#obviously viewer discretion is advised

[silvermoon424]

Katy do you have that psychadelic 9/11 post? The morbid curiosity is killing me.

Here’s the original Reddit post:

Here’s the video about it I mentioned:

[maddsmallow]

hi i badly drew smut of human au age swap hankcon with fem hank look at it on my bsky, please enjoy the background info under the cut, aka basically the closest thing to a fanfic i will ever have the patience to write

hank (i always have fem!hank still just go by hank lmao) is a young rookie detective, maybe like mid-late 20s, and is assigned to connor, a silver fox middle aged and very accomplished detective who's also a bit of a loner and has a massive superiority complex which definitely doesn't help with the whole "being a loner" thing. tensions between the two of them are immediately high because connor tries to brush her off and keep her out of his way, thinking she'd just be a hindrance to himself, but hank continuously asserts herself and demands to be part of their "team" and not just designated to the sidelines���she's worked too hard to get to where she is to be pushed to the side now.

the ironic thing is that, hank is actually a really good detective, connor just doesnt notice until she ends up possibly saving his life. he didnt mean to have them engage in an active chase so soon into her apprenticeship with him, but they came across a suspect at a scene and he, being the accomplished detective he is, immediately went into "must complete the mission" mode and pursued. and even when he was pulled up by hank from the side of the building he was dangling from, multiple stories above the ground, after being pushed by the suspect, and likely saving his life, he still grilled her on why she would let the suspect go to pull him up. and hank just looked at him like he was crazy and without missing a beat said, "because you're my partner."

connor had gotten hurt once early in his career and was left by his then partner to pursue their suspect, and he'd always had the stance of "i can only look out for and trust in myself, because the only thing that matters is the mission" ever since, which lead to him never (willingly) having partners, or his partners bring driven away quickly because of his ideology, and him becoming such an efficiently solo detective. so of course, when he found himself in another predicament all those years later after having been accident-less as a solitary man for so long, his immediate reaction was to think his trainee would continue the chase without him, much like his partner in his early days had left him. but then hank didnt even blink when it came to deciding on what to do when she saw her partner in a life threatening situation—she helped him immediately. possibly saved his life. and it shatters his worldview. for the first time in decades, he thinks... oh. i can trust somebody else.

and after that, he really starts to see all that hank is capable of, and even comes to appreciate hank's no-bullshit attitude, something he at first felt was brash and a disrespect to his senior authority, but comes to realize is the same efficiency he prides himself in having. and hank can feel the shift between them too. that trust that connor finally grants her, and no one else.

and things just escalate from there lmao

connor had always been a loner in his personal life as well as his professional, but any sort of "companionship" he sought out was mostly with other men. but as their professional relationship grows into a personal one, connor can't seem to stop... noticing hank. the way her blonde curls never stay in her messy bun and end up framing her face, how it makes her steely blue eyes stand out even more, the gentle curves of her strong form that she works hard to maintain with rigorous strength training. the way she squints and how her eyes crinkle when she's really focused on her computer screen. the strong shape of her nose and her downturned eyes. just little things that add up to everything until he realizes, it's just her that he likes. he likes her. in a very unprofessional way. and he has no idea what to do with that.

and hank isnt an idiot, she's a goddamn detective lmao. she sees the change in the way connor looks at her. after the incident, there was just. a new softness in his eyes when he looked at her that never went away, and it's only ever for her. she can't help but let herself get sucked into letting their personal relationship grow, not just to strengthen their work partnership but also maybe a bit out of curiosity just to see what this loner is really like, to be the one person he lets in to see who he really is. and she's not blind, connor is a goddamn handsome man. the silvering hairs around his temple and in his short well-groomed beard, and the crows feet on the outer corners of his eyes give him a mature, sophisticated charm that's hard not to be drawn into. not to mention how his brown eyes feel so deep, and now kind and soft, just for her, it feels like she could fall into them. and in a way, she does. she comes to like who this old stick-up-his-ass guy is. like, a lot. and when she catches him staring at her months into the start of their friendship, it makes her feel warm deep and low inside herself.

so yknow. things comes to a head while on a stakeout of course lmao. stuck in a car, a tight enclosed space for hours together. hank stretches her spine and catches connor looking at the way her breasts pop with the arch of her back, and she gets that low warm feeling for the umpteenth time, and calls him out on staring. and she tells him she likes it. and one thing leads to another and soon enough she's swinging her legs over the older man's smaller frame and they're kissing hard and deep. hank brings connor's hand up to her tits since he'd just been staring, and connor doesnt waste any time getting them free to get his mouth on them, and ohh the scratch of his beard and the warmth of that mouth of the man she'll soon learn has an oral fixation is heavenly.

they don't get much further than that because they actually spot their suspect and have to go back to being professionals real quick, and immediately the case escalates and they're too busy working day and night to continue what they started. but the memories of the feeling of connor's hardening cock underneath hank and hank's heavy tits in connor's hands and mouth of course linger in the forefront of their minds. that same night, as connor gets situated into bed and starts to stroke his half hard cock at the thought of hank, he gets a text from her which leads to an image, which leads to a phone call, both breathing heavy into their receivers as they fuck into their hands and tell the other how much they want the other and have for a while.

they probably decide to keep things professional at work and not allow themselves to do any fooling around there, but with the case escalated and the early mornings and late nights keeping them apart despite being right there next to each other, it's an agony they didn't anticipate. it doesnt take long before they're finding excuses to touch each other in otherwise innocent ways that end up just riling them up more, until one shift hank breaks and gets connor to meet her in one of the storage closets where she immediately pounces on him, and connor is so on board with it. all agreements about keeping things totally professional at work go right out the window because hank is right there and begging for him to touch her, and connor internally has been begging to touch her again for so long. he wouldn't in a million years say no.

(am i basically copying and pasting the rest from my rambling of this on the hankcon server? yeah)

then it's a flurry of hands to get her shirt open for connor to lick one of her perking nipples into his warm mouth, and to get her sat somewhere so connor can rub his rock hard cock against the already wet crotch of her pants from how desperate she's been for him. connor lets his oral fixation go wild on her tits, sucking and nibbling all over, squeezing and pinching to get those pretty gasps out of hank, all the while taking her shirt and bra off completely and out of the way. her tits are so nice and heavy in connor's hands, so sweet in his mouth, and her skin is so soft all over.

and once he's done with her there, he dives in to kiss her deep and filthy on the mouth and moves his hands down to her crotch to tease her a bit before getting permission to rip her pants off and make use of those long nimble fingers he has. at that point it's good he moved to kissing her mouth because he needs to to keep her voice muffled. he is an experienced man after all, and the sounds he so easily works out of her are beautiful, enough to come to just on their own, but they're still at work.

he circles her clit and gets her bucking into his hand, and then moves down to sink a finger right inside her—she's so wet and hot, it's so easy for him to slide right on in—and she gasps and throws her head back. the sound from her wetness alone is obscene, connor shivers just from the idea of that feeling around his straining cock just a few inches away. and hank's already shivering with pleasure and the need for more, begging in hushed whispers for more, more, please i need you, practically dripping slick down whatever she's sitting on.

connor finally pulls back to let his painfully hard cock free and hank pulls a condom out of her pocket and kind of smirks, like, i was really wanting this, i fucking came here prepared lmao

connor somehow still has the braincells to put the condom on quickly and gets his hands on the undersides of hank's knees to lift her legs way up, and then pushes in. and it's sooo hard to muffle the sounds they make as he rocks slowly all the way in, filling hank up and encompassing all of connor's cock in her perfect soft, wet warmth down to the hilt. and then he starts pounding into her like their lives depend on it. hank hold onto connor for dear life with her arms around his shoulders.

they're trying so hard to keep it quiet enough to not get caught, but connor can't help blabbering about how beautiful and smart and fucking amazing hank is and how badly he's wanted this for weeks, and hank is just so blissed out she can hardly think about what noises are coming out of her mouth, because yeah, she's been wanting it too. craving it. her hair's fallen out of her usual tiny messy bun by then and connor just finds her blissed out face curtained by her blonde curls so beautiful.

connor's slim waist and hips work overtime, his pants hardly staying up on his hips and his shirt mostly untucked as he pounds into hank's fat pussy like his life depends on it, and hank's leaking all over and making obscene wet noises with every thrust. it isnt long until she grips connor's shirt so tight he's surprised it doesnt rip and tightens up so hard she shakes as she orgasms with connor still inside her, and connor holds her head to the crook of his neck to try to muffle her cry as she comes. connor slows with the intention of pulling out but hank keeps her hold on him and tells him, "no, keep going. come inside me, you can keep going, it's okay." and it doesn't take long with her tight heat around him for connor to come inside her with nothing but the condom between her and his twitching, leaking cock.

anyways. amanda (who we'd decided was the captain of the dpd in this au) is waiting for them outside the door and she's gonna make sure they both go to positions within the dpd that work for both of them, so that they can date and also do their goddamn jobs without any conflict of interest. but not before yelling at them for being stupid first LMAO

that's it that's my human au, age swap, fem!hank background story for my shitty doodles, hope u enjoyed

also hank absolutely pegs the hell outta connor later, okay byeee<33

[lovermake]

heated makeout sessions with your bf ( ft jjk men )

synopsis: heavy makeout sessions with your boyfriend

content warnings : NSFW 18+ (viewer discretion advised), fingering, grinding, dry humping, slight jealousy, neck biting, ear licking, hickies, slight dom + sub

choso

your boyfriend’s neck looked all too empty for your liking, so in an impulsive moment you hop into his lap and begin to press kisses to his neck your hands rubbing at his chest. he’s completely shocked at first not expecting this or the way your lips on his skin makes you feel but at last he makes you comfortable with his hands on your waist.

eventually you are pressing your grinding your hips into his lap and gently whimpering into every kiss the two of you share with his ears and cheeks burning red.

“mm, choso..” you softly whimper before your tongue kisses his again. the firm feeling of one of his hands on your ass while the other remained on your waist turned you on to such extremes.

“fuck..” you could hear him moan, your clothed clit rubbing against his hardened groin. you decorated his necks with so many love bites and look where it’s gotten the two of you now. all you could think about now was wanting his cock deep inside you despite your shift starting in half an hour.

toji

you guys were returning home from a date though you definitely could sense some jealously from your boyfriend given he kept glaring at the waiter who was making subtle remarks towards you, and by the end of the night, obviously flirting. you could barely get through the door when toji tosses you onto his shoulders, bringing you upstairs.

next thing you know, he’s got a hand between your legs and roughly kissing you, your lips, cheeks, neck, chest. promising to mark you up tonight so other guys can get the hint.

