressure water directly on sensitive areas like bearings or electronic components.

Cleaning Solution Application: Dilute the bike-specific cleaner or mild soap in water as per the manufacturer's instructions. Apply the solution onto the bike's frame, using a sponge or cloth to gently scrub away grime and dirt.

Focus on the Drivetrain: Use a degreaser (if necessary) and a brush to clean the chain, cassette, and derailleur. Scrub gently to remove accumulated grease and dirt. Rinse thoroughly afterward.

Thorough Rinse: Rinse the bike thoroughly using clean water, ensuring all cleaning agents are completely removed. Pay extra attention to areas that may still hold residue, like nooks and crannies around the frame or components.

Drying: Use a clean, dry microfiber cloth to wipe down the bike, removing excess water. Ensure that all parts, especially electronic components and the battery housing, are completely dry before moving to the next step.

Lubrication: Apply a suitable bike chain lubricant to the chain and pivot points, following the manufacturer's recommendations. Wipe off excess lubricant to prevent attracting dirt.

Final Touches: Reattach any accessories and give the bike a final inspection for any missed spots or areas that need attention.

Maintenance Tips:

Regularly inspect your eBike for wear and tear, addressing any issues promptly.

Avoid using harsh chemicals or high-pressure water directly on sensitive areas.

Clean and lubricate the chain regularly to ensure smooth shifting and longevity.

In Conclusion:

Regularly cleaning your eBike not only keeps it looking great but also ensures smooth operation and extends its lifespan. Following these steps and incorporating regular maintenance into your routine will help keep your eBike in prime condition for many rides to come.

#ebikes #electric bikes #electric bicycles #how to clean ebike #how to wash ebike #washing your ebike #how to wash an ebike

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ksnzuy · 3 months ago

Text

۶ৎ The Girlfriend Effect!

۶ৎ auth: <3

۶ৎ Summary: The boyfriend effect; you adopt your boyfriends mannerisms. However, the girlfriend effect, they adopt what you do.

۶ৎ: drabbles | gender neutral reader | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Ken “Draken” Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Izana Kurokawa, Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata, Souya “Angry” Kawata, Takashi Mitsuya, Hajime Kokonoi

۶ৎ Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing cleaner, more polished outfits. He never cared much before, but now his clothes are less wrinkled, and he smells faintly of vanilla and fresh laundry.

• Emotional Maturity: Slowly learns to communicate better, though he still struggles with opening up completely. Your patience teaches him that being vulnerable doesn’t mean weakness.

• Healthier Habits: Starts eating more than just junk food because you remind him he needs proper meals.

—

Mikey sat on the couch, legs sprawled, watching you move around the kitchen. He had a plate of curry in front of him—a meal you made, light on the spice because he hated too much heat.

“Y’know,” he mumbled between bites, “I don’t even like curry that much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So why’s the plate almost empty?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking away. But you caught it—the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “It just tastes better when you make it.”

۶ৎ Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

• Style Upgrade: His hair stays neat, and he’s more mindful of keeping his tank tops clean. He even switches to cologne instead of relying on the scent of motor oil.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about expanding the shop because he wants stability for the future.

• Better Communication: He starts explaining his feelings more instead of bottling them up, thanks to your influence.

—

Draken stood beside his bike, wiping the grease off his hands. You watched him, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes.

“Did you… clean the garage?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Thought it was about time. Can’t have you breathing in dust every time you come around.”

You tilted your head. “Since when do you care about dust?”

“Since you started coming by.” His voice was quieter now, almost shy. “Can’t have my girl dealin’ with all that.”

۶ৎ Keisuke Baji

• Style Upgrade: He still wears his leather jacket, but now it’s less ripped, and his boots aren’t caked in mud. He’ll never admit it, but he likes when you compliment how he looks.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on junk food (a little) because you nag about it.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns not to blow up when things go wrong, trying to stay calm because he knows you hate yelling.

—

Baji leaned against his bike, arms crossed, waiting for you after class. His usual wild grin softened when he spotted you.

“Yo.” He handed you a drink, your favorite.

“Since when do you remember what I like?” You teased, taking a sip.

“Since I started actually listening,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t make a big deal outta it, okay?”

But the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual? That said everything.

