#Trigger warning: me whining

[mortifying-macaroni]

So I'll be receiving an update on Monday whether or not I'm going back to college in the midst of Serbian protests and I'm just-

[lovebugism]

How about something smutty for the Thunderbolts headcanons 😳 Like how each of them would react to you making them cum in their pants

thank you so much for requesting and feeding my hyperfixation!! below you will find four separate baby blurbs for bucky, john, yelena, and bob. each section will have it's own summary, warnings, and whole lotta smut! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you're with him in wakanda when he's cured of the trigger words in his head. he's able to touch you for the first time without feeling scared of himself. (established relationship, post-cacw | 1k words)

Bucky Barnes can’t remember the last time he felt this free. Maybe sometime in 1942, he guesses — before he got drafted, before Hydra captured him, before they put those goddamn words in his head. It feels weird that they’re gone now; to be without the dark cloud of impending doom that, at any moment, someone could utter the words and he’d just snap. 

But now, freshly cured and living on the Wakandan countryside, he can touch you for the first time without being terrified of himself.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles as his vibranium hand trails up the expanse of your bare back. He keeps his flesh one on your thigh, smoothing his thumb over the plush skin there, and tilts his scruffy chin to smile up at you. He’s got you straddled over his lap, barely clothed and bathed in golden candelight, like some kinda angel brought to life.

“You’re pretty,” you correct with a lovesick grin, raking your hands through his silky, growing locks.

Bucky leans instinctively into your touch. “Don’t make this about me,” he says, squinting.

“It is about you,” you remind him with a giggle, ducking down to kiss his neck. “I’m supposed to compliment you—” Your lips brush his pulse in a chaste kiss. Bucky fights back a shiver. “—Supposed to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Bucky sighs a contented moan, pulling you further into him. “You always do…”

His vibranium hand curls up your back and towards your shoulder. His other one holds tightly to your hip. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck until your bare chest is flush with his scruffy one — until your clothed cunt brushes his cock, half-hard and throbbing within the confines of his boxers.

A moan rumbles in Bucky’s throat. You feel it against your lips when you press them to his adam’s apple. “Do you want to?” you murmur against him, voice low like honey. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you want to.”

Bucky’s head is too clouded to respond properly to your teasing. He just nods his heavy head and flexes his hips beneath you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pulsing ache in his boxers. You let him, and with his consent, begin to rock slowly over his lap. 

“Say it,” you whisper in his ear.

“Want it,” he pants in yours. “Want you.”

“You have me, Buck,” you slur, trying to peer at him through the haze in your vision. Your panties drag over his stiffening cock and leave a damp spot at the center of them. You find yourself chasing your high just as much as Bucky’s. 

You snuck a few sips of alcohol to quell your worry before watching Ayo recite the wretched words back to the man haunted by them. You feel the consequences creeping up on you now and find yourself rambling before you can stop it, half-deluded with pleasure. 

“‘M already yours. My pussy’s already— shit,” you whimper in time with Bucky’s groaning when your clit drags over his lap. Through pants, you beg him, “Say you wanna fuck me. Please. Don’t wanna cum ’til you’re inside me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whines, face screwed and eyes shut tight. He tries to form the words in his head, but all he can think about is how wet you are — and how his leaking cock has left a damp spot in his underwear — and how the combination of both makes the friction between you so dizzying. “I wanna… fuck—” 

“Uh-huh,” you tease with a slow nod when you sense he’s getting close. “You can do it, Buck. C’mon. There you go.”

He can’t tell if you’re trying to coach him into saying the words or push him headfirst into an orgasm. He hopes it’s the latter, ‘cause he feels himself bursting into his boxers a second later.

“Fuck!” he blurts when he cums, half-muffled and half-whined, like it pains him. 

He holds your hips in both hands, keeping you still above him in a crueler grip than he means to. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of crackling candles and his groaning. He tilts his face to the ceiling and moans into the golden darkness with his eyes squeezed shut. The sudden orgasm racks through his body in so many shivers up his spine, three warm ropes spit into the confines of his boxers.

“‘M sorry,” he pants when it’s done, still slightly airy from the aftershocks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you promise with a soft laugh as your own building pleasure begins to subside. You cup his scruffy face in your palms and try to kiss him through the smile on your lips. “You deserve it, Buck,” you whisper against his mouth, between your delicate kisses. “You deserve everything.”

Bucky shakes his head between your palms and smooths his fingers over the bruises he unknowingly stamped into your skin. “Don’t care about everything,” he murmurs lowly. “Just you.”

Your eyes narrow in a sarcastic squint, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Do you think we can get Shuri to erase the cheesiness from your brain, too?”

“Sure,” Bucky scoffs, smiling still, as he shoves you playfully onto your back. You giggle when you hit the mattress, caging your smile between your teeth as the man crawls back between your legs. He lies flat on the mattress, face-to-face with your clothed pussy. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, obviously sarcastic. “Mhm. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll just go get her then,” Bucky murmurs, punctuating his quip with a kiss to your inner thigh as he spreads them apart. You shiver when his scruff scrapes your delicate skin. “Tell her to put me back under the ice—”

Your feet lock behind his back to keep him against you. Bucky laughs and curls his arms around your thighs as you prop yourself on your elbows to shoot him a death glare. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant Barnes.”

And, truth be told, Bucky’s exactly where he wants to be.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john hates when valentina pairs the two of you on missions together. until he doesn't. (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker can’t stand you most days. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to put yourselves in situations that might kill you. He hates that Valentina paired you together just as much as he hates that he cares so much about your well-being.

He knows it’d be easier to let you get yourself killed, to have one less thing to worry about, but he somehow ends up kissing you instead.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he grumbles through labored breaths, with your spit still shining on his swollen mouth. He cages your body between his larger one and the unforgiving wall behind you. The men guarding the vault outside surely won’t mind the sexual tension rising inside it, seeing as they’re half-dead already.

You smile in the face of his anger until the fresh cut on your mouth starts to sting. “But you can fuck me?” you pant, eyes glazed over as they dart back and forth between his dilated ones. “I mean, you want to, right? ’S why you locked me in here, isn’t it?”

“I locked you in here because there were three guys outside trying to kill you, if you forgot.”

“Two,” you correct in a witty deadpan. “I killed the third one.”

“And I killed the other two, who gives a shit—”

“You’re obsessed with me, Walker,” you grin, pulling him close by the belt loops on his suit. 

Despite his near palpable rage, he melts into you with ease. The blonde man stumbles closer until he’s towering over you — hair messy from his helmet, face bruised, ocean eyes staring daggers into you.

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he gripes.

“I don’t think it is,” you lilt lowly and nudge his clothed crotch with your thigh. 

You watch the words of an argument form and dissolve on his tongue all at once. John exhales hard through his nose as his eyes go glassy. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until you pressed yourself against him — how sensitive he was — how long it had been since he’d had any sort of release.

“Admit it—” you whisper, pulling him closer until his stiff cock is pressed between your bodies. He smells like cologne and copper pennies, likely from the blood darkening his navy blue suit. You’re almost sure you’d be able to feel his racing heart from here, if it weren’t for the thick layers separating you. “—You love me…”

“I hate you,” he corrects, though his dark eyes cloud with lust.

Your smile widens. The cut on the corner of your mouth begins to weep all over again. John reaches for your jaw without thinking, cupping his palm there and swiping the crimson away with his thumb. 

“No, you don’t,” you coo with a shake of your head. The room goes quiet then, filled only by John’s heavy breaths and the clinking of his belt as you undo the buckle. You keep him close with one hand around his belt loop while the other creeps around the front of him. His breath catches in his throat when your fingers dip beneath the hem.

You don’t think he realizes how he’s rocking himself against your thigh. Or the way he subconsciously shakes his head in agreement. 

“You’ve always thought about this, haven’t you?” you continue mercilessly, grinning when your fingertips meet the coarse thatch of hair above his cock. 

John nods his heavy head and leans further into you, propping himself on the wall as his eyes flutter shut. He deserves this, he tells himself, for saving your ass a hundred times over. You owe him one, really.

“I know you have,” you whisper in his ear. “I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of me a thousand times.”

Again, John nods in response without ever really noticing it. Just like he doesn’t really notice the release building within him — like a creeping hand up his spine, or a tightening knot in his lean stomach. He just keeps rubbing himself against you, chasing a high he barely knows is there.

“But I think when you imagined me making you cum…” you trail off and smile when John moans against your pulse. “…You always thought it’d be inside me.”

John tenses at the thought of fucking you. He’s left trembling above you as a sudden orgasm racks through his body. The quiet room fills with his poorly heldback groans and your giggling while he cums in his pants. He feels the evidence, warm and wet, blooming in his boxers — just like the red-hot embarrassment exploding in his chest. 

He pulls away to find you grinning like the devil.

“Told ya,” you monotone and pull your hand from his boxers, only slightly mourning the fact that you never actually got to touch him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

John scoffs, like he has any room to be ambivalent after humping your thigh like a dog. He zips up his pants, belt buckle clinking as he fastens it again. “You ruined my suit,” is all he can think to say as you walk past him.

You roll your eyes and wrench open the heavy door to the vault, stepping over the bloody bodies littered on the other side of it. “Bill me,” you call over your shoulder.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena is full of adrenaline after a mission, and you only know one way to calm her down (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw for very brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

Yelena Belova has you flat on your back. The rest of the Avengers tower is dark, quiet, and asleep — each of you recovering from the latest mission in the sanctuary of your bedrooms. The blonde Russian girl is too full of adrenaline to rest, though, never mind how much she could probably use the sleep. She’s a relentless force on top of you — because of the adrenaline, of course, and not because she nearly lost you.

She tugs your pants down your legs with a pair of merciless hands, bruised knees digging into the foot of the mattress across from you. The mattress squeaks with each of your movements, and you fight back a laugh. “Be gentle, Belova!” you scold in a whisper. “Walker’s gonna hear.”

(John had the misfortune of his bedroom being one story below yours. And the floors were surprisingly thin. Or so he says.)

Yelena scoffs, face screwed. “I don’t care,” she mutters, voice accented and low like honey. “Let him hear.”

She makes a big show of climbing back over your body, moving much more violently than normal over the worn bed frame, so it creaks louder beneath her. “Yelena!” you snap quietly through gritted teeth, but hold her gently by the hips when she straddles you just the same.

“What?!” she exclaims, louder than necessary for the late, late night, as she tugs her shirt over her head. She throws the fabric to the side, discarding it with the rest of your pajamas littered on the floor — leaving both of you in mismatched sets of old, cotton underwear.

“God, you’re such a child,” you grouse and cross your arms beneath your head.

Yelena grins. “Stop flirting with me,” she lilts lowly and ducks down to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut when her plush lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “We should rest, Lena…” you tell her, sighing when her teeth scrape your pulse. “We’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

You feel her mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “I hope so.”

“Child,” you repeat.

Yelena gets relentless rather quickly, feral in a way only a previous world-class assassin could be. She forgets about the exhaustion and the bruises that ache to the bone, littered across both your bodies. Her head fills only with thoughts of making you feel good, touching you like it could be the last time she ever gets to.

“Lena, Lena, Lena—” you echo, reaching for her wrist where her hand’s shoved into your panties. “Slow down,” you laugh.

“Why?” she whines.

You find her pretty face contorted in a girlish pout when you cup her cheeks in your hands. “Because we have all night,” you coo, smoothing your thumbs over her flushed jaw. “We don’t have to rush.”

Your words strike something deep in her chest. She refuses to let the vulnerability show. 

“I know that,” she scoffs, trying to look unbothered as you smooth the top of her tank top down her chest. You tuck it beneath her breasts, and her pink nipples perk when the cool air hits them.

“Good,” you hum, lifting your head to take her left breast in your mouth.

“I just— I wanted to make you feel good—” she whines in her low Russian accent, voice cracking when you nudge her clothed cunt with your thigh. “—Oh…”

You smile into her chest, teeth scraping her sensitive nipple. Yelena keeps you pressed against her with a hand on the back of your head. Your arms curl around her back to keep her flush to your thigh. You feel the warmth of her cunt against your skin, and the wet spot slowly forming there.

The stubborn girl turns into a puddle above you, in more ways than one. You feel her shuddering as she buries each of her moans in your hair. Your mouth leaves her nipple with a quiet pop, and a thin string of saliva threatens to connect you when you pull away.

“Are you gonna cum, Lena?” you coo, swollen mouth curling into a soft smile. “I’ve barely even touched you—”

Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleads in a broken voice.

You return to her chest, sucking on her sensitive nipple until she keens. She exhales a hoarse moan above you, flexing her hips over your thigh to keep her clit flush to your skin. She lets out several pretty “Uh, uh, uh”’s before tensing suddenly above you. 

Yelena holds her breath, grips you tight by your shoulder and the back of your neck, and begins to tremble over your thigh. “Oh, shit…” she moans, then sighs. “Oh, shit—” 

It comes out more disappointed the second time, as she pulls back from you to flash you a girlish pout. “What?” you laugh, mouth shining with spit, as you smooth a rouge blonde tendril behind her ear.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” she whines, Russian accent sounding deep in her mouth. “I had it all planned— I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yelena’s frown curls into a more devilish grin at your words.

Neither of you get any sleep that night. Walker, included.

ROBERTY REYNOLDS X READER — a year after the void nearly destroyed new york, you're still teaching bob that it's okay to feel good (new-ish relationship, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Robert Reynolds is still getting used to touching you. He’s spent nearly every day with you since you found him — learning how to use his powers for good, how to touch you without hurting you, how to be human again. It’s been a year since then, and he’s starting to get the hang of it. But sometimes he thinks you have more faith in him than he does in himself.

You kiss him hard enough to bruise him on the center of the living room couch, with Sunset Boulevard playing quietly on the large TV behind you. Bob’s anxiety is only partly quelled by the rest of the Thunderbolts’ absence, but he’s still slightly scared of himself — what if The Void returned and swallowed him whole again? Who would be there to stop him from hurting you if it did?

You don’t seem half as panicked about the whole thing as your lips stamp wet kisses up and down the expanse of his long neck. “You’re so pretty, Bobby,” you murmur into his warm skin. “Such a pretty boy…”

Bob swallows hard at your praise, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you on the sofa when he feels his cock twitching in the confines of his sweatpants. There’s a need for release inside of him that he can’t ignore, but he cares more about keeping you safe. Safe from himself.

You pull back, mouth swollen from your assault on his neck. “Can I…?” you smile and trail off, hands sliding down his clothed, lean chest to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bob doesn’t know what you’re planning. It excites him as much as it frightens him. His mouth opens and closes like a fish until he finds the words. “Oh. I— I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammers through an awkward chuckle.

You shrug despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“It’s not that!” Bob blurts, rushing to hold you by the waist when you threaten to move off him. (He forgets, for maybe the first time ever, to be scared of touching you.) He swallows hard at the look you give him, blinking wildly with glassy eyes. “I just… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you assure him with a pretty laugh. “You don’t even have to touch me.”

Bob’s brows furrow. “What?” he wonders aloud.

You don’t answer him with words. You just flash him a mischievous smirk and shift on the couch until you’re no longer straddling him. You press your lips to his — once, twice, and then a third time — in a silent reminder to relax before your mouth trails down his neck once more. 

You move past his jaw, to his pulse, and down towards his collarbone, sinking further onto your knees as you kiss down his body.

Bob exhales a shuddering breath and tilts his heavy head towards the back of the couch. He feels his hands start to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists, instead.