“t-toji, please” you whimper, his hand that ever so often has been brushing against your soaked cunt. his main focus has been leaving as many obvious hickies on your neck as possible but all the while the presence of his hand between your legs has made you hot.

by now you were pressing your cunt into his hand and he finally realizes your begs. “aren’t you needy, hmm?” but you can’t even answer his question and only nod. he wants to tease you some more, make you tell him this pussy is his, but with how soaked you are he didn’t want to torture his little princess any longer. his fingers slipping behind the cloth of your panty and gently entering before the rough thrusts began.

nanami

it was just suppose to be a quick morning kiss, but next thing you know he’s holding you from behind, with your ass right on his groin and of course you can’t help but feel a poke there.

bodies are twisting and soon there are messy kisses, whimpering, moans, and your hand is slipped into his pants. you just love the feel of his cock slipping between your fingers, and how he can only bury his head into your neck as he tries to reach his end.

“god, [name]” he whimpers into your neck, the soft sound of his cock slipping in and out of your grip. he tries to return some of sort of favor, softly kissing your neck but he looses all focus, when your thumb gently presses at the slit. he’s soaked in precum and tip of the ears pink.

“k-kento” you softly respond, and you can feel his cock shake in your grip. it doesn’t take much longer until his comes. he’s quick to push your legs up, exposing your soaked pussy and quick to return the pleasuring favor with his tongue.

© lovermake’s works 2025. Do not use my writing for language translation, re-editing, plagiarism, heavy inspiration, posting through other social media apps, or stealing.

[fixated-cookies]

brwo,,, u gotta write more of that yandere heat thingy w/ shadownilla,,, pls brwo,,, I'll give u my life savings,,, 5 dollars,,,,

:DDDD

That dream had me in a chokehold, it was so short unfortunately but it was crazy. pt.1 of the reader heat thingy

THIS WORK CONTAINS CONTENT SUCH AS NONCON, MIND BREAK, AND MANIPULATION !! VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!

IF ANY OTHER TAGS NEEDS TO BE ADDESSED PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!

I kinda went crazy on this, I spent all day making it actually, Grammarly is carrying my writing. I know my computer is sick of me.

I think although pure vanilla is gentlemanly, he even has a side that can end up rivaling Shadow Milk Cookie in intensity. Like, he just loves you sooooo much. He’s held himself back for so long, always playing the role of the ever-patient, ever-loving guardian. But tonight? Tonight, patience be damned.At first, he tries to keep up the act, whispering soothing reassurances, brushing his fingers over your heated dough with delicate care. “It’s alright, my love… Just let us take care of you,” he murmurs, but the more you whimper, the more you writhe between them, and the more his control starts to crack. Along with the ache in his dick.

Shadow milk, his other half oh, his dear other self can obviously tell, he snickers at the sight “Oho? You’re shaking, Vanilly,” he trails a finger down your bare body “Losing yourself, are we?~”

And Pure Vanilla does nothing to deny it.

Because he is losing himself...so damn badly.

His usual kindness is laced with something deeper, something dangerous. His voice becomes ragged, “You need me,” he growls, his voice dropping into something husky, needy. “Let me prove it to you. Let me show you that no one—no one—can take care of you the way I can.” Gone is the gentle healer, the composed ruler of the Vanilla Kingdom. In his place is a man stripped of restraint, a man who has spent far too long suppressing his own desires.

"Wa-wait..." you try to stall, to push upwards on the mattress. “Ahh, so you do have a spine under all that sickly-sweet kindness,” he sneers, dragging a clawed hand through Vanilla’s golden hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss. “Go on, then. Show them. Convince them.” He doesn't need to be told twice.

He leans in, his sweet lips hovering over yours, taking in your delicious scent. His pupils are blown wide, "You don’t need to worry."His voice borders on a plea, "Just let me love you...”

you kicked your legs in a panic with a cry. Your entire body is burning, but the humiliation? Oh, that burns even hotter. You’ve never done this with anyone before. Never let anyone see you like this, so vulnerable, so desperate, so utterly needy. in the back of your mind, you're sure that they know...

"Sweetheart, shhh, it's alright,” He tries to coax you into a soft submissive state, a quiver to voice filled with temptation. “Poor little thing’s acting like a cornered bunny~” Shadow milk drawls from beside you. He uses his cool hands to trail up your body causing you to jolt in pure vanilla's chest. Perhaps it was for the best they took you when they could, just imagining you crying and rutting into a pillow with no proper help or cock took years off their life.

Pure vanilla lifts up your thighs...his breath hitches, his golden lashes fluttering as he stares—utterly captivated—by the sheer amount of slick dripping from your trembling thighs, pooling beneath you, staining the sheets in unmistakable need. He gulps dryly. “Oh… Oh, sweetheart…” His voice is breathy, almost reverent, as if he’s witnessing something divine.

You whimper at the exposure, your hands flying to cover your face, your entire body burning with mortification. But Pure Vanilla? He only exhales, long and shaky, his mismatched eyes darkening as he swallows thickly. his usual composure fraying at the edges as his fingers trace delicate patterns along the inside of your thigh. “Do you even realize… how much you need us right now?”

A sharp chuckle interrupts the moment.

“Dripping like a little broken thing… You really thought you could just suffer through this alone?" You instinctively try to close your legs shut. "Ah, ah, ah~” he mocks, gripping the other leg, tilting so he can take a nice peek for himself. He doesn't say anything, but you can tell his posture falters for just a slight second.

A trembling, helpless little thing, caught between two predators—one who soothes, the other who taunts, yet both equally relentless. "Please," you whimper, voice weak, laced with desperate excuses. "I-I can handle it, I always— I don’t need—"

"Don’t need?" Shadow Milk interrupts you harshly "Ohhh, little liar, you reek of need~" A soft sob leaves out as you feel a thumb press onto your clit. "let us help you… Don't fight this… Don't fight us…" You twist, writhe, trying to squirm away—but there’s nowhere to go only able to whine again once the thumb starts to rub tight circles, you don't know whose thumb it is, and you don't want to know...

"Ohhh, don’t you see?" You hear a soft chuckle. "She likes this little game~" Your body's heating up, burning with ache and need. you can feel the sweat starting to make your dough sticky. "So scared, so shy, yet her body says otherwise~" You shake your head rapidly, breath coming out in panicked little gasps. "N-no, I just—” "Shhh~" He shushes you, voice almost mockingly gentle. "No more little lies, sweetheart. We know better… don’t we, dear Pure Vanilla?"

Pure Vanilla inhales sharply. But you see it—the way his chest heaves and then he does something that makes your heart stop.

He nods.

"She needs this," he breathes, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. "She’s suffering… She needs us…"

Before you can react, Shadow Milk’s hands tighten on your thighs, spreading you further. And Pure Vanilla? The man who was once so patient, so restrained?

His hands follow upward.

As shadow milk hunches over your most vulnerable spot, you can feel pure vanilla experienced hands knead and grope at your tits, squeezing and massaging. coaxing wanton moans out of you

Oh, the moment Shadow Milk gets that first taste, the teasing, the taunts—everything just stops. His entire body tenses, fingers digging into your thighs with a sharp inhale as if he’s just discovered the most intoxicating thing in existence. All of that sharp tongue, usually so wicked with words, now has a far better use. The way he groans against you, as if drinking you in, sends vibrations shooting up your spine.

"So… so sweet," he pants, his voice strained. His thumbs roll over your sensitive peaks, his own body shuddering from the scent surrounding him, clouding his mind. Shadow Milk hums against you, "Mmm, hear that?" he murmurs, pulling back just enough for his breath to fan over your oversensitive skin. "She’s singing for us, dear Pure Vanilla. Let’s see how much sweeter we can make her sound~ "his smug grin smeared in your slick. His lips glisten, his tongue darting out to lazily lap up what he can before letting out a chuckle.

Pure Vanilla, who had been barely holding himself back, shudders at the sight, his restraint snapping at the sight of you, so dazed, so flushed, so utterly vulnerable. He hears your intense sobs of pleasure and wants nothing more than to drown you in it. "Care to trade, my dear Pure Vanilla?" The second the offer is given the blonde man immediately lunges, switching places. His touch far gentler than Shadow Milk’s but just as overwhelming.

"Sweet divinity..." he gasps, his lips brushing your dough in a reverent whisper. "How could you ever think of enduring this alone?" Shadow Milk just laughs darkly beside him, licking his lips as he watches the once pristine and gentle Pure Vanilla descend into unhinged devotion.

You whimper once more trying to clamp your legs shut out of pure instinct only to be met with a sudden, sharp suck to your already overstimulated and soaked clit. The sensation jolts through your body like lightning, your back arching off the bed as a strangled moan rips from your throat. "Nngh!" His once-gentle hands firmly hold your thighs apart, his grip unyielding despite the shaky restraint in his own breath. You can feel your undoing quickly approaching

"Now, now, you wouldn’t want to offend him, would you?" He taps a teasing finger against your trembling lips. "He’s just trying so very hard to take care of you, after all."

With one last harsh suck and a grit of your teeth, you feel yourself cumming over his face, with a sweet cry. Your vision dims as your squeeze your eyes closed, feeling hands within your hair combing through. You may have thought you passed out for a couple of minutes because the next time you open your eyes both of them are completely undressed.

You feel still the heat in your dough, though lessened a little..."Please..." you mumbled out. Pure vanilla looks at you with seeming hearts in his eyes, listening for your every beck and call. "My sweet darling...?"

"More."

And nooow you have two cookies simultaneously grinding into your cunt with such a rough fever you can barely think. It’s overstimulation in its most intoxicating form "All you had to say was the magic word!" He whines into your ear from behind. Pure vanilla was under you, gosh, he looked like was seeing the gates of heaven, Is he alive?!

Shadow milk will be whispering the filthiest things into your ear, mocking how your trembling between them, while Pure Vanilla, for all his usual tenderness, would be groaning and gasping, overwhelmed by the heat of it all eyes rolling into the back of his head. your breath hitching into the sweetest, most helpless cries as they both stretch and fill you impossibly, leaving no space untouched, no part of your body left unstimulated.

"I—ahh, I knew you’d feel perfect like thi- he'd gasp out. Shadow milk gazes at him from over your shoulder, grinning down. “Ah, Pure Vanilla… you’re awfully quiet now,” he taunts, of course, those two are basically frotting their cocks inside of your cunt!

His breath was heavy, ragged, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as though grounding himself. “You—” He swallowed thickly, biting back a sound of frustration. “Stop talking…”. "Aww, but we're so… close." His voice was dark, teasing, reveling in the way Pure Vanilla tensed. The tension between them was thick, charged with something dangerous.

A choked sob slipped from your lips, and you didn’t even realize you were crying until the tears began to spill freely, slipping down flushed cheeks. The overwhelming heat, the sensations wracking your body, the sheer impossibility of holding onto any semblance of rational thought—it was all too much. Pure Vanilla’s eyes snapped open at the sight, drool slightly spilling from his lips. “Oh, love…” he breathed, his touch on your hips tightening, as though he could anchor you to reality. “You’re finally letting go, hmm? Finally accepting it?” He mocks into your ear.

“You don’t have to think anymore,” he murmured shakily, "Just feel… just let us take care of you.” Shadow Milk chuckled darkly at that, the amusement in his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let us?” he echoed, nipping at your ear before murmuring his next words, dripping with honeyed malice. “Oh, sweet thing… at this point, you don’t have a choice.”