۶ৎ Chifuyu Matsuno

• Style Upgrade: He switches from mismatched outfits to more coordinated ones—sometimes even matching your color palette without realizing it.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about managing the pet shop, thinking about the long-term future.

• Better Communication: Learns to be more honest about his feelings, not just brushing things off.

—

Chifuyu stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his hoodie. You leaned against the doorframe, watching with an amused smile.

“New fit?”

“Uh… yeah.” He glanced at you, cheeks flushing slightly. “Figured I should stop looking like I just threw on whatever I found.”

You stepped closer, fingers brushing over his sleeve. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Maybe.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the look in his eyes told you exactly who.

۶ৎ Kazutora Hanemiya

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer colors because you told him he looked good in them.

• Healthier Habits: He’s more mindful of sleeping enough and eating better because you’re always worried about him.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns to control his impulsive outbursts, wanting to be a calmer version of himself for you.

—

Kazutora sat beside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hey,” you murmured, “you’ve been quiet.”

“Just… thinking.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“About what?”

“About how… I’m lucky you stuck around.” His fingers brushed lightly against yours, his grip hesitant. “I’m trying, y’know? To be… better.”

And he was.

۶ৎ Izana Kurokawa

• Style Upgrade: Starts paying more attention to how he looks, favoring neutral tones that complements your outfits.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his fears and insecurities, something he never thought he’d do.

• Ambition Boost: He works harder to stabilize Tenjiku, not just for power but to build something stable for the both of you.

—

Izana stood by the window, staring out at the city below. You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his back.

“Lost in thought again?”

“Just… thinking about the future.” His voice was distant, but there was a softness in it.

“You’re not alone in that anymore, you know.”

His hand found yours, squeezing gently. “I know. That’s why I want to make sure… it’s a future you’d want, too.”

۶ৎ Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: His clothes get a little less chaotic, matching his accessories to his outfits (sometimes).

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to read the room better, understanding when to dial down the jokes.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on staying up all night because you nag him about taking care of himself.

—

Nahoya sat beside you, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Yo,” he nudged you lightly, “notice anything different?”

You glanced at him, noticing his shirt wasn’t as wrinkled, and his nails were… clean?

“You… took care of yourself?”

“Figured I’d start lookin’ decent since I’m always standing next to a goddess.” He winked, but there was a hint of sincerity behind the playful grin.

۶ৎ Souya “Angry” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer fabrics because you said they feel nice when you hug him.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his emotions more instead of bottling them up.

• Healthier Habits: He starts drinking more water and taking vitamins because you remind him.

—

Souya sat at the kitchen table, quietly sipping the tea you made for him.

“Did you… put honey in this?”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly. “It’s good for your throat.”

He glanced away, cheeks slightly flushed. “Thanks… I, uh, started taking those vitamins you gave me, too.”

You blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His eyes met yours, softer than usual. “You… worry about me too much. I don’t wanna make you worry more.”

۶ৎ Takashi Mitsuya

• Style Upgrade: Starts incorporating subtle hints of your favorite colors into his designs.

• Ambition Boost: He becomes more focused on expanding his brand, wanting to create a future where you’re both secure.

• Emotional Maturity: He becomes more expressive, showing affection in quieter, meaningful ways.

—

Mitsuya sat at his sewing machine, fabric draped across his lap.

“What’s that?” You leaned over, curiosity piqued.

“Something… for you.” He didn’t meet your gaze, but the blush on his cheeks was impossible to miss.

“For me?”

“Yeah.” He finally looked up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Wanted to make sure you had something that… reminds you of me.”

۶ৎ Hajime Kokonoi

• Style Upgrade: He starts wearing softer tones that match your style, even ditching all-black sometimes.

• Ambition Boost: His business ventures become more personal, focusing on stability rather than just money.

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to prioritize love over material gain, valuing your presence more than anything.

—

Kokonoi sat across from you at the café, his usual suit replaced with a sweater in a soft shade of cream.

“New look?” You teased, eyeing him with a raised brow.

“Maybe.” He sipped his coffee, avoiding your gaze. “Figured… I should try something different.”

“Because of me?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Because I want to be someone… who fits into your world.”