“Relax, baby,” you murmur between the kisses you press to his clothed sternum. “Let me make you feel good.”

Bob tenses beneath you when your hands brush his cock, growing harder in his boxers by the second. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the need swelling inside him. “Um… Maybe we should…” he stammers, voice shaking. “Maybe we should, like, slow down?”

He covers his desperate plea with a wavering half-smile.

You nod, now fully on your knees between his spread thighs, and give him a kind, tight-lipped smile in return. “‘Course. I’ll go slow. Promise.”

You feel Bob trembling beneath your hand when you lift the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush the fine hair sprinkled on his lean stomach as you press chaste kisses to every inch of revealed skin. He takes in a shaking breath, burning red hot under your touch. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you how sensitive he is — how, if he thinks about you and your soft touches for too long, that he’ll explode. So he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about anything other than the way you’re making him feel just now.

“I’ll take care of you, Bobby. I promise,” you slur between languid kisses, holding his shirt up with one hand while your other teases the hem of his boxers. “I’ll make you feel so good—” Your lips brush the coarse hair peeking from his waistline. You flash him a pair of glassy, mischievous eyes. 

“And maybe—” A kiss. “If you’re real good—” Another, a bit lower this time. “I’ll let you fuck me—”

Bob face twists. His brows furrow, his eyes shut tight, his nose scrunches at the bridge. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, growing so tense beneath you that it makes him tremble. 

You just freeze, frightened that you might’ve done something wrong. You did just promise to take it slow, after all — and here he is now, cumming in his boxers. 

He feels the warmth of his orgasm wetting the plaid fabric and sticking awkwardly to his skin. He fails to stave off the pang of embarrassment searing his chest.

“I’m sorry,” both of you blurt at the same time.

Bob’s eyes snap open, still slightly glazed over. “You’re sorry?!” he gapes. “What are you sorry for?”

You falter for a moment. “I don’t know,” you answer and start to laugh. 

The pretty sound fills the quiet tower, and Bob can’t help but laugh along with you. He tilts his heavy head back against the couch as you rise from your knees, straddling him once more and avoiding the sensitive mess in his pants. 

“Did it feel good, at least?” you ask, smoothing your palms over his trembling shoulders.

Bob nods and swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “I haven’t— Haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I guess you could say I’m… a little out of practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you coo, ducking down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Even with his eyes closed, he can hear the smile in your voice as you whisper, “I’ll whip you back into shape in no time, Reynolds.”

[wonryllis]

HER VANILLA GREED (M) park sunghoon.

❛ 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗐𝖾'𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌.

featuring. enemy!park sunghoon who gets a taste of you and now he can't get enough, consumed with greed that can never be satiated─ albeit barely just quenched for a while. directory?

warnings. smut!! kinda dom!sunghoon feeling crazy. enemies pouncing on e/o, prn with bits of plot, rough sex, unprotected (wrap your willy pls), swearing, mentions of multiple acts.

part of, hold your breath event. prompts include “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.” & fucking someone so good that they struggle to kiss you back. ( wordcount, 944. )

JZLYN notes ╱ hope y'all enjoy it! & if you do please leave comments & feedbacks it keeps me going! & lastly please reblog!!

you loved vanilla and sunghoon loved your vanilla.

it's uncharacteristic of him to feel this way for his enemy, definitely; but after that one time he ate you out for a heated game of dare or drink, he has just gotten addicted. so so addicted that every time he catches a glimpse of you around the house he cannot help imagining the taste of you on his tongue, the waft of your scent dancing edges on him.

it was an accident─ a one time mistake if he may say. and how it turned into a regular thing? he has no recollection of it. the only thing he remembers are the spontaneous blowjobs in the kitchen to imprudently eating you out on the couch at any given chance you both got. which is whenever considering you live together.

oral had been the go to, for the past two months. no matter how turned on you both got, you just never threaded that line of linking more closely. making out and grinding against each other, sliding his cock against your panty clad pussy, jerking him off while he fingerfucked you; moaning into each other's mouth as you finished. but never hitting it in.

but tonight something changed─ something triggered.

a night together at one of the newly opened bars downtown. shots of alcohol in your systems and raging jealousy at others pawing for your attention away from each other. it was mutual, the way you both grew desperate and covetous. like you owned the other, your prized─ no, unwarranted possession.

“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.” sunghoon rasps as he slides in, inch by inch, breath by breath. calloused hands gripping the tender skin of your waist, holding you up and pulling you closer by your hips. your legs wrapped around him like a cage of lust.

the veins in his cock throb with your warm cunt engulfing him. tight, slick─ and fuck it's full of your vanilla smearing all over his throbbing and twitching length.

mind a big mush, sweating dripping along sunghhon’s silver chain dangling between your thighs as he bottoms out. hissing out a line of curses at the feeling, his grip on you tightening.

“god your pussy’s insane─ can't believe ‘was gonna miss out on this,” sunghoon mutters out in a hushed whisper, words tumbling out in a single breath as he tries to compose himself. but it's so hard. his cock is so hard and keeping himself from completely ravaging you for his pleasure is making it even harder.

the sight of you is criminally arousing. your hands clutching at sheets above your head, dress tugged down and barely hanging low above your hips. skin flushed with sweat and your breaths coming out in soft anticipating gasps while you wait for him to start moving. it's atrocious how he does not feel disgusted at the even the glimpse of his enemy laying bare and inviting and with his cock inside her.

“park, move─” you let out a demanding whine. wiggling your hips against his balls in a futile attempt with his hands holding you still.

“you don't gotta tell me,” it does not take him a second to start thrusting. pulling all the way out till the tip and pushing back in a rough, brutal and almost hurtfully bruising smack. it's always been annoying to hear you call him ‘park’ instead of his name, triggering irritation above all. but something about the way it slips and rolls off your pretty little pink tongue right now just turns him on so bad, it's sickeningly annoying. it's sickeningly lewd.

sunghoon's pace gradually increases along with his sheer desperation to somehow want you more and more even when he's balls deep in you and painfully holding in the bursts of cum threatening to gush out amid each thrust.

his hands move to cup your cheeks, squeezing your lips into a pucker before he leans down to devour them in a messy and sloppy kiss. one that you can barely keep up with. mouth falling open in wild moans and your back arching so prettily into him, he can feel the hair on your skin standing, the slight trembles passing over you and heat emanating off in quick shivers.

it drives him crazy. your drooling reflection in his eyes as he pulls away to get off at the view of you struggling to remain lucid. his thumb skimming onto your wet glossed lips and smearing it over to your cheek.

you stick your tongue out at his touch, eyes closed in a sensual lick against his fingers and sunghoon loses it. grabbing your hair to tug your head back as he starts pounding into you, crazed and frantic.

“fuck─ why do you have to be so goddamn hot, fuck fuck fuck─ this is─ fuck─ ridiculous.” he grunts out in shuddering and shaky breaths. his head thrown back and mouth fallen open alike. he still cannot believe he's fucking you, and absolutely not how fucking sinfully good it feels. his enemy and roommate, two no-zones: crossed at once. and if that was not enough already, he did not have the patience to slip on a condom. and fuck does it feel like you'll milk him out dry.

“shit i can't stand looking at you─ you're gonna make me cum so fast,” each drag, each glide so torturously pleasurable.

“then cum. fill me up,” you mumble out, managing to graze your fingers along his chest and down to his lower abs. sunghoon groans at those words, his stomach churning and clenching up at the sensations.

he's gonna turn your vanilla into vanilla whipped cream he swears.

reg taglist. @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @ancnymcnzjy

event taglist. @sickntrd @matchacake2 @heebear @lostwonderwall @sunshine-skz @engenesengenes333 @soobheehoon @isagistar @heesky @jaeyungxrl

[vanesycho]

• bf!hyunjin x f!reader | m.list

| let's just say you get 'very excited' after see your boyfriend's new haircut

warning | fingering, oral(f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 1k

enjoy reading！

❝ Is a haircut really enough to get you this high? ❞

oh.

This was exactly your reaction when you saw the message from your boyfriend saying 'I got a buzzcut.'

Everything definitely suited him but this move was unexpected and caught you completely off guard. He had long hair since you knew him and now even imagining him like this made butterflies fly in your stomach. And the fact that he was going to be back home in a few hours made it hard for you to stay still.

As a result of your waiting, you were startled by the sound of a door, Hyunjin left his extra belongings in a corner and let out a tired breath. "Baby?" when you heard his call, your steps started to pull towards him. But the difference you saw made you stop in your tracks, you looked at your boyfriend you weren't used to for a while, when Hyunjin noticed your look, his tired face disappeared and he approached you with a smile. "Surprise?" his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and without waiting, he pulled you to him and buried his face in your neck, mumbled "mm..i missed you.."

You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him lightly so you had a chance to look at his face better. He was...the hottest man you'd ever seen in the world and he belongs to you. Hyunjin looked at your unresponsive face, started examining your face in the same way as if he was trying to figure out if you liked it or not "So...do you like it?" instead of talking, you preferred to give him an answer by kissing him, and Hyunjin accepted it with pleasure, grabbed your hips and pulled you hard to him. After a long kiss, you whispered the moment you pulled back "I don't think I can put into words how sexy you look right now."

He chuckled briefly at your frankness, tilted his head slightly to the side and spoke teasingly "Really? Maybe you can show me that, baby." you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. Hyunjin, noticing how eager and impatient you were, laughed between kisses and picked you up without waiting, walking towards the room without parting your lips.

He pulled back as soon as your back reached the soft bed and helped you take off your clothes before throwing his own clothes in a corner. Even though he was impatient like you, he wanted to take it slow. Spread your legs and get between them without breaking eye contact "Is a haircut really enough to get you this high?" his fingers went to your pussy, you let out a moan as he caressed your clit with slow movements "N-no. You're enough to get me high. N-not your hair." he grinned, the compliment he received made his cock twitch completely "ah..how sweet." he mumbled and after that sentence he leaned down and sucked your clit while inserting two fingers inside you, you let out a loud moan, instead of starting his movements slowly he started to fully exploit your pussy.

You whined wanting more, your hand went to his head, you moved your hips with the new feeling you felt instead of his long hair and pressed him against you. Hyunjin responded to every one of your movements, his tongue moving rapidly on your clit while his fingers curled inside you and made you pour all your juices onto his fingers with a fast pace "Hyun- f-fuck.. I'm close..I- oh fuck." your head went back in pleasure, his tongue and fingers were already skilled, but the feelings that were triggered inside you the moment you saw him would make you cum even faster. Hyunjin didn't slow down, he buried his head between your legs and continued until you cum. And when you reach your peak, he didn't stop until all your cum was wrapped around his fingers, he sucked your clit one last time and tried to catch his breath "Good job baby..oh shit look at this mess.." he said under his breath while looking at the cum flowing from your pussy.

He gave you a while to catch your breath, filled this space with many kisses but he couldn't hold it anymore, his cock was aching in pain and he needed you. He pulled back while his face was buried in your neck and rubbed his dick against your pussy. Hyunjin whimpered as soon as the tip entered, slowly pushed more into you, feeling all your walls, he let out a loud moan and buried his face in your neck again "You feel so..g-good, god you're going to make me go crazy.." his hips moved without hesitation, he was hitting with slow but hard movements, each of his breaths tickling your neck.

Hyunjin was putting his whole cock inside you, he wanted you to feel every inch of him. His arms wrapped around you, your legs wrapped around his waist and the occasional kisses on your neck, your bodies were completely one. "Faster.. please Hyun..I can't take it-" he didn't wait for you to finish your sentence, his hips started moving in fast movements, he lifted his head and held one of your hands, pinning it to the bed, your eyes locked as a few drops of sweat ran down his forehead.

The room was filled with just the moans of pleasure between the two of you, your wetness mixed together "I'm close, baby. It won't...take long for me to come." Hyunjin spoke breathlessly, pumping his cock hard inside you, begging to cum. His rapid breaths turned into a tearful moan, close to cumming, as you prepared yourself for a second orgasm. A few strokes later, your second orgasm hit you, Hyunjin came right after you and came out of you, his cum spilling onto your belly. Hyunjin threw himself directly next to you and tried to catch his breath. "Fuck...I should've cut my hair earlier." you laughed at his mumbled sentence and moved closer to him. He immediately took you under his arms. "Like I said, you're perfect in every way, it's not just about your hair." he grinned, lowering his head towards you. "Thank you, baby. I expected you to like it, this reaction was even more than I expected. But I'm definitely not complaining."

[widows-venom]

⊹₊⟡⋆ WHAT DOES IT MATTER?

darkish!wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part two

✮⋆˙summary

wanda was acting a little odd, seemed a little different too. but what does it matter, when she still takes care of you so good?

✮⋆˙trigger warnings

darkish!wanda, smut, fingering (r receiving), kind of dubious consent?,

✮⋆˙author’s note

hey, starling here! this is my first post on tumblr, my first try at smut — as one maybe can tell. let me know what you think :)

her eyes were dark, the gentle green you so love almost completely invisible behind her enlarged pupil and the faint red of her magic. and wanda just stared.

her hands are wrapped around your waist, her finger digging into your skin through the apron and shirt you‘re wearing. you aren’t wearing much — wanda likes it that way.

„hey, baby“, you said. a little breathless, a little stunned by her sudden appearance and slightly odd behaviour. normally, you were used to wanda‘s slight oddness, but this was a new level of odd, even if she didn’t do anything.

well, that was exactly what was so off about her.

you‘re eyes roam over her, your brows furrow a little in confusion. „uhm- weren’t you wearing something else when you le-"

you don’t get to say much more. delicious, hot and needy lips where on yours. you huff surprised but then you cup her cheeks and pull her in closer. her clothing was different than what she had left in earlier that day, her lips were definitely more chapped than earlier that day too — you knew, since you had kissed wanda senseless before she had left.

but as wanda pulls you impossibly closer by your waist and slots a knee between your legs, all of those thoughts disappear. what did it matter, what wanda was wearing? or how her lips seemed more chapped? what did it matter, when wanda was making you feel as good and loved as always?

it didn’t. so you kissed back with just as much vigour and need as wanda was.

wanda’s hand slipped down your side and reaches your naked thigh, tugging at the hem of your shirt before sliding between your legs. the deicious pressure of wanda’s knee slipped away but before you complain, it was replaced by her fingers, rubbing circles on your clothed cunt.

wanda was greedy. it didn’t take her long to slip her fingers below your panties and tease your mound, while her lips where on your neck. nipping and biting as if she was marking her territory. you were sure the hickeys would look good with your wedding ring.

you where wanda’s. utterly hers, no one else’s.

it wasn’t until wanda’s fingers finally stopped their teasing and slipped into your wet entrance, that you noticed another change. wanda’s fingertips where uncomfortably rough, rubbing against your inner walls in a manner they never head before.

it was both pleasurable and painful — but the way your wife sped up her movements, you didn’t have much time to form a sentence.

wanda’s fingers, two if you were feeling correctly, where pounding in and out of you at a relentless speed. in and out in an out — curling deliciously to hit your g-spot. fuck it was good.

“oh- wanda”, you moan into her ear, your head leaning against her shoulder. panting and trembling from her restless finger fucking. she huffs, or chuckles, you don’t really now.