And with that, whatever shred of control you had left shattered completely.

You weren’t sure when you stopped resisting. Maybe it was sometime between the fevered kisses, the whispered reassurances, or the merciless taunts. Maybe it was when your body finally gave out, too drained to do anything but receive. Your head rested against Pure Vanilla’s chest, rising and falling with his breath, his warmth enveloping you completely. Your tears slipped down his chest, dampening his dough.

He sighed softly, one hand cradling the back of your head, “I have you. We have you. There’s no need to cry anymore.” he whispers softly. But you had to cry, because even in the throes of pleasure, your mind still struggled to comprehend the weight of it all. The weight of them. Their obsession, their need, their utter refusal to let you go.

“Ah, finally,” Shadow milk mused, almost to himself, but the sheer satisfaction in his voice was unmistakable. “I knew you’d come around eventually. You just needed a little… convincing.” You felt the smirk against your skin as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Pure Vanilla kissed the top of your head, his hold tightening as if he’d never let you go.

And for the next several days, you would have no choice but to accept it.

--

Guys please...guys please... I don't know what happened, I just kept writing and thoughts kept flowing. I know its long please!!! have mercy!!! I need them so bad, that dreamed fucked me up. It fucked me up so bad!! I'm crying!! I hope you guys can notice how I made shadow milk and Pure vanilla relationship represent a push and pull toxicity. I may have ended up butchering their characters in the progress though D:

[aajjks]

The Boy (III)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à dàrk pàst, yn ïs só dàmn hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès, híghly sèxúàl thèmès, nèèdy, shàmlèss ýn, tsúndèrè èúnwòò.

wc: idek it’s long tho

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

taglist. @tatumrileyslover @slut4jeon @strawberryberrygirl @starl0ver4 @darkcyclecreator @taekritimin123@erisuna @devilslittlehelper @introvertedsin @jadaocon1 @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @wowersblog@jincapableoflove @whothefuckisthishoe @avawants2havefun @sophipp1 @moonfloweronmars @crisle19 @ctrlsht@mrsjohnnysuh @ennvfv @kpopsmutty69 [open for more]

•••

You wake up… wet.

No, not like that. Well—kind of.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead. You’re hot. Your thighs are pressed too tightly together. Your dreams were criminal. There were hands. Multiple hands?

Was it Eunwoo’s? Was it someone else’s? Was it yours?

You blink up at the ornately carved ceiling and groan.

Why am I like this?

You sit up, your silk nightgown clinging to your skin as if it, too, is judging you. The room is heavy with silence, but your body is screaming.

God, he’s really staying here. Eunwoo is in the same house. With me.

Under one roof.

The sexual tension could choke a Victorian ghost.

You rub your eyes. “Okay, girl. Pull it together. You have a doll to babysit and a man to emotionally ruin.”

You slip into your robe.

your sluttiest one, obviously.

And tiptoe down the massive staircase. Your breath catches when you reach the bottom and—

He’s in the kitchen.

Eunwoo.

Shirt slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, chewing toast with all the emotional intensity of a war general.

You stare at him like he’s a croissant and you’re fresh out of carbs.

“Good morning,” you say, voice trying to be casual but coming out like a breathy porn line.

He glances at you. Glances. No smile. No nod. Just a withering up-down that stops dead on your bare legs. “It’s 11:47.”

You blink. “Wow. So punctual. Did JK tell you that too?”

That gets his attention. His jaw ticks.

“Don’t call him that.”

You blink innocently. “What? JK? The d—;”

“If you say the word ‘doll,’ I swear to God I’ll report you to Ji-seon and Jeong-hwan.”

You throw up your hands. “Alright! Chill! JK, the tiny man of the house. Got it.”

He goes back to chewing. You lean on the marble counter like you’re about to seduce a duke.

“So… you’re staying the night again?”

“I am.”

“Fun.”

“It’s not.”

You smirk. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re not here to have fun,” he deadpans. “You’re here to follow the rules.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, master. Anything for JK.”

He looks at you. Really looks. And then, so coldly, so sharply, it nearly slices your ego in half, he says:

“You’re not his type.”

You blink.

“Oh my God. Did you just slut-shame me on behalf of a doll?”

“Not a doll.”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. JK. Not-a-doll. The six-pound king of this haunted Barbie dreamhouse. I live to serve.”

Eunwoo finishes his toast, wipes his mouth, and says, “Maybe try actually doing your job then.”

Then he walks out. Just, leaves.

Like a ghost in Gucci.

You stare after him, panting. “Why does that make me want him more?”

•••

You stare at the spot where Eunwoo disappeared, your jaw slack, your thighs clenched, and your dignity bleeding out somewhere near the toaster.

“You’re not his type.”

Did that emotionally constipated man just weaponize the words of a six-pound porcelain demon to roast your entire bloodline?

You grip the counter. “You know what? I am someone’s type. Maybe not Mr. Emotionally Repressed Toast Biter, but someone’s.”

A beat.

“…Like JK.”

And that’s when the humming starts.

Your spine goes stiff.

It’s soft—like a music box—but broken, too slow, like someone dragging a finger across rusty teeth.

“Pretty…”

You spin around so fast you nearly pop a tit.

“Hello?” you call out, voice cracking just a little. The hallway stares back, still and shadowy.

You left him alone.

Shit.

You sprint through the hall, past antique portraits that follow you with judging eyes, and barge into JK’s room like a horny maniac with performance anxiety.

He’s sitting exactly where you left him. in the center of his little armchair. Neatly dressed, eyes glossy and dead.

But now his head is tilted.

Slightly.

To the left.

You didn’t leave him like that. You’re positive.

“…Hi,” you say, voice unsure. “Sorry I was late. I had a weird, deeply demoralizing interaction with a man who smells like cedarwood and abandonment issues.”

No response.

You tiptoe closer. Your breath hitches as you see it:

His tiny little hand is lifted.

Just barely.

“Stay…” the word floats through the room, so soft it might’ve been imagined.

Your whole body goosebumps.

“…Okay,” you whisper. “Okay. I’m here.”

You grab the crumpled routine sheet off the nearby dresser and read aloud like you’re preparing for the creepiest Zoom call of your life.

“Morning routine,” you mutter. “Talk to JK about your day, brush his hair, clean his clothes…”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

“…You good if we skip the small talk and go straight to the spa part?”

No answer.

You brush his hair with slow, shaking fingers, like you’re afraid he’ll bite.

“Pretty…”

You freeze.

“JK, I swear on your pinky toe, if you move, I will call a priest, a therapist, and three bouncers.”

He doesn’t move. But the air shifts.

You wipe his face with a warm cloth, humming a little tune, your hands trembling.

“Don’t…” comes the whisper again, softer now, almost mournful.

“…Don’t what?” you ask.

“…Stop.”

You yeet the washcloth across the room.

“Cool. Very cool. Love that for me.”

But you keep going. Because a part of you, some masochistic, twisted little part likes it.

Being watched. Being needed. Even if it’s by something that might not even be alive.

Or maybe especially because of that.

At least he’s paying attention.

You look down at JK, who seems to smile just a little. Or maybe that’s your sleep-deprived sex-brain making things up again.

You sigh. “Alright. Next on the agenda: watching TV with a doll who may or may not want to wear my skin.”

You scoop him up, carefully, respectfully and take him to the living room. Plop him next to you on the couch like he’s your little haunted boyfriend.

And that’s when Eunwoo enters.

Again.

Like a ghost with a superiority complex.

He glances between you and JK and raises a brow. “Why is he slumped like that?”

You straighten him like a guilty child. “Sorry. We were watching Love Island.”

Eunwoo walks over and kneels in front of JK like he’s greeting royalty. His hands are delicate, reverent. His voice is low and serious.

“Did she take care of you?”

Your jaw drops. “Hello?? I’m right here??”

He doesn’t look at you.

“Did she follow the routine?”

You scoff. “Oh my God. Are you jealous? Do you wish you were JK?”

That gets his attention. He stands slowly, towering over you, and says—so ice-cold it burns:

“No. But I do wish he had a better caretaker.”

Ouch.

Your thighs clench. Not from shame. From unspeakable thirst.

“…That’s hot,” you whisper.

He walks away. Again.

Why do I love that?

•••

You flop onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, legs spread unladylike, your robe slipping just enough to tempt a ghost.

JK sits next to you. His head is tilted again. Judging you. As usual.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, glaring at his glossy little eyes. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what he said. ‘I wish he had a better caretaker.’ Excuse me? Rude.”

You poke his tiny chest.

“I did your hair. I cleaned your creepy little face. I let you watch TV. I even turned the subtitles on. What more do you want from me?!”

“Stay…”

You freeze.

“…That was not the answer I was looking for.”

You press the remote’s mute button and stare at the doll like he’s your therapist-slash-hate-crush.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk about this stuff with you, but honestly what’s he even doing here? He’s not helpful. He’s just… there. Being hot. Making toast. Judging my robe.”

You sigh and flop sideways, dramatically resting your head on JK’s little lap like you’re Juliet and he’s the saddest Romeo.

“I mean, I flirt. I smolder. I bend over extra slow when I pick things up. I greeted him in a towel, JK. A towel. Do you know how brave that is in this lighting?!”

“Pretty…” comes the faintest whisper, like a caress up your spine.

You blink. Sit up slowly.

“…Wait. Did you just call me…?”

Nothing. Silence.

You stare at the doll.

“…Okay, first of all, thank you. Finally, someone around here acknowledges the slay.”

You stand up, pacing, robe clinging to your thighs like a second skin. The house groans faintly as if it, too, is tired of your shenanigans.

“Eunwoo is the type of guy who probably sleeps in a straight line and thinks missionary is experimental,”

You mutter, hands gesturing wildly. “Like, I bet if I begged him to choke me, he’d be like ‘that’s not in the handbook.’”

JK just stares, wide-eyed and blank.

You lean in close.

“Don’t pretend you’re above this, little man. You’ve seen me spiral before. Remember last night? The towel? The screaming? The existential horniness? You were THERE.”

You glance around. The lights seem dimmer now. The fireplace flickers even though you swear it was off a second ago.

“…Am I losing it?” you whisper.

“Stay.”

You jump.

It came from the hallway this time.

A long, drawn-out version, like a croak through a child’s voice box. Ssstaaaayy…

You clutch JK automatically, gripping him like a haunted teddy bear, your breath hitching.

“…JK? Was that you?” you whisper, peeking around the corner.

Nothing.

Your brain is a blender of unrelenting thirst and slow-brewing fear. You hug JK tighter and whisper, “I’m too horny to die like this. Please don’t be possessed.”

You glance down at him again.

His smile seems… wider.

“…Okay. Shower time. No ghost can stop me from shaving my legs and pretending Eunwoo’s watching.”

You march toward the grand staircase. The house breathes with you—walls creaking, portraits watching.

You look over your shoulder one last time at JK still sitting on the couch, propped up perfectly.

