#exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you exploding you

[rennerator]

Number One Destiel Shipper!!!! S2 LOVE LOVE LOVE This Man, AWWWWWWWWW I LOVE HIM SO SOOOO F* MUCH!!!! :D Thank YOU Misha for being the person that you are!!! HAPPINESS!!!! <3

I will never let anyone forget about this

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru absolutely baby talks you when you’re sick.

not in a mocking way. no. this is full-blown softie satoru, disgusting levels of wife guy activated, baby voice on max, coddling you like you’re the most precious, fragile little thing in the universe—and not because he thinks you’re weak, but because it’s the one time you let him get away with it without putting up your usual walls.

because you’re sick. hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big watery eyes that blink up at him like you’re seeing god—or worse, like you might actually cry if he leaves the room. like you need him. and honestly? that does something to him. wrecks him, even.

and you do need him. you’re fevered, shivering, curled up in bed in one of his oversized shirts, your hair a mess, nose stuffy, brain thoroughly fried. your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him but can’t be bothered to try, lips parted in a weak sigh as you breathe through your mouth. your usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help self? gone. obliterated. absolutely bulldozed by the flu. all that’s left is a miserable little lump of a wife who clings to his sleeve like a koala and mumbles, “’toru… i feel like a soggy towel…”

his whole body stills. there’s a twitch in his brow, like his heart has physically clenched. his lips part, just a little, before curling up in the softest grin. eyes soften behind pale lashes—just a hint of red at the corners from how tired he is too—but none of that matters. not when you’re looking up at him like that. the corner of his mouth tugs upward, not in amusement—but in something far gentler. reverent, even. and then god. he melts. instantly. his heart shatters into a million pieces and reforms just to explode again.

“awww, my poor widdle baby,” he coos, already pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. his breath is warm, his nose brushing yours. “does my soggy towel need her soup? wanna be spoon-fed by the hottest nurse in the world?”

you don’t even roll your eyes. you nod. actually nod. sluggish, dazed. and then flop into his arms like dead weight, forehead nudging his neck, skin hot against his collarbone. you let him hold you like you’re made of glass.

he almost cries. really. because you’re letting yourself be coddled. cuddled. taken care of. no sass. no biting remarks. just tiny, pitiful sniffles and pouty faces and your arms wrapping around his waist like he’s your anchor. like you don’t want him to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

and satoru eats that up like it’s a feast.

“you want juice, angel? how about some water? apple slices? forehead kisses every ten minutes? medicine with a kiss as a chaser?”

“mmm… apple. but peeled…” you whisper, voice small and hoarse, eyes half-lidded and glossy.

“of course, peeled! only the finest fruits for my fevered little dumpling,” he gasps, hand dramatically on his chest like he’s been knighted for a sacred quest. there’s a shine in his eyes—something starry, something stupidly in love.

he tucks you in like a burrito, tugs the blankets up to your chin, and then scoops you onto his lap because apparently that’s where you sleep best. his fingers comb through your hair, slow and tender, while your cheek rests limp against his shirt. he puts on your comfort show, even though you barely keep your eyes open long enough to register the sound.

he hums something soft—tuneless and low—while cradling you like a fevered woodland creature. his tone dips lower when he leans in again.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and my nose is red?” you mumble, lips wobbling, brows pinched like the thought genuinely upsets you.

his hand smooths along your cheek. “i love you way more,” he says instantly. “you’re my sweaty, sniffly soulmate. cutest germ gremlin i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re lying…”

“baby, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it—like it’s a vow. and he means it. he’d do it without hesitation, wouldn’t even flinch. because if it’s you, there’s no such thing as gross. not when he’s this stupidly in love. not when every part of you, even at your messiest, makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

you groan into his shirt, muffled and pitiful, and he grins like you just serenaded him.

“who’s the most handsome man in the world?” he asks out of nowhere, fingers curling behind your ear, brushing tenderly as if coaxing the answer out. his voice dips low, honey-sweet and just a little smug. not because he expects the answer—no, he needs it. his entire self-worth depends on your silly little validation right now.

“you are,” you mumble, cheeks squished slightly against his chest, nuzzling closer without shame.

his fingers twitch where they cradle your skull. his whole face lights up like a sunrise. pale lashes flutter, and his pupils dilate like he’s just been told he won a lifetime supply of you.

“louder.”

“toruuuuu�� it’s you…”

the pleased little noise he makes is downright sinful. his lashes flutter shut as he closes his eyes in smug bliss, and he tilts his head back like he’s soaking in the warmth of your praise. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“that’s right,” he beams, practically preening, fingers now stroking under your chin. “say it again. for my health.”

“you’re the handsomest… in the whole world… even when your hair’s stupid…”

he gasps, clutching his chest with a hand like you just shot cupid’s arrow straight through it. “rude and true. i’ll take it.”

his heart is doing somersaults. he’s convinced there’s never been a more fulfilling moment in his life. not the promotions, not the accolades, not even the recognition. just this—this feverish little version of you, croaky and honest and too tired to pretend you’re not as in love with him as he is with you.

he whispers the dumbest, softest shit while holding you against his chest like you’re something sacred. calls you every pet name in the book and then invents new ones on the spot: baby, sweetheart, princess, dumpling, snugglebug, fever bean, coughy cake, angel face mcsweats-a-lot.

you blink up at him between fits of sleep, lips parted like you want to say something else—but all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper. his hand smooths over your spine again, touch featherlight.

“what was that, baby?” he whispers.

“love you…” you murmur, eyes falling shut.

his heart flips. flips, spirals, and lands in a fucking somersault.

he kisses your temple and you go quiet.

and when you finally pass out, nose smooshed into his collarbone, snoring faintly like the most adorable little gremlin, he exhales like it’s the best moment of his life. like the universe aligned just for this. like his purpose has been fulfilled. his hand never stops moving—stroking your spine, combing your hair, tracing shapes into your shoulder blade beneath the fabric of his shirt.

he lives for clingy, soft, unguarded sick-you. because even though he adores the bratty, sharp-tongued, little menace version of you that picks fights and flicks him on the forehead and makes him earn every kiss—this version? this sleepy, dependent little furnace wrapped in blankets and his love? she needs him.

and satoru loves being needed. loves being the one you reach for, even when you’re half-delirious. especially when you’re half-delirious.

he leans down again, voice barely audible now.

“rest up, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your clammy forehead. “you’ll feel better soon. and then i’ll go back to being emotionally bullied by my beloved wife.”

[b0tster]

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YLU FU K YOU FUCK YOUNFUCK YOU FUVK YOU FUVK YOU FUCK YOU EXPLODING CAR HAMMERS DOX & STALK PHOTOMATT CHASING TRANS WOMAN TO ANOTHER WEBSITE "UNWARRANTED AND HARMFUL" WE DIDNT START THE FIIIrE

[movrningstxrs]

imagine dating JASON TODD, and the two of you were on your way home after a cozy, lowkey date night at batburger. you were both laughing, discussing the latest drama and gossip happening in his family—what do you mean dick got blacklisted from his local supermarket for buying up the entire cereal aisle?—stomachs full of french fries and milkshakes as you guys turned the corner to take a shortcut through an empty alleyway.

this being gotham, of course a sketchy-looking fellow soon emerged from the shadows, brandishing a knife and threatening you and your boyfriend to hand over your wallets.

“sure, man. take whatever you want. just don’t hurt her,” jason implored, taking a few cautious steps forward as he held out his wallet.

“that’s right. just hand over the money, nice and quietly, and you lovely folks will be right on your way,” the man chuckled.

“please, don’t hurt him!” you could be heard pleading behind jason, anxiously clutching your bag to your chest.

“don’t worry, dollface. so long as your boy toy here doesn’t make any sudden movements, we’re peachy.”

“not you, you idiot,” you scoffed in disgust. “him!”

before the would-be mugger could register what happened next, pain suddenly exploded from his jaw, and white dots clouded his vision as his body fell to the ground with a deafening thud. the knife in his hand was promptly kicked away before jason grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and lifted him to match his height.

“let me make one thing clear,” your boyfriend began to explain with a seething glare. “i’m not trapped in this alleyway with you. you’re trapped in here with me. and if it was just me, i’d call it a day after that punch. but you threatened my girl, so now i’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

“jay, be careful! we don’t have any more bleach at home to clean up your jacket if his blood gets on it.”

“no promises, babe!”

REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

[pk-butter]

hello white transgender person. in front of you is a computer displaying a post by a trans person of color discussing racism within the trans community. you may either respond to the post or close the window and move on. if you choose to respond to the post, just know that if you say anything to the effect of "it's not that big a deal", the bomb i have placed under your chair will explode. good luck.

[danysdaughter]

bucky seeing p0rn for the first time after the dating apps don’t work out👀

I'm deadddd, this was so vague so I just ran with it

The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes

pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.3k words

summary | when dating apps fail him and thirst traps become his downfall, bucky barnes finds himself spiraling down the internet’s most unholy rabbit hole—pornhub.

what starts as horrified research turns into full-blown obsession... especially when you, his sharp-tongued best friend, catch him red-handed and make very sure he lives out every filthy fantasy he’s been hiding.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, face sitting, breeding kink dirty talk, roleplay mentions, overstimulation, sexual humor, porn discovery, reader catches bucky watching porn, friends to very horny lovers, reader is a menace, teasing, flustered bucky, dom!bucky, subtle power play, consent is sexy, reader rides his face, doggy style, missionary? i hardly know her, mutual pining (solved by porn), no use of y/n, reader is a problem and bucky loves it, aftercare.

a/n | yeah, I definitely went overboard with this. I hope you freaks enjoy this

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You sipped your drink slowly, already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky glared into his beer like it had personally betrayed him.

“So,” Sam started, barely hiding his smirk. “How was the date with... what was her name again? Velvet? Vixen?”

“Vesper,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And she asked if I’d be into choking her with my vibranium arm before we even finished our drinks.”

You snorted into your glass.

Sam leaned forward, grinning. “I mean... was she wrong?”

“Sam.” Bucky’s glare was instant, but mostly performative. “I just met her.”

You glanced at him over your glass, amused. “What app did you find this one on?”

He groaned. “The same one you said was ‘normal.’”

“No one said it was normal,” you said, raising a brow. “I said it was better than Tinder. That’s not a high bar.”

Bucky leaned back with a sigh, looking thoroughly done with the entire 21st century. “I miss when people met at soda shops and asked each other about their families instead of sending... pictures of their genitals.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Aw, poor Grandpa’s overwhelmed by the sex-positive future.”

“You know what’s not positive?” Bucky muttered. “The fact that I Googled ‘how to get back out of the dating app’ and it sent me to a subreddit with people just as confused as I am.”

You exchanged a look with Sam, both of you clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Have you... considered other ways to meet people?” you asked, trying not to grin. “Like not being a digital hermit?”