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bi-writes · 5 months ago

Text

sweet as simon's sugar-mommy <3 (18+) PREVIOUS

you trace a line down the side of his mask. he looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and he sleeps like a rock with you. snores all thick and low. you needed a nap after work, and you just curled up right here on the couch, and he just followed your lead. now it's dinner time, and you're hungry, but you don't want to wake him when he looks so cute.

as your hand falls over his lower stomach, you're reminded he's not so cute everywhere. nope, not cute...but delicious.

you wake him up with soft kisses to his cheek. you tease the band of his sweats, smoothing a palm over his happy little trail, and when he blinks his eyes open and turns his head towards you, you pucker your lips and slide a hand between his thick thighs.

"can i?" you purr, and simon sighs deeply. his blushes always show on his chest, pale skin burning a little pinker, and you giggle when he nudges his nose against yours.

it's heaven with you. you look so cute. bobbing your head, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, suckling on his tip all sloppy and wet. you pay special attention to the underside of him, wrapping your hand around the tip and tugging gently until he spurts hot cum onto your tongue.

it's all worth it when he cups your face to kiss you and you feel the sting of the ring he's wearing, white gold band on his thick finger on his left hand⏤just where it's meant to be.

you sit like that beside him at the dinner table, same smile on your face as you load his plate with veggies (you need more greens, baby) that you did putting his dick into your mouth not even an hour earlier.

he takes you to work now. you hate the manner in which he does, that obnoxious motorcycle that makes way too much noise, but you couldn't help yourself when his birthday came around. you saw the helmet in the boxes when he finally moved in (just until you get back on your feet, yeah?), and you woke him up that morning naked with the keys to the bike between your teeth.

if you fucked him with the helmet on later that day, too, well...no one had to know about that.

he's getting better at receiving your gifts. at first, you had to pretend they weren't gifts. when he came out of the shower, you'd hand him some new clothes, or he'd touch something on the shelf at the shops, and somehow he'd find it in the bags once you got back home. he learned slowly that giving him things was your love language; the shine in your eyes when you saw him using something you gave him made him warm all over.

you're still getting him used to baths, too. your bathroom has a magnificent tub--white porcelain, wide and large, jets, gold detailing. the first time you tried to get him to take a bath, he couldn't find it in himself to sit still like that and relax. he doesn't know how to relax.

your new strategy seems to work, though. you kick off your heels from work. simon's in the living room, his tools laid out on the coffee table. there's a disassembled handgun there, and he's oiling up one of the chambers when you lean over the couch and wrap your arms around his big shoulders. you kiss the side of his mask, watching him, getting a little too distracted watching a thick finger push into the cylinder slowly to clean it.

"hey, hot stuff," you coo in his ear. he grunts, looking away, but you hear the heavy swallow in his throat as he tries to be anything but bashful. "i'm exhausted. gonna get in the bath. wanna join me?"

simon doesn't say anything at first. he's still feeling it out, the relaxing part, but when he turns to look at you, you're unbuttoning your blouse and shimmying out of your work skirt. both fall at your feet, and when you unclasp your bra and toss it, the drop of your tits is enough to have him on his feet and following you into the bathroom.

simon always gets in first. he settles with his back against the far side, and then you get in. you make a show of bending over to sit, and simon snarls a little when he's facing the curve of your ass for just a beat too long. you lean back against his chest, letting the warm water and bubbles cover you both. his arms circle around your middle, and you close your eyes once the water has settled.

"feel nice?" you mumble. simon just shrugs, and you turn over a little until your chin rests on his shoulder. you cup the back of his neck, scratching as his cropped blonde hair with your nails, and he hums a little. your new manicure is simon-approved, it seems, and he leans into your hand as you drag the tips of your nails across his head and soothe him that way. "you deserve it, baby."

it's hard for him to hear it, but you try to say it anyways. there's good days and bad days. some days, it's failed cake recipes and good takeout and hours spent on the couch watching movies. he'll be smiling all day, enjoying the quiet and peace of his new life, and then you'll make love and take a long walk and sleep in the next morning.