“Be good.”

“Stay.”

You break into a sprint.

•••

you’re heading to the shower, still buzzing from JK’s whispers and Eunwoo’s cold rejection. The house is humming. Something is watching.

You lock the bathroom door behind you like that’s going to do a damn thing.

The house creaks overhead.

You toss your robe off dramatically. [Oscar-worthy, really]

And crank the shower to scalding away my sins mode.

Steam billows up fast, curling around your bare skin like invisible hands. You step in, sighing like a woman in a perfume commercial.

“God. Yes. Finally. Me time,” you moan, letting the water slide down your back. You close your eyes and press your palms to the cold tile.

Maybe I’ll just die here. Drenched and hot and alone.

You tilt your head back, letting the water drench your face, imagining a very specific pair of cold hands sliding down your sides. Ugh. Eunwoo.

Why are you built like trauma and celibacy?

You groan, frustrated, thighs clenching under the spray.

That’s when it happens.

You feel it.

Not the water.

Not your hand.

Not the wall.

Something brushes your calf.

You snap your head down.

Nothing.

You laugh nervously. “Okay, haunted plumbing. Cool. Love that for me.”

You go back to rinsing.

There it is again. Higher this time. Like a light stroke up your thigh.

You whirl around. The curtain flutters like it’s breathing. But no breeze. You stare at it.

“Pretty.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. It wasn’t in your head this time. You heard it. A faint whisper. Soft. Clingy. Possessive.

“…JK?” you breathe.

Silence.

You inch the curtain open just a sliver, water dripping down your arm, mouth dry as hell.

The bathroom is empty.

But your robe—

It’s on the floor.

Not where you left it.

And it’s not just tossed, it’s neatly folded.

Like someone watched you undress, picked it up, and respectfully folded it.

You back into the shower, soap sliding uselessly down your leg, heart hammering.

“I’m gonna cry. Or cum. I don’t know which. But something’s happening,” you whisper.

You finish in record time, because apparently horny AND hunted is not a relaxing combo.

You wrap yourself in a towel, trembling, and yank the curtain aside to face the mirror.

And see something behind you.

A shadow. Low. Too low to be a person.

You turn.

Nothing there.

The air is colder now. The steam doesn’t stick.

And the mirror?

Someone wrote something in the fog.

One word.

“Stay.”

Your breath catches.

You’re not alone.

•••

You burst into the hallway like a sexy tornado wrapped in a towel.

You’re wet. You’re breathless. You’re being haunted. And you’re, shockingly hornier than ever.

“JK,” you hiss under your breath as you tiptoe barefoot down the hall, “I swear if you watched me in the shower, I’m telling your parents;”

Clunk.

You freeze.

Footsteps. Floorboards groaning.

You whip around, heart hammering.

It’s him.

Eunwoo.

Standing in the hallway. Arms crossed. Dressed in head-to-toe judgment.

You stand there dripping. Literally. Your towel is barely clinging to your chest like it’s trying to escape the situation too.

He stares at you.

You blink at him.

He blinks at your towel.

You open your mouth to say something sexy, witty, charming, deranged. but he beats you to it.

“…Are you incapable of wearing clothes?”

You clutch your towel tighter. “Oh my God. Eunwoo. Don’t act like you didn’t miss me.”

“I wasn’t looking for you.”

You point dramatically. “Then why are you here? Outside the bathroom? At this exact moment? With your judgy little jawline all clenched like that?”

He blinks once. “I came to check on JK.”

You put your hand on your hip. The towel slips a little. You don’t fix it.

“Oh, really? Not to check on this wet, vulnerable woman in distress? Not even to say, ‘Wow, you look like you survived a demonic bubble bath. Want to talk about it over wine and trauma?’”

He looks you dead in the eyes and says, “No.”

You’re dizzy. You don’t know if it’s from the heat or the shame or the sheer eroticism of being absolutely annihilated verbally.

“I think you’re a sadist,” you whisper. “And I think I’m into it.”

He steps past you like you’re air. “Put some clothes on.”

“I’m wearing a towel.”

“Exactly.”

You start to follow him, towel bouncing like it’s hanging on for dear life. “Where are you going? You can’t just emotionally wreck me and leave!”

“I told you. I’m checking on JK.”

You pout. “Ugh. You love that creepy little freak more than me.”

He stops in his tracks. Turns slowly.

“I respect JK,” he says, low and icy. “You? I’m still deciding.”

You cover your mouth, squealing. “Why is that the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me?!”

He walks faster.

You chase him.

“You’re gonna fall in love with me, you know.”

He opens the doll’s door and says flatly, “Not if he kills you first.”

You freeze.

“…What?”

The doll is exactly where you left him. Perched on the chair, eyes wide open, mouth almost… smiling?

You swear to God he winks.

You grab Eunwoo’s arm. “Okay. So just so we’re clear. if JK wants me dead, will you at least avenge me?”

“No.”

“…Will you water my plants?”

“You don’t have plants.”

“Okay, but if I did?”

He turns to you and says, voice like death, “I would feed them to JK.”

You moan.

Like actually moan.

He walks away.

You’re left standing there in your towel, in the dark, alone with the world’s creepiest doll and the biggest crush of your life, who may or may not be conspiring with said doll to emotionally destroy you.

And somehow, you’re into it.

You look at JK, eyes narrowing.

“You little freak. I bet you like watching this, don’t you?”

The doll’s head twitches.

Your smile drops.

“…Okay. Nope. We’re not doing this tonight.”

You grab a bathrobe off the wall hook and whisper, “I’m about to sage the fuck out of this room.”

And from somewhere behind you, faint as a kiss—

“Pretty.”

You scream.

•••

You rush back to your room, breathlessly throwing on some clothes. It’s ridiculous—

this whole situation is ridiculous. Your body still hums with nervous energy, heart beating faster than usual, like you’re waiting for something.

someone, to explode into the room at any moment.

And, honestly, who could blame you?

Eunwoo was standing there, looking at you like you were just some random, embarrassing thing he had to tolerate.

You were desperate to make him notice you, desperate to make him feel something, anything besides disgust.

But, oh my God, why does that make you want him more?

It doesn’t help that the whole house feels like it’s holding its breath. Like it’s watching you.

Is it watching me?

You feel that familiar prickle down your spine—the one that started with the shower, the one that started with the doll’s whisper.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. You need to go check on JK. The rules. The constant need to make sure the tiny demon child is in good spirits.

The things that haunt you when you get too caught up in your hormones.

You walk back down the hall, purposefully ignoring the thick tension in the air. But as soon as you reach the doll’s door, the feeling grows stronger. You’re not alone. Someone is here. Watching.

You throw open the door to JK’s room.

He’s sitting there. Waiting.

But something’s different this time.

His eyes are trained on you. But there’s an unmistakable, devious look in them. They’re sharp, almost predatory.

You shudder.

His expression remains unnervingly calm.

And then you hear it.

A whisper, like the rustling of paper, but far too clear to be ignored.

“Stay.”

You feel a chill creep up your spine.

You reach for the notebook, flipping through the pages like it can shield you from whatever the hell this is. But it’s no use. The rules are still the same:

Talk to him. Acknowledge him. Never leave him alone.

You sigh, frustrated. “Okay, okay. I’m here, JK. Don’t get all upset on me, alright? I’m just doing my job. God knows I’d rather be.. well, anywhere but here.”

A sound. Almost like a breath. Something… creepy.

“Pretty.”

You freeze. That’s the same voice from before.

There’s no way.

You turn back to the doll, staring at him, your heart pounding as you stand still in the doorframe.

“Did you… Did you just say that? JK, did you—;”

The doll’s lips curl slightly, unnaturally. It’s not a smile. It’s the kind of smile that doesn’t belong on a doll.

Something that makes your stomach turn, even as your body feels like it’s burning.

And then, like it always happens, you hear the whisper. Soft. Too soft.

“Stay.”

You shiver. This is too much. Way too much. But you can’t help it. your thoughts immediately drift back to Eunwoo. To the way he looked at you, rejected you, and still left you with that constant, consuming ache.

You glance over at the door.

You could just leave this creepy room. You could go to bed, get some sleep, maybe even call Alina, and vent about your horny delusions.

But instead, your legs move on their own, taking you closer to JK.

You sit down next to him against your better judgment and mutter to yourself.

“Maybe I am losing my mind. But, seriously, JK, what’s your deal? I don’t get it.

Why do you keep making me feel like you’re watching me… like I’m your prey? I’m just trying to survive this weird hell.”

Another low, hollow whisper.

“Stay.”

“I am staying! God, this is ridiculous,” you groan.

But the more you speak to him, the more you realize you kind of enjoy it. Being watched. Being called. There’s something twisted about it. Something primal.

Your fingers brush against his clothing, adjusting him on the chair. You swear his body moves just a little bit as you touch him. You jerk your hand back, but the damage is done.

A shiver courses through your body.

Stop. Just stop, Yn.

But it’s already too late.

The house feels too quiet, too oppressive, and now you’re being haunted by your own desires, just as much as by the doll. And maybe… maybe you’ve become obsessed with both.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps. They’re cold, calculated. They’re loud.

And they make your heartbeat spike.

You whip around to see Eunwoo standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you sigh, rolling your eyes, but your chest tightens, knowing what you’re about to say.

“Checking on your precious little monster again?” you tease.

“I mean, I’ve been doing my job, okay? You don’t have to make it so obvious that you care more about him than me.”

You stand up and make your way to Eunwoo, feeling that rush of nerves again.

Here it comes.

“Is it really that obvious? I thought you were used to rejection by now.” His voice is flat, but there’s something sharply amused about the way he says it.

You can’t help yourself.

“Why do you have to be such a dick? I’m just trying to have some fun here, Eunwoo.”

You step closer, your voice dripping with flirtation.

“Maybe you should stay with me tonight. You know, keep me company. I promise I’ll behave.”

He looks down at you, cold and unamused. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for him. You wouldn’t understand.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, even though you’ve heard them before.

But you can’t help it.

You’re still hungry for him.

Every single word out of his mouth makes you want to kiss him or shove him against the wall and make him regret his ice-cold tone.

But no. He’s not interested. And that somehow makes it worse.

You turn back toward JK, frustration rising in your chest. “See? This is what I’m dealing with. Total rejection.”

The doll’s head tilts slightly.

“Pretty.”

You lose it. “OH MY GOD, I’M GOING CRAZY.”

You storm out of the room, but as you do, you feel him watching you. Both of them. The doll.

Eunwoo.

Both of them filling your mind, and your body, and your desire.

•••

You storm down the hallway, your mind in overdrive.

Your body is still buzzing with the aftermath of Eunwoo’s rejection, the sick feeling of wanting him growing stronger by the second.

But, of course, he’s always the wall you can’t get past. You hate that. You fucking love that.

You pause by the stairs, clenching your fists.

“Okay, calm down,” you mutter to yourself. “You’re losing it. You have a doll to tend to, remember? You need to do your fucking job.”

But the more you think about it, the more you realize just how insane this all is. The doll.