Bucky looked between the two of you, deadpan. “I’m this close to living in the jungle again.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Bucky Barnes, the only man who can bench-press a car but can’t survive Hinge.”

Bucky slammed his glass down—not hard, but with enough force to earn a side-eye from the bartender.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “I’m trying to talk to these women like a normal person. I say, ‘Hi, how was your day?’ and one of them responds with—” he fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen, “‘Send me a pic of the arm, baby, I wanna see what’s gonna rearrange my insides.’”

You choked.

Sam full-on cackled, grabbing his chest. “Wait—rearrange her insides? Yo, that’s poetry.”

“She sent a GIF after that,” Bucky went on, staring at the phone like it might explode. “A GIF. Of a hydraulic press crushing a watermelon. What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna die,” you wheezed, nearly spilling your drink. “She wants you to hydraulically press her coochie, Barnes. Come on.”

“I thought she was making a smoothie metaphor!” Bucky snapped. “And then another one asked if I was into CNC. I said I didn’t know what that meant, and she said ‘perfect.’”

Sam wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god—Bucky, you’re gonna end up in someone’s kink diary.”

“She sent me a TikTok about edging,” Bucky added, horror slowly overtaking his face. “I thought it was about gardening.”

You completely lost it, head in your arms on the table. “Please stop, I can’t breathe.”

Bucky scowled. “I’m serious! She said she wanted to edge me for hours, and I said that sounded peaceful, like a nice walk—and she sent back forty-seven emojis.”

Sam gasped between wheezes. “You’re getting sexted in hieroglyphics and you think it’s a hike, I’m begging you to never leave the house again.”

Bucky looked between you both, betrayal written across his face. “I survived Hydra. I survived seventy years of brainwashing. But I will not survive being called ‘daddy’ by a woman who lists her job as ‘freelance foot model and energy witch.’”

“Wait—did she have the crystals?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

He nodded grimly. “She said my aura was ‘screaming trauma kink.’”

Sam actually slid off the stool, wheezing on the floor.

He shut the door behind him with a dull thunk, then stood there for a moment in the silence. The kind that pressed in around the edges when no one else was around. Just him, the creak of the old radiator, and the words “rearrange my insides” still echoing in his head like a ghost.

Bucky sighed, tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair, and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge as if disappointment wouldn’t be waiting there too. One beer left. Great.

He grabbed it, popped the cap off with his metal hand, and made his way over to his laptop.

It sat there on the table like a challenge.

He opened it. The familiar whir kicked on. A sigh slipped through his teeth.

“I fought in two wars,” he muttered to himself. “Survived Hydra. Took down a helicarrier. But this? This is the real enemy.”

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then he typed:

"What does CNC mean?"

Enter.

He leaned forward slowly, reading the top search result. Then the second.

His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth fell open just slightly.

"...Consensual non-consent?"

He clicked the link. Read further.

He leaned back in his chair like he’d just been shot.

“Why—why would anyone want that?” he muttered, scandalized. “That’s just... that’s just assault with permission.”

Still, he didn’t close the tab.

He opened a new one instead.

"Edging meaning (not gardening)"

More links. More acronyms. More trauma.

His face contorted in quiet horror as he scanned descriptions, diagrams, tips and techniques.

His beer sat forgotten on the table.

Eventually, he clicked a link that just said “beginner’s guide to porn kinks.” It was a blog. Fairly clinical. Until it wasn’t.

Then he clicked another.

And another.

Until eventually he wound up on a site with thumbnails—little videos with previews. Titles he didn’t fully understand.

He stared at one.

A girl, on her knees, mouth open, eyes wide.

Title: “Training My Pretty Submissive Brat”

He blinked. Then hovered. Clicked.

The video loaded.

He sat still, very still, as it started playing.

And then...

“What the hell—” he whispered.

The guy was talking. Dirty. Commanding.

The girl was moaning like someone had just whispered state secrets in her ear. She was calling him sir. Begging. Crying out when he—

Bucky slammed the spacebar to pause the video, hand clenched on the table.

He stood. Paced.

‘I shouldn’t be watching this,’ he thought, running his hand through his hair. ‘This is wrong. This is not—that’s not—’

He looked back at the screen.

Unpaused.

A few seconds passed.

He sat again.

Watched. Silent. Rigid.

His jaw clenched. His eyes darted across the screen like he was scanning enemy movement.

Then his hand—his metal hand—tapped the edge of the keyboard.

Paused again.

His chest rose and fell.

“I mean… he’s not hurting her,” he thought. “She’s asking for it. She likes it.”

Beat.

“And she’s loud.”

He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the paused screen like it had insulted him personally.

Then he muttered, “Is that what people want now?”

He reopened the search bar.

"How to talk dirty in bed"

The search results hit him like a grenade.

By the third article, his ears were red. His fingers hovered over the trackpad like they didn’t know whether to scroll or just snap the whole laptop in half.

He clicked another video.

This one was slower. More intimate.

The woman straddled the guy’s lap, whispering in his ear. He growled something back, then pushed her down on the bed—

Bucky’s breath caught.

He didn’t even notice his hand moving under the table at first.

Didn’t notice the low groan that slipped from his throat when the man on screen said, “Good girl—just like that.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Mouth dry.

He swallowed hard.

“…I need another beer.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t stop watching.

Because something in him had been starved for this. For contact. For control. For someone wanting him, even in fantasy.

The next video autoplayed before he could stop it.

Another couple. This time, softer lighting. Moaning, whispered praise. Her back arched under his touch as he moved slow, deliberate, like every second was sacred.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He sat motionless for a full minute.

Then his hand drifted down.

Hesitant. Awkward.

He undid the button of his jeans, fingers brushing over the bulge in his briefs. The contact was enough to make his breath stutter.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

He shifted in his seat, pushed his jeans down just enough, and curled his hand around himself. Warm skin against cool air. His metal hand clenched uselessly on the table as the other moved slowly, uncertain.

The sounds from the video—soft, rhythmic, intimate—filled the room.

And Bucky gave in.

His eyes didn’t close. He watched—studied—the way the man touched her, held her, spoke to her like she was something precious and filthy all at once.

“Such a good girl,” the man murmured. “Taking all of me. Just like that.”

Bucky bit down on a groan, his hand moving faster now, hips twitching in his seat.

He imagined saying those words.

And then—

He imagined you.

Your voice, sharp and sarcastic, going breathy and soft when he touched you. Your legs around his waist. Your fingers in his hair. Your mouth whispering his name like it meant something.

And that thought—you, under him, with him—wrecked him.

He jerked harder, gritting his teeth, chest rising fast.

A low moan slipped out. Sharp. Uncontrolled.

His head fell back, eyes clenched shut as heat coiled in his gut. His body trembled.

One more stroke—

And he came.

Hard.

He let out a strangled noise, hips lifting off the couch, body seizing as white-hot pleasure shot through him. His hand slowed, milked every last pulse, until the aftershocks faded and all that was left was—

Silence. Reality. Shame.

His breath was harsh in his ears.

The screen was still playing.

The woman moaned, laughing, pulling the man closer.

Bucky stared. Then looked down.

At himself. At the mess.

At the way his hand was still wrapped around his cock, softening now, shame creeping in like a slow burn.

He let go like he’d been scalded.

The aftershocks hadn’t even faded before the guilt hit—cold and immediate.

Not from what he’d watched.

Not even from what he’d done.

But from who he’d seen in his mind while he did it.

You.

You, laughing beside him at the bar. You, rolling your eyes at his brooding. You, calling him “grandpa” and meaning it with affection.

You—beneath him, moaning, touching, giving yourself to him in the fantasy that had just ripped through his body.

His stomach twisted.

He yanked his pants back up, hands clumsy, face burning not with arousal now—but with shame.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pacing, one hand raking through his hair, the other clenching into a fist. “Fuck—what the hell’s wrong with me?”

You were his friend.

You were real.

And he’d just used the idea of you like… like some porn star on a screen.

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t look at the laptop. Couldn’t look at himself. He felt dirty—not because he’d touched himself, but because it felt like a betrayal. A violation of something pure.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

That hadn’t been just need.

That had been you.

And now he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to look you in the eye again.

A Few Weeks Later

There was a knock at the door.

Three knocks, then a pause.

Then two more.

“Come on, Barnes,” your voice called through the door. “I brought sacrificial offerings.”

Bucky hesitated.

He sat in the dark, boots still on, bruised knuckles resting against his knees. His hoodie clung to him, sweat-damp and rumpled, his mind still halfway in the mission, halfway in the same loop it had been stuck in for weeks.

But it was you.

He got up slowly and opened the door.

You stood there with a paper bag in one hand, a six-pack in the other, grinning like you had zero intention of leaving whether he wanted you to or not.

“You gonna let me in or should I start monologuing like a Bond villain?”

He stepped aside without a word.

You strolled in like you owned the place, already heading to the kitchen with practiced ease.

“Brought dumplings, noodles, and enough alcohol to bleach the taste of both from your soul,” you said, setting things down. “You looked like someone clubbed you with your own metal arm last mission, so—figured I’d play nurse. A sexy, underqualified nurse with boundary issues.”

Bucky closed the door quietly behind you.

“You’re not a nurse,” he muttered.

“Not with that attitude.”

You popped the beers open, handed him one, then flopped onto his couch like you lived there. Legs kicked up, food containers opened without ceremony, your usual grin in place.

He stood a few feet away, beer untouched in his hand.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks—not really. He’d ducked every casual run-in, bailed on team movie nights, even ghosted your texts under the excuse of "needing space." He figured you noticed.

You just hadn’t said anything.

Until now.

You eyed him, casually, between bites. “You gonna sit down or do I need to pull you onto the couch like a Victorian housewife?”

He sat. Slowly. Farther away than usual.

You noticed. Of course you did. But you didn’t call him on it.

Not yet.

Instead, you nudged a container toward him and said, “Eat, soldier. You look like a sad, haunted lumberjack.”

And still—he didn’t say a word.

Because all he could think about, sitting beside you again after a month of silence, was the way your mouth had looked in that fantasy.

The way your voice had sounded moaning his name.

The way he’d used the memory of your real, friendly, teasing self to—

He swallowed thickly.

You kept eating, casual, sharp, familiar.

Exactly how he remembered. Exactly what made it so much worse.

You wiped your fingers on a napkin, leaned back, and gave him a look.

“Alright. You look like you’re two seconds from overthinking yourself into an early grave. Movie time. Something with violence or explosions—your love language.”

Before he could protest, you were already standing and heading toward his desk.

“Wait—” he said, starting to rise, but too slow.

You flipped open his laptop. “Let’s see what Grandpa Barnes has in his—”

“Ah—ahh—yes, please—!”

The moaning hit like a tactical nuke.

You froze.

So did he.

Both of you staring wide-eyed at the screen as the speakers screamed filth into the otherwise silent apartment.

Bucky moved fast.

Too fast.