“come for me, malysh”, wanda husks.

now that’s something you can’t ignore. her voice is much rustier than usually, hoarse and her accent way more prominent. your brows furrow, but before you can wonder too much about it, your stomach coils together.

with one last, sharp thrust into your cunt, you moan out loud and cum. your vision turns white, little gasps and whines escape you as you cling to wanda. your body shaking.

wanda gingerly pulls out — now you see why her fingers had felt so rough and calloused. the tips where black. but why?

with sweat sliding down your temple, rigid, fast breaths leaving your lips, you manage to lift your head and look at her.

this wasn’t your wanda.

a small smirk grows on wanda’s lips. it seems both smug and sad. “you were always such a smart thing, malysh. smart, but slow”

it’s the last thing you hear, before her magic invades your brain and makes you fall unconscious. her arms wrapping around you the last thing you feel. her eyes, hinted with red and that damned smirk, the last thing you see.

[cyberrmusee]

dad’s best friend | ʚɞ toji fushiguro ʚɞ |

ʚɞ — contains: age gap (23 & 46), mentions of drinking and drunk s3x, hair pulling, slight dub con?, reader is implied to be blk, pet names (ma, mama, pretty girl, pretty baby) pregnancy mention, implied marathons, breeding.

a part of you knew this was wrong, maybe a very small part that was buried very very very deep in your subconscious, but i digress.

i mean he was twice your age for crying out fucking loud. he sorta helped raise you alongside your dad. you grew up with his son, went to school with his son, hell he even took you to prom your senior year.

this was wrong.. so many levels of fucking wrong, but you couldn’t stop yourself and apparently neither could he.

you were home visiting from uni for the summer, and you promised your dad you’d actually stay in the house with him this time, unlike usually when you’d stay in the beach house up the road like you’d done the last two summers.

what you didn’t promise although, was that you wouldn’t let his best friend of twenty plus years, have you bent over this counter, screwing you silly.

it started the summer you turned 21, you were home staying in the beach house and toji wanted to buy you your first definitely not legal drink, one thing led to another and now whenever you came home for any sort of break, it was him and you, back to back to back.

you knew this was wrong, that your dad could come in at any minute, the poor man would have a stroke if he saw the display.

you were bent over the counter, your braids fisted in toji’s hand as he pulled you back by em’ , your ass rippling against his pelvis with every lewd thwack! he gave you.

your maw hung open as you gasped for air, his angry shroomy tip giving your cervix brutal kisses. you gripped the counter so hard you swore you’d broken a piece off.

dots of black in your vision as you came for the nth time in just the short twenty minutes, screaming and wailing like you were in heat. “mmmf to-tojiii fuuckkk!”

he smirked, yanking your head back further and slapping his other hand over you mouth as he worked his hips faster, harder, deeper. “g-gah dammit ma, hush up all that yellin’ n shit. want the whole neighborhood to hear ya?” he grunted out.

your cries were muted and muffled as your eyes rolled back and tears pricked the corner of them. it was his favorite sight. “mhm, i know those lil— hah- college boys can’t give it to you— fuck- l-like this mama..”

you could only whine in response against his hand, tears spilling over your pretty lashes, making them clump together as you mushy walls squeezed around his dick, warning him of another impending orgasm.

he hissed and let go of your hair to grab one of your legs and toss it up on the counter, opening you up wider, splitting you open on his dick, watching the way your greedy pussy sucked him in, a cute lil creamy ring of your cum circling round his dick.

your little cries and whimpers were music to his ears as he hummed “mmm i know ma, i know. cmon, give it to me. s’okay pretty girl” he cooed as kneaded the doughy flesh of your ass, stretch marks on display everywhere as he worked his hips. fucking delicious.

his thrusts were getting sloppy as your cunt kept fluttering and convulsing around him, your tears streaming your face as you practically begged him to cum.

“p-please.. t-toji..” you whined. “please what pretty baby?” he groaned as he tried to refocus on not cumming inside you. “cum.. p-please” you whimpered as your wet lashes fluttered.

hearing you beg like that… for him.. especially begging for him to cum, he snapped. he rocked his hips forward sloppily a few more times before he roughly pressed his hips flush against your ass and came, thick, hot, sticky essence painting every crevice of your pretty walls white.

his orgasm triggered your own as you came again and your greedy pussy choked his dick, pulling every last drop it could out of him as he groaned and hissed “fuck ma— y-y’gotta stop doin’ tha shit, gon’ fuck around and get your lil ass pregnant” he grunted.

but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, your biggest concern right now was the fact that you heard your dads car beep and his door shut and lock.

fuck.

a/n: nothing could stop me from older toji, i #needthat. immediately.

[cherryyluvs]

omg hear me out!!! the witch reader and mark and what happens when they casted a truth spell on them ?! like imagine the whole day, it’s just mark rambling about his deepest thoughts, no matter how silly and reader just like “good to know he really loves me” (also loveee your writing during this invincible fic drought)

Ooooh this is such a good request!! I can already imagine Mark just rambling non-stop while Reader is loving every second of it lol💖

You were at your desk, carefully enchanting a small charm meant to improve focus when Mark walked in. Still wearing his Invincible suit, dirt smudged across his cheek.

“What’s that?” he asked. Peering over your shoulder.

“Just a simple focusing spell” you said. “WAIT DONT TOUCH IT”

But of course, Mark’s curiosity was stronger than your warning. Before you could stop him, he reached out, touching the crystal. The glow flared bright, warm, and Mark blinked rapidly.

“Huh” he said. “Weird. I feel like I need to talk.”

You stared at him. “Talk about what?”

“I dunno” Mark shrugged. “Like I noticed how you changed your shampoo and your hair smells amazing. And how cute you look when you’re concentrating.. Oh…oh no, what the–”

You bit your lip, stifling a giggle. “I think you may have triggered a truth spell.”

“A what now?” Mark asked, looking horrified.

“A truth spell,” you repeated, trying not to grin. “It makes you say whatever’s on your mind.”

“Okay,” Mark said carefully. “Okay, that’s… fine. I just won’t talk.” Slapping a hand over his mouth.

That lasted ten seconds before he groaned loudly.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he blurted, hands still over his face. “Like, unfair levels of pretty. It’s distracting sometimes. Like, one time last week I was thinking about your smile during a fight and I nearly got punched in the face. Oh my god, I’m still talking.”

Mark whined, pacing around the room. “I think about kissing you like every five seconds! And you know what’s worse? Sometimes I practice what I’m gonna say to you in the mirror because I don’t wanna sound like a dork. But guess what? I sound like a dork anyway!”

“No wonder you take so long in the bathroom,” you grinned.

“Oh my god,” Mark muttered. “I’m gonna die.”

You tried to reverse the spell, but it lingered far longer than intended. Throughout the day, Mark’s nonstop rambling followed you everywhere. Even when he was flying you home after a mission, he was still at it. “you smell nice, that one time you wore my hoodie, I didn’t wash it for like a week because it smelled like you”

“Mark!”

“I seriously don’t get how you make magic look so easy,” Mark said, voice a little softer this time. “Like, you’re just... amazing. Even when I’m having a bad day, just being around you makes it better. And sometimes I feel like you don’t know how incredible you are. I wanna tell you every single time I see you, but I don’t wanna annoy you. So I just shut up about it but now I can’t shut up about it and… I really love you, okay?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. For once, Mark’s voice was quiet. Sincere. Raw.

“You mean that?” you asked softly.

“I can’t lie right now,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Finally, you managed to break the spell and Mark lets out a loud sigh of relief, immediately covering his face.

“I’m never showing my face again,” he mumbled. You leaned forward. Pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Why? I kinda liked hearing how much you love me.”

“I’m never gonna live this down,” Mark groaned.

“Nope,” you smiled. “Not a chance.”

[usedtobecooler]

eddie ‘monstercock’ munson, who is painfully unaware of the sheer size of his dick.

tw: sexual content 18+ minors dni, size kink, oral m receiving, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, general debauchery. for my love @raccoonboywrites

and, listen, you’re not a size queen at all. don’t care much for how big or small a cock is so long as whoever it’s attached to knows how to use it. but you gasp out loud once you get your fingers dig under eddie’s waistband, pulling the offending material down to let his length spring out.

it’s enough to shock you back into the room, watching as the thick weight of it slaps against eddie’s tummy, the way it curves into his navel. he’s wet, leaking at the head and matting down the pretty swirls of black hair that lead a trail down, down, down.

he’s rumpled against your bed frame, slumped down with his shirt rucked up his tummy. the prettiest pink flush spreading across his cheeks, tinging his ears and dipping as low as his collar. you’re willing to bet his chest is blotched with the lovely rosy colour, too. he grips aimlessly at your comforter, wide eyes watching your every move; tracing every hitch of your breath.

you wrap your hand around the base — purposely ignoring the pathetic little whine eddie makes, because jesus now isn’t the time to think too much about that — and you moan despite yourself when your hand doesn’t even wrap fully around the girth of it, dwarfing your fingers and palm.

“you— you’re so big, oh my god,” your voice catches at the end, desperate and dampened by your own desire for it. you lean forward, hot breath ghosting over him, tugging his foreskin back just enough for the head to pop out, shiny and reddening with need, “you could’ve at least warned me you were packing a python down there, fuck.”

“oh shit, really? i thought it was aver— holy fuck, you don’t have to—“ he’s bug eyed, eyebrows shooting under his fringe as you mouth at the head, determined and eager to get a taste of him. uncut, heavy on your tongue, the heady splash of precum blurting out to coat your tastebuds.

eddie’s knees kick up a little as you mouth greedily at his tip, pointing your tongue to run in circles around the glans on the underside. you smirk despite yourself, getting a kick out of it when eddie goes a little cross eyed, burying a ringed hand into your hair.

you indulge yourself, feeling the weight of him in your mouth as you sink lower, just far back enough as to not trigger your gag reflex. your lips wrapping around his hot flesh, suckling softly, reveling in each blurt of pearlescent release that drips onto your tongue.

“baby, sweetheart — fuck,” eddie gasps, breath shuddery, lightly pulling at your tresses to test the water. his mouth falling open into a quiet moan when your eyes flutter at the feeling, “y’can- y’can take more, right? s’not… s’not that big.”

your jaw cracks under what of him you’ve fit in, which truthfully isn’t much. despite your efforts, there’s still a good three inches of eddie’s cock left untouched by hand or mouth, and you really have to wonder if he’s that clueless of his size. you pull off with a wet pop, strings of saliva keeping you connected to him as you stare up with wet orbs.

“eddie, you’re huge.” your voice is wrecked, butterflies swirling in your tummy as you make eye contact with him once again. you flush under his debauched gaze, "i— shit. nobody's ever told you before?"

eddie shrugs, considers for a moment. you don't think he's aware of the fact he's holding you in place with his hand, gripping your hair just enough to keep you still, hovering over his dick just close enough that if he wanted to, he could push you back down, get your mouth back on him.

though, that’s clearly not what he wants. because, he’s slipping the hand from your hair, doing this kind of awkward dance as he lays you out where he wants you.

you end up on your back, thighs spread wide as eddie slots between them, mouthing hotly at your neck. his fingers graze along your flushed skin, dance on your hipbone, across your pelvis. dips those godforsaken fingers into your panties, carelessly fumbling over your sopping wet pussy.

“this is okay, right?”

“it’s all okay, eddie. anything you want.”

"not— not even touched you yet and you're already this wet?" eddie's voice is a low timbre against your skin, has you arching up into his touch with a soft little moan. he sounds shocked, no heat or teasing in his words.

"can't help it," you gasp, exhaling shakily when eddie swipes two fingers over your clit deftly, unable to hide his smile at how receptive you are, "feeling the size of you in my hand — my mouth, god. would've let you choke me with it, would've thanked you."

eddie buries his face into your cleavage, poorly concealing a choked whine. he's skillful with his fingers, working you over fast despite how much your words are clearly affecting him.

your hips rock in short little circles, fingers sinking into eddie's hair, tugging lightly at the nape of his neck. you whine, body set alight with the feeling of calloused fingers grazing the small bundle of nerves.

he's biting you, brandishing you with little blooming bruises, and with the noise he makes against your damp skin you'd think it was him getting touched like this, him hurtling towards the edge.

you're so wet that the slick noises of eddie's fingers on your pussy are deafening in your ears, causing your back to prickle with heat, tummy winding tight.

the hot, heavy flesh of his cock presses against your inner thigh, shocking loud moans from you both at the same time. you arch up into his touch, ears ringing as pleasure takes over your body.

"i— you're making me cum," you gasp breathily, a static feeling warming your body, eyes rolling into the back of your head. you grapple for eddie's hair once more, tugging with a ferocity as your release washes over you.

it's. something. you feel like you're fucking floating, and eddie keeps swirling his fingers perfectly, whispering little shocked praises and keening into your rough pulling as he wrings you out.

once eddie's sure you're done with the aftershocks of your orgasm, he hazards pushing two fingers into your soaked cunt, and you're practically shooting away with overstimulation. crying out, somehow swivelling your hips and pushing down onto his fingers further once the shock wears off.

"you're a shit," you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, "god, might've known your dick was gonna be big, fuckin' size of your fingers."

"was— was that good for you? can i, shit can i?" eddie's desperate, rutting the thick outline of his cock against your thigh. he's never stopped fucking leaking, soaking your leg in milky precum and allowing the slip and slide to feel good.

you nod, shaky hands tilting his head up so you can finally, finally, get your mouth on his. eddie's whole body presses flush against yours, his hand coming out to stabilise himself so he doesn't crush you, and fuck.

it's so charged, like he can't stilt his emotions as he snakes his tongue into your mouth, lapping at your own wetly. it's probably disgusting, doesn't feel like it though — you'd swallow his spit happily, whenever he wanted, if it meant he kept making you feel like this.

eddie's shaky hand fumbles for the base of his cock as you continue kissing, positioning himself so that he's nestled prettily between your legs. the kisses turn languid, and he almost sounds pained when he next speaks, "s-sorry. if it, if it hurts."

"let it hurt, i want it to," your demeanor falters a little, turning doe eyed and pleading as eddie slides the ruddy head of his cock up and down the seam of your cunt, flirts with the idea of pushing the tip in just to watch you gasp and keen.

"would never," eddie promises, finally — fucking, finally — pushing the first few inches into the sopping wet heat of your pussy. he cries out when you clench around him unwittingly, and you mumble out a small sorry as you adjust.

it's. not good. it's not bad, either, but fuck. you feel like you're being split from the inside, the thick tip pushing you wider than you anticipated. your fingers grapple for eddie's biceps, nails digging in tightly, "so fucking big, oh my god, you're gonna split me in half."

you're breathless and eddie catches on, panics a little, "you're okay? you're okay, right? i can sto—"

"if you stop, i swear to god," you seethe, looking at eddie with a fierce spark in your eyes, "keep going. fuck. keep going."

before long and with a little bit of resistance, eddie's buried deep inside of you. your bodies roll against one anothers, shallow, slow breaths

it starts slow, the catch and drag of eddie's cock shocking you both into silence. but, before long, your pussy catches up with the programme, gushing wet and allowing eddie to push in further with each thrust.

it's intimate, erotic.

"you're so tight," eddie all-out whimpers, head falling and shoulders shaking as he fucks you at a lazy pace, clearly trying his best to hold out for as long as he can.

"fuck, you’re so gentle,” you try, knees squeezing eddie’s narrow waist, thighs encapsulating him, “you can go quicker. not gonna break me.”

eddie shakes his head, almost like he’s bewildered. looks at you all fucking soft, clearly can’t help the rut of his hips as he buries in deep, biting his inner lips to muffle his noises.

you grasp a hold of eddie's hand with nimble fingers, guide his hand over the softness of your tummy, let him push down where his cock is buried deep inside of you. his whole body shudders, and you can feel where he kicks up.