The rules.

The whispers. And Eunwoo, always the frozen, terrifying man who somehow gets under your skin more than you’d like.

You push open the door to JK’s room with a dramatic sigh, ready to dive back into the madness.

But what greets you is worse than you could’ve imagined.

He’s sitting there. Still. Silent. But something’s off. His head tilts too far back. His eyes—are they—glowing?

No. It’s your mind playing tricks on you. You wish it was.

You step in, trying to act calm, but your heart is thumping in your chest.

Your whole body feels like it’s vibrating, but you can’t figure out if it’s fear or need.

“You still here, huh, JK?” you say, forcing a casualness into your voice. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d be more chill by now.”

You cross the room to adjust his position, part of the daily rules and as soon as your hands touch him, a low hum fills the room. You freeze.

A whisper, like a breath, drifts over your skin.

“Stay.”

You jerk back, your heart racing.

“Nope. Nope. This is too much. I need to get a grip,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “I need to stop… needing this.”

But, of course, you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You sit down beside him again, clutching the edge of the chair like it’s your lifeline. You have to admit it now.

You’re losing it. Mentally, emotionally, physically, you’re spiraling.

You glance back at the door, half-expecting Eunwoo to show up again, but no. Not yet.

Your breathing is shallow. You can’t stop thinking about him. His eyes.

The way he looks at you like he knows you’re a lost cause. How you want to throw yourself at him just to see if he’ll break. To see if you’ll finally get what you want.

“Ugh, why is this so hard?” you groan, sinking into the chair. “Why do I even want him? He’s so cold. He doesn’t even care.”

You glance back at JK. “Do you see this? He doesn’t even give a damn. And here I am, stuck in this house with him. So close, yet so far away.”

You shake your head, laughing bitterly. “You know, JK, I might just be horny as hell. That’s gotta be it, right? It’s like I can’t stop thinking about it. I just want him so badly, and it’s fucking with my head.”

A laugh escapes your lips, but it’s a desperate one.

The air grows heavier. Tighter.

And then you hear it again, like the breath of something that isn’t quite alive.

“Pretty.”

Your head snaps around. The room feels too cold all of a sudden, too heavy. You swear his eyes are different now—darker, more intent.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “No. I swear to fucking God, if you say that one more time…”

You try to stand up, but your legs feel weak. You grip the edge of the chair again, your thoughts swirling.

“Why do I feel like I’m being suffocated by this whole goddamn house? And by him?” you hiss, your voice shaking with a combination of arousal and fear.

“I should be focusing on this.. on you. But it’s like everything else is just eclipsed by Eunwoo. And I hate it. And I love it. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me!”

And then, right when you’re at your lowest, when the words escape your mouth like a broken dam, you hear it:

“Stay.”

But this time, it’s different. It’s louder. Closer.

Your stomach drops, and you immediately whip your head back to the doll.

He’s—he’s smiling now. It’s not a pleasant smile. It’s almost mocking.

“No, no. This is insane,” you whisper to yourself, backing away slowly. “I’m losing it. I am literally losing my fucking mind.”

But before you can even think about escaping, you hear the door creak behind you.

You spin around.

Eunwoo is standing there, his expression unreadable as usual.

“You’ve been here for a while. I told you to stop ignoring him.”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “I’m not ignoring him, Eunwoo. I’m just… talking to him.”

His eyes narrow. “The rules are clear. Don’t test them.”

You’re about to shoot back a snarky reply when you see him look at you.

really look at you. And then you realize. He knows. He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You shiver, a mix of irritation and… arousal swirling in your chest. The air feels thick, heavy. You want to say something. Do something. Anything.

But all you can manage is a defeated sigh.

“I’m trying, alright?”

Eunwoo steps into the room, his gaze flicking back to JK. “Try harder.”

His cold voice chills you to the bone, and suddenly, everything feels sharper.

Like you’re under a magnifying glass.

He doesn’t need to touch you to make you feel this way. His presence is enough to twist you up inside.

But then, to your surprise, he looks back at you. “You’re not his type, you know.”

You blink, feeling like you’ve been punched in the gut. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, his face as impassive as ever. “You heard me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up— bitter, sarcastic, and tinged with something else. Something dangerous.

“You know what, Eunwoo?” you mutter, leaning in just a little closer

. “I might be his type. He just hasn’t noticed me yet. And guess what? I’m getting real tired of waiting.”

•••

You’re back in bed. Again.

Lights off. Robe off.

Wearing nothing but your thin nightgown, the one with the lace trim that always manages to ride up in all the right places.

JK is in your arms. You don’t even know when this became normal, but at this point, it feels wrong not to hold him. He’s small and warm from your body heat, tucked against your chest like a child—

or a clingy boyfriend who never blinks.

You press your cheek against his hair. He smells like cedarwood and something faintly old, like dust and memories and maybe secrets.

“You like this, don’t you?” you whisper, half-laughing. “Being the little spoon.”

Your fingers brush over the stiff cotton of his shirt, smoothing it out. Your other hand rests low on his back, like you’re cradling something precious.

Your thigh hikes up a little. You press closer. JK’s head settles just above your cleavage, and you swear—swear—he fits there perfectly.

God, this is so stupid.

You groan, curling around him more. “Look at me. Cuddling a doll. Like a pathetic little Victorian ghost bride who’s been left at the altar.”

You close your eyes. It’s stupid. This is stupid.

But it feels good. Safe.

Pretty.

The word floats through your mind like a memory—but you’re not even sure you heard it. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you just wanted it so badly you made it up.

And then—

A click.

Faint. Mechanical.

You freeze.

It’s so quiet, you could almost convince yourself it was nothing.

But it wasn’t.

Somewhere inside the doll something whirred.

You pull back, heart hammering.

JK’s face is the same. That blank smile. Those lifeless eyes.

Except… They’re not lifeless, are they?

Not right now.

You feel them. Watching.

Through him.

You can feel the burn of being seen too closely, too intently. Like someone just stared right through your nightgown.

Memorized the curve of your thighs, the part of your lips, the way your breath caught when you shifted and the lace brushed your skin.

You stare into his eyes.

He stares back.

The room is pitch black except for the moonlight slicing in through the curtains, but suddenly you feel naked.

Violated.

Desired.

Not by the doll.

By someone else.

Someone on the other side.

The realization hits you like ice in your veins.

You’re being watched.

Right now.

Your arms drop. You throw back the covers and scramble away from the bed, chest heaving, nightgown slipping dangerously off one shoulder as you stare down at JK.

What the actual fuck.

You should scream. Run. Call someone.

But instead, you’re standing there, chest rising and falling, heart in your throat, wet between your legs because…

Because being watched felt good.

You slap your hands over your face.

“I need help.”

Behind you, from the bed—

“Pretty.”

Soft. Mechanical. Almost fond.

You whirl around.

JK hasn’t moved.

But you swear— swear his head is tilted just a little more than before. Like he’s listening.

Like he’s smiling.

Like he knows you liked it.

 •••

You’re holding me again.

So fucking sweet. Like I deserve your kindness. Like I’m not watching you from the shadows. 

 Mouth dry, cock hard, whispering shit no one should hear.

God. You don’t even know.

“You’re such a fucking needy whore.”

You’re pressing your tits to that doll like it’s yours. Like you’re the one comforting me.

Like I need comfort.

I want to fucking ruin you.

I lean forward. Press my face to the screen like it’ll bring me closer. I watch your chest rise and fall as you breathe in that soft, dazed way.

Eyes fluttering. Whispering to JK like he’s your little bedtime secret.

“He’s so cold,” you say to him, pouting. “At least you think I’m pretty.”

I groan.

I said that.

I whispered that.

You think it’s the doll. But it’s me.

I can see the way your lips tug into a soft smile, like you’re starting to believe it. Like I’m not just in the walls—I’m in your head.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” you murmur.

Only for me, baby.

I press my forehead against the cold cement, hand moving down slowly, lazily, like I’ve got all night.

My voice stays low. Just for you. Just loud enough that no one else could ever hear.

“Touch yourself,” I whisper, watching the image of your bare thigh shift on the screen. “Right now. Do it. Pretend it’s for you, baby. Pretend it’s about Eunwoo.”

My laugh comes sharp and bitter.

“He won’t even look at you.”

You sigh. Roll to your side, clutching the doll to your chest like it’s a lifeline. You whisper something I can’t hear. Maybe it’s his name. Maybe it’s mine.

Either way, I feel it like a punch to the stomach.

“I’d fuck you so good, you’d never say his name again,” I hiss. “You wouldn’t even remember what cold feels like.”

I can’t help it. My hand moves faster.

“You’d cry for me.”

Your breath catches. Your legs twitch like your body’s reacting without permission. My blood runs hot.

“You’d beg,” I say. “God, you’d beg.”

I lick my lips.

“‘Please, Jungkook.’” I mimic your voice with a low, breathy whimper. “‘Please touch me, please make it stop, I need it so bad—’”

My head knocks back against the wall. I imagine your mouth. Your throat. Your wrists pinned down.

“Fucking say my name,” I growl to the screen. “Say it. Say it like you said it in your sleep last night.”

Because you did.

I heard you.

You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.

And still? you curl tighter around that doll like you want to keep it warm. Like you want me close. Like you’re inviting me in.

You press your lips to its head and whisper, “Goodnight, JK.”

I shudder.

“Say goodnight to me, baby,” I whisper back, lips nearly brushing the wall. “Say it like you know I’m listening.”

You don’t.

But you will.

Soon.

You’ll learn how to say my name properly.

You’ll say it like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

[ryiju-muunie]

Boyfriends Brother (200 follower special)

18+ viewer discretion is advised

fem!reader/Suguru Geto Warnings: infidelity, shower sex, p in v sex, creampie, exhibitionism, masturbation, semi public masturbation [someones in the room and they're unaware], finger sucking, standing up sex, Geto is hung its canon, tattooed!Suguru Geto, perverted!Suguru Geto Word count: 3129 DESC: You like the thrill of almost getting caught with your boyfriends brother

This is what won the poll and I took some very creative liberties when writing :3

You were always attracted to Suguru. In some weird way, you found him more attractive than his brother, the brother you were dating. You met your boyfriend a few months prior in a bar, nothing special. The two of you hit it off and began to date. But he never made you feel anything like this. Sure, he was conventionally attractive, but you never lusted after him. You never felt a surge pulsate between your thighs when he was near, and you sure as hell never got wet off of his voice alone. Not to mention, your boyfriend was kind of a dick. He drank a lot, looked at other women a lot, and objectified you a lot. Yeah sure, you hit it off, but you felt trapped after the five-month mark. You didn’t have any desire to stay with him and he couldn’t care less, you were his personal maid and fuck toy. Suguru was different than him. 