He lunged over the couch, hand outstretched like he was taking enemy fire.

You dodged.

Smooth, practiced. Years of training paying off.

“No—” he barked, face already crimson, “Please—don’t—!”

“Oh my god—” you laughed, holding the laptop just out of reach. “Is this—is this Pornhub? Are you seriously—you are! You’ve been watching porn, you absolute degenerate.”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, mortified.

“Please give me the laptop,” he said, voice low, wounded, like you were holding a hostage.

But you were already clicking the spacebar, pausing the video mid-thrust.

“Oooh,” you said, squinting at the tab title. “‘Brat tamer destroys needy sub’? This is what you’re into?” You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Bucky.”

“Stop,” he muttered, pacing now, hands on his hips. “I was—researching.”

“Researching what? The anatomy of a throatfuck?” you said, howling with laughter. “Brat tamer—are you even on Tumblr, old man?”

He looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him.

“Do you know how much I regret every decision that led to this moment?”

You hugged the laptop to your chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this. The secrets. The shame. The kinks.”

“Give. It. Back.”

“Nope. Not until we find out if you’ve got a whole ‘rough dom Bucky’ fantasy folder stashed somewhere. You into praise? Degradation? Impact play? Knife play?”

He growled.

Actually growled.

And for half a second, it stopped being funny.

Because the way his eyes locked on you?

That wasn’t embarrassment anymore.

That was heat. Low. Dangerous.

You grinned, too drunk on the chaos to stop.

“Come on, Barnes,” you said, laptop still clutched like a prize. “Own it. You like a little bratty backtalk? You want someone to whimper please while you tell her she’s being a bad girl?”

He was still pacing, but slower now. Controlled. Coiled.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy poking the bear.

“Is that what you’re into?” you teased, stepping back. “All that repressed soldier shit finally coming out in dirty little commands and throat grips?”

His eyes met yours. Still embarrassed, sure. But behind it? Something sharper. Something hungry.

“Y’know,” you added, tone light, teasing, “I always pegged you as more of a soft dom. Gentle hands. Lots of praise. But this? This is dark. Kinda filthy. Kinda hot.”

That did it. He moved.

Fast.

Faster than he should’ve.

One second, you were smirking with the laptop; the next, it was out of your hands, clattering to the couch. You were against the wall, chest rising, his body a breath away from yours.

His hand planted next to your head.

His voice low. Controlled.

“Enough.”

You stared at him. The air was suddenly thick. Your heart thudded once, hard.

“You think this is a joke?” he asked, eyes burning into you.

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“You think I don’t know you’ve been toying with me since the moment you walked in?”

That teasing smile faltered—just a little.

“You keep pushing,” he murmured, leaning in, breath brushing your jaw. “You laugh, you flirt, you play. But you don’t realize... I’ve thought about you. In ways I shouldn’t.”

You swallowed.

Hard.

“I know what I watched,” he went on, voice rough, low, dangerous. “I know who I imagined.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

“You want to see what I’m into?”

You blinked up at him—cornered, caged—but not afraid.

Not even close. Your smile crept back, slower this time. Calculated.

“Oh,” you murmured, tone shifting. “You imagined me?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

His silence said everything.

You pushed your palms slowly against his chest, feeling the way his body tensed under your touch. Solid. Barely held together.

You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear.

“So tell me,” you whispered, voice low and coaxing. “If you’ve already pictured it, Barnes... what did I look like?”

He exhaled harshly through his nose.

You didn’t stop.

“What was I doing?” you went on, dragging your fingers down the curve of his chest. “Was I on my knees? Bent over? Did I ride you while you begged for it?”

A choked sound left him—more breath than voice.

You smiled against his neck. “Or do you want to tell me what you were doing to me?”

His hands twitched at his sides.

You could feel it—the war inside him. Guilt, hunger, restraint. And under all of it, the ache.

“Go on, James,” you whispered, using his real name like a secret. “Tell me. What do you like?”

His head dropped forward, forehead nearly touching yours.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—

“I want you on top,” he breathed, voice ragged. “I want you to sit on my face and ride it until your legs give out.”

Your eyes fluttered closed for half a second.

That was not the answer you expected first.

His voice deepened, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“I want you on your knees, begging. I want to fuck you from behind so deep you forget your own name. I want to feel you come around me and not stop. I want to stay inside you.”

His breath hitched. His hands were fisting at his sides.

“And when I’m done, when you can’t even move anymore—I want to come in you and keep coming until you’re full of me. Until it’s dripping out of you.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively.

Your nails curled tighter into his chest.

And your voice, still low, still teasing—but now breathy, just slightly—said:

“Damn, Barnes. That’s a whole lot of filth for someone who didn’t even know what edging was last month.”

Your last teasing whisper hadn’t even left your lips before Bucky moved.

One second you were pinned between him and the wall, and the next, his hands were on your hips, gripping tight. Then the ground disappeared beneath your feet.

You gasped as he lifted you—easily, effortlessly—hauling you against his chest like you weighed nothing.

“Jesus, Barnes—” you started, but his mouth was already on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim.

Hot, rough, needy—his lips crashed into yours with the force of every filthy thought, every sleepless night, every moment he’d spent imagining your mouth, your body, your sound. His teeth scraped your bottom lip. His tongue pushed past yours. There was no hesitation. Just heat.

You moaned into it, hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as he carried you down the hall.

Your back hit the wall once, then the doorframe, and then—

The bed.

He dropped you onto it like a man starved for touch. The mattress creaked beneath you, sheets rumpled and cool against your skin as you propped yourself up on your elbows, breathless and grinning.

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, looking at you like you were his undoing.

You tilted your head, voice low and mocking.

“Is this the part where you get all commanding, Sergeant? Or are you gonna make me do the work?”

His jaw clenched. He stepped forward. Then dropped his weight onto the bed, climbing over you, hands already at your thighs, dragging you down the sheets toward him.

“I told you not to push,” he growled.

You smiled, voice syrup-sweet.

“And I told you I liked pushing.”

His hands slipped under your shirt, yanking it over your head in one smooth motion. Your bra was next, tossed aside without ceremony. He ducked down immediately, mouth hot against your collarbone, then lower—kissing, biting, devouring.

You gasped, head falling back as his mouth found your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked it between his lips, hard.

And still—you teased.

“Careful, Barnes. Gonna make a mess before you even get inside me.”

He looked up at you.

Eyes wild, hungry, dark.

And then he dragged your jeans down—fast, rough, like he didn’t have the patience for anything else—and crawled up between your legs, pressing his body to yours until there was nothing between you anymore.

“Then shut up,” he growled, grinding against you, his cock thick and hard through his jeans.

“Make me,” you whispered, pulling him down by the collar.

And he did.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, neck, breasts, stomach—kissing, biting, groaning like he couldn’t get enough, like he didn’t know where to start because he wanted all of you.

Then he pulled back, breathing hard, eyes raking over your body like a man finally allowed to look.

“Get up,” he rasped, voice dark and thick with want.

You blinked up at him, dazed and grinning. “What?”

He sat back on his heels, hands gripping your thighs.

“I said get up,” he repeated. “I want you on my face.”

Your breath caught.

Dead serious.

You didn’t question it. Didn’t tease.

Instead, your lips curved into a slow smile as you shifted, sitting up, climbing over him with fluid, easy confidence.

“As you wish, Sergeant.”

That name hit him like a punch to the chest.

His hands guided you—firm, reverent, needy—until your knees were braced on either side of his head, your body hovering just above his lips.

He looked up at you like a man who’d prayed for this moment.

And then?

He pulled you down.

No hesitation.

Just mouth.

Hot, wet, desperate—he groaned the second he tasted you, tongue already lapping through your folds, lips sealing around your clit like he was starving.

Your head tipped back with a sharp gasp, fingers flying into his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth.

“Fuck—Bucky—”

He growled in response, hands gripping your ass, holding you down, keeping you there.

You rocked against him instinctively, gasping as his tongue flicked and circled, licked and sucked. He was moaning into you, mumbling things you couldn’t even make out—except for one word that hit clear, over and over:

“Mine.”

You looked down at him, eyes wild, mouth open.

His eyes met yours.

Dark. Glazed. Possessed.

You could see the man he used to be—the soldier, the weapon—but right now?

Right now he was just yours.

And you were his.

You couldn’t stop moving.

Couldn’t stop grinding against his mouth, against his tongue, the pleasure slamming through you in waves, harder and sharper with every flick, every suck.

Bucky moaned beneath you, the sound filthy, shameless, needy—like your taste was saving him from something dark and deep and buried.

His hands held you tighter, guiding your hips as you rocked against his mouth, your thighs trembling around his head.

“Fuck—fuck—” you gasped, one hand gripping the headboard, the other buried in his thick, messy hair. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t.

If anything, he doubled down—lips sealing tighter, tongue working you harder, sloppier, his groans vibrating against your clit like a live wire.

He wanted this.

He wanted to suffocate on you, drown in you.

And you gave it to him.

Because when you looked down, saw those glassy, desperate blue eyes staring up at you, pleading for more, there was no holding back.

The coil snapped.

Your whole body locked as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and searing, your hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth.

“Bucky—” you cried, voice cracking, thighs clamping around his head as you came—hard.

He didn’t let go.

He held you there, arms wrapped around your thighs, mouth still working you through it, licking and sucking every shudder, every twitch, like it was a gift.

You collapsed forward, one hand braced on the headboard behind his head, the other still clutching his hair, your body wrecked, shaking, soaked.

And when you finally opened your eyes—chest heaving, heart pounding—you looked down at him.

His lips were wet, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with hunger.

He looked like he could live there. Like he’d happily die there.

And all he said, voice hoarse and full of worship:

“You taste like heaven.”

You were still trembling when he sat up behind you, hands stroking your thighs, your hips, slow and reverent like he needed to remember the feel of you.

“You good?” he rasped, voice wrecked from moaning into you.

You nodded, barely catching your breath, lips curving into a slow smile.

“Still waiting for that doggystyle fantasy to come true, Sergeant.”

That was all it took.

He growled low in his throat, grabbing your hips, flipping you effortlessly onto your stomach. Before you could even laugh, his hands slid under your body and lifted your hips high, chest pressed down into the mattress.

You moaned, the stretch in your spine perfect, delicious.

He leaned over you, his breath hot at your ear.

“This how you want it?”

You arched your back, ass pushing against him. “This is how you want it.”

He growled again—low, deep, possessive.

“Exactly how I want it.”

Then you felt him—his cock, thick and hot, dragging through your soaked folds, the head catching on your entrance.

He didn’t push in yet.

Just rubbed, slow, deliberate, teasing.

You whimpered, tried to push back.

He gripped your hips tighter.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “You’re gonna feel all of it.”

Then—he pushed in.

Slow at first, but deep, the stretch burning in the best way as he filled you, inch by thick, pulsing inch.