"practically in my guts," you wheeze, unable to shake the full feeling despite how your pussy gushes for him, so full you swear you feel him in your throat with every deep thrust he can muster, "you're s-so big, eddie."

"oh— jesus, can't do shit like that. can't say shit like that," eddie grunts desperately, rutting into you and gripping for your waist tightly, other hand still pushed down on the pudge of your belly, "gonna make me cum so, so quick."

"can feel every ridge of you, you're splitting me apart," you keen, "i can't— god, you've ruined me f-for anyone else. yours, yours, m'yours."

eddie's forehead slumps against your own, and you're panting into each others mouths more than anything else, lips barely brushing, "mine, you're mine." he agrees, though he sounds pained and submissive as he says it.

your hand snakes around eddie's neck, holding him in place as he fucks you so desperately, so rough you're rattling the stupid bedframe, and you don't think you've ever felt anything like this before. it's all-consuming, the tug between sore and soul-crushingly sensual.

your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, the constant press against your spot causing a quicker build up than you could've anticipated. you both make eye contact as you come with a muted gasp, nails scraping harshly at the soft skin on eddie's neck as you rock it out.

"didn't think you could get any tighter, god," eddie whimpers, eyes squeezing shut, finger-shaped bruises sure to be left on your hips as he fucks you in some sort of reckless abandon, "fuck, i'm so close. i'm so sorry, fuck, fuck."

you nod, understanding, the wet clap of skin on skin deafening as your release allows an even smoother glide. he's fucking ethereal above you, covered in a light sheen of sweat, mouth open in a constant stream of steady moans.

you reach between where both of your bodies meet, where the final few inches don't quite fit, spreading your fingers either side of his cock to allow friction as he fucks in and out rapidly, chasing his high.

eddie looks at you with a wild expression, eyebrows shooting up into his fringe. he grunts like a fucking animal, eyes drifting down to where your hand is, "you— you— i'm cumming, holy fuck—!"

he's loud when he comes, full body wracked with it. you feel his cock pulse and kick inside of you, painting your insides deep. the moan you let out at the feeling is hardly voluntary, so pathetic you flush hot when you realise just how loud you are.

"thank you, thank you," eddie's mumbling against your skin, kissing the side of your neck softly as he comes down, "god, you're perfect. so perfect."

you shudder, overcome with this sappy fucking fond feeling, allowing eddie to collapse on top of you once he's done. it's soft, domestic, even.

you both end up in some sort of gross, body fluid covered cuddle as you calm down. blissed out in the post-orgasmic haze, and fuck.

maybe you're in love with him.

[sednas]

─ BIRTHDAY GIRL

gojo, geto, nanami, toji x fem!reader (separately)

trigger warning: overstimulation, dirty talk (geto), use of handcuffs (nanami), public s!x, degradation (toji)

༘♡ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

you wake up by the feeling of a soft tongue running against the skin of your inner thigh. opening your eyes slowly, the first thing you see is gojo's face, squishing his cheek against your thigh, lazy blue eyes watching you with a glint of adoration.

"morning beautiful." he whispers just before placing a kiss over your clothed pussy.

"w-what time is it?" you ask weakly, your legs already slightly trembling.

"who cares? today's your birthday, we can do whatever you want, we got all day..."

you watch him slowly raise his eyes at you again, smirking mischievously and you can feel his hot breath against you.

"so..." he begins to talk while running his fingertips along the curve of your hips. "what do you want, mmh?"

he's really asking that when his lips are a few centimeters away from your pussy.

"your mouth, I want your mouth..." you whisper to him and he smirks again.

"where? here?" he teases, taking your hand to kiss the back of it. "be more specific baby or else I can't give it to you..." he laughs at your disappointed face and whines a little as you gently tug at his white hair to bring him closer to where you need him most.

"hereeee satoru, need you here." you almost groan in frustration, lifting your hips in the air in a needy way.

"oh here?~" he murmurs just before kissing your hidden pussy, this time using his tongue to wet the soft fabric of your panties.

you feel the tip of his tongue circles around your clit and it makes you shiver, your eyes are already rolling back even though he barely touched you.

gojo loves to tease you, sometimes he makes you beg just for a kiss, but today's your birthday, so he will be nice, at least at first.

bonus:

he brings you gifts in the morning. a lot of gifts. even more than usual. clothes, jewelry, perfumes, flowers, books, nintendo switch, pokemon cards, anything you want, he got it.

༘♡ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

you know your boyfriend has a thing for edging you. he likes to deny you for hours and hours, makes you cry and beg in frustration until you sound like a broken record, saying "please" over and over again... he just loves it when you're so horny and sensitive that he could make you cum just by blowing air on your pussy. but on special occasions, he likes to do the opposite, it's his way of spoiling you on your special day. he's so nice isn't he?

"su-suguru wait! you're... you're being mean!" you cry out, your trembling body trapped against his chest.

"I don't think your pussy agrees with you sweetheart, look how she's spasming when I remove my hand, she wants more..." he mocks with a wicked grin.

your skin burns with embarrassment at his words, talking about your genitals as if they were a real person. you'd be jealous if you weren't so overstimulated right now.

slowly, he puts two of his fingers inside you again and you moan at how full you feel just with his fingers alone.

he brings his mouth closer to your ear and you get goosebumps through your whole body, his lips almost touching your skin.

"come on lovely, give me one more I know you can." he whispers as he licks your earlobe.

"too much... can't..."

you squirm between his arms, your left hand desperately holding onto his forearm as his muscles flex while he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb toying with your clit. he clicks his tongue in disapproval and lifts your chin up so he can look at your face.

"you can still talk now can't you? mmh... looks like you're still using that brain of yours, let's fix that sweetheart."

while fingering you, he slides the thumb of his other hand in your mouth and you start sucking on it without even thinking, half lidded eyes trying to focus, your vision blurry as you can feel your sixth orgasm of the night coming. he smiles, flicking your clit a bit more harshly.

"cum sweet girl, you deserve to feel really good on your birthday."

bonus:

he takes you to your favorite restaurant <3 and he's smart enough to fuck you AFTER your date unlike toji 💀

༘♡ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

"what is it? already giving up?" he asks and he smiles when you shake your head. "that's my girl."

nanami knows how to listen, it's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. he listens and remembers everything you tell him. so of course he remembered when you confessed that some day you'd like to be tied up to his bed during sex. and tonight, for your birthday, he has decided to indulge that fantasy of yours. at first he thought it was a bit silly, the smile on your face when he handcuffed you to the headboard of the bed made him laugh a little. it's only when he finds himself kneeling between your legs, facing you, watching your eyes darken with lust and the way you're already tugging at your restraints that he realizes his position. he has you under him, completely helpless, at the mercy of his teasing touch and his insatiable mouth as you impatiently wait for him and he suddenly feels like the luckiest man in the world. he caresses your thighs lovingly and starts to kiss your stomach, making his way up to your chest to bury his face in your sweet tits, licking and giving gentle bites to your soft skin. you whimper and squirm, quickly realizing how frustrating your little fantasy is going to be and he seems to notice.

he keeps kissing your body until his lips meet your own, taking your breath away with a sloppy kiss and you gasp in his mouth when you feel his knee against your pussy.

"work for it baby, show me how much you want me." he orders, his voice soft but firm and you can only obey.

swaying your hips, you start grinding against his knee, softly moaning, looking away with embarrassment when you see him looking down at you, hypnotized by the way you're moving your body.

"you're doing such a good job baby, keep going, wanna know how desperate you can get for me."

bonus:

nanami never takes breaks from work, except for your birthday. he takes you on a weekend where you both can relax and have some sweet sweet sex in a jacuzzi 🤤

༘♡ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

you thought he was being weird as soon as you showed up in the outfit you had carefully chosen for your date at your favorite restaurant. he just looked at you from head to toe and nodded. he didn't even squeeze your ass when you walked past him and you ridiculously felt a bit sad about it. you should have known better, really.

now he's grabbing your hips with his big hands and forcing your body down onto his throbbing cock in the driver's seat, in the middle of the restaurant parking lot.

"m'sorry baby, I just can't resist you, you look so fucking good in that outfit." he moans in your ear and you have to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming.

he lowers one of his hands to grab your ass and he starts thrusting inside you, his cock rubbing all the right spots, making your thighs tremble and your eyes water.

you feel his other hand threading through your hair, forcing you to look down where both of your bodies are connected.

"look at the mess you've made honey, it's all over me. does getting fucked in a car turn you on that much?" he asks and he smiles when he feels you trying to meet the cruel thrusts of his hips while looking away from the view of your pussy soaking his cock.

you whimper when he pulls at your hair, forcing your head down once again.

"answer me. does my little slut like to get off to the thought of getting caught while I'm fucking her pretty pussy?"

and despite shaking your head you can't lie to him, almost salivating at the feeling of your swollen clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants while he keeps slamming his hips against your skin.

"fuck yes! yes I like it! I like it so much!" and he laughs at your dumb voice, seeing you so cock drunk never fails to amuse him, especially when you make such shameless noises with the rear windows half open... he'll tell you later.

bonus:

this car sex session leaves you both panting, sweat sticking on your foreheads, your hair all messy and let's not even talk about the cum dripping out of you right now. so you both decide to go back home and toji orders food from the restaurant you were supposed to go to.

[littlegochu]

hold me tight │ jjk 18+

"I never stopped loving you."

Trigger Warning: This story contains emotional and physical abuse. (Jungkook is not the abuser btw)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: exes to lovers

rating: 18+, fluff w smut.

synopsis: Y/N is untouchable, his dare: "Make her fall in love with you."

Two years ago, Y/N was just a dare—a game Jungkook never meant to take seriously. But somewhere between the laughter, late nights, and whispered promises, he fell. Hard. Then the truth came out, and everything shattered.

Now, Y/N is a single mother trying to rebuild her life when fate throws Jungkook back into her world. He’s changed. Older. Steadier. But the past still burns between them. As secrets unravel and emotions resurface, they’re forced to face everything they tried to leave behind.

Some wounds run deep. But some loves never die.

-

“Maybe,” you start, voice light and sweet, “the reservation can wait.”

You round the corner into the bedroom, heels in hand, lips slightly parted at the sight in front of you.

Black dress shirt. Sleeves rolled just enough to show off the tattoos. Silver watch, subtle chain. Hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try.

He glances up from the mirror.

Smirks.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, walking over, eyeing your dress like he wants to ruin it.

You loop your arms around his neck lazily, standing on your toes. “You just look so good, baby. It feels wrong to let anyone else see you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles, low and rough, hands finding your hips like instinct.

“Pretty sure you’ve seen me look better.”

You pout. “Not recently.”

His brow lifts. “That right?”

Before you can answer, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing, setting you down on the kitchen counter with a grunt of satisfaction.

Your breath catches.

He steps between your legs, crowding your space, lips ghosting over yours.

“We have all day, baby,” he murmurs, voice a little rough. “I’m all yours.”

You fake a whine. “You’re teasing.”

He grins, kisses your cheek, your jaw, then finally your lips. “Maybe.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper into his mouth: “Ten minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to grin. “Dinner first. Then I’ll give you all the time you want.”

-

The sunset hits just right — golden and warm, spilling over the skyline like it’s bending just for you. String lights sway gently above your heads, casting soft glows on silverware and champagne flutes. The city buzzes somewhere below, muffled by height and distance, replaced by the quiet clink of plates and the lull of soft jazz floating through the speakers.

Sitting in Le Morte— the restaurant his parents gave to him on his 21st birthday. The same restaurant where he asked you to be his girlfriend, the same tiny restaurant you both promised his parents to build up to success. Now, it's a beautiful restaurant sitting at the top of the tallest towers in South Korea.

You sit across from Jungkook, candlelight flickering between you, and he looks—

God. He looks unreal.

Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled, collar loose. Gold chain sitting just at the base of his throat. One arm draped casually over the back of his chair, the other lazily stirring the ice in his drink like he has all the time in the world.

But his eyes are locked on you.

The whole time.

Not just glancing. Not just admiring. Watching you like he’s soaking in every second. Like he’s trying to memorize the way your lip gloss catches the light, or how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you laugh too hard.

“Stop,” you murmur, cheeks warm from the wine. “You’re staring.”

His smile is crooked. Intimate. Like it’s just for you.

“Let me,” he says softly. “Might not get to do it like this again.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table, fingers rubbing gently at the base of his glass. The sunset behind him catches the glint of something silver in his palm.

A small box.

Your breath stops.

You freeze.

He stands up.

“I was gonna wait until dessert,” he says, voice low but certain. “But I can’t. Not when you look like this. Not when I’ve been carrying this for months.”

The world quiets.

He drops to one knee.

Your heart stumbles.

“You’re it for me,” he says. “Even when I’m loud. Even when I’m wrong. Even when I piss you off and leave dishes in the sink. I want you. I want lazy mornings and midnight drives and grocery trips with a shared cart and matching house keys.”

Your eyes are already burning.

“So marry me. Let me wake up next to you for the rest of my life. Let me be yours, fully, finally, forever.”

He opens the box.

A silver ring. Simple. Elegant. Yours.

You cover your mouth, tears slipping before you can stop them. And your voice shakes as you whisper, “Yes.”

He lets out a breathy laugh like he was holding it in for hours.

You stand. He grabs your waist and pulls you into him — tight, full-body, arms around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

He kisses you.

Slow. Certain. Familiar.

And when you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you smiling through tears.

“Told you I’d give you forever,” he whispers.

-

You barely make it through the front door before he’s on you.

The ring is still snug on your finger, your heels are kicked off, and he’s kissing you like the air in his lungs depends on you.

Your back hits the wall. His hands are everywhere — one at your waist, one sliding up your thigh, slow and sure and possessive like he’s already memorized every inch.

But it’s not rushed. It’s not messy. It’s deliberate.

His lips brush your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the line of your lower lip.

You whisper, “You’re shaking.”

He swallows hard. Smiles, a little unsteady.

“I’m in love. Give me a break.”

You reach for him — fingertips curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

And he lets you.

Lets you tug him down. Onto the couch. Into you.

He kisses you like a prayer, like a secret, like a man terrified and overwhelmed and deeply, undeniably yours.

His hands are slow.

His mouth is reverent.

Every inch he touches feels claimed, branded, held.

“Say it again,” he whispers as his nose grazes your collarbone.

“What?”

“That you’re mine.”

Your voice breaks against his shoulder. “I’m yours.”

And he breathes out the quietest, most broken “Good.”

His lips press into the crook of your neck, soft at first, barely there — like he's grounding himself. Like he needs to feel you just to believe you're real. His breath is warm, shaky against your skin. You can feel the smile in it. The ache, too.

You exhale slowly, hand threading through the hair at the back of his neck, fingertips brushing the undercut.

He kisses your collarbone. Then again. And again. Slower. Lower.

Your dress slips off one shoulder. His mouth follows the exposed skin like it’s his path home. His hands — warm, steady — trace your hips like he’s reminding himself you said yes.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the top of your chest. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You laugh softly, breath catching. “You already have me.”

He leans back just enough to look at you — really look — and the way he stares makes you forget how to breathe.

Like you’re the only thing he’s ever believed in.

His thumb grazes your jaw, then your bottom lip, slow and reverent.

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

Before you can ask what he means, his mouth is on yours again — deeper this time, hungry but restrained, like he’s savoring it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open for him instinctively, your body already arching into him like it knows its place.