You first met him at a party your boyfriend forced you to go to. He smacked your ass and crudely announced, “This is the hot piece of ass I was telling you about, Guru!” Your boyfriend's brother stared at him blankly for a moment, before turning his eyes to you. They were naturally sultry and narrowed to take in your form. He took in your uncomfortable smile and tensed shoulders, and he sighed. A hand ran up to mess with his hair, undoing it from its bun. You watched as his neck tattoo and ear gauges got covered by his thick black hair, cascading onto his shoulders in a choppy fashion. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Suguru extended his hand and took yours without hesitation. You saw instantly how much bigger he was than you. His height towered over your frame and your hand was engulfed by his own. Even though he was practically huge, he shook your hand delicately. As if you’d break with one rough touch. 

Something took over your body and you turned to your boyfriend, to look at him with innocent eyes, “Baby, can you get me a soda?” You’d never been the devious type or even the type to consider cheating. But something new crossed your mind. You didn’t think about sleeping with him like that, although you did note how utterly ethereal he was. He was perfect, down to every mole or the crook in his nose. 

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes in a way you knew wasn’t teasing and walked off, to find the bar top to get you two a drink. Once he was gone you felt yourself relax, your shoulders drooping and a breath escaping your lips. You went to apologize for his behavior, but at the same time you spoke so did Suguru, stating the same thing. He paused mid-way and blinked once, “...Why are you sorry? He’s my brother, I should be apologizing for his upbringing… lack thereof.” The raven-haired male crossed his arms in an annoyed way that made you let out a faint giggle. He was right, your boyfriend had horrible manners. At first, it too made you laugh, but then it became an embarrassing pain. Your heart thumped loudly against your chest and made your ribs tighten, not to mention you felt that familiar pang in your legs. Over a joke? Really?? Well, he was hot, and he acknowledged your boyfriend's abhorrent behavior. That was truly hard to find for you. Someone who was on your side. Someone who saw you. God, it was hot. You were never the cheating type, always becoming toxically loyal to your partners. But there was something about him. You found yourself attracted to him. That’s when your small crush began on Suguru. 

Obviously, you started to see him more and more. It was like your boyfriend had been hiding his more attractive brother from you for the first few weeks, but now you couldn’t get rid of him. Over the next few weeks, he frequented your boyfriend's apartment, and then your shared apartment when you moved in. He’d always make small talk with you, and more importantly, make you feel seen. It wasn’t just one thing to feel attracted to him, you actually liked being around him. He was funny and sensitive; All of it was making your crush ten times worse. The crush was originally mainly and only surface level, but soon you imagined what it would be like to wake up with him next to you instead of your boyfriend. You imagined running your hands through his hair and wishing him a good morning. Kissing his eyelids until he groggily looked at you, before smiling. Your fantasies would always start wholesome, then turn dirty within seconds. You wanted him to worship your body and fuck you senseless, making you stand as you took his big, filthy, cock. He had to be large, there was no way he wasn’t. Just from the sheer size of his body, you knew he was packing. You wanted him to C-hook your mouth with his index finger, slamming down your throat and making you choke on it as you came. 

You blinked a few times and took yourself out of the vivid fantasy, making your underwear stick to your folds. Suguru was at your apartment, playing video games with his brother. They sat at the foot of the bed while you watched from your desk, while you were supposed to be doing homework. You couldn’t focus, looking at Suguru’s chiseled back and his mop of hair. They were in front of you, so they didn’t see your hand snake down the front of your shorts, which were just your boyfriend's grey boxers. Your fingers brushed against your clothed clit, against your sopping panties. You inhaled quietly and bit back a moan at the sensitive sensation. You had never been this bad before, to fuck yourself to Suguru with him in the same room as you. Normally, it would be late at night or in the shower. But now … you felt so desperate to get off. You held the back of your hand to your mouth and bit down, to stop small noises from escaping as you rubbed your pussy. 

“Goal!” Your boyfriend shouted, grinning at his brother, “Bet you can’t beat that, Guru!” Suguru went to speak, turning his head, but his eyes locked with yours. Just as you came, seeing your eyes flutter to the back of your head. He stared for a moment before shoving his brother's head and replying with a standard response you didn’t hear. You were too busy, filling with dread. He just saw you fuck yourself and he just saw you orgasm. What’s worse, is he saw you weren’t staring at your boyfriend either. You were staring at your boyfriend's brother. It was over, you were going to be outed as the perverted soul you truly were. No one had ever made you debate stealing their clothes and touching yourself to the smell of them. Not even your boyfriend.

Suguru got up and cleared his throat, “Is it okay if I shower? I’m feeling a bit greasy,” he looked over at you and then winked. He … winked. You felt your heart squeeze and your hand pulled itself out from your underwear, two fingers glistening from your wetness in the low light. Your boyfriend nodded and his brother walked back to the door, passing by you. He leaned over your frame and grabbed your hand by the wrist, letting his fingers engulf it. He smelled purely of nice cologne; Mixing with the air, it made you feel hazy. Maybe he wasn’t exactly as straight-laced as you had anticipated. And maybe when he saw your display he realized he had a chance. That’s what you hoped for. 

Your legs slowly clenched together, squeezing as he brought your hand up to his mouth. “Spread them, pretty girl,” he mumbled, eyeing your slicked fingers with a lustrous stare. You bit back a whimper and spread your fingers apart. Suguru brought your wet middle finger into his mouth and inserted it, closing his lips around your knuckle. He started sucking, closing his eyes, and groaning softly at the taste. You could see he was already hard and you could see him have to restrain himself from taking you then right there. It turned you on, for the fact your boyfriend was right in front of you two none the wiser. All he knew was you were doing homework and his brother was showering. But you weren’t doing your homework and Suguru wasn’t showering. He was busy licking up and down your middle finger, drinking up your holy liquids like it was a prayer. He finally pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva from the bottom of his lip to your fingertip. He let go of your wrist and used that hand to signal you to follow him silently, making sure your boyfriend didn’t notice. 

You stood up instantly, following him quietly. At that moment, you cut any romantic ties you had with your boyfriend. You felt nothing but contempt for him, keeping you trapped in a relationship based on the promises he always took back. At that moment, you were completely and utterly done. You didn’t need your boyfriend anymore when you had a real man who could ravish and please you, romantically and sexually. The two of you made the quick walk to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, letting the door faintly close behind the both of you. In seconds his hands were on your hips, tracing them lightly with his fingers. Even his dirty touches were polite as if he didn’t want to break you.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted this so bad,” Suguru practically moaned, “He doesn’t deserve you. He can’t please you like I can,” his hands slowly trailed down until they grazed your ass. His large palms smoothed your skin and then squeezed, just to hear you gasp and feel you shudder.

“Suguru…” You whined against his touch, pouting your bottom lip when he kept squeezing your ass cheeks, “This is so.. Wr-” You couldn’t continue your sentence, as his lips found yours and pulled you into a heated kiss. The air felt so heavy and thick between the two of you, with your bodies pressed together in pure harmony. His mouth sucked and cradled yours, making you try your hardest to keep up. Suguru was such a skilled kisser, he was making it a bit hard. You whimpered into the kiss and pressed your hands onto his back, digging your nails into his shirt.

“Fuck right or wrong,” he breathed against your open mouth, as you attempted to find his own again, “No one deserves you. Not him,” his lips brushed against your temples, “Not even me…” With that, he was kissing you again, hungrier. He needed you so badly it was causing him physical pain. His hands were now trailing inside your shirt, undoing your bra. He needed you out of these useless clothes and he needed that now. Suguru was straining against his tight pants to just be inside of you, for any kind of release. Fuck… your mouth would’ve felt so good if he just let your plush lips wrap around his cock. 

“Hey, Guru??” You both heard your boyfriend shout. As quickly as Suguru was kissing and holding you, he was pushing you into the shower and closing the curtain. You fell against the tile wall and hissed at the sensation, pushing yourself up. You heard the door open and your boyfriend asked, “Yo, where’s the gf? I wanted a sandwich.”

“I think she said one of her friends invited her out. She’ll be back later,” Suguru lied, straight-faced and through his teeth. How could he do that to his brother and not look the littlest bit guilty? I mean, he was a piece of shit so he didn’t feel too bad. But this was still wrong. Oh so wrong.

“Oh,” you heard him reply a bit deflated, “Do you mind if I shave then? I was growing out the beard but I don’t think it’s a look.” You heard Suguru reply with a hearty laugh and then the door closed. You looked down at your clothes and began to strip, pushing them to the side of the shower. You could always pick them up later and put them in the washing machine, he’d never know. First, came your shirt and bra, then your shorts and panties. You heard a bit of shuffling behind the curtain and the raven-haired male stepped into the shower, avoiding opening the curtain too much. He gave you a sly grin and began to take off his own clothes. It was hot, seeing him remove his shirt and looking at the ink lining his skin. Dragons, snakes, spiders, webs, anything you could think of he probably had on his chest and arms. You couldn’t resist and one of your hands touched the snake in the shape of a heart along his bicep. His skin was so silky and smooth, you could’ve cum then and there. He looked over at you with a different expression, almost a deer in headlights. A small blush spread from his temples down to the apples of his cheeks, and a genuine smile appeared on his mouth. The one where his eyes crinkled and closed. 

“You know, I think she’s gonna leave you if you only call her the gf instead of her name,” Suguru called out, tossing his clothes over the curtain. Without giving his brother a chance to respond, he turned on the water to one of the hottest settings. You let out a faint gasp and felt as he pushed you up against the wall, pressing his mouth to yours. You didn’t even get a chance to look at his dick! You bit back a loud moan and kissed him back, as water pelted both of your fronts. Two burly hands pressed your wrists on either side of your head, forcing you to endure the passion from his mouth. It turned you on in a way that felt like a fire was brewing inside of your core, burning and building, waiting for more stimulation. His hands would feel better than your own and you both knew it. Just like how your mouth could satiate his own burning craving for a release.

“Yeah, right,” you could almost hear your boyfriend roll his eyes. But his voice was fading in and out of your hearing, half from the shower water and half from his brother sucking against your bottom lip. “She couldn’t leave me if she tried. My dicks too good.” Speak of the devil, you felt Suguru’s cock rub against your thigh. You didn’t take the time to even check if it was okay, pulling away and putting your hand against his cock, positioning it at your entrance. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, before biting his bottom lip. You felt so warm and wet, basically being asked to be defiled. 

“Yeah, you fuck her soooo good,” Suguru replied as he thrust into your pussy, biting back a groan and shuddering at the sensation of you clenching around him. He was big and he didn’t give you time to adjust as he began to fuck you, deep and slow, making sure to press his balls against your cunt, pulling out, then slamming back in. You gasped and pushed your head back against the tile, rocking your hips to the sensation. “I wonder if she’d like me more,” he spoke as if he wasn’t balls deep in your wetness. Suguru grabbed one of your legs and slowly began to lift it up to his hip, wrapping it around him. It was all to get the better angle to fuck you even deeper. You deserved the best he could ever give.