“Fuck—” you moaned, hands clutching the sheets as he bottomed out.

He held still once he was fully inside.

Like he was savoring it.

Like this—being buried in you, your body wrapped tight around his—was what he’d been starving for.

Then he moved.

Pulled out halfway.

And slammed back in.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the sheets as he started thrusting, each snap of his hips harder, deeper, rougher than the last.

His hands gripped your waist like you were his anchor.

His rhythm brutal, relentless.

He fucked you like he meant it—like he’d dreamed of this for weeks, like every fantasy had led to this.

You were gasping, moaning, clawing at the bed.

“Look at you,” he panted behind you. “So fucking tight—taking me so good.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

And when his hand snaked around to rub your clit, you screamed his name.

He didn’t let up.

Just pounded into you harder, faster, until the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, filthy and loud and perfect.

He was so deep in you.

Deeper than anyone had ever been—physically, yes, but also fully. Like this was where he belonged. Like this was where you belonged.

His hips rolled, the angle perfect, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you with every rough, claiming thrust.

And his voice—low, wrecked, filthy—poured right into your ear.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he growled. “You like being on your knees for me?”

You whimpered, nodding, voice breathless.

“Yes, Bucky—fuck—so much.”

He leaned over you, chest flush to your back, still moving inside you—slow now, torturously deep, like he wanted to feel every pulse of you clenching around him.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “My good girl. So fuckin’ wet for me. You were dripping on my face—you know that?”

You moaned, your body shaking, ass pushing back into him.

“I saw you,” he said, his rhythm stuttering just to drag the next thrust out longer. “When I told you to sit on my face? You didn’t even hesitate. You just gave it to me.”

You gasped as his hand slid down your back, curving over your ass, squeezing.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you like this,” he went on. “Taking every inch like a good little cocksleeve. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

You shuddered, squeezing around him so tight he groaned.

“Yes,” you panted, shameless. “Fuck, Bucky—fill me up—please—I want it.”

He slammed into you harder, rhythm picking up again, fast and unforgiving.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s what I like. You begging. You dripping. You mine.”

You cried out, bracing yourself against the mattress as he drove into you faster now, hand slipping beneath to rub your clit again.

“Say it,” he hissed. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choked. “You, Bucky—I’m yours.”

He groaned deep in his throat, thrusts faltering for a beat like the words knocked something loose in him.

Then he grabbed your hair, gently but firm, pulling you up just enough to kiss your neck—bite it—then whisper:

“When I come, I’m gonna stay inside you. Gonna keep you full for hours. Walk around dripping with me.”

You whined, thighs shaking, the pressure building again—faster, sharper.

“Bucky—please—”

His voice was a growl, low and thick with promise.

“Come for me.”

And you did.

Hard.

Your whole body clenched around him, your scream muffled by the sheets as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and messy, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Your moan was still echoing when he grabbed your waist, pulling you back—up, off the bed, into his lap.

You barely had time to gasp before you were straddling him, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your neck, and his cock still inside you.

“Not done,” he growled, arms locking around your waist. “Not until I come in you.”

Then he thrust up into you—hard, deep, devastating.

You cried out, your body already overstimulated, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you all over again. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, spreading your thighs wider, keeping you open for him as he pounded up from beneath you with bruising rhythm.

“Fuck—Bucky—” you whimpered, hands flying back to clutch at his hair, his shoulder, anything.

He was relentless.

Grunting with each thrust, hips snapping up into you, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “How deep I am? How you’re still so fuckin’ tight?”

You nodded, moaning, body jerking with every thrust.

“You’re gonna take it,” he hissed. “Every drop. I’m not pullin’ out—you hear me? I’m comin’ inside you.”

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Please—Bucky—fill me up—”

He groaned, deeper than before, thrusts losing rhythm, his grip bruising on your hips as his body started to shake.

“Fuckfuckfuck—gonna come—”

One last thrust—brutal, final—and he buried himself in you, arms tightening, head thrown back as he came hard, deep inside you.

You felt it.

Hot.

Thick.

Flooding you as he groaned your name, holding you tight in his lap, still pulsing inside you.

And he didn’t let go.

Didn’t move.

Just stayed there—buried—chest rising against your back, his breath warm at your neck, whispering,

“You’re mine.”

You collapsed forward onto the bed, body still twitching with aftershocks, breath ragged and uneven. Bucky followed, slow and heavy, staying close, still inside you for a moment longer like he couldn’t stand to let you go just yet.

Eventually, he pulled out with a soft groan.

You whimpered at the loss, hips squirming on instinct.

He stayed behind you for a second, hovering—eyes locked on the way his release slowly dripped out of you, sliding between your thighs and onto the sheets.

You could feel him watching.

You tilted your head back with a lazy grin. “If you’re gonna stare like that, at least have the decency to offer a towel.”

He huffed a rough laugh—half-exhausted, half-stunned. “Sorry. Just... didn’t wanna forget what that looks like.”

You stretched like a cat, all smug satisfaction and afterglow. “Yeah, well. Take a picture next time, Barnes.”

He leaned down, kissed your shoulder—soft, slow, grateful—then flopped beside you, dragging the sheet up over your tangled bodies.

His arm wrapped around your waist, warm and heavy.

Neither of you spoke for a minute.

Just the sound of your breathing slowing. Your bodies cooling.

Then he murmured, voice quiet against your skin, “You’re in my head now.”

You smiled, eyes drifting shut.

“Good,” you whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You lay there, tangled together in the warm quiet, your body still thrumming, skin slick and flushed. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his breath slow against the back of your neck, lips occasionally brushing your shoulder like he wasn’t even conscious of doing it.

You grinned.

Couldn’t help it.

“So…” you said, voice casual. “How long you been jerking off to me, Barnes?”

He froze.

You felt the heat bloom off him before he even said a word.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widened. “What? It’s a fair question. Based on how fast you devoured me, I’m guessing… at least a month?”

He groaned into your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m right,” you countered. “Don’t think I didn’t catch the way you almost cried when I said ‘as you wish, Sergeant.’ You’ve been unwell.”

He muttered something unintelligible and buried his face in your neck.

You rolled to face him, propped on one elbow, smirking as you traced a line down his chest.

“So, tell me,” you purred. “Now that you’ve got a taste... what do you want to do to me next time?”

His throat bobbed.

You waited.

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“Oh, you know.” Your nails lightly scratched his ribs. “Come on, be brave. Tell me.”

He grumbled. “You’re gonna use it against me.”

“Correct,” you said sweetly. “Now spill.”

He exhaled slowly, then muttered:

“...Sixty-nine.”

You grinned. “Classic. What else?”

He covered his eyes with one hand. “Breeding.”

Your eyebrows lifted, delight flashing in your eyes. “Oh? Really leaned into the ‘stuff me full, Sarge’ angle, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t, actually,” you laughed, leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. “Anything else you wanna act out, Barnes? Any other dirty little fantasies you been keeping locked up?”

He hesitated.

Longer this time.

Then—reluctantly, quietly:

“...Roleplay.”

You blinked.

Then broke into a slow, wicked grin. “Okay, now this I need to hear.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, trying to roll away. “That’s enough honesty for one night—”

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, pinning him down with a devilish smile. “Tell me if I need to show up next time in a pencil skirt and glasses, or if I should wear that SHIELD catsuit and call you ‘Sir.’”

His eyes snapped open.

And you knew.

You gasped. “Oh my god. You have a thing for the whole ‘secret agent mission gone sideways’ scenario, don’t you?”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Please stop.”

“You want me to cuff you to a chair and interrogate you,” you went on gleefully. “Or, wait—no—you want to interrogate me.”

“I’m begging.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You want me in red lipstick and a wiretap, don’t you?”

“I’m never telling you anything again.”

You leaned down, lips brushing his.

“I’m gonna make all your little roleplay dreams come true,” you whispered.

“Kill me now,” he muttered.

“Nope. Gotta save your energy. You’re not done with me yet.”

You grinned, smug and sated, curling down against his chest, eyes closing as his arm wrapped around you again.

And beneath your cheek, you felt him smile.

[littlefankingdom]

I cannot explain the anger I feel anytime I read a panel where a character we are supposed to side with (except Bruce, because he's a self-loathing champion) says that Bruce should never be a father.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, was created in 1939, and he didn't even last two years before his creator gave him a child. In his long existence, Batman has only existed for LESS THAN TWO YEARS before he was made a father. Dick wasn't adopted because of the laws at the time against bachelor adopting, but Bruce was clear in the comics that this was his son. Old comics are a bit silly at time, and abuse was acceptable parenting in this time period (spanking and slapping, which Dick has been the subject of both), but it's clear that Bruce is meant to be a loving father. Dick is his pride and joy. If anything happens to him, Bruce is threatening everyone. He will kill everyone in the room than himself if his boy dies. He has huge paintings and pictures of the boy in and out of costume around his house because he loves him so much. When Dick is mad and threatens to leave, Bruce is like "I would prefer to lose both my arms and legs than lose you".

And it continued after that. When Dick leaves for college, Bruce is acting like it's a funeral. He's a dad realizing his baby is all grown up now and leaving home, and it's breaking his heart. He cried when child protective service took Dick from him, and when they took Jason. Both time, which are separated by decades, he was willing to throw away everything he had just to get his son back. Dick was the center of his universe, and with Jason, it was extended to his kids in general.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, being a dad is as important to his character as the murder of his parents. It's him learning to move on from this traumatic event, building a new family after losing his, giving children what he didn't have. It's linked to his parent's murder. If you are going to take that away, you can take away their murder too while you're at it.

This man would not survive without being a father, that's how he was written. It's a core characteristic of his character. Bob Kane is rolling in his grave from the audacity of those writers. "Batman shouldn't be a father" in your dreams, which are my nightmares.