He lifts you without warning, hands gripping the backs of your thighs, walking you toward the bedroom like he’s done it a hundred times — but tonight it feels different.

Charged. Worshipful. Final, somehow.

He lays you down like you're made of glass.

Then he follows.

His weight settles between your legs, but it’s not heavy — it’s perfect. Warm. Familiar.

His kisses slow. Dragging. Like he wants to memorize how you taste.

You feel his hand slide down your side, slipping under your dress, skimming the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches.

You shake your head, voice breathy. “Don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” His eyes darken. “You want me to take my time with you?”

You nod.

And he does.

The dress comes off inch by inch — not rushed, not desperate. Like unwrapping something sacred. His eyes never leave you, like if he blinks, he’ll lose you.

Your back arches when his mouth moves lower, slow kisses across your chest, your ribs, the dip of your stomach. His hands are warm and sure, holding your waist, smoothing over your skin like he’s trying to learn every inch by feel.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, voice almost shaky. “You always have been.”

Your chest clenches. Because the way he says it—so full of awe, of devotion—it sounds like he’s been waiting his whole life just to tell you.

And when he finally sinks into you, it’s not rushed. It’s slow. Deep. Everything.

You cling to him — arms around his shoulders, nails lightly digging into his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist — because it feels too good. Too full. Too much.

He moans into your neck, low and guttural, breath hot against your skin.

“This… you… this is it for me,” he murmurs, hips rolling deeper, like he can’t get close enough.

Your eyes blur. Your fingers tangle in his hair. You whisper his name like it’s a prayer.

Every stroke is steady. Intimate. The rhythm building slow, like he's not just trying to make you come—he’s trying to mark you. Remember you.

And when it finally crests—when you cry out and he groans your name like it’s carved into his lungs—he holds you through it.

Shaking. Pressing kisses to your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just breathes.

His forehead stays pressed to yours, his hand softly stroking your side.

“I love you, my wife.” he whispers.

-

“We’re done.”

You don’t yell. You don’t have to.

The silence between you and Jungkook splits open the second the words leave your mouth.

“We’re fucking done.”

He’s frozen where he stands — barefoot, sweatpants low on his hips, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. He just got out of the shower. His hair’s still damp, clinging to his forehead. He looks… normal. Relaxed.

Like he’s not about to lose everything.

Like he has no fucking clue.

Your hand is trembling as you hold your phone out, the screen still glowing. His name is highlighted in the thread of messages, half-jokes and ego and the kind of careless boyish cruelty you never thought could come from him.

[Taehyung]: “Yo, you actually gonna do it?” [Jungkook]: “Already started. She’s cute. This’ll be easy.” [Namjoon]: “Bet you 200 she falls for you first.” [Jungkook]: “Watch me make her say I love you.”

Your voice trembles. “How long?”

He doesn’t answer.

You swallow, hard. “How long were they laughing at me?”

He takes a step forward and you step back, heart racing, breath caught.

“Y/N,” he says, quietly. “I can explain—”

“No. Don’t.” Your throat tightens so suddenly it almost chokes you. “You don’t get to look at me like that right now.”

He blinks like he’s been slapped.

“I wore your ring for two months,” you whisper. “Two months I’ve been waking up beside you, loving you, planning forever with you—while your friends texted you behind my back, congratulating you for playing me.”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Then what was it?” The crack in your voice finally splits open. “What the fuck was I to you, Jungkook? Some prize? A challenge?”

He flinches like it physically hurts.

“It started as a dare, we were young,” he says, voice low, ashamed. “I was drunk. It was stupid. But the second I actually got to know you—”

“Stop.”

“—I fell so fucking hard, Y/N.”

“Stop.” Your eyes sting, but you refuse to cry in front of him. “Don’t stand there and feed me that now. Not when the only reason you ever spoke to me was because someone dared you to.”

He looks like he’s falling apart.

You wonder if he feels it the way you do—like the air’s been punched out of your lungs. Like your body’s full of splinters, breaking from the inside out.

“You were never a bet to me,” he says softly. “Not once I knew you.”

You almost laugh. It comes out broken.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

You take a shaky step back, the ring suddenly burning on your finger.

“You had so many chances, Jungkook. We dated for two fucking years, you proposed two months ago. You could’ve told me after our first date. After the first time we slept together. After the night you held me when I cried about my mom. You could’ve told me before you proposed.”

“I was scared,” he admits, voice breaking. “I knew I’d lose you.”

“Good.”

His eyes lift to yours—glassy, wounded.

You don’t care.

“I trusted you,” you whisper. “With everything. My body, my heart, my life. And you… you humiliated me.”

His breathing hitches. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. Can’t.

“You’re not who I thought you were.”

“I am,” he says quickly. “I am. You know me better than anyone—”

“No, Jungkook.” You shake your head, blinking back tears. “I knew the version of you you let me see. I never knew this.”

Silence stretches between you, unbearable and sharp.

You slide the ring off your finger. Slowly. Like peeling off a layer of skin.

His eyes drop to your hand.

“No,” he breathes. “Don’t—”

You step forward. Place the ring on the counter. Not thrown. Not dramatic. Just... final.

“I was going to marry you,” you whisper. “I wanted to build a life with you.”

Tears slip down your cheek. You don’t wipe them.

“I would’ve given you everything.”

Jungkook’s voice is raw when he speaks. “You still can.”

You shake your head once, then again. Firmer.

“I’ll never know what was real,” you say. “I’ll never know if you looked at me like that because you loved me—or because you knew you’d already won.”

He breaks then.

Takes a step forward like he can’t stay still anymore, his voice cracking open.

“You were never a game to me.”

“But I was a joke to you once,” you whisper. “And that’s enough.”

His face crumples. “Please don’t leave.”

“I already did.”

You grab your bag. Sling it over your shoulder.

His feet move before he can stop himself. “Y/N, please. Baby—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He freezes.

You reach for the doorknob with trembling hands.

And then—because you can’t help it—you turn back one last time.

He looks ruined.

Hands limp at his sides. Eyes red. Chest rising too fast like he’s barely breathing.

He whispers your name like it’s the last thing he has.

You whisper back, barely audible—

“Goodbye.”

Then you walk out.

And this time… he doesn’t follow. Because he knows he lost you the second he lied.

-

[2 years later]

It’s warm inside the café.

Not the cloying kind—just soft. Familiar. The kind that seeps into your bones and tells your chest to stop bracing so hard. The kind of warm that smells like cinnamon and vanilla, where the hum of espresso machines mixes with quiet music and the occasional clink of mugs.

You’re sitting at a window table, one hand wrapped around a latte, the other steadying Jiho as he bounces lightly in your lap. He’s sticky with syrup and joy, a piece of pancake still clutched in one tiny fist. His laughter bubbles up when your boyfriend leans in and makes a quiet, ridiculous face just for him.

And you laugh too. Soft. Full. Real.

Your boyfriend has been good to you. Patient, steady, kind. He doesn’t push. He never tried to fill shoes that weren’t his to wear. He just showed up and stayed. And when you finally let him in, he didn’t treat your past like baggage. He treated it like part of the road that led you here.

So yeah, mornings like this? They feel okay. Safe.

Until the bell above the door rings.

You hear it, but you don’t look up right away. You’re busy wiping syrup off Jiho’s chin with a napkin, murmuring a quiet, “Hold still, baby,” while he wriggles.

And then you feel it.

Not just a presence. A rupture.

Your breath catches before you even know why.

You glance up.

And everything stops.

Jungkook walks into the café like a memory you weren’t ready for.

He’s with Taehyung. Laughing at something he says. But the moment he sees you, his body goes still. His expression falls apart in real time. And then his eyes drop—to Jiho.

To your son.

His son.

You feel the air punch out of your lungs.

He looks older. Bulkier. His hair is longer now, a little curl tucked behind his ear. He wears a dark hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing familiar tattoos that used to trace your skin. He looks…

Ruined. But whole in a new way. A version of him you don’t recognize. One that never held your hand in the middle of the night or whispered promises against your spine.

“You okay?” your boyfriend asks, his voice cutting softly through the tension.

You don’t answer at first.

Jungkook is still staring. At Jiho. Then at you. And there’s something in his expression that’s not shock anymore.

It’s betrayal.

“He’s getting fussy,” you murmur, eyes still fixed on Jungkook. “Can you take him to the car? I’ll just run to the bathroom and meet you there.”

Your boyfriend nods without hesitation, presses a kiss to your temple, and lifts Jiho easily into his arms. Jiho yawns and rests his head on his shoulder, thumb slipping into his mouth.

You can feel Jungkook’s stare as they leave.

You rise. Walk past him without looking.

The bathroom is down a narrow hall, dimly lit. You lock the door behind you and grip the sink until your knuckles ache.

You breathe.

In.

Out.

You rinse your hands slowly, as if that could wash off the past year.

And when you open the door—he’s there.

"Cheater." Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“You were mad at me this whole time,” Jungkook says, low and cold, “but you were out here carrying some other guy’s fucking baby?”

Your heart twists.

He laughs, humorless. “That’s rich, Y/N. You didn’t want me, but you moved on just fine, didn’t you?”

You stare at him. Silent.

The hallway feels like it’s shrinking.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t think I deserved to know?”

“Did I deserve to be a bet?”

That shuts him up.

You shake your head, eyes burning.

“I was pregnant when I left,” you whisper. “I didn’t even know it yet. I found out alone. I stayed alone. I gave birth alone. I raised him—your son—alone.”

Jungkook goes pale.

He looks stunned. Pale. A man watching the earth split under his feet.

His mouth opens once. Then closes.

“Y/N…”

You step back.

“And yeah, I moved on,” you breathe. “Because I had to. Because loving you almost destroyed me. Because trusting you did destroy me.”

His hands shake. His chest rises like it hurts to breathe.

“I would’ve been there.”

“Would you?” you whisper. “You lied every day for months, Jungkook. I don’t know what part of you was ever real.”

He swallows, eyes desperate now. “All of it. I loved you. I still—”

You cut him off with a cold laugh. Final. Solid. Unforgiving.

“Then you should’ve fought harder.”

There’s silence. Dense. Trembling.

“His name is Jiho,” you say flatly. “He’s brilliant. He has a real dad now. Someone who shows up, every day, no matter what. Someone who didn’t need to be biologically connected to love him better than you ever could.”

Jungkook flinches.

You feel nothing.

You take a step closer, voice low and sharp.

“You want a role in his life?”

He nods slowly. Hope flickers behind his eyes.

You smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Too fucking bad.”

And then you walk.

You don’t look back.

Let him break.

Let him wonder.

Let him live with what he lost.

Because you have a son.

And a man who never made your love a game.

And a life you built from the ashes he left behind.

-

[jungkook pov]

Jungkook doesn’t remember how many shots it takes before the guilt finally numbs.

He doesn’t feel the booth beneath him or the sticky table under his forearms. Just the pressure in his throat—the kind that burns more than the liquor. The kind that doesn’t let go.

“She said his name is Jiho.”

His voice is rough. Slurred, but not from the alcohol. From everything else.

“He’s brilliant. Got a smart mouth. Big eyes. My fucking eyes.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything. He just watches him from across the table, jaw tight.

“She didn’t need to say it,” Jungkook mutters. “I knew the second I looked at him. That’s my kid.”

Yoongi leans back in his seat, arms crossed. Hoseok twirls his empty glass, saying nothing.

“She told me he has a real dad now.” Jungkook laughs, but it’s hollow. “Said he shows up. Loves him better than I ever could. Said he doesn’t need to be blood to be his father.”

The table goes quiet. No one meets his eyes.

“She meant it,” Jungkook breathes. “Every word.”

Taehyung finally speaks. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Anger. Screaming. Anything but that fucking smile she gave him.”

Jungkook rubs his hands over his face, then through his hair, like he’s trying to scrub the memory off his skin.

“She looked happy. Safe. Not because of me. In spite of me.”

“You hurt her,” Hoseok says, careful but blunt. “You don’t get to be surprised she moved on.”

“I’m not,” Jungkook snaps. “I’m not surprised. I’m—” He stops, breath catching.

“I’m destroyed.”

The word hangs there. Honest. Raw.

Yoongi taps a finger on the table. “You said you didn’t know she was pregnant.”

“I didn’t,” Jungkook growls. “I didn’t fucking know. If I did—God—do you think I would've let her go? Let her raise him alone?”

Taehyung’s voice is low. “Doesn’t change what you did before.”

Jungkook looks up slowly. “I never meant to fall in love with her.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. “That’s kind of the problem.”

The silence turns heavier.

“She's a mom now,” Taehyung finally says. “And you? You’re the guy who made her a dare.”

Jungkook flinches.

“No mother worth a damn is gonna risk her child’s safety—or her own peace—on a man who turned her love into a joke.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispers.

“You say you want to be there for Jiho,” Hoseok says, “but you’re not the one who decides anymore. She does.”

“I’m not trying to take him,” Jungkook says hoarsely. “I just—I want to know him. I want him to know me.”

“He has a dad,” Taehyung says gently but firmly. “The one who stayed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply. His head drops into his hands.

“She said I couldn’t love him better. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I don’t deserve the chance.”

No one replies.

“I just want to try.”

The words leave him in a whisper. Barely there. But the silence that follows feels deafening.

No one answers.

Taehyung just stares at him like he’s already bracing for impact.

And maybe Jungkook was hoping for something—anything—a crack of sympathy, a nod, a sign that someone still believed in him. That he wasn’t completely fucking ruined.

But there’s nothing.

Only the echo of his own voice, pathetic and hollow.

And that’s what finally makes him snap.

He shoves the chair back so hard it topples. Kicks it across the floor without thinking. Glass clinks and shatters as a bottle rolls off the table and explodes near the wall. Hoseok jolts up, trying to steady him, but Jungkook shoves him off with a harsh, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

His breathing turns ragged, chest heaving as he grips the edge of the booth like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“She didn’t even give me a chance,” he spits, venom coating every word. “She just looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was the fucking villain.”

“Jungkook—” Taehyung tries, but he’s not listening.

“She never even told me. She made that choice for me. Took him away from me before I even knew he existed.”

He pounds his fist into the table—once, twice—until his knuckles split open. Blood pools against the cracked wood. He doesn’t even flinch.

Yoongi stands up slowly. “You’re scaring people.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jungkook growls. “I’m already a ghost in my own life. What’s one more mess?”

Taehyung’s voice is quiet but firm. “You’re not helping anyone like this. Least of all yourself.”

“I wasn’t trying to help myself!” Jungkook shouts, eyes wild. “I just wanted to try. I wanted to be something—to someone. To him.”

He sways slightly, blood dripping down his hand, but he doesn’t notice. His eyes are glassy now, somewhere between fury and devastation.

“I didn’t ask to fall in love with her. I didn’t ask to lose her. But I did. And I lost him too.”

He finally sinks back into the booth, shoulders sagging like the fight’s drained out of him all at once.

“I’m not asking her to forgive me,” he whispers. “But she doesn’t get to erase me either. That’s my son.”

Nobody speaks.

The bar is quiet around them. Tense. Distant music playing beneath the weight of everything unspoken.

Taehyung finally breaks the silence.

“You’re bleeding.”

Jungkook looks down at his hand, broken skin and bruised knuckles.

He just laughs.

-

It’s almost midnight.

The apartment is still—blanketed in that soft kind of silence that only exists when the world’s asleep. Jiho is down for the night, his tiny breaths steady through the baby monitor on the table. The lights are low. My tea’s cold. Cassi’s face lights up the screen of my laptop, her voice a soothing constant in the quiet.