“Wh… why do you say that?” You heard your boyfriend sound a bit … jealous as he continued, “She’s with me for a reason, dude.” You went to open your mouth to whisper something to the man fucking you dumb, but his tip touched your heavenly spot. He was hitting every curve and ridge correctly, fucking you like a princess. To him, you deserved the best fucking he could give, even if he was forced to be quiet. He didn’t want you to be quiet at all, he wanted you to cry as you came every time. But these circumstances were a bit strange, even though the thrill turned you on. You could be caught at any second and completely outed as a perverted cheating creep, but you hadn’t been caught yet. That’s what made your stomach tingle every time he fucked his leaking cock into you.

“Just a hunch,” Suguru mumbled, letting a groan slip out. You arched your back as you felt his penis rub against you in a way you fucking loved, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge. He used his free hand to stick his fingers in your mouth, making you choke on how long and large they were. You grinned and sucked on them as if your climax depended on it, which it felt as though it did. You were so close and this was so hot, and he wasn’t stopping his thrusts for anything. He was just so hot. Nothing had ever turned you on this much in your life. Typically the only thing that felt good was the orgasm with your boyfriend, but everything felt good with Geto. Your mouth hung open and your tongue writhed around his fingers, whimpering as you finally came. You were too loud at that point, but you both didn’t care. He fucked your wetness right back into your battered cunt, making you feel all the more sensitive as you road your high and clenched your walls around his cock. You heard some rustling behind you and then felt his thrusts reach their peak, pumping ropes of cum into your abused pussy. Suguru let out a moan as he did so, again being way too loud. He didn’t stop, thrusting again and cumming even more. 

You were so sensitive you were about to orgasm again, but you paused. Maybe he was too loud, or the smell of your sex was overpowering, but you saw the shower curtain shift. One of your hands went to tap Suguru but another orgasm took hold of you and instead of words coming out, a loud moan did. Shit. Suguru froze and heard the curtain fully open behind him and you both felt the shower stop. It was silent as you stared face to face with your now ex-boyfriend. 

“I can ex-” You began but he cut you off.

“...Get out.”

[lovelycrimsonredsnow]

can i request headcanons for a yandere aventurine?? please ignore this if your reqs are closed or if youre uncomfortable!

Not at all anon! Sorry if this is short I have no wifi atm 😔

~Yandere Aventurine headcanons~

(tw! Co-dependancy, obsessive and unhealthy behavior, mentions of murder, mentions of suicidal thoughts. Viewer discretion is advised)

🪙 to everyone saying "oh he'd be a manipulative yandere who's ultra possessive!" Well yes, but no.

🪙 manipulative yes, but more in the sense he's pretty much lost everything and everyone he cared about. Can you honestly look at that man and tell me his entire mental state wouldn't be dependent on you?

🪙 'oh you wanna cook? But what if your hand slips and you cut yourself?!' or 'what if you cut off your finger and I'm not here to help you and you bleed out!?' kinda thing, he will subtly manipulate you into not being able to do much of anything without him. Both out of fear something will actually happen whilst he's not looking and his need to have you near himself at all times.

🪙 he's not "possessive" per say...or that's just what he wants you to think.

🪙 but every time he brings you out to the casino with him, his arm is always wrapped tightly around your waist...perhaps even to tight to breathe sometimes.

🪙 and the aeons forbid if some guy looks at you for to long...(Which even 1/4 of a millisecond is to long in his book) He's shooting that guy immediately.

🪙 what do you mean he was just glancing in your direction? Don't you see he was obviously trying to size you up? So he could take you away where he could possibly hurt you!?

🪙 yah...ngl he's a piece of work. A hot one tho

🪙 and just like that his paranoia got the best of him. Congratulations! You're now stuck in his apartment without any chance of getting out! Ever.

🪙 you can cry and scream...(Which in all honesty will make him feel bad, but not because he kidnapped you.) But nothing can persuade him to let you out without him with you.

🪙 why cant you see? He's protecting you! Like how a loyal dog protects its owner. You'll realize sooner or later and thank him...

🪙 he's going all in for you. Won't you be a good spouse and cheer him on?

~×extras!×~

🪙 despite the two of you not actually being married (dw, he'll fix that soon) he calls you his spouse a lot, especially to his coworkers (rip topaz's ears).

🪙 he has a really hectic schedule, so most of the time he doesn't even get home untill midnight when your asleep. Does that stop him though? Absolutely not. He'll shower, change, eat....then immediately get into bed with you and burry his face in the crook of your neck. It's probably the highlight of his day tbh (other than seeing your face through the security cameras he installed in his home)

🪙 like I mentioned be his entire mental state is very dependent on you. If your angry about being locked you (rightfully so) and yell at him, despite his calm demeanor he's gonna be upset for the rest of the month. If you sob and beg to be let go he's probably just gonna cry with you...

🪙 also, something I forgot to mention before, he spoils the ever loving shit out of you. You so much as glance at something expansive through a window and he's going inside immediately to get it for you. Nothing is 'to good' for this love <3 (that and he thinks if he spoils you more you won't try to leave him)

🪙 will pretty much do whatever you want (except let you go), want him to pamper you? He's got a spa date ready. Just want a day to yourself? Well...he won't be happy but he'll do it! (He's gonna be cooing at how cute your face is through the cameras)

🪙 if you tried to leave him however...well he's deffinally gonna internalize it. Was his cockiness to much? Did he not spoil you enough? Why why why do you want to leave him?

🪙 he'll grovel and beg at your feet to stay with him, whatevers wrong he can fix it! He'll cry and cling to your legs (give this man a trophy for his award winning act), sobbing as he tells you he doesn't want to live anymore if he can't have you.

🪙 and if you don't immediately change your mind....well, that may be the first time in his entire life he gets angry at you...

[featguler]

one of those things ────── aurélien isn't ready to let you go.

♡ ────── pairing : aurélien tchouaméni x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified, but they are described to be smaller than aurel. no smut but aurel is very touchy here... viewer's discretion is advised. kiiiiinda toxic idk they're exes and also drunk. aurel is sorta an asshole but idc he's so hot omfgggg sorry he is JEALOUS. important to mention that he's a bit forceful here but reader (& me) lowkey likes it... NOT proofread!!! it's a bit messy sorry ♡ ────── wordcount : 1,431 ♡ ────── notes : i am blushing as i write this. there is no plot to this, it's literally just banters. the stranger can be whoever you want but i am imagining trent from lfc omggg hes so fine. i GOTTA stop talking so much on the tags. not based on cowboy like my by taylor swift, but i was listening to it the whole time i was writing this ♡ masterlist.

“Stop looking at him.”

Aurélien has his lips hovering against the side of your neck, glowering at the general direction of the bar, like he was a wolf trying to protect his slaughtered prey.

“I’ll look at whoever I want,” you roll your eyes, hands gripping his arms—much bigger, much stronger—that are wrapped around your waist, trying to pry him off you. He has refused to let go of you ever since his drunken gaze spied you on the bar, biting your lips as you tug on the sleeve of a stranger of a man you’ve met only tonight.

You were flirting with him, because obviously you were.

It’s a club. It’s 1 A.M. And you are single.

Why wouldn’t you flirt with the next piece of hot ass you see?

“Come on,” Aurélien whispers, focusing all his hazy attention on you. “Should I go over and talk to him? S’that what you want? What do you think, baby?”

The fun banters were cut short when you felt an all too familiar farm wrapped around your waist, whisking you away.

And before you know it, you are settled on your ex’s lap, thirty feet away from the stranger on the bar, somewhere between his footballer friends, too busy with themselves and too accustomed with Aurélien’s antics to pay you any spare attention.

“I think,” you keep your eye contact with the man in the bar, fingers trying to slip between Aurélien’s hand, “you’re drunk. And stupid.”

“Drunk?” he chuckles, fully burying his face into your neck, an enticing feeling that you haven’t felt in a while, as he breathes in your scent. “Maybe.”

You shift on his lap, knees aching to get up, but he holds you down.

“But I’m not stupid, baby—”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’.”

“—don’t call me stupid.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’,” you repeat, leaning away from his head, trying to push his face away from the tender skin of your neck. Ex-lovers definitely shouldn’t be all over each other like this. “We’re over, Aurélien. Remember?”

“Remember?” He chuckles, still keeping his chin on your shoulder despite your eagerness to get away. “Ouch.”

“Get used to it.”

You glance back at the bar as Aurélien’s fingers find their way to the hem of your shirt, ungodly intention laced in every stretch of his muscles before your shaky hand stops him, somewhat affected by the couple of shots the stranger had bought you too.

“Fine,” he murmurs, pouting, as though you will melt for that age-old trick. “I’ll apologise for calling you ‘baby’, and then we’ll go home and have some fun.”

You scrunch your nose at his offer, turn to glare at him, only to meet his lazy grin.

“I’m not—”

You breathe in a deep sigh, and you can feel his jaw clench.

“—If I’m going home with anyone tonight, it won’t be you.”

“Why not?” He whines, pulling you in even closer, if possible, and you bite your lips as your ass rubs against his crotch, the friction causing you to shut your eyes as the blood rushes away from your brain.

The night just gets more hazy.

And seeing you distracted, Aurélien steals the moment to continue his way under your shirt, his fingers digging deep into the side of your torso.

“Aurélien,” your murmur, your voice drawing out to a drawl. You almost forgot about the stranger in the bar—when you look back at him for a short second, he is holding a glass of shots against his lips, a smirk etched on his lips like he’s enjoying the show Aurélien is putting on for him.

Aurélien grits his teeth, grazing them against your neck when he notices that your attention is centred on the guy more than on him. “Answer me.”

You huff, gripping his wrist over your shirt. “Because we’re over. We broke up.”

An irritated sigh escapes his lips, somehow returning his lips on your neck, nipping softly on the skin. “You’re being stubborn.”

“I’m being stubborn?”

“Come on,” he pretends that he isn’t in denial. “I’ll take you home and I’ll fix whatever was wrong with us, yeah?”

His hand continues to knead on your flesh, lips moving up your neck, to your jaw, to nip on your earlobes. 

“That’s not,” your grip on his wrist tightened, “how it works.”

“Of course it is,” he whispers, pulling you back. “That’s exactly how it works. We’ll talk, just you and me, back at my place.”

You shake your head, one hand on the velvet couch beneath you two, to find leverage as your feet find the floor—a sad attempt of getting up. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“You sure about that?” His hand leaves your shirt, and finds itself gripping your thigh to pull you back down. He sounds inviting, and you almost fell for the alluring tone of his words. “Don’t make me prove you wrong.”

You slant your eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

Aurélien laughs, seeming to enjoy riling you up, like he wants to see you break.

“Or what?” He cups the side of your hips, rocking you, his fingers drawing aimless patterns against the fabric of your jeans. “You gonna do something about it? Gonna punish me, baby?”

You grit your teeth, drawing in a sharp breath, a hot sensation stirring in your chest—a mixture of exhilaration, and annoyance, and interest, and anger.

You can backtrack. You can forget about your break up, and go home with him, and let the alcohol take over the night. But your ego is higher than whatever pedestal Aurélien has decided to put you on.

And you? Well, you are just not the type of person to get back together after a break up.

It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing.