other days, the pain in his back seems to hit him tenfold. the spasm in his knee acts up, and he'll falter a little, and he'll look ashamed when he has to take a seat, even if it means sliding down the nearest wall until he's sitting on the floor and cupping under his knee with a hiss. those days, you see a little less of simon riley, and a little more of something else. he looks defeated. you know he must feel useless. his body betrays him, but his mind knows better, and you know it kills him inside because he'll spend the rest of the day quiet and in another headspace.

it doesn't matter how much of himself he is that day. simon deserves it, you know he does. he deserves good food and expensive wine and nice things. he deserves hot baths and hydrating moisturizers and as much chocolate as he can stomach. he deserves messy kisses and more than one orgasm, and if you can give him even a fraction of it, it's money and time and love well-spent. simon has always been dealt the worst hand⏤he's earned this life of luxury.

"my..." simon clears his throat as you sit in his lap at your vanity, draping a cool face mask over his face. you're listening still, just concentrating on smoothing the edges of the face mask over his nose and along his cheeks, massaging the excess product into his neck. "my team is gonna be around next week. goin' to the pub. if..." simon swallows, and you meet his eyes. "if y'd like t'come..."

you smile a little.

"is this...your little task force?" you tease, and simon just purses his lips.

"just...they want t'meet you."

you put your hands on his shoulders, giggling. he looks so cute with the face mask on, and he's even cuter when he's being shy. those eyes are deadly--a killer's eyes, you know this deep down, but simon will never scare you. he's your big, soft teddy bear, and he sleeps in thousand thread-count cotton sheets now.

"you told them about me?"

he gives you that dead stare, but all it does is make you laugh. you scoop out a generous amount of body butter from a container on your vanity and start to massage it into his shoulders.

"you are so adorable, simon," you murmur, watching and feeling as the tension in his shoulders starts to melt under your warm touch. already, your fingers are working the knots out of his neck, and he leans towards you as they touch a particularly tender area. "right there, baby? oh..."

the conversation quiets. you're much too busy concentrating on pampering your sweet lieutenant.

simon's never been nervous seeing his team before, but he's also been out of service for more than a year now.

they have experiences without him now. life or death situations that they've survived together, without him. jokes and hours spent sleeping on dirt floors, places they've seen and people they've met, and simon's been here, sleeping in a king bed and learning about how much better his skin feels now that he uses that hyaluronic acid serum you gave him a few weeks ago.

he's got a ring on his finger now. there's a credit card in his new wallet (no more velcro, baby) that he doesn't pay for, and even his mask looks different now that you insist on daily rotations of them and frequent washes.

he's a pampered fucking prince, and he doesn't know whether they will laugh at him or not be able to recognize him.

which is worse?

they look the same. his captain still looks like a tired bear, and he still wears that awful hat. johnny still has a giggly grin on his face. kyle still is the one to retrieve the drinks so he can try and talk up some bird that he'll definitely take home later.

they still leave the spot closest to the corner with the wall to his back open for him.

"where's the missus?" john asks. he's nursing a warm drink, ice long melted, and simon scratches the back of his neck.

"workin'. she'll be 'ere soon."

you're on the phone when you walk in. hair clipped up out of your face, perfectly manicured hands holding the phone to your ear as you make your way inside. you walk very assertively, expensive purse over your shoulder, and johnny leans back to look you up and down as you finally come into view. you're wearing a perfectly tailored work suit, blazer over your forearm as you talk animatedly.

your eyes light up when you see simon. you wave at him, blowing him a kiss, and simon shuffles in his seat a little.

"bloody hell," kyle mutters, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "tha' her?"

"tha's her."

you get to the table just as a server brings drinks. he sets down the beers for the sergeants, another whiskey for their captain, but you put the phone aside as you pick up the bourbon and take a whiff of it.

"what is this?" you ask.

"bourbon."

you raise a brow. "really?" you laugh a little. "that's bottom shelf, honey. open up a good bottle, and⏤i'm sure he asked for it on the rocks, did you ask for it on the rocks, baby?"

"he did," johnny grins, and you smile at the server.

"and bring it on the rocks."

you tuck a few notes into the server's shirt pocket and look at captain price expectantly.