“So this girl—hand to God—she told her man, ‘If he wanted to, he would.’ And then this man shows up outside her job with a damn sign.”

I laugh into my cup. “A sign?”

“A literal cardboard sign. In public.”

“Okay, fine. That’s cute.”

"Hm, you have that look again."

"What look?"

“The one where you pretend you’re not thinking about him.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” she drawls, then leans closer to the camera. “Bet he’s still hot. I wonder if he’s single.”

I laugh. “Wanna stalk him?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Her fingers are already moving. “What was his full @ again?”

I try to hide my grin. “You’re horrible.”

“Got him,” she says triumphantly. A second later, a notification pops up. Cassi’s just sent me his profile.

I don’t open it.

Not yet.

Instead, I lean back, feeling the air shift. That weird, aching weight that creeps in when you let a memory hang too long.

Cassi notices. “Hey,” she says gently. “You okay?”

Before I can answer, the door opens.

The lock clicks.

I freeze. Cassi’s expression sharpens. “Is that him?”

I nod and quickly end the call. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The apartment door creaks open. Han steps inside—jacket askew, smelling like beer and sweat and the kind of cheap cologne that clings to your skin for hours. His smile is crooked, lazy. A little drunk.

“Baby,” he calls out, dropping his keys to the counter, “you’re still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He stumbles over and drops onto the couch beside me, pulling me into his lap without waiting. He’s clingy—hands all over me, breath hot against my neck.

“I missed you tonight,” he says, lips grazing my cheek. “Was thinking about you the whole time.”

“You smell like beer.”

“I had a few.”

His fingers start trailing down my side. I pull away.

“Han, Jiho’s sleeping.”

“Let him sleep. I want you.”

“I’m tired.”

He stills. Then pulls back slightly to glance at the screen I didn’t have time to close. The Google tab is open again.

His eyes narrow.

“What’s this?”

I move to shut the laptop, but he snatches it first. Reads the screen.

His voice sharpens. “You’re looking up his shit?”

“It was nothing.”

“You miss him?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

He stands abruptly, sending the laptop sliding off the couch.

“I go out for a few drinks and come home to this? You—still thinking about that fucker who left you?”

I rise to my feet. “Han, you’re drunk.”

He steps closer. “You want him again? That it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“No, I’m not—”

He grabs my wrist hard.

“You were mine,” he growls. “I took care of you. Took care of your kid. And you’re still out here googling your ex like some pathetic little girl.”

“Han,” I whisper. “Let go.”

But he doesn’t. His grip tightens.

And then he slaps me.

Hard.

The sound cracks through the room.

My head jerks sideways. My cheek stings. My ears ring.

I freeze.

He doesn’t.

He lunges again, fists balled, grabbing my shoulders now, shaking me like I’m the problem. Like I’m the one who ruined him.

“You ungrateful bitch,” he snarls. “I fed him. I stayed. And you still look at me like I’m not good enough.”

I cry out as his knuckles graze my collarbone.

“Please—stop—”

But he won’t.

He doesn’t even hesitate this time.

I shove him back with everything in me and sprint for Jiho’s room.

My heart is slamming in my chest.

I grab Jiho—still half asleep, clinging to my shirt—and the baby monitor. I don’t even grab shoes.

Han’s shouting behind me, but I don’t listen. I don’t stop.

I bolt.

Out the door.

Down the stairs.

Into the night.

It’s almost 2 a.m.

I’m sitting on a metal bench outside a shuttered pharmacy, cold biting through the thin fabric of Jiho’s blanket, my coat, my skin—everything.

He won’t stop crying.

His little hands keep clawing at my chest, his body trembling as I hold him tighter and tighter, whispering, “I know, baby, I know,” even though nothing I do is helping.

He’s cold.

I’m cold.

And everything is closed.

I tried every door. The gas station. The diner. Even knocked on the back entrance of a convenience store until my hands went numb.

No one answered.

I pull him tighter into my chest. Try to rub warmth into his back, over and over, like friction and desperation will be enough to make him stop shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, rocking him slightly, even though I know it’s not enough. “I didn’t mean to bring you out here. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

My voice cracks before I can finish.

Jiho’s sobs aren’t the loud kind. They’re tired, hoarse, hiccupping. The kind that gut you. The kind that sound like trust breaking down.

And I’m failing him.

I’m failing my baby.

I try not to cry. I really do. But my eyes are stinging so hard I can’t see, and my throat’s so tight I can’t breathe.

I press my lips to his forehead. He’s too cold. His skin is damp with sweat and tears.

“Please stop crying,” I whisper, like begging him will undo everything. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know where to go.

Everyone I thought I could call—Cassi, gone. My old neighbor, asleep. Family? Not an option. I burned that bridge when I chose Han. I told myself I could fix him. I told myself Jiho would never see the worst of him.

I lied.

I bounce Jiho lightly in my arms, trying to calm him down even though I’m shaking just as badly.

He coughs once. Shudders again.

Something cracks inside me.

I pull out my phone. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop it. I scroll. Scroll again. I open every app like something magic might be waiting there—someone, anyone—who could help.

But there’s no one.

And then… I don’t know why I think of it. I just do.

That stupid restaurant name. Le Morte.

The place he made me promise we’d build together.

My thumb hovers over the browser.

I shouldn’t.

I swore I’d never give him another chance to hurt me.

But Jiho’s still crying. His whole body trembling against mine.

And I have nothing left.

I type the name.

The website loads. I don’t read it. I just find the number.

I hit “Call.”

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I almost hang up.

Then—

“Le Morte.”

His voice is deeper than I remember. Quieter. But still him. Still Jungkook.

I don’t say anything.

"Hello?" A pause. A faint inhale. Then again, softer this time— "...Hello?" The sound of his voice breaks something open.

My throat caves in on itself. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a choke—sharp, ugly, aching.

I press the phone tighter to my ear, like that could steady my hands, like that could hold me up.

Another gasp escapes me. “I… I don’t…”

“Y/N?” His voice shifts. Urgent. Gentle. “Is that you?”

"Bab—" He stops himself. Breathes out slow. Then, careful and quiet: “Y/N, I need you to breathe. Just breathe for me, okay? I can’t help if I can’t understand you. Please—just tell me where you are.”

I blink, but everything’s a blur—wet and trembling and spinning. Jiho’s still crying against me, his little sobs going straight through my chest like wire.

“I don’t know—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey. Hey, stop.”

His tone softens again, that low warmth I haven’t heard in two years, like balm against an open wound. “I’m glad you called me. It’s okay, I promise it’s okay. Just tell me where you are. Anything you see around you. Anything, Y/N.”

I look around wildly, heart clawing at my ribs. “Pharmacy. Near… near the intersection by the overpass, across from—there’s a bus stop. Metal bench. I—he’s so cold, Jungkook. He won’t stop crying and I didn’t mean to bring him out I just—”

“Okay. Okay, I know where that is. That’s enough. I’m coming. Right now. Don’t hang up, alright?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”

“I want you to hold Jiho just like you are. Keep your cheek against his. I’m getting in my car now. I’ll talk to you the whole way.”

His voice is quieter now. Thicker.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hold on for me. Please.”

And for the first time in hours—maybe longer—I let myself cry. Really cry. The kind that comes from somewhere deep. Not panic. Not frustration.

Just grief.

Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the betrayal, the years apart—I still remember what it felt like to be safe in his voice.

-

The headlights cut through the dark like a promise.

I hear the tires before I see them—skidding slightly on wet pavement as the car pulls up to the curb. The engine dies, and the world goes quiet again except for Jiho’s whimpers, quieter now, fading into hiccups against my chest.

The door swings open.

Footsteps.

He’s still in his suit.

The one from Le Morte. Midnight black, sleek lapels catching what little light bleeds from the streetlamp above. His tie’s undone. Hair slightly windblown like he ran the second he got my call.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

Just stands there for a beat, eyes scanning me—Jiho pressed into my chest, my tear-streaked face, the way I’m shaking like my whole body’s trying to hold back a scream.

Then he moves.

His steps are fast but careful, like he’s afraid if he startles me, I’ll vanish.

He shrugs off the suit jacket and drops to his knees in front of us.

He drapes the coat around Jiho’s small frame, then pulls it over my shoulders too, like he’s trying to shield both of us at once. His hands linger there for a moment. Warm. Steady. Familiar.

My body caves forward.

I don’t mean to. I don’t even think. I just fold into him, and he catches us like he never stopped being mine.

I sob into his shoulder. Gasping, messy, completely undone.

Jiho clings tighter to me, still crying, but quieter now—like he knows something’s shifted.

Jungkook wraps his arms around both of us.

He doesn’t ask anything.

He just holds on.

Tight.

One hand cups the back of my head, the other bracing Jiho’s trembling spine.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong. That nothing’s okay. That I’m still broken, still afraid, still so angry.

But all I do is cry harder.

And he lets me.

His own breath stutters against my cheek, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t ask for answers.

He just holds me like he never wants to let go again.

-

I don’t know how long we stay like that. On the cold pavement. Wrapped in the scent of him—cologne and city air and something achingly familiar.

Jiho’s hiccups start to slow. His small hand curls into the front of Jungkook’s shirt, and for a second, Jungkook stops breathing altogether. His fingers twitch slightly against Jiho’s back, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to react.

But Jiho doesn’t let go.

So Jungkook exhales. Slowly. And wraps both arms around us again.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I whisper eventually. My voice is raw. Shaky. “I didn’t want to call you.”

“I know.”

He gives a small nod, like he’s scared saying anything will push me away. “But you remembered Le Morte.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. His face is shadowed, lit only by the flickering streetlamp, but I see it—every crack. Every line.

His jaw is clenched. His eyes are red. Not from the cold.

He’s hurting too.

“Why did you come?” I whisper. “You could’ve ignored it. You could’ve sent someone else. You could’ve—”

“I would’ve crawled through fire to get to you.”

I suck in a breath. My lip trembles.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit, barely getting the words out. “I don’t know where to go. I don’t even know how I got here. I just—he hit me, Jungkook. He—he hit me and Jiho saw.”

His whole body tenses. His jaw ticks so hard I flinch, and he notices—immediately softening.

“I’m not him,” he says low. “I swear to God, I’m not him. But if you need me to leave after this, I will. I’ll go. Just tell me where you want to be, and I’ll get you there safe. That’s all I care about right now.”

I look down at Jiho. His head is resting on my shoulder again. One hand fisting the fabric of Jungkook’s coat. His cheeks are pink from the cold, but his eyes are fluttering shut. He’s exhausted.

“Can we go somewhere warm?” I ask. “Just…for tonight.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, baby.”

I freeze.

He sees it—hears it—and his voice softens again.

“I mean—Y/N. Yeah. Let’s get you warm.”

He rises carefully, lifting Jiho from my arms without waking him. He holds him so securely, like he’s done it a hundred times, and my chest twists.

I stand too, legs weak. Jungkook watches me closely, like he’s waiting for me to collapse again. He keeps an arm around me as we walk toward the car waiting by the curb.

He opens the back door, gently places Jiho in the seat, then looks back at me.

“You sit with him. I’ll drive.”

And just like that, I nod.

Because for the first time in a long time— I believe him. We’re safe.

-

He places Jiho in the backseat, his hands steady but his jaw locked so tight it looks like it might shatter.

When he closes the door and turns to me, I expect him to say something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

Not at first.

He just stares.

At me.

His eyes flick over my face, pausing on the bruises beneath my makeup, the swelling just below my eye. My cracked lip. My trembling fingers still clutching the edge of his coat.

His whole body shakes as he exhales through his nose.

And then he’s in front of me—closer than I can brace for.

His hands reach out, hesitating for a breath before they find my cheeks, the pads of his thumbs ghosting over my skin like I might disappear. His brows are drawn so tight, his mouth pressed in fury, but his touch… God.

His touch is gentle.

Too gentle.

He wipes under my eyes with trembling fingers.

He swallows hard, like the words taste like poison. His thumb keeps brushing under my eye, trying to clean away the tears that won’t stop falling. His forehead leans close, almost touching mine, his breath shaky.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice low, “what it did to me to hear your voice like that.”

I blink up at him. My knees feel hollow.

“You were crying. And Jiho was crying. And I wasn’t there—again."

“Tell me where he is,” he whispers. “Just tell me where.”

“Jungkook—”

“No,” he says, voice still soft, but steel beneath. “You don’t get to show up shaking and scared, with bruises on your face and tears in your eyes, and expect me not to burn the fucking world down.”

His voice falters at the end. His hands drop, then fist at his sides.

“I didn’t come to fall into you again,” I say quietly. “I came because I had no one left. That doesn’t mean I—”

“I know,” he cuts in, eyes closing for a second like he’s steadying himself. “But I’m not strong enough to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”

Silence lingers.

The wind cuts past us, but he steps in again, cupping the back of my head, his palm warm against my scalp. His other arm wraps around me slowly—cautiously—like he’s waiting for me to pull away.

I don’t.

I can’t.

He holds me against his chest like I’m glass.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispers into my hair. “All along. Through everything.”

I cry harder.

Because despite everything I told myself— Despite the time, the pain, the silence—

A part of me never stopped wishing he had been.

-

The morning light slips through the blinds in pale streaks, soft and almost kind, like it doesn’t know how much pain this room has held overnight. I haven’t moved much. I’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed for almost an hour, staring at the carpet, trying to pretend my stomach isn’t hollow, that my lungs aren’t tight, that the world hasn’t shifted underneath me again.

Jiho is asleep in the hotel crib across the room—warm, safe, breathing steady. Jungkook insisted we take the king bed, and he spent the night on the armchair, half-awake, shirt wrinkled, jaw locked. He left early this morning, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t coming back.

But the door opens.

My shoulders jump before I can stop them.

“It’s just me,” he says, voice low, careful. I don’t turn around. I just listen to the soft thud of his shoes as he steps inside.

“I brought breakfast.”

I hear the tray set down on the small table. Hear the lids lifting, the faint hiss of steam rising into the quiet. I don’t move. I can’t.

“You didn’t have to,” I murmur.

“I wanted to.”

His voice is closer now. I feel him looking at me, the silence stretching. I finally glance up.

He looks… tired. The same white button-down from last night, sleeves pushed up. No jacket. Dark slacks, black watch. His hair is messy, like he’s run his hands through it a thousand times since the sun came up.

I can’t hold his gaze.

He sits down slowly, arms resting on his knees. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t push. But his voice cuts through everything anyway.

“Why him?”

I freeze.

“Why Han?” he says again, quieter now. “What made you pick him? Stay with him? Let him around Jiho?”

I feel the sting in my eyes before I even try to speak.

“I thought I didn’t owe you that.”

“You don’t.” His voice catches. “But I need to know. Because last night you looked like you were breaking. And then you called me.”

I don’t answer.

“I thought you hated me,” he whispers.

I close my eyes. “I did.”

His breath catches.

“But I didn’t have anyone else.”

That admission burns worse than anything.

He doesn’t speak right away. And when he does, it’s so quiet I almost miss it.

“I’m glad you called me.”

I blink hard.

“And don’t look at me like that,” he says gently, like he can read every line of guilt on my face. “I know you feel guilty. I know you think you shouldn’t have. But Jiho’s my son. And you’re his mother.”

He stands, steps closer.

“I wanted to do this. I want to be here. Don’t be guilty.”