[jaylaxies]

LO$ER LOVER | PSH

pairing: loser!sunghoon x roommate fem!reader

wc: 1110 words.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni! loser hoon headcanons, gooner hoon, mentions of him being a pervert.

a/n: hihii! this is honestly js filth! requested by anonnie <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated <3

loser!sunghoon who blushes furiously each time you walk into the kitchen in your skimpy tank top with no bra, averting his gaze before he gets hard at the mere glimpse of the outline of your body—perfectly sculpted just for him. 

loser!sunghoon who starts gooning by accident. it begins with your insta, then your videos/tiktoks, then a few of your pics he saves to a secret folder—the pictures he took without you noticing. then it spirals as he opens porn, saved videos consisting of the girls who resemble you in some way. he edges for hours while listening to your laugh through the wall, and doesn’t even realize it’s three in the morning already.

loser!sunghoon who recorded your moans through the wall one night, and now? he keeps them on loop while gooning. eyes glassy, tongue out like a puppy. he doesn’t even touch himself anymore—just rubs your used panties on his face while humping the bed, whispering “thank you, ugh, i love you so much, i love you, i—” like he’s praying for you to listen to him. 

loser!sunghoon who starts stuffing his underwear with your used panties when he goes to bed. can’t sleep without them anymore, the scent of your pussy on his cock, the soft lace clinging desperately to his skin—he wakes up rutting into them, making these helpless little gasps like a fucking dog in heat. he doesn’t stop, just buries his face in your used clothes, tears streaming as he goons through the shame. “fuck, i wanna live in her cunt,” he mumbled, “wanna be her toy, her cumrag, her fucking pet—please, god please.”

loser!sunghoon who loses the ability to cum without you. he tries, oh he really fucking tries to finish one night with just cheap porn, and nothing happens. he panics, gasping and opens your selfies. he plays that recording of your moans and starts drooling instantly, exploding the very next second with a choked whimper, body twitching, cum splattering across his keyboard. he doesn’t even clean it up. just lets it dry while he thanks you out loud for letting him be lewd each passing day. 

loser!sunghoon who needs your approval like he needs air. he tries on outfits, fixes his hair, practices his laugh in hopes you’ll look at him for more than three seconds. and when you do? when you say, “you look cute today, hoonie,” he goes stiff, hard instantly, and smiles through the ache in his cock like he’s not going to fall apart in the shower later.

loser!sunghoon who starts showing off how ruined he is, walking around shirtless when he knows he has hickeys he gave himself. leaves his door slightly open while moaning your name into your hoodie. he wants you to catch him, wants you to walk in and say, “fucking hell? you’re disgusting.” and wants to say “i know,” while making a mess on the floor.

loser!sunghoon who loves movie nights because you always let him cuddle you, he acts like it’s innocent, just a shy, affectionate roomie thing to do, gasping at the jump scares, squeezing your waist, but every time you shift, your tits press against his arm, and when you finally doze off, head on his chest, he slowly moves his hand down to your bare thigh, just resting it there, biting his lip, humping your blanket gently to not wake you up, sniffing your scent to practically cum untouched. 

loser!sunghoon who gets bold enough to “accidentally” walk in while you’re changing, and he doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not looking, his glasses are slipping, his mouth is open as he gasps, and he stares at your tits like he’s seen god.“s—sorry! sorry i, oh fuck—” he stumbles out of the room, nearly tripping, and finishes in the hallway seconds later, cum soaking through his boxers while he pants, “i saw her—i fucking saw how pretty she is.”

loser!sunghoon who fakes being sick just to sleep beside you, eyes watery and cheeks flushed from running hot water over his face, practically torturing himself for pleasure—he sniffles and clutches his blanket like he’s the most fragile being ever, moaning softly when you touch his forehead, and nearly cums when you whisper, “you poor baby,” before tucking him into your bed again and staying with him. 

loser!sunghoon who has to set goon timers otherwise he’ll spend hours and hours edging to your photos—his phone blaring alarms while he’s red and flushed, half-naked, sobbing over his laptop with your sweet videos paused at the perfect frame, whimpering, “just one more hour, just one more, gosh please, i’ll be s—so good.”

loser!sunghoon who starts using your body like his fucking altar when you’re asleep, or so he thinks, but you know how much of a perverted loser he is—sucking gently on your nipple under the covers, whimpering against it with glassy eyes, humping the mattress in tiny movements while crying, “i love you—i love you, i’m sorry, i can’t stop—please don’t wake up.” he mumbles and you let him do it, because you’re just as depraved. 

loser!sunghoon who confesses when thinks you’re asleep. you’re curled up on his bed again, still wearing next your oversized shirt, and you accidentally shift in your sleep and grind your ass against his crotch, and he moans. he starts whispering as his voice cracks, “i’m sorry—i can’t stop thinking about you! i dream about your pussy every night, i touched your panties—i came in them—i came from your smell—” his hands are shaking, his cock is harder than ever, and he’s not even trying to grind on you anymore—he’s just so desperate he can’t hold it in, not knowing that you’re awake and listening, “hoonie?” you ask, and he starts crying like a baby. 

loser!sunghoon who sobs into your chest after getting caught, his hands clutching your waist like you’re going to vanish, stuttering out, “i didn’t mean to—i’m so fucked up, i just—i love you, i love your body, i would die for you,” and when you pull his head down to your tits and whisper, chuckling, “oh baby, i know,” he whimpers so hard his whole body shakes.

loser!sunghoon who cums untouched just from simple the act of licking you, too ruined to even last, spilling all over himself while you stroke his hair and tell him he’s such a good puppy for eating you out so fucking well—he keeps crying, shaking between your legs, but doesn’t stop licking, doesn’t even flinch, just shakes through the aftershocks of the best orgasm he’s ever had, and keeps on worshipping you. 

perm taglist:

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @hoonprksung @mintchocoddeonut @lezleeferguson-120 @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[imtaashu]

Click📸

(Teaching Him to Use Polaroid Camera 📷 )

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to teach Bucky how to use your Polaroid camera. He ends up more interested in taking pictures of you than anything else. One kiss. One photo. That’s all he wants… or so he says.

Genre: Soft Fluff, Domestic Vibes, Clingy!Bucky, Hurt-Your-Teeth Cute

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: None, unless you count excessive pouting and unrelenting affection

💌Author Notes: This one’s pure mush. Like sticky marshmallow fluff on a warm day. Clingy, pouty Bucky, armed with a Polaroid and zero chill, is here to ruin your day in the sweetest way possible. Inspired by the idea of him just wanting something to hold onto when you’re not home. 😭

🩷 Please enjoy — and yes, he will ask for another photo in the middle of the night.

✦ feel free to request more fluffy Bucky things ✦

Based on ✦ this ✦ request.. thank you @buckyismysafehaven 🫶🏻

craving clingy bucky or emotional destruction? — masterlist is right here baby 🫶🏻

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────

“you know this isn’t a weapon, right?” you ask softly, raising a brow at bucky, who’s holding the pastel blue polaroid camera like it might explode.

“are you sure?” he replies, squinting suspiciously at it “feels like it’s got a mind of its own.”

you giggle, gently pushing his arms down “babe. it’s literally made of plastic.”

“so are landmines in cartoons.”

“okay, soldier,” you tease, taking it from his hands and showing him, slowly “this is the lens. this is the shutter. this button here—”

he cuts in, voice low and all heart-eyed “you’re really hot when you go all teacher mode, y’know that?”

“bucky.”

“sorry.” (not sorry at all.)

⸻

ten minutes later, he’s already used half the film.

not one photo of furniture like you suggested.

just you.

you tying your hair up.

you reaching for the remote.

you laughing with your head thrown back, nose scrunching just right.

“you were supposed to practice with objects, not your emotionally-unavailable girlfriend,” you say, flopping dramatically onto the couch.

he hums, carefully tucking the latest photo into his wallet “the couch doesn’t smell like vanilla and steal my hoodies.”

you peek over. “what are you doing with that one?”

“backup.”

“backup??”

“yeah. in case you go to the grocery store without me again and i spiral.”

⸻

click. you blink. “did you just take one without asking?”

he smiles, slow and sleepy, cradling the photo like it’s treasure.

“you looked real soft just now. had to keep it.”

“you can’t just collect pictures of me like—like trading cards.”

“why not?”

“because i probably look weird in half of them!”

he walks over, lifts your chin with gentle fingers “you’ve never looked weird. not to me.”

twenty minutes later, you’re wrapped in a hoodie that almost eats you alive, legs tangled in a blanket on the couch.

“don’t even think about it,” you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

“i didn’t say anything!”

“you don’t have to. i can feel it. you’re staring at me like i’m a sunrise.”

caught. he pauses, camera halfway to his face “okay, but hear me out: the angle? god-tier. the light? holy. your face? illegal.”

you groan into the pillow “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re breathtaking.”

“that’s not gonna get you another picture.”

“…worked seventeen times already.”

eventually, he curls up beside you, cheek smushed against your shoulder, arms tucked around your waist.

he’s quiet for a while—just tracing little patterns on your skin then, he whispers, shy “can i take one of you kissing me?”

you blink. “like… a photo?”

he props himself up “yeah. just one.”

you hide under the blanket “nooo, that’s so embarrassing!”

“what? why!”

“i don’t look cute when i kiss. i squint weird.”

he gasps like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard “your kissing face is my favorite face!”

“bucky—”

“i’m serious! that’s the face that says you love me.”

You stay quiet.

he softens, leaning down with a pout so genuine it borders on tragic.

“baby.”

no response.

“baby please.”

silence.

“you don’t love me.”

you peek out. “bucky.”

“you don’t. that’s why you won’t let me have a picture. my heart is broken. i might cry. this is the end of bucky barnes as we know him.”

you start laughing.

he immediately flops into your lap with a dramatic groan.

“just one photo of my girl loving me. is that so much to ask?”

“you’re a menace.”

“i’m your menace.”

finally, you give in. one kiss. one photo.

he sits up straighter than a soldier, camera ready, eyes wide and sparkling like he’s about to meet santa.

you lean in. kiss him softly.

click. his lashes flutter. His hands tremble slightly as he gently fans the developing photo, like it’s sacred.

and when the image comes in?

he just whispers, barely audible “…wow.”

later that night, while he’s asleep, you find the photo tucked into his wallet next to his dog tags.

you trace your thumb over it and smile.

he stirs, catches you looking.

“needed something to hold onto when you’re not home,” he murmurs.

“bucky, i was gone for ten minutes today.”

“and they were the longest ten minutes of my life.”

next morning, there’s a new polaroid stuck to the bathroom mirror.

you, fast asleep, curled into his chest on the back, in his boyish handwriting

“this is what peace looks like.”

and when you roll your eyes and tell him he’s obsessed?

he grins without missing a beat

“with you? yeah. obviously.”

-end

[akeaaan]

Changed

Jinu X fem. reader

part2

a/n: I'm obsessed with writing for this man, I swear to god it's not funny anymore, also just a small idea that popped into my mind.

Synopsis:

╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe.

That is, until fate stepped in.

A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆You had everything others could only dream of—fame, wealth, influence. On stage, you were untouchable. Off stage, you were a legend wrapped in mystery. But even with everything, there was one thing you could never truly claim:

Humanity.

Because you weren’t human. Not even close. You were a demon—and not just any demon.

You were Gwi Ma’s daughter, the feared and merciless Demon King who ruled the underworld with blood and shadow.

Since your childhood, you served as his spy—sent through the cracks of the Honmoon, infiltrating the human world to gather intelligence and prepare for invasion. It was meant to be temporary, just another mission. But the longer you stayed, the more you saw.

Humanity was nothing like the wastelands of the demon realm. Where your world thrived on pain, theirs held warmth. Where demons tore each other apart, humans sang, cried, danced, and dreamed.

For the first time, you felt something—curiosity, wonder… guilt.

So you turned your back on the underworld.

You became a traitor.

Quietly, carefully, you aided the hunters from the shadows—feeding them information, sabotaging your father's forces. And when the day came, you were there among them, cloaked and unseen, helping to seal the Honmoon and trap your kind behind it.