"you gonna move, captain, so i can sit next to my fiancé, or should i sit in your lap?" you raise a brow. "great to meet you, by the way. i've heard so much about you."

john chuckles, slipping out of the booth, and you hop up onto it after him. you cup simon's masked face and kiss him softly over it, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

"you alright?" you coo, and simon just nods. "you ate dinner, right? it looks like you didn't eat dinner⏤" the server comes back with the bourbon, on ice, and you hold up a finger, "⏤do you have a menu? you know what, it doesn't matter, just bring us some fish and chips. whatever you have."

johnny can't wipe the smile off his face. he nudges kyle with his elbow, looking at him with wiggly eyebrows, and kyle just chuckles.

you pick up simon's bourbon and take a sip of it, humming low.

"finally. some good fucking liquor."

you pass it to him with a wink before turning back to his team.

"alright, what did i miss?" you ask. you put your phone on silent, sticking it back into your purse, and you assume a relaxed place there in the booth, nails scratching along the back of simon's balaclava as you pay attention to the conversation. simon nearly purrs as you scratch him, leaning into your hand as his eyes flutter a little.

you are enchanting. johnny's enamored with the way you pay such attention to simon even when you're enraptured in conversation. you always keep a hand on him somehow, always showing him you're actively thinking about him with your fingers rubbing circles in the back of his hand or smoothing a touch over his head or leaning your cheek against his shoulder. always touching, always soothing him, always checking in even without words.

kyle notices the way simon is so relaxed. his shoulders are low, his eyes are lidded, and he doesn't fidget like he normally does. he's just leaning into you, completely at ease.

john adores the way you take charge. you always have an answer to everything, and you know exactly what you want. from just the drink you order to the way you talk about your new life, there is nothing timid or questioning about how you feel, about yourself or simon.

where you live? you have places in manchester and london, you come back and forth. are you really getting married? you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life. is simon really that pretty under the mask? he'd be in more magazines if he was out of your bed more often, probably.

on the way out, you pay the tab. you slide a heavy credit card over the table, and you don't even look at the receipt, just sign it quick and take simon's hand when you get outside, waiting for your car.

"you're always welcome at our place," you tell them, smiling wide. "got plenty of guest rooms, don't we, simon?"

"plenty," he echoes, and simon opens the car door for you when it pulls up to the curb. "give me a minute, love."

you duck your head and slide inside, and simon turns back to his team, shrugging his shoulders as he looks at them.

"so?"

"mighty fine, LT," johnny grins.

that's all he really needed to hear.

his belly and his heart are equally full when you ride him that night. he's naked on your bed except for his mask, tattooed arm anchored around your waist as you throw it back, pussy squeezing his cock as your thighs meet his all languid and heavy. your mouth is open, hot breaths leaving you as your dig your nails into his shoulders, and he grunts as he feels his balls tighten up every time you gasp his name.

"what would i do without you?" you whine, and simon grips your ass tight with the other hand, shaking his head.

"i should be askin' tha'."

"n-no," you kiss him, tongue wet against his, and he groans into your mouth as you wiggle your hips, until his cock nudges against your cervix, and you can feel him in your stomach. "i need you, simon. i need you⏤"

"bloody fuckin' hell⏤"

"you deserve it," you babble, fisting the sheets beside his head. you move your hips quicker, cupping his cheeks, and the part of his face that you can see flushes pink at your words. "deserve m-more, simon, y-you deserve⏤"

your breath gets knocked out of you when he flips you onto your back. ankles hanging off his shoulders, back bowed, mouth fallen open, you melt right into the sheets as simon fucks you straight into them. he's so heavy, a big weight pushing him even deeper, and the angle has your toes in a tight curl as he throws you over a cliff's edge as his pelvis stimulates your clit just enough, right there, just like that⏤

his cum between your thighs is warm. you bite your lip when you feel his thick fingers cup your pussy, sliding through your folds before he pushes two fingers into you, soft and slow. you whine from the overstimulation, but your hips push into his hand anyway.

"you spoil me," simon mutters in your ear.

"how's that?" you whisper, nudging your nose against his. he props himself up on his elbow, pushing his fingers into you to the last knuckle. your legs shake a little, and your back arches again, pebbled nipples pressing against his taut chest as you give into him.