His voice cracks. Just barely.

“I wanted to protect you.”

The room feels too small. My throat feels too tight. I can’t breathe with all this silence pressing on me.

When he reaches for me, I let him. His hand touches my cheek, his thumb brushing beneath my eye—and I realize I’m crying again.

His palm is warm. Steady.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he says.

And I break.

I lean into him, and he catches me, arms wrapping around me like a shelter I never thought I’d need again. He holds me tight—tight like he doesn’t want to let go, tight like he’s afraid if he does, I’ll disappear again.

My hands clutch his shirt, and his lips brush my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to say that. Not right now.”

And before I can think—before guilt or pride can pull me back—I lift my face and kiss him.

It’s slow. Raw. Desperate. Like everything we’ve buried is clawing its way back to the surface.

His hand cradles the back of my neck, his breath shuddering.

He kisses me like he’s been waiting years for this.

And for once… I let him.

authors note: im ngl im tryna stay active by using my old stories, sooo they're lowkey unedited but again pls comment i love hearing ur opinions!!!

[bills5lut]

talk to me

masterlist prompt list

warnings: very slight smut at first (not enjoyed by reader, so please if you are not comfortable with that do not read), degradation, safe wording, angst, fluff

synopsis: billie takes her frustration out on you during sex, pushing past your comfort until you safeword. she walks off, emotionally distant, but later returns to give you tender, genuine aftercare.

note: had lots of requests for this, so here u go. again, some might find parts of this uncomfortable and if so please dont read <3

The tiles are slick beneath your feet. Steam swirls around the glass like smoke, curling and twisting as water pelts your skin in steady, stinging rivulets. It should feel warm. Safe. Familiar. But all you feel is the brutal rhythm of her hips, and the sharp edge of something you can’t quite name twisting deeper inside your chest with every thrust.

Your back’s pressed to the cold wall, one leg hiked high over Billie’s hip. Her fingers are bruising into your thigh, holding it there like a threat. She’s not even kissing you. Her mouth is near your skin, but not touching, just hovering, speaking into your flesh like she’s whispering to herself. Her other hand is gripping your thigh, nails digging in, guiding your body into hers as she uses you for the friction. You can feel it, she’s grinding her own clit against the harness, getting herself off on your body like you’re a thing. A tool. And maybe you are. Right now.

You don’t even know what you did wrong. Not really. You’ve felt her pulling away for days, brushing off your touches, going hours without texting, sighing when you try to talk during her mixes. You told yourself it was just stress, the album, the pressure. But now, it feels personal. And you’re naked in her hands, pinned and used, and it’s never felt more distant.

“Jesus.” Billie growls, barely loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the water. Her breath is hot against your ear. “Always whining for attention, always clinging. This is the only time you shut the fuck up.”

Her hand clamps over your mouth without warning.

You flinch, not enough to make her stop, but just enough that your knee wobbles against the tension in your thigh. Billie catches it like a reflex, shoving her hips up harder.

“So much better when you’re like this,” she breathes, her voice low and hot. “Not whining, not clinging. Just taking it.”

Your breath jerks through your nose. You make a sound into her palm, not pleasure, not really. But it doesn’t seem to register for her. She keeps fucking into you, harder now, sharper, like each thrust is meant to empty something out of her. The slap of wet skin echoes harshly in the glassed-in shower. You’re not sure if she’s doing this to get off or to punish you.

Tears are already stinging your eyes, hot and raw. You think it started a while ago, maybe a minute after she started saying those things. Maybe longer. You’re not even sure what triggered it, only that the pleasure’s gone. It slipped out between your legs and down the drain, lost in the steam and confusion and the ache in your chest.

Your mouth curls beneath her hand. Your eyes squeeze shut.

Billie groans against your neck, voice low and guttural. “God, I could almost believe you’re enjoying this. You like it, don’t you? Just a pathetic little toy, dripping all over me for nothing.”

Your body’s trembling. Not from climax. Not even from effort. Just shaking. Shame burns in your throat, mixing with the tears that keep silently tracking down your cheeks, washed away by the relentless rain of the showerhead. 

You try to swallow the sob building in your throat. But it cracks, leaking into the air like a broken note. Billie thinks it’s a moan. Her grip tightens.

“You like this, don’t you?” she murmurs, rocking harder into you. “Filthy little thing. You just want to be used. Don’t need love, just this, right?”

You shake your head, eyes unsure of who it is you’re looking at right now, the figure in front of you unfamiliar.

“Bet if I left you here like this, dripping and fucked out, you’d just cry and rub one out without me, huh? That’s what you’re like now?”

You can’t take it. You try to twist your mouth under her hand, try to find enough space to speak.

“Mmmf”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t listen.

You force it out.

“Red,” you gasp, barely audible against her palm. “Billie. I said red.”

Everything stops.

Not like a crash, not urgent, not dramatic. Just a subtle pause. A frown flickers across her face. Her hips still inside you, strap buried to the hilt, body pressed tight against yours. Her hand falls away from your mouth slowly, like she’s just now tuning into the sound.

“What?” she says, flatly. Her voice isn’t panicked. Just distant. Confused.

Your eyes are wide now, lips trembling. “Red,” you whisper again, broken and hoarse. “Please stop.”

The water runs between you. Soaks your hair. Pounds against the floor in a growing sense of silence.

Billie blinks. Then nods once, curt and automatic.

“Yep,” she mutters. “Yep. Sorry.”

She pulls out fast, not violently, just detached. The absence leaves you gasping. You almost slide down the wall when she lets go of your thigh, the burn of it immediate as your leg returns to the floor and buckles slightly under your weight. She turns the shower off without looking at you. The sudden quiet is deafening. Then she’s gone.

You blink at the shower door, half expecting her to come back, but no. She’s already stepped out, water dripping from her arms as she grabs a towel from the rack and disappears out the bathroom door. She doesn’t say anything else.

You’re left there, soaked, empty, and trembling.

The cold hits you first. Without the water, the tile is icy against your feet. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to catch your breath, to slow the shaking. It doesn’t work. You dry off slowly, mechanically, the towel too rough against your flushed, sensitive skin. You try not to look at yourself in the mirror. Everything feels blurry.

In the bedroom, Billie’s already dressed. Oversized tee, her damp hair raked back and still dripping onto the fabric. She’s curled up on her side of the bed, phone in hand, thumb scrolling, the screen casting cool blue light against her face. You don’t say anything as you cross to the dresser.

You try to keep your movements quiet, like maybe if you’re careful, she won’t notice you. The towel slips once around your hips, and you bite your lip to stop another tear from falling. Your fingers fumble with the drawer pull as you grab an old pair of pajamas, your arms shaking as you pull the shirt on.

You turn to her finally, barely able to make your voice come out.

“Bills?”

She doesn’t look up immediately. Then her gaze slides to you, unreadable.

“Yeah?”

You swallow.

“…Can I have a hug?”

Billie’s face shifts. Just slightly. Her lips part, but nothing comes out at first. Then she sets her phone down, lets out a breath that’s almost a sigh.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Yeah, come here.”

You walk over slowly, still feeling humiliated. You slide into the bed beside her, gingerly, like you’re afraid you’ll scare her off. She opens one arm. You curl into it, head against her shoulder. Everything about the contact feels stiff. Careful. Awkward.

You close your eyes. Try to pretend it’s normal.

“…What’s going on?” you whisper after a moment.

Billie shrugs, just a tiny twitch of her shoulder. “Nothing.”

You don’t let her off the hook.

“Please. Don’t do that. I can’t” Your voice cracks. “You’ve been so cold, and then tonight….”

“I know.” She cuts you off, sharp at first. Then softer. “I know.”

A pause. Then, finally, she speaks.

“It’s not you,” Billie mutters, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s not. It’s this album. The deadlines. The pressure. I can’t sleep, I can’t write, and everything’s on fire and I… I guess I started blaming you. For needing things from me when I had nothing left to give.”

You stay quiet. Let her get it out. She turns her head, her voice lower.

“I was just such a fucking cunt to you.”

You shift, shaking your head gently, trying to downplay it. “It’s okay”

“No,” she says firmly. “Don’t say it’s fine. You were crying. You never cry.”

Her voice breaks slightly, and her eyes finally meet yours. There’s guilt there now. Real guilt, curling behind her lashes like smoke.

“I didn’t even stop right away,” she whispers. “Didn’t even hear you.”

You exhale shakily, moving closer.

“I didn’t want to safeword. I just didn’t know what else to do. It didn’t feel like you were there with me. It felt like…” You trail off.

“Like I hated you,” Billie says quietly. “And I didn’t. I don’t.”

Your hand finds her arm, stroking gently. Her skin is warm now, soft from the towel. “I know you don’t,” you whisper.

“Still doesn’t make it okay,” she says.

You nod, forehead resting against her shoulder. The quiet stretches between you. Then, unexpectedly, she shifts.

“You want a bath?” she asks suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“A bath. Hot. With bubbles or whatever. Let me…” She trails off, already standing. “Let me do that. Please.”

Billie fills the tub while you sit silently on the closed toilet lid, legs curled up to your chest. She lights a candle without asking. Pulls out the lavender oil she always teases you for liking. Adds bubbles.

You’re already crying again before you get in. The water is almost too warm. But her hands help guide you down. You sit between her legs, your back against her chest, her arms wrapping around you slowly, this time gentle. Intimate. Real. Neither of you speak for a while.

She presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then your neck.

Then she whispers against your skin, voice soft and cracked: “I’m so sorry.”

You nod, closing your eyes. “I know.”

She strokes your arms with the flat of her palm. Rubs slow circles against your ribs. You turn a little in her lap, tucking your head into her neck.

“You’re not too much,” she says suddenly, like she’s afraid if she doesn’t say it now, she’ll never say it. “You’re never too much for me. I made you feel like that and I… I fucking hate myself for it.”

You don’t respond right away. Just breathe against her collarbone.

Then you whisper, “You’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”

She holds you tighter.

“You’re allowed to need space. But I need to know you still love me when you take it.”

Billie lets out a long breath.

“I do. God, I do.”

Later, dried off and dressed, she tucks you into the bed with a tenderness that makes your throat ache. She brings you water, a hoodie of hers, even your little stuffed bear from the dresser without asking. You smile weakly, cuddling into her side. She holds you this time like she means it. No phones. No distraction. Just Billie. Just you.

“Can you talk to me next time?” you whisper.

“I will,” she promises, voice low. “No more pretending. No more using sex to get my anger out. That’s not what we do. That’s not who I want to be.”

You nod. And when she kisses your forehead and whispers “I love you” into your hair, you finally believe it again.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 11. Something is wrong

PREV PART trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, 'humor' filler chapter (not my best chapter), the Penguin makes an appearance, shouting, cursing main m.list       series m.list

You feel suspicious, you can’t help it. Not only is Damian following you around like a chick would follow their mother, Duke has moved in but is acting strange towards your family. The tension between them higher then you have ever felt, however you’re also being followed (not that you told Duke, he would absolutely try to find whoever is following you and try to fight them. And you would like to keep him alive) to your work and back.

For example, you sneaked out of your room and now you’re walking to your work plus being followed. “You know,” you say as you turn around, stopping a street before you arrive at the restaurant. “if you want something, you can just ask. But I would prefer it if you didn’t stalk me to my work.”

When no one came out of the trees or make themselves clear to you you just sigh, adjusting your uniform to sit just right as you continue your walk. This time you saw your mysterious supervisor at the door and when you pass him you say; “I’m being followed, look up on your left.”

He says nothing, but you can see his eyes narrow and harden. You’re correct, you’re being followed, and it’s not a friend of your boss. Matter of fact, it’s someone he must hate. Because just 2 hours in your shift you’re called to the back by your supervisor, and there he is. Cobblepot, but he’s here as the Penguin. He has to be with that look in his eyes, he looks like he’s about to rip a head off and you just hope it isn’t yours.

“Mx. (Last name),” he greets you, his eyes heavy with contempt. But not for you, no never you. The person who had brought normal civilians into his establishment by being so open, by gushing over the working conditions, strengthening his front. You’re a great employee, beyond expectations, all without breaking the law. “you’re being followed by Nightwing.”

A groan leaves your mouth, you couldn’t help it. You had heard he was back in town, but to think he’s following you? Now that just pisses you off. “Why me,” you whine, making it clear that you are quite pissed. “if he doesn’t stop I’m calling the cops on him.”

Your supervisor laughs behind his hand, obviously trying to stay professional and he’s failing immensely. Then shouting is heard from the front, you frown as you look at the two. And when Cobblepot sighs and goes out there to check it out your supervisor and you follow him. You seriously hope the waitress subbing in for you wasn’t being shouted at, she’s too sweet to be yelled at, and you’ll absolutely fight whoever yells at her.

Turns out it’s Nightwing who was panicking about the fact he couldn’t see you.

And the moment he did he rushes towards you, checking you all over for any visible injuries until you smack in his hand away in shock. “What the fuck,” you curse, kicking him in the shins (which obviously did nothing, but hey A+ for effort). “don’t touch me you ass.”

“How can you be so reckless?!” Nightwing suddenly shouts, which makes you look at him like he’s crazy and the patrons to look over. Especially the villain ones. “You shouldn’t be here at all, especially in your condition!”

You roll your eyes, but then it hits you. You don’t know Nightwing, how can he know anything about you? “I’m sorry, do we know each other?” You ask, looking at him like you would at Bruce. Your eyes harsh and if looks could kill Nightwing would be six feet under. He freezes and shakes his head, which makes you scoff; “Then why the fuck are you stalking me? Aren’t you supposed to be a hero?”

Well that shut him up real quick, he’s looking at the ground and keeping a half-smile on his face as he tries to look for a way to bullshit his way out of this. “Go bother active criminals,” you say as you take in how he’s standing. “these folks are here to eat a nice meal. And you clearly got an issue with me, not them. So bother me when I am not on the clock.”

“But-”

“Uhuh,” you say, putting your finger up in front of you. Looking like a sassy English teacher that’s about to give him detention, if he didn’t feel so awkward he would absolutely love this interaction. It’s almost like sibling banter! “absolutely the fuck not, fuck off. Jesus, you remind me of someone-”

“Awh thank you,” he gushes, thinking it was positive. And he could hear the family groan in his ear.

“If (Name) finds out about our identity through this I am quitting,” Red Hood mumbles through the comms and Nightwing just ignores him.

“It’s not a good thing, he’s a dick.” you say, and you can see your boss back off with a grin. Bringing your supervisor back to the back. And the patrons are enjoying the show, as well as your co-workers. Great. “Now could you kindly leave if you’re not going to order food? Thank you~!”

NEXT PART this is absolutely a filler chapter for the next one, so yes, I tried to humor my way out of this chapter. Did it work? Not really- is it a great set up for the next part of this story? Yes (well I hope so).