No one knew.

No one ever could.

You fled. You ran from your father’s wrath, scouring every shady shaman’s store in the country, collecting protection charms, sealing talismans—anything that could shield you. And somehow, through luck or fate, you survived.

Five lives. Five hundred years. Each life, quieter than the last—until this one.

Now, you were Y/N—a rising soloist, known for her fierce performances and a haunting stage presence that no one could explain. People whispered that you were descended from a 90s screen legend—not knowing that legend was just one of your old lives.

And for once, you were at peace.

You watched from a distance as the Huntrix, the newest generation of demon hunters, proudly took up the mantle. They didn’t need your help. The Honmoon stayed sealed. The world was safe. You were safe.

Or so you thought…

Until he showed up.

Until that damned boy walked into your life with a smirk, a wink, and smile that somehow defied the laws of shame.

Jinu.

Of all the people… it had to be Jinu of the Saja Boys.

You knew something was off from the beginning. The moment their debut track “Soda Pop” exploded online, your gut screamed that it wasn’t just another rookie group rising through the ranks.

That stupid, sugar-coated song had the internet wrapped around its finger in hours. Every scroll through social media was torture—fan edits, dance challenges, streaming parties. Their bubblegum anthem was everywhere.

“Motherfuckers had it easy,” you muttered under your breath, eye twitching as you sat in your penthouse suite, high above the city. Your jaw clenched tighter with every swipe of your phone. That cursed chorus echoed over and over like a broken record.

With a sharp snap, the screen cracked beneath your grip—your superhuman strength getting the best of you again. You let out a heavy sigh and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, trying to calm your fraying nerves.

It only got worse.

You had the misfortune of crossing paths with them at the “Play Games With Us” variety show. You were just backstage, minding your business, your manager trailing behind you and raving about the episode’s record-breaking views.

“Your segment went viral, again! The fans are loving it—especially that part when you snapped the controller in half!” your manager beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you.

And then—you saw them.

The Saja Boys. Walking straight in your direction, faces glowing under the stage lights, laughter echoing like they didn’t have a care in the world. You stood taller, lifting your chin with unshakable pride, refusing to let them rattle you.

But just as you passed their leader, Jinu, something happened.

Your fingers brushed for a split second—barely a touch.

And your blood turned to ice.

A sharp sting burned up your arm as your demon mark responded instantly, crawling from your skin like it had been awoken. You froze mid-step.

So did Jinu.

His body stiffened. His eyes widened. There was no mistaking it. He felt it too.

Your mark flared beneath your sleeve before dulling to a low pulse, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat. Panic surged in your chest, but you kept your face blank, eyes forward, breaths shallow.

“No…” you whispered, so quiet it was almost soundless.

You didn’t dare turn around.

You knew—without question—Jinu was staring at your back with the same haunted look you wore now.

Your manager kept walking, still rambling. But your heartbeat was loud enough to drown everything else out. The mark faded… but the damage was done.

Something ancient had just awakened.

And you knew, deep down— This wasn’t over.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat perched on the edge of a quiet rooftop in the outskirts of the city, where the old hanok-style houses still stood. The moon hung high, casting a cold silver light over the curved roofs and narrow alleys. It was deep into the night—no footsteps, no noise. Just silence. Peace.

Peace… at least for now.

Far from the crowded districts, away from the suffocating presence of human souls—the very essence your demon self constantly hungered for—you could finally breathe without temptation gnawing at your will.

“A demon playing idol in the human world… how poetic,” a voice murmured behind you, smooth and laced with dry amusement. You heard the soft thud of footsteps land gently on the tiled roof behind you.

You didn’t bother to turn around. “Says the one doing the same thing,” you replied, your tone flat.

The voice chuckled lowly. “True. But unlike you, I haven’t stayed this long.”

You stiffened. Just those words were enough to hint at his purpose.

So... it was finally time.

You clenched your fists, jaw tightening. “If he sent you to bring me back to that hellhole,” you muttered, “tell Gwi Ma I'd rather die on this rooftop than crawl back to him.”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and there he was—Jinu. Standing there with his hands tucked into the pockets of a black and gray hoodie, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow raised, clearly thrown off by your sudden declaration.

You exhaled through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing dust from your pants. “Don’t play dumb,” you said, facing him properly now. “You’re here on Gwi Ma’s orders, aren’t you? To take more souls for his pathetic little collection.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “That old fart just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Jinu blinked, visibly stunned—not just by what you said, but by the fact you said it so openly. No fear. No hesitation. As if speaking about the demon king was no different than mocking some washed-up manager.

“You—” he started, then hesitated, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t scared of him anymore.”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I stopped fearing him the day I tasted freedom.”

You turned slightly, eyes locked on the distant city lights glittering below the rooftop. The cold wind brushed against your face, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in your voice.

"He's been trying that for years," you muttered. "And look where it got him—still trapped in that rotting world. What makes him think this time will be any different?"

Jinu shifted behind you, about to speak. You didn’t even turn.

"Don't even think for one damn second that I'll help you," you cut in coldly.

Jinu closed his mouth, jaw tightening. Silence hung between you before he finally asked in a quiet voice, "H-How... how have you lived this long?"

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound laced with exhaustion and mockery.

"Like hell I’d tell you."

Then, in a blink, your scythe was unsheathed—its blackened blade gleaming in the moonlight, already hovering near Jinu’s throat. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer, weapon steady.

"I should kill you right now," you said lowly. "Save the hunters the trouble."

Jinu's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "A demon... siding with hunters? That’s new."

You pressed the blade closer, enough for him to feel the chill of death breathing down his neck.

"I don’t side with anyone," you said, voice sharp as steel. "I work for myself."

Another step forward. You loomed over him now, gaze burning with centuries of fury and grief.

"I've watched this world rise and fall for hundreds of years. You think I'll let you tear it all down just so my corpse of a father can claw his way out and devour everything that still breathes?"

You shook your head, disgust flickering across your face.

"What did he promise you, huh? Power? Freedom?" Your voice dropped, dangerous now. "You really think he’ll give you what you want?"

You tilted your head slowly, voice venomous with finality.

"You're nothing but a pawn, Jinu. And if you keep playing his game... you'll die like one."

"Your father… is Gwi Ma," he said, voice low—almost afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart skipped. Eyes widened. You stiffened in place, cursing yourself internally for letting the truth slip. But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. The truth was out.

Jinu's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. As your weapon shimmered and faded into the shadows, his fingers began to glow with a familiar, ominous hue—those same violet markings you had seen too many times before.

"He said... he’d take them away," Jinu whispered, eyes fixated on the marks. "The memories."

You let out a long, tired breath, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose.

"And you believed him?" you muttered, the weight of exhaustion and disappointment heavy in your tone.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken things. Then, with reluctance weighing every step, you moved closer to him.

Jinu’s brows furrowed in confusion. His body tensed instinctively, unsure of your intentions.

You raised your hands halfway to his face, then paused.

"Can I?" you asked softly, voice quieter now—gentler.

He hesitated, gaze searching yours for a moment before he gave a small nod.

You took it as permission.

Your palms cupped his face. Slowly, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. You closed your eyes. A familiar tingling crept into your hands as your power activated—dark purple mist curling from your skin, winding its way into Jinu's.

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.

You exhaled shakily, then drew back, turning away from him as the mist dissipated.

"There," you said, voice low. "He won’t bother you—for a few hours, at least."

A beat passed. Then:

"Did you just... seal him?" Jinu asked, stunned.

You didn’t turn around.

“Temporarily,” you said, your voice dropping lower, the word hanging in the air like a reluctant farewell.

There was a pause. A beat of silence filled with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. When you finally spoke again, it was softer—strained, like it hurt to admit.

“…It’s the best I can do right now.”

You didn’t look back.

Your figure melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of your presence and the cold wind brushing across the rooftop.

Jinu stood there, unmoving. His brows furrowed, heart pounding, mind reeling.

a/n: I really need more of him pleaseeeeee

part2

[shyoko]

✧When an Enhypen member catches another jerking off to you ✦༺

𓂃✧This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. ✦ 3.7K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist₊‧ ✦𓂃 

enhypen x reader ⚠️ CW : NSFW / +18 — rough sex, jealousy, voyeurism, possessive & dominant behavior, light choking, wall sex, public risk, filming, dirty talk, eye contact, light humiliation, masturbation (caught), third-party presence, intense kissing. Minors DNI. Read responsibly.

✧ Heeseung ----------

Heeseung walked toward Sunghoon’s room with total calm, like any other day. He just wanted to tell him to hurry up—it was time to leave. But before he could even knock on the door, he stopped.

A deep, rough, wet sound. Staggered breaths. Soft thumps against the mattress.

And he knew.

His first instinct was to laugh. The second, disgust. But what he didn’t expect… was rage.

Heeseung swung the door open.

Sunghoon straightened on the bed, startled. His phone slipped from his hand—and that hand, still wrapped around his cock, froze.

The silence was brutal. Until Heeseung looked down at the screen.. And saw it. A photo of you. Your body. Your face. Yours.

His jaw tightened. He grabbed the phone, the screen still glowing with the image Sunghoon had been using. Without a word, he deleted it. His finger trembled with fury.

He slowly turned toward him.

“Honestly? I feel like breaking your fucking face.”

Sunghoon didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He knew he’d fucked up.

But Heeseung didn’t lunge at him. Not yet. He walked over, slowly, phone still in hand, until he was standing right in front of him. His stare burned.

“You jerk off to my girl… and don’t even have the decency to hide it?”

“You’re that desperate you need to get off to her face right here?”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, still naked under the sheets.

“It wasn’t serious... just a picture—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Heeseung leaned in and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him closer.

“Wanna know what she does when she cums? What she moans, what she begs for, what she swallows when she’s on her knees for me?”

He let go with a shove, knocking Sunghoon back onto the bed.

“You’ve got a picture. I’ve got her body screaming my name. And I’m not letting some bastard like you jerk off to that.”

Heeseung turned to leave, but paused at the door.

“Next time I catch you looking at her like that… I won’t delete the picture. I’ll smash your fucking face into the wall.”

And with trembling fingers, he slammed the door behind him.

…

Later that day, on his way to your place, a dark idea crossed Heeseung’s mind. When you opened the door, his face was already flushed with something dangerous. He stepped in, gently but with purpose, and lifted you into his arms, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“You’ve got a mission today, baby,” he growled with a wicked smile. “You’re gonna moan my name, real loud,for me.”

He set you down on the kitchen counter and pulled out his phone.

“Alright, sweetheart?”

He placed the phone to the side, voice memo already recording—right into Sunghoon’s chat.

Before you could react, his lips crashed onto yours, his hands roaming down your sides until they reached your panties. He yanked them off and tossed them somewhere across the kitchen.