"olways givin' me wot i want," simon hisses. "olways sayin' yes ta me. keepin' me fat 'n happy...think i don't know wot y'r doin'?"

you giggle, touching his lips. he's fighting a smile, dark eyes trained on your own, and you trace his bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out and swipes an eager tongue over them.

you pinch his hard jaw between a few fingers and bring him closer. when you kiss, he relaxes, and the thought of simon having just another good night's sleep in your big, comfy bed makes your heart clench.

seeing his team tonight made you think, and while it hurts to admit it, you are happy simon will never go back with them. he'll never join them again. he'll always be here, his head on your silk pillow. he'll always be home, eating good food, getting the attention and the care he so desperately needs.

what he's so desperately owed.

simon would've died for king and country, and they don't deserve it. they can't have him.

he's mine.

"thanking you for your service is all, lieutenant."

it's the truth, even if he doesn't want to hear it. he's warranted this kind of life, even if he doesn't believe it, even if he rejects the soft hands and the comfy cushions and the filling food. simon is an abused dog; he's not violent to his core, he isn't a biter or a fighter by nature, but when you are forced into a corner for all your life, it's the only thing you understand⏤it's all you know.

you don't want that kind of life for him. you don't think it was the one meant for him. simon's been looking over his shoulder for his entire life, but it's over now.

it's time for him to lay his head down. it's time for him to rest.

"do you miss it?" you ask. you know he's not asleep; his heartbeat hammers under your ear, and even though it's dark in the room, you know he must be looking at you. you can feel his eyes, even though you can't see them on you.

do you miss them? do you wish you were there and not here? is there a part of you still stuck there, finger on the trigger, mind over matter, life in-between death?

"no."

simon tells you this with ease. his voice doesn't waver. his hand anchors itself to your back, where you know it will stay⏤where you know it will be tonight and even into the morning.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts

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bcksbarnes · 13 days ago

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bucky never tried to hide how absolutely vulgar his vocabulary was, though he tried to be on his best behavior in the beginning of your relationship. that didn't mean it didn't slip from time to time.

a mumbled 'shit, god dammit' every few minutes when he was trying to put together the coffee table you had ordered to your apartment but he couldn't get the screws in the exact right spot. it took him 3 hours to finish.

when you went out to eat and the guy in front of you didn't hold the door open and it slammed in your face bucky's response was an angered 'what's your fucking problem, dickhead?' which ultimately made you laugh and forget about the bloodied nose you had. bucky held back his need to kick the guy's ass in favor of getting you cleaned up.

all bets were off by your first anniversary, bucky didn't care anymore, and you liked the overuse of profanities.

"bullshit," he mutters to himself one night. pacing back and forth in your bedroom so quickly you thought he was going to burn a hole in the rug.

"what is?" you ask, absentmindedly folding laundry as you watched him out of the corner of your eye.

"this fucking asshole is trying to fucking upsell me on the part for the bike," he mutters, his phone clutched in his hand. "$500 more than the quote. he's lost his goddamn mind."

"you can't let it get to you."

"so fucking dumb. i should have just done it myself," bucky grumbles as he throws the phone on the bed and sits on the edge. he runs his fingers through his hair before letting out a loud sigh. "i could have had this shit fixed fucking weeks ago."

you finish folding the last shirt before you make your way over to him, climbing into his lap and tilting his head back. you can see the frustration in his features, the way his brows furrow together.

suddenly, the need to make him feel better overwhelms you.

you feel him relax and his hands rub your thighs as he succumbs to the way your lips press his jaw, a strangled 'fuuuuuck' whispered in your ear as he forgets everything he was mad about.

only focused on you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #ramblings #mine #was going to make this a one shot #decided to do a drabble instead #shout out to that anon from the sleepover!!! you know who you are!#100 #200 #500

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highvern · 4 months ago

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Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists. Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away.

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger.

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too.

It was fun.

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so’s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on.

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted.

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times.

“What the fuck did he do this time?”

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?”

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.”

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.”

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call.

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?”

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away.

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences?

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day.

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe.

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic.

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

��I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.”

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears.

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin.

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge.

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you.

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.”

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza.

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into.

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been.

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go.

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his.

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance.

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much.

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command.

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat.

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers.

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth.

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh.

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does.

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you.

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears.

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs.

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh.

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease.

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo.

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask.

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes.

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm. “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

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