Taglist (closed): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

since taylor swift's definition of "feminine rage" is normalizing cheating, romanticizing ableism and mental illness, and immaturely whining about exes, here's some recommendations of my favorite actual feminine rage songs

trigger warning for abuse, violence, alcoholism, and rape/sa

as good a reason by paris paloma: alternative, indie pop. themes include body image, learning self love, imbalance of power, and fuck the patriarchy vibes

bitter medicine by the crane wives: alternative/indie rock. themes include high responsibility, the consequences of expressing anger as a woman, and self-resentment

blood in the wine by aurora: pop rock. themes include religious trauma, overcoming guilt and shame, embracing human nature, and defying societal norms related to pleasure (sexual and otherwise)

burn your village by kiki rockwell: alternative/indie rock. themes include sexual assault and rape-related trauma, coming to terms with trauma, revenge, high expectations, and witch hunts

everybody supports women by sofia isella: alternative, electronic. themes include societal hypocrisy, unrealistic standards placed on women, and society scrutinizing individuality

labour by paris paloma: alternative, indie pop. themes include unrealistic expectations/standards for women, burnout, emotional stress, and imbalanced relationships

pray by the amazing devil: melodramatic, theatrical, alt-folk. themes include religious trauma, religious power imbalances, oppression of women in religion, overcoming trauma, and self-forgiveness

scars by the crane wives: alternative/indie rock. themes include childhood trauma, mental health/mental illness, self-doubt, and self-resentment

take me to war by the crane wives: alternative/indie rock. themes include fighting bigotry, activism, allowing oneself to express anger and rage, and power imbalances

that unwanted animal by the amazing devil: melodramatic, theatrical, alt-folk. themes include domestic violence and abuse, lack of communication, unhealthy/broken relationships, sexual expectations, and emotional instability

the calling by the amazing devil: melodramatic, theatrical, alt-folk. themes include lifelong trauma, mental health/mental illness, alcoholism, heartbreak and depression, coming to terms with trauma, and self-reflection

the fruits by paris paloma: alt-folk, indie pop. themes include religious trauma, manipulative and abusive relationships, and overcoming trauma

which witch by florence + the machine: alternative/indie pop. themes include witch hunts, revenge, defying societal norms, and unhealthy/unstable relationships

i'm sure there are more in my playlists but this is all i can remember off the top of my head at the moment. i'll edit if i think of more. enjoy xx

[localfanficlover]

After Hours

(Bo Chow x OC)

(This is pt.2 to this Bo imagine, but you don’t need to read that to read this)

Trigger Warnings:

(rough sex, oral (f. receiving), emotionally intense smut, power dynamics, unprotected sex, possessive tone, p in v)

MDNI below the cut

——————————————————

He locks the door without a word.

Not hurried. Not frantic. Just decided.

Your back hits the wall before you even realize he’s moved, one hand still firm on your waist, the other slidin’ up beneath your blouse—fingertips hot and sure, rough palms chasin’ the curve of your ribs like he’s feelin’ his way through a dream he ain’t ready to wake up from.

“Ain’t right,” he mutters against your mouth, voice low and wrecked, “but it don’t make no difference no more.”

You nod, but he ain’t askin’.

Then he kisses you like he’s starved—deep, messy, teeth knockin’ a little, tongue possessive. And when he drops to his knees in front of you, you grab the shelf behind you to steady yourself, ’cause the look in his eyes already took the breath outta your lungs.

“Lift it up, darlin’.”

You pull your skirt up with shaky hands, and he wastes no time—grippin’ your thighs like they belong to him, draggin’ you down onto his tongue with a groan that rattles clean through you.

He eats you like he’s missed meals for this. Like he means to memorize every damn sound you make.

And Lord, you make sounds.

Whines and gasps spill from your lips as his tongue moves slow at first, almost sweet. But he don’t stay sweet. He gets greedy. Messy. His mouth workin’ you open while his fingers dig bruises into your hips like he can’t stand not bein’ deeper. And every time you try to pull away from the overload, he growls and pulls you back down onto his face.

You fall apart with a cry he swallows like a man thirsty for it.

And when he stands, slick with you, thumb draggin’ across his mouth like he’s tryin’ to save the taste—he don’t even give you a second to think. Just turns you ‘round, presses your cheek to the cool wall, and pulls his belt loose with one sharp tug.

Zip.

“Told you,” he growls in your ear, pressin’ the thick weight of him between your thighs, “I been tryin’ to be good.”

Then he pushes inside.

Slow. Deep. And you both stop breathin’.

He don’t rush it. No—he grinds, real filthy, hips rollin’ in that perfect rhythm that pulls whimpers straight outta your throat. He holds your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish, keeps his chest pressed to your back so close you can feel every breath, every curse, every growl he bites off against your skin.

“Feel how tight you are for me, girl?” he grits out. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this—every night—since the first time you smiled at me like you knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

He fucks you hard. Deep. Til the shelves rattle. Til your legs shake and you come again, clenching around him so sweet he lets out a ragged, broken moan and spills inside you with a low, “Goddamn.”

Then there’s nothin’.

Just the two of you—pressed together in the dark, chests heavin’, skin damp, hearts beatin’ too loud.

He don’t move right away.

Just keeps his arms wrapped around you like he needs the contact more than air.

“You alright?” he says against your shoulder, voice softened by the come-down, that Southern twang more tender now.

You nod, still floatin’.

That’s when he turns you around—slow, gentle—til you’re facin’ him again. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushin’ the sweat-slick skin like he ain’t quite believin’ you’re real.

“Ain’t mean to go at you like that,” he murmurs, eyes searchin’ yours, “but I ain’t never wanted nothin’ so bad in my whole damn life.”

You reach up and touch his chest, feelin’ the thunder still rollin’ under his ribs. And when he leans his forehead against yours, quiet as a prayer, you finally see it.

Not just the want.

The need.

“You wrecked me, girl,” he says, barely a whisper. “And I don’t think I want fixin’.”

The silence after is warm. Soft. The kind that says maybe this ain’t just heat. Maybe it ain’t just lust or loneliness.

Maybe it’s the start of somethin’ that’s gonna ruin both of you in the best possible way.

————————————————————————

Since y’all loved the last one so much, here y’all go. I’m working on my Annie request as y’all are reading this so it should be done soon. ❤️

Tags:

[ijustwannabecool]

Drive to Survive – Episode 3: Family Mode

Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader

Summary... The world knows Lewis Hamilton for his speed. But in Monaco, Drive to Survive captures a side no one’s ever seen before: the chaotic, adorable magic of the Hamilton family—through the voices of his three biggest fans.

Trigger Warnings: Pure fluff, children with microphones, soft dad Lewis, emotional overload, very light language from the kids that will make you giggle.

A/N: hope you guys enjoy this fic. Please let me know what you guys wanna see next. Request are open!! Happy reading and have a beautiful rest of your day!!

Like, share, comment, reblog!

-----

The paddock is buzzing with race-day energy—teams in motion, engines roaring, broadcasters perched, cameras flashing. But Y/N’s entire world is bundled on the couch of the Mercedes suite.

Mateo is hanging halfway off her lap, Leo is sitting cross-legged on a beanbag in front of the screen, and baby Sofia is snuggled to her chest in a wrap, a pacifier bobbing gently as she hums.

Netflix producers are circling, politely attaching clip mics to the boys' shirts.

“I don’t know if I love this,” Y/N murmurs to Lewis, who is already half-suited and crouched next to them, one hand balancing Sofia’s head for a kiss.

“You don’t have to do it,” he says immediately, his voice low and warm. “One word from you and I’ll tell them to shut it down.”

“No, no,” she smiles, brushing his curls from his forehead. “I’m just being protective. This is the first time people are going to see them. Like... really hear them.”

Lewis leans in, nuzzles the side of her face and whispers, “They’re gonna love them. They’re gonna see what I see every day.”

She rolls her eyes, but it softens into a grin.

“Alright,” he says, standing up and pressing kisses to all three of their heads. “Wish me luck, superstars.”

---

MIC’D UP CHAOS: “THE HAMILTON KIDS AT MONACO GP”

Leo (7): “Mum, is Daddy gonna beat Verstappen today?” You (laughing): “You say that like it’s a video game.” Mateo (4): “I beat Max in Mario Kart yesterday.” Leo: “That was me, Teo.” Mateo: “Liar.”

---

Leo (pointing at the TV): “Look! Daddy’s waving! That’s for us!” Mateo (squinting): “No it’s not. That’s for the tires.”

---

Mateo (gasps): “Why did Daddy say that word! That’s a BAD word!” You (whispering): “Yeah, and we don’t repeat it.” Leo (grinning): “He only says it when he’s behind someone slow.” Mateo: “So Max is slow?” You: “Oh my God.”

---

Sofia (9 months): [happy squeal] Mateo: “Sofiiiiii, stop yelling. I’m listening to Daddy’s car.”

---

Leo (dramatically): “If Daddy doesn’t win, I’m never eating broccoli again.” You: “Wow. Revolutionary protest.” Mateo: “I already don’t eat broccoli. I’m winning.”

---

Mateo (whines): “Mum, Leo took my popcorn!” Leo: “You dropped it!” Mateo: “IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

---

Sofia (fusses quietly) You: “I know, I know. You miss Daddy too.” Leo (softly): “He always kisses her forehead before he races. Maybe she knows.”

---

AFTER LEWIS’S LAST-LAP OVERTAKE FOR P2

Leo (standing): “GOOOOOOO DADDY!” Mateo (screaming): “ZOOM ZOOM ZOOMMMMMMM!” Sofia: [Claps] You (cheering): “That’s it! That’s our guy!”

But the cheering turns to panic for a split second when Lewis swerves on the final corner to block a late overtake.

Mateo (voice trembling): “Is Daddy okay? Is his car broken?” You (squeezing his hand): “He’s fine, love. That was just… some spicy defending.” Leo: “Daddy’s got the grip of God, that’s what Uncle Nico said!”

---

POST-RACE: THE REUNION

Lewis skips press. Walks right past the crew. The helmet comes off, the smile is tired but real—and it grows tenfold when he sees them.

He jogs to the suite, rips off his gloves.

Leo runs straight into him, launching into a hug. Lewis swoops him up, spins once before grabbing Mateo in his other arm. Sofia is still wrapped on your chest, and he presses a kiss to her cheek before kissing you right on the mouth—sweat, adrenaline and all.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, breathless.

“I know,” he says, grinning. “But did you see that move?”

“They all saw it. And heard your entire potty-mouth symphony too.”

Leo: “Daddy, you said the F-word three times!”

Lewis: “Three? That’s all?”

Mateo (serious): “I’m telling Grandma.”

Lewis (laughing): “You traitor.”

---

CUT TO THE FINAL MOMENTS OF THE EPISODE

The family is on the couch later that evening in the motorhome, Netflix crew wrapping up.

Sofia’s finally asleep.

Leo is laying half-on Lewis’s chest. Mateo is holding the remote like it’s a championship trophy.

The race replay is on. The audio is off.

But the family noise? Oh, it’s all still there.

Mateo: “Next time, can I wear Daddy’s helmet?” Lewis: “Only if you want to get helmet hair.” Leo: “He already has helmet hair.”

You (laughing): “He was born with helmet hair.”

Lewis looks at all of them—his wife, his kids, this moment. And he whispers it low so only the mics can catch:

“Best podium I’ve ever had.”

---

BONUS SCENE: THE LAST CLIP OF THE EPISODE

“MIC CHECK: LEO AND MATEO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS” (Filmed post-race, aired during the closing credits)

The screen fades from the on-track footage to a quieter room inside the paddock hospitality area. Two chairs. A backdrop with the Ferrari logo. Two small boys—Leo and Mateo—sit with juice boxes, clip mics still taped to their shirts, legs swinging in rhythm.

-

A Netflix producer off-screen asks, “Okay boys, ready?”

Leo (nodding seriously): “We’re always ready.”

Mateo (confused): “Ready for what? Are we fighting?”

---

Producer: “What’s it like having Lewis Hamilton as your dad?”

Leo: “He’s just… our dad. He makes pancakes on Sundays. They’re okay.”

Mateo: “He lets me eat cookie dough when Mum says no.”

Leo: “He also yells a lot when people drive slow.”

---

Producer: “What does he say when he’s mad?”

Mateo (smirking): “I’m not allowed to say.”

Leo: “But it starts with F.”

---

Producer (laughing): “Who do you think is his biggest fan?”

Leo: “Me.”

Mateo (gasps): “No, it’s me!”

Leo: “You didn’t even know what DRS was until last week!”

Mateo: “Well you cried when he lost in Baku!”

Leo (shrugs): “It was emotional.”

---

Producer: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leo: “Race engineer. I want to help Daddy win.”

Mateo: “I wanna drive faster than Daddy.”

Leo: “That’s impossible.”

Mateo (grinning): “I’m gonna do it in reverse.”

---

Producer (last question): “If your dad could hear you right now, what would you tell him?”

Leo: “We’re proud of you.”

Mateo: “Love you, Daddy. You’re the best vroom vroom.”

Both (together): “And can we get ice cream now?”

The camera lingers on their faces for just a second longer—Leo’s confident grin, Mateo’s wide-eyed innocence—before the screen fades to black and the episode credits roll to the sound of a faint baby squeal in the background.

[luvyeni]

jeno is obsessed with you and he knows it , so much he wants to put a baby in you …

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 이제노 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. unprotected sex, breeding kink, pregnancy kink word count. 0.5k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ i don’t write for him enough and it’s crazy cause he’s one of my biases

jeno couldn’t help it , he just loves you so much. he needs to be around you at all times, touching you in some way — cuddling with him is always a dream , his body on top of yours , like a weighted blanket but you loved it.

“jeno we’ve been like this for two hours.” you said ; he hummed, his head pressed against your chest. “best two hours of my life.” you giggled , seeing him smile. “jen , it’s starting to get uncomfortable.” you said , trying to wiggle around but he held you still. “just a bit more.” he wispered.

“you’re so clingy.” your fingers raked through his hair. “i just love you so much.” he said. “you’re obsessed with me.” he nodded. “very.” his hand rubbing your waist. “so obsessed that i think about you having my baby so you can never leave me.” you lightly slapped his back. “jeno don’t say that.” you said shocked. “just being honest baby.” he said , bringing his hand to your boob , giving it a squeeze. “jeno.” you sighed , the once cute moment , now turned into something heated. “seeing these filled with milk.” you could feel him getting hard as he caressed your boobs. “fuck.” he whispered pulling you tank top down. “so pretty.” he brought his lips to your nipple. “fuck jeno.”

he refused to detach his lips from you boobs , fixing him so he was now hovering above you , his hard cock aligned with your clothed core. “je-jeno please fuck me.” you moaned , grinding your hips up against him , he groaned against your boobs. spreading your legs wider , putting your hands into his shorts , stroking his cock , pulling him out of his shorts. he pulled away , groaning as you jerked him off. “gonna put a baby right here.”

you moaned; pulling your panties to the side. “fuck me.” you whined , lining him up with your entrance. “mmh , sh-shit baby.” he bottomed out. “you’re so wet , telling you i wanna fuck a baby into you makes you wet?” you nodded. “so wet , jeno i love it so much.” he grabbed both your calves , folding you in a mating press. “jeno!” you screamed out as he reached deeper inside. “shh , baby let me fuck you.”

and god did he do exactly that , he had your body folded in a mean mating pressing as he plowed into you. “love this fucking pussy baby.” he moaned. “so fucking good , gonna give you what you want.” he sped up , his tip kissing your cervix. “give you a pretty baby.”

“jeno please.” you begged , tears in your eyes. “please cum inside me , give me a baby , i want it.” hearing you beg for him to give you a baby set something off inside of you. “fuck baby.” he gripped your hips , his cock twitching inside of you. “take my cum like a good girl okay?” he groaned just as you felt the warmness of his cum. “mhm fuck baby , take my cum.” he rolled his hip , triggering your orgams. “jeno.” he pulled out , stopping at the tip. “don’t want it spill out.” he said , sliding back inside, making you moan.

“guess i have to stay inside you , just to make sure it sticks.”

©️LUVYENI