He was rough, but not cruel—his fingers slid into you without warning, finding a steady rhythm. Moans poured out of you, his name echoing with each breathless cry. A satisfied smile curled on Heeseung’s lips.

“That’s my fucking good girl.”

His fingers moved faster, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. By the time you came undone in his hand, the message had already been sent—Heeseung eager to picture the shame and fury on Sunghoon’s face.

But it took less than a minute to get a reply. And it broke Heeseung.

“Damn, Heeseung, our girl sounds so good. Thanks for the audio. I’ll put it to good use tonight.”

Heeseung nearly exploded.

“OUR girl? That motherfucker!”

His face flushed red with rage. You didn’t know how this would end, but one thing was clear: these two were either going to kill each other… or fuck.

And honestly, the second one sounded a whole lot more likely.

✧ Jay ----------

Your legs were still trembling on the bed, your whole body sensitive from what Jay had just done to you. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead while his hand gently caressed your thigh.

“I’m going to grab a towel to clean you up. Don’t move.”

You nodded silently, still breathless, your chest rising and falling in uneven waves. Jay walked calmly out of the room, but as he passed a half-open door in the hallway, he stopped.

There was a sound. Panting. And your name.

The voice was unmistakable. Jungwon was inside, gasping hard, your name slipping from his lips in broken sighs.

Jay froze. For a second, he couldn't believe it—but that was all the time he needed to understand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned to the room without saying a word.

You looked at him, puzzled when he came back empty-handed.

“Everything okay?” you asked, sensing something in his expression.

Jay didn’t answer. Instead, he walked straight to the bed and took your legs in his hands, spreading them apart without warning. You shivered.

“No. Everything’s not okay.”

He leaned over you, his eyes burning with something fierce.

“You wanna know what I heard in the hallway?”

“Jungwon. Saying your name. While he jerked himself off.”

Your face went blank. You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. But Jay didn’t seem to care.

“I’m going to make sure he hears this loud and fucking clear.”

He lowered himself between your thighs, not bothering with tenderness this time. His tongue was fierce—fast, focused, relentless.  A loud moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Jay glanced up and muttered:

“That. That’s the sound I want.”

He climbed over you, flipped you onto your stomach with swift hands, and raised your hips until you were on all fours.

“You’re going to scream my name. So loud he’ll never dare think of you again.”

Without warning, he thrust into you hard, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. His rhythm was fast, intense, merciless.

“Say it. I want to hear it.”

“Jay… fuck, Jay…!”

“Louder.”

“JAY! It’s you, only you!”

He let out a low growl of satisfaction and drove into you harder, gripping your waist tight as the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

“That’s it. Let him hear it. Let him know who you belong to.”

His hands ran up your back, then tangled in your hair, pulling you slightly back.

“Are you still thinking about him?”

“Do you like that he’s listening?”

You couldn’t answer. The pleasure was overwhelming. Your body trembled with every thrust until you finally came undone with a choked cry, and Jay felt it—your walls tightening around him.

He held you tighter, his breathing ragged.

“I’m going to brand this into your skin.”

And he did.

He came deep inside you with a strained groan, resting his forehead on your back, still for a moment, letting his breath cool on your skin.

Then, without letting go, he whispered:

“He better not touch himself thinking about you again. Because next time…”“…I’ll leave the door wide open. So he doesn’t just hear it. He sees it.”

✧ Jake ----------

You were on a video call with Jake, sitting on your bed, wearing one of his oversized shirts that barely reached mid-thigh. Your hair was a bit messy, your expression soft and playful. He watched you from his room, smiling as you talked about your day—silly things, random thoughts—laughing, making cute gestures, absentmindedly playing with the hem of the shirt.

What you didn’t know… was that someone else was in the room with him.

Ni-ki.

He was sitting on the other side of the desk, wearing headphones, supposedly watching a video. But Jake noticed something was off. He saw how Ni-ki subtly glanced at the screen… and how his hand disappeared beneath the desk.

Jake froze.

He looked back at the screen. You were still smiling, crossing your legs innocently.

Then he heard it. A soft gasp. From Ni-ki.

And just like that, something snapped inside him.

Without a word, Jake closed his laptop. He stood up, stormed across the room, and yanked the headphones off Ni-ki. With one swift motion, he shoved his chair back.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Ni-ki didn’t answer. He just lowered his head, ashamed, but not apologizing.

Jake’s jaw clenched. He slammed the door shut, hard. Then walked back, reopened his laptop, and your face reappeared on the screen.

“Jake? What happened? Are you okay?”

He sat down in front of the camera, his gaze locked on you.

“Nothing. I just… I can’t stop thinking about how fucking good you look in my shirt.”

You laughed nervously. Jake smiled too, but something had shifted. His eyes were darker. Hungry.

“Can you do something for me, baby?”

“Slide the shirt off one shoulder. Just a little.”

You blinked in surprise, but obeyed. You let the fabric fall, baring your shoulder.

Jake exhaled sharply. He knew Ni-ki was still in the room, silent, stuck, knowing he couldn’t leave.

“That’s it. Stay like that. Now show me a little more.”

You bit your lip, hesitating.

“Why are you being like this…?”

“Because someone was watching you the way they shouldn’t. And now I need to remind him who you belong to.”

You looked down, shy, but there was something in your eyes. A spark. Jake saw it. And that was all he needed.

“I’m going to make sure you hear exactly what I’d do to you if you were here…”

And without warning, he pulled his sweatpants down, his hand wrapping around himself slowly, deliberately.

Your eyes widened. Your breath quickened.

Jake licked his lips and smirked, knowing Ni-ki was still frozen in the corner, watching it all unfold.

“This is for you. And if anyone else dares to look again… I’ll break their fucking hands.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the camera as his hand began to move with more rhythm. Your cheeks flushed. You couldn’t look away.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together, and Jake noticed instantly.

“Are you squeezing your legs?”

“Open them.”

Your breath hitched. You did as he said, slowly, trembling.

“Just like that. Let me see.”

Then his tone dropped, deep and cutting, as he tilted his head slightly.

“And you, the one in the back… listen well.”

“This face. These moans. They’re mine. And all you’ll ever get… is the sound of me fucking her until she can’t even speak.”

His eyes returned to you, darker now, his hand pumping faster.

“Touch yourself.”

“I want to see you soaking wet, knowing someone else is dying to be me… but never will.”

Your hand slipped under the shirt. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and Jake groaned in response.

“That’s it, baby. Give it all to me. I want you to come for me, right now… while he sits there, not even able to breathe without hating himself for wanting you.”

✧ Sunghoon ----------

Sunghoon hadn’t expected to walk in on that.

He was just heading up to grab a hoodie he’d lent Heeseung, but as he passed by the slightly open door… he heard it.

Moans. Your name. And it wasn’t his own voice saying it. He peeked in, curious… and saw.

Heeseung was leaning against the headboard, body tense, his hand moving steadily between his legs. But what truly froze him in place was what Heeseung was holding in the other hand: A photo of you. That photo of you at the beach. The one only Sunghoon had. He stared for a few seconds in silence, not moving. Until Heeseung opened his eyes… and saw him.

“Shit…” he muttered, instantly pulling his hand away. The photo dropped to the floor.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. He glanced down, picked up the picture calmly, slid it into the back pocket of his jeans… then looked up with a raised brow.

“Are you seriously jerking off to my girl?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, but nothing coherent came out.

Sunghoon just watched him. No yelling. No anger.

“Wanna really see her?”

Heeseung frowned, confused.

“Then come with me.”

…

Minutes later, Heeseung was sitting in the corner armchair of Sunghoon’s bedroom. From there, he had the perfect view.

You were on the bed, wearing a loose shirt that barely covered you. You didn’t know anyone else was there. You were smiling at Sunghoon, that smile that always drove him insane.

He leaned in, kissed you softly, and gently pushed the fabric up to expose your hips.

“Can I have you now, baby?”

“Always, Hoon…” you whispered, hands gliding up to his neck.

He laid you down carefully, settling between your thighs, trailing kisses down your skin like he had all the time in the world.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this…”

From the chair, Heeseung watched, breath shallow, heart racing.

Sunghoon leaned down, lips brushing yours as he whispered:

“Do me a favor…”

“What kind…?”

���Moan for me. Loud this time I want someone else to hear what he’ll never have.”

And then he pushed into you, deep and smooth. Your moan was soft at first, but it rose with each thrust.

The pace wasn’t rushed—it was intense, focused, like Sunghoon was trying to claim every inch of you.

On the chair, Heeseung was already falling apart. His hand slid down. Slowly at first.

He couldn’t look away. Your body. Your lips. The way you arched beneath Sunghoon…

And then your eyes found his. You looked straight at him. Held his gaze. And smiled. A soft, teasing, breathless smile full of heat.

While Sunghoon gripped your hips and thrust harder, you never broke eye contact with Heeseung. You bit your lip. Raised your hips. Took him deeper.

And then you moaned. Loud. Shameless. For him. Looking right at him.

And Heeseung? 

He completely lost it.

✧ Sunoo ----------

The house was completely silent when you got up to look for Sunoo. You’d woken in the middle of the night, missing the warmth of his body next to yours.

Barefoot, and wearing nothing but one of your oversized shirts, you walked quietly down the hallway. A faint light shone beneath one of the doors—you assumed he was there.

You didn’t knock. You just opened the door softly…

And froze. Jake was sitting on the bed, shirtless, his face tense, his hand between his legs. But that wasn’t the worst part. It was what he was holding in his arms. Your shirt. The one you swore you’d tossed in the dirty laundry.

And his voice…

“Fuck, Y/n…”

Then he looked up—and saw you.

His whole face shifted, panic crashing into him all at once. He sat up fast, still breathless, guilt painted across his expression.

“Y/n… I didn’t—”

But he never got to finish. The door behind you flew open. Sunoo.

He grabbed your arm without saying a word, slammed the door shut behind you both, and pulled you down the hallway toward his room.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t speak. His face was unreadable—but in his eyes, there was something new.

Rage. Wounded pride. And desire.

Once inside, he closed the door behind you. Still holding your wrist, his eyes swept over you slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and restrained. You nodded, still in shock at what you'd just walked in on.

Sunoo took a deep breath. Stepped closer. Then again.

Until your back hit the door. His hand rose to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, but his gaze never softened.

“Don’t go walking into rooms that aren’t mine again.”

His tone wasn’t gentle. It was firm. Dominant. And that version of him turned you on instantly.

“You’re mine.”

Then, without warning, he kissed you. Hard. No hesitation.

His tongue claimed your mouth like he owned it, and his hands slid down your waist, pushing you toward the bed. He pulled your shirt off in one swift move, then laid you down—careful, but relentless. He climbed over you, his skin warm against yours, his expression unreadable but intense.

“Did he touch you?”

You shook your head.

“Did he speak to you?”

“Only my name…” you whispered.

Sunoo leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

“Then you’re going to moan it loud enough that he never dares say it again.”

His hands slid to your hips, then his mouth followed—trailing down your belly, slow and sure.

He wasn’t in a rush. He was claiming you.

Every kiss, every lick, every soft whimper he pulled from your lips was his way of branding you—reminding you, and anyone else listening, exactly who you belonged to.

And as you melted beneath his touch, something became painfully clear:

Sweet, perfect Sunoo… also knew exactly how to be ruthlessly yours.

✧ Jungwon ----------

Jungwon had only planned to grab a hoodie. That was it. Nothing more, nothing weird.

But as he passed by the slightly open door to Sunoo’s room… he heard something.Fast breathing. Soft, muffled moans.

He paused. Stepped closer—quietly. And then he saw it.

Sunoo, sitting at the edge of the bed, panting, one hand gripping a wrinkled shirt, the other working between his legs. But the worst part?

What was right in front of him. A photo of you.

One that only you and Jungwon should have. One of those private ones you’d taken after a shower, late one night.

Jungwon didn’t make a sound. He just shut the door—quietly—before Sunoo could even realize he’d been seen.

Then he turned and went straight back to his room, where you were sitting on the bed, scrolling through your phone, wearing one of his shirts and absolutely nothing underneath.

He looked at you for a long second. Then walked over and gently took the phone from your hands.

“Come here. Lie down.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re going to film something together.”

“Wait�� what?”

“Sunoo’s jerking off to a photo of you. So let’s give him something better.”

Your eyes widened completely. But you didn’t speak. Because Jungwon was already setting up his phone, placing it on the shelf across from the bed—angled perfectly.

Then he turned to you, undressing quickly, every movement calm, controlled, intense. He crawled between your legs, eyes burning.

“You ready?”

“Y-Yeah…” 

He kissed you. Not softly. It was deep, consuming—needy.

His hands moved over your body, lifting the shirt, exposing your skin, and in seconds, you were completely naked beneath him, lying back as he spread you open with his fingers.

“Look me in the eyes. I want that bastard to see everything.”

Then he pushed inside you in one smooth, hard motion.

You gasped—his name tearing from your lips without warning.

Jungwon started to move. Fast. But deliberate. Every thrust purposeful. Every sound, every angle, timed and measured. His hips snapped against you with force. His hands gripped your waist tight.

“This… is what it looks like when I really have you.”“When you’re wet for me. When you moan my name. When you come just for me.”

He reached up, wrapping a hand around your throat—not tight, just to hold you close, keep your eyes locked to his.

“I want you to come while looking at me.”“Knowing someone else is going to be watching this with his hand down his pants.”

His voice—those words—broke something inside you. The pleasure surged. You came hard, screaming his name, trembling underneath him.

Jungwon growled against your mouth, feeling you tighten around him—and followed right after, spilling inside you with a low, shaky moan. He stayed there for a moment, panting, forehead resting against yours.

Then he looked toward the camera. Got up, picked up the phone, and typed:

“Here’s some better material to jerk off to 😏🔥”

And hit send.

✧ Ni-ki ----------

You’d gotten up quickly—barefoot, half-asleep—just wanting to use the bathroom before crawling back into bed.

You opened the door without thinking… And froze. Jay was there. Standing in front of the mirror, shirt lifted, pants low, his hand wrapped tightly around his erection.

But that wasn’t what knocked the air out of your lungs. It was the phone, resting on the sink edge. The photo on the screen. You.

The one you’d taken at the beach—from the back, in that tiny bikini. The one only Ni-ki was supposed to have.

Jay met your eyes. And didn’t stop. His hand kept moving—slower now, but firmer. He didn’t look ashamed. Or guilty. Just hungry.

“Now that you’re here…”“You gonna stay—or just stand there and watch?”

You had no idea what to say. You stammered something you couldn’t even remember, took a step back, and shut the door with your heart hammering in your throat. You ran back to the room.

Ni-ki was lying on the bed, phone in hand.

“Niki…” you whispered.

He looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I saw Jay… in the bathroom… he was— He was touching himself… to my photo.”

Ni-ki went silent. He didn’t say a word. He got up slowly. Walked out the door. Closed it behind him.

You were left there, sitting on the bed, breath caught in your chest, not knowing what was about to happen. You didn’t know how much time passed before he returned. But when he did—he didn’t give you a chance to think.

The door swung open hard. Ni-ki stepped in, slammed it shut, and grabbed your arm with a firm grip you’d never felt from him before. He pressed you back against the door, his body against yours, eyes dark and locked on you.

“That photo?” —he said, voice low and sharp— “Only I was supposed to see it.”

Then he kissed you—hard. Fierce. Uncontrolled.

His hands slipped down to your thighs, lifting you easily, forcing your legs around his waist. Your back hit the door. His mouth moved down your neck.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here.”“Where anyone can hear it. Just so it’s clear who really owns you.”

He yanked your underwear down, let his pants fall, and entered you in one swift, deep thrust. No waiting. No words.

The door creaked under the pressure of every thrust. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his moans hot against your skin.

“He touched himself thinking about you?”“Then let him hear you moaning for me.”

Your body arched against him, legs shaking from the intensity. Each thrust was fast, firm, perfectly placed.

You were completely his. The way he filled you—so deep, so full—you couldn’t even breathe.

“Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You! I’m yours, Ni-ki! Only yours!”

“Louder. Let them all fucking hear it.”

And you did.

You screamed his name when you came, clutching his back, trembling against him. He followed just seconds later—buried inside you, body shaking, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered:

“No one else. Ever.”

✧A/n: Do you know what I’m obsessed with? Sunghoon and Heeseung fighting over the reader — like aaaah!!, I need to write more about them like this!!! I hope you liked it! Comments, likes, and reblog are really appreciated!! Mwah!Mwha! ilysm

✧Taglis: @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers @mitmit01 @highway-143 @ddeonuswife

[ccupcakqs]

— more than the win ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: public kiss, championship win, heart-melting softness pairing: max verstappen x reader a/n: inspired by "where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me"

he doesn’t hear the cheers at first.

doesn’t feel the sparks or the smoke or the flood of noise erupting from the grandstands. he hears his name over the radio, hears his engineer say the words he’s worked his whole life for — “you’re world champion, max. that’s it. you did it.” — and still, it doesn’t sink in.

not until he sees you.

because that’s the thing. not the crowd, not the flash of the fireworks, not the stats blinking across his dash. it’s your face in the crowd, right where he knew you’d be, eyes wide, hands pressed to your mouth like you forgot how to breathe.

he breathes again only when your eyes meet.

you are still there when he pulls into parc fermé. still there when the world runs to him. still the only thing that cuts through the chaos. he doesn’t stop to look at the cameras. doesn’t shout. doesn’t throw his helmet in the air like he’s done a hundred times before.

he steps out of the car and walks straight to you.

you barely have time to speak before he’s got both arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing at all.

“i was looking for you,” he says into your shoulder.

you laugh through tears. “i was right here.”

he doesn’t kiss you yet. he just holds you for a moment longer, like the weight of the whole year is finally gone and he can exhale into you. his fingers are still in his gloves, still curled with adrenaline, but they grip you like a promise.

when he finally sets you down, you don’t let go of each other.

the cameras don’t stop clicking.

“you really did it,” you whisper, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead.

he grins. a real one. boyish and golden and free. “i had to. promised you, didn’t i?”

you smile, breath catching.

his lips find yours then. slow, sweet, a little dizzying. the crowd explodes again, louder than the fireworks. someone throws a hat into the air. the confetti sticks to your cheeks and to his jawline. he kisses you again anyway.

they give him the trophy on the podium, and the whole world is watching.

his hands don’t shake when they place it in his grip. he’s never looked steadier. like this was always coming. like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

but when the anthem ends and the fireworks crack like thunder overhead, his gaze drops to the barrier.

you’re there again. hands on the railing. waiting for him.

max steps down without a second thought.

he doesn’t head straight to the media or the cameras. he walks to you. through the puddles of champagne and over the slick floor, ignoring the dozens of microphones reaching for a soundbite. ignoring the glitter, the clapping, the chaos.

his smile is softer now. not adrenaline-fueled or wild. just full.

he taps the trophy with one finger. “it’s heavier than it looks.”

you smirk. “that’s what happens when you carry a whole team on your back.”

he leans over the barrier and kisses you again. this time slow, unhurried, like the night isn’t moving.

you think that’s the moment.

but then he hands someone the trophy. and without a single word, he lifts you over the barrier and onto his shoulders.

you gasp, laughing, hands bracing on his head.

“max—”

“hold on.”

he turns toward the crowd, toward the flashing cameras, toward the thousands of people screaming his name. and he doesn’t care about any of them. he cares about you. up there, steady on his shoulders. your laughter in his ears. your arms holding tight.

he raises both fists in the air.

and that photo goes everywhere.

they caption it in every language. they call it victory, devotion, love. some say it’s a fairytale moment. others say it’s too much.

max just calls it right.

and when someone posts a side-by-side — a screenshot from months ago, mid-interview, where he said with a grin, “if i win, i’m putting her on my shoulders, no question” — it’s the most shared image of the night.

all those years. all those races. and this is what it comes down to — your hands in his hair, his name in the sky, a promise kept.

—

later, much later, after the podium and the press and the endless photos, you’re both tucked away in a quiet part of the paddock. max is sitting on a crate, champagne-splashed and starry-eyed, hair still wet from the bottle lando dumped on him earlier.

you’re in his lap. your hands are curled into his suit. your cheek is against his collarbone.

he’s holding the trophy again. but only because you insisted he keep it nearby. he was more than ready to leave it in the car.

“can i say something stupid?” you ask, voice muffled into his neck.

“you always can.”

“this feels like the first time we met.”

he huffs a tired laugh. “we were arguing in a motorhome.”

“and now you’re world champion.”

he doesn’t answer right away. his fingers trace slow patterns across your back.

then, quietly: “i don’t care about that.”

you lift your head. “you do.”

“i care that you’re here.”

he kisses you before you can speak again. softer than the podium. deeper than parc fermé. one hand on your cheek, the other still cradling the trophy like it’s just another part of the story.

you break the kiss first, forehead resting against his.

“what happens now?”

he smiles. “now?”

“yeah.”

“now we go home. you steal half my hoodies. i make you pancakes. and we forget how loud today was.”

you close your eyes.

“i’ll remember all of it.”

he tilts your chin up, kisses you one more time.

“good,” he whispers. “so will i.”

[dandelion-reblogs]

"#oh never let me do pixel art again"

What? Are you afraid we'll explode from the awesomeness?

...if so, thank you for your sacrifice for the common good.

Are you enjoying this?

[riacte]

not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing [what would happen between earth and the moon if the earth stopped spinning as illustrated by xkcd randall munroe]

[cronchy-baguette]

one of my favorite original girls

[morimhe]

idk my dragon is with me .