Aurélien tilts his head at the way your bottom lip juts and pouts as you rake your brain for some sort of response. He can’t help pushing you over the edge—that feeling of dominance over your feeble resolve, having you on his lap, small and bothered; he loves it.

And he loves you. He is pretty sure that he does. And he’s pretty sure that you would come running back to him if he just pushes the right button.

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” He kisses your cheek, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart towards the bar for a second. “I’m tryna talk to you, baby. I can’t have you go home with ‘nother man, now can I?”

“Fuck,” you jolt when you feel him dig even further into your hip, “I’m fuckin’ sick of you, Aurélien.”

He chuckles. “Say it again.”

You scoff, throwing your gaze away, trying to distract yourself with the arbitrary coloured lights on the dancefloor. “You got a sick kink?”

“I do,” Aurélien laughs, fond of the way you are feisty, of the way you hold back out of pride. “Only for you, though.”

It’s what he likes about you, he guesses, you keep it interesting for him. 

“Say you want me back,” he coaxes, his breath hot against your neck, lips just inches away from the one spot he had been lapping on all night. He would love to see you tomorrow morning—he just knows that his bite marks will develop into pretty bruises tomorrow, and the thought latches his teeth on the skin above your collarbone. “I know you want me, baby.”

“You’re dreaming,” you sneer, though it leaves your mouth more like a whine. He raises an eyebrow. “M’gonna say this—last time I’ll ever say it. We broke up.”

Aurélien groans, shutting his eyes, annoyed. “You’re so difficult.”

His large palm rubs against you, returning once more to the warm skin under your shirt, nails lightly scratching on it.

“You’re not protesting against me, though,” he points out. “You still love me, dontcha?”

You bite your lips, and it takes two seconds too long to answer him. “No.”

The way you whine, the way you shift—deliberately or not—on his lap. Aurélien murmurs, “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ohh, that’s not the language that a pretty baby should use,” his drunken slurs scold. You feel annoyed—and helpless—just listening to him. “Shouldn’t you mind your manners, considering you’re sitting on my lap?”

“Well,” you swallow, turning to look back at him. “Maybe you should consider letting me go.”

“And let you go back to him?” Aurélien shoots another murderous look at the bar. “No. Besides, I’m not done with you.”

You sigh, biting your lips, and a small smirk sprouts on his lips. You’re in for a long, long night.

[lowdotca]

Cw: Class of 09 audio so obviously there's gonna be some crazy shit being said. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

Made a silly animation thingy of me and @battingmyeyelashes characters together!! Who's computer is that? I have no fucking idea. There is legit no context behind this I just found the audio funny and wanted to whip something up real quick!

[lixzey]

Letters

a/n: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION ‼️‼️‼️ This has very detailed scenes which may not be suitable for everyone. The three letters will be the same, so heads up!

warnings: mentions of bullying, humiliation, name calling, implied claustrophobia, cancer leading to death, mentions of alcohol and possible drugging, implied sexual abuse and harrassment, victim blaming, slut shaming, implied post-traumatic stress disorder, trauma, etc

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED !

Lots of thanks to @lilmaymayy for helping me out <3

word count: 3.5k

The Fifteenth Letter

Timothée sat in the waiting area, his hands pressed together as he watched the monitor for his flight to finally board. It was already close to midnight, and he had already been waiting for four hours. After failing to find any information on Y/n back at the old children’s home, Timothée felt like he was following a dead end. Sure, he wanted to find her so badly—to be the hero she desperately needed—but at this point, he was clinging onto false hope. He had only four letters left to read, which terrified him to the bone. What if there weren’t any clues left for him to find? 

Would this wild goose chase end in vain? A pathetic attempt at searching for a person who probably doesn’t want to be found. 

Or so he thought. 

Sighing, the young man pulled his carry-on bag onto his lap. In one swift motion, he unzipped it and fished inside for the letters. Pulling the remaining envelopes, he chuckled. They were crumpled but still readable nonetheless. After taking a deep breath, Timothée mustered up the courage to read the next one from the series.

August 23rd, 2023

Dear Timothée,

High school was NOT like the musical. 

Jesus, I was too fucking naive to even believe that a normal high school would be like that movie. 

I mean, sure, you had that high school musical experience at La Guardia, and based on the internet, you were loved by everyone in your school. Who wouldn’t? I’m pretty damn sure that you were that class clown that everyone couldn’t hate because your smile and laughter are infectious, and besides, those high school performances? THE ABSOLUTE BEST! I wish I had your confidence back in high school.

You might be asking, what was my high school life like? Let’s just say I was mostly invisible—what’s new, at this point? —and most of the time, I kept to myself. I didn’t have any friends, because let’s be real, who would want to be friends with a sad and depressed girl? I often ate lunch in the girls’ bathroom because I was never allowed at any table; basically, I was a target for bullies.

There was this one girl who absolutely fucking hated my guts. Her name was Kayleigh; she was the daughter of the principal. She wasn’t really the brightest bulb out of the bunch, since the only things she knew were bragging and bullying. I’m fairly certain that her mother probably threatened the whole school so that her daughter wouldn’t fail or anything.

That bitch of a girl made my high school days a living hell. And the fact that I was an orphan made it fucking worse.

It started when I accidentally tripped in the cafeteria and spilled my sloppy joe all over her. I didn’t mean it, obviously. Who would purposely trip themselves in a crowded cafeteria? Anyway, I apologized over and over again, but she wasn’t having it. Typical mean girl attitude, if you ask me. Apparently, I ruined her limited edition Chanel top or something like that—I can’t remember if it was really Chanel, or was it Gucci? Well, who cares? It’s just clothing. 

Not.

From that day on, she made it her personal mission to humiliate me every chance she got. God, who knew someone could hold a grudge just for spilling something on her ridiculously expensive outfit. 

She called me names; her favorite insult was "street urchin"—yeah, that one from Aladdin; she was never original, unfortunately. She mocked me for not having parents, for not having people care about me because I was just, in her words, a sorry excuse of oxygen and that my parents killed themselves to get away from me. Oh, and she absolutely loved to trip me in the halls, push me around, and pour my lunch over my head—she once sent photos to everyone at school, captioned Garbage can!—get me into detention purposely, and a whole lot more. It was annoying, but I didn't have much of a choice. I practically just accepted my fate and endured all of it.

There was that time she locked me in the janitor’s closet, and no one let me out until the next day. Yeah, just don’t try to imagine me being claustrophobic. And there was that time when she told everyone about my murderer of an aunt—I really don’t know how the fuck she got that information—and told everyone that I’m a dangerous killer. Did everyone believe her? Yes. Even the goddamn teachers. They treated me as if I were a ticking bomb that would explode any minute and kill everyone in sight.

If I wanted to list down every shitty thing people have done to me, I would need to write a whole ass book. ‘The Diary of a Sad Girl’ sounds good, right? Yeah, I know, Diary of a Wimpy Kid reference. 

All I can say about Kayleigh? She’s a fucking bitch. She’s a mix of Regina George and Karen Smith, except she made Karen her whole personality. 

Okay, so enough of the negativity. We’ll get back to that in a while. I’ll tell you about someone who made my life a little bit brighter, at least just for a short while. 

Halfway through my junior year, I decided to get a job. I landed one at a local bakery near Sweet Angels. Pretty sure that bakery’s gone now, though. The bakery was owned by this sweet old lady. Her name was Charlotte, but she always insisted I call her Lottie. Unfortunately, her daughter died when she was twelve years old, and she started the bakery to honor the memory of her daughter. I think it was her way of reliving those precious times with her child. If I had died when I was a kid, my mother would’ve done the same thing.

I always helped out as much as I could in the bakery, like putting the pastries in the oven, cleaning, and mostly at the counter. I assured Lottie that I was alright without any pay, but she always insisted. She’d always say, “No, no, honey, you need it more than I do. You have a long way to go in this life.”

Do I?

Pretty sure she was thinking about her daughter; she would have been the same age as me if she were alive. Despite everything, I just went with it. I mean, I wasn’t going to deny an old woman a little glimpse of what should have been.

As the days passed, I’ve saved a lot from what Lottie was giving me. Honestly? Promise me you won’t laugh, okay? I wanted to get a pretty dress for juniors' prom with the money I saved when the day came. But who was I kidding? I won’t look like Cinderella. I would most likely look like one of her stepsisters; my money’s one hundred percent on Drizella. I decided to get my first phone instead. It was a Samsung, nothing special, really, just my escape from reality.

Okay, so, back to my shitty life.

At the start of my senior year, Lottie was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer.

Just as my life was slowly starting to get better, shit happens. It was like the universe absolutely despised me.

I was there for Lottie every step of the way. I wanted her to get better; I wanted her to live. Maybe it was for selfish reasons, but she was the only family I had left. I know we aren’t related by blood, but fuck DNA; it’s the bond that makes a family.

Eventually, the cancer worsened, and Lottie just accepted the fact that she was going to die. I begged her over a million times to fight, but she was already at peace with death because she was so close to finally meeting her daughter again. Soon after our last conversation, just a few days before I turned eighteen, she passed away in her sleep. Smiling through the end of her wonderful life. 

I wish I could say that I was fine after that, but I wasn’t. It was like losing my parents all over again. Throughout the days of arranging the funeral, I was a mess. You can probably imagine the endless hours of crying I spent alone at Lottie’s house, trying to figure out what to do next. For the last year and a half, I had Lottie help me with deciding practically everything. I still tried to get it all together because she deserved a proper burial and a beautiful goodbye. 

A week after the funeral, Lottie’s lawyer contacted me. Apparently, she left me everything. Her house, bank accounts, jewelry, and the bakery, which was her most prized possession. I had to physically stop myself from crying after the lawyer informed me because Lottie entrusted everything to me. I mean, did I even deserve it? 

I tried to get back to normal after Lottie’s passing. I was out of the system, but at least I had a roof over my head. I still cried at night like a baby, but I had to go on with my life because I knew that’s what Lottie and my parents would have wanted. 

Instead of locking myself inside of my room, I decided to focus on my studies, since I only had a few months left of my senior year. Surprisingly, I made a few friends. It was mainly because of school projects and shit, but it was better than nothing. I don’t have any contact with them anymore, but I’m sure they’re living their best lives, unlike me. Rotting day by day, waiting for death to take me by force. 

Okay, okay, I’m getting a bit sidetracked. Are you ready for another traumatic bitch-ass event in my life? Promise not to hunt those people down, yeah? 

Senior Prom. 

I know, quite the cliché. I was initially against the idea of it, but it’s the last event before graduation. It didn’t help that my friends were absolutely hyping it up, as if it was the fucking MET gala. 

So, we went dress shopping like two weeks before prom. I got a beautiful teal dress that had a sweetheart neckline and a slit that reached up to my mid-thigh. It’s simple, I know, but I loved it so much.

Fast forward, prom night. 

It was honestly just like the movies, the getting ready part with your friends. Laughing and giggling about what could happen at the event, like first kisses and prom queen nominations, even though it was a long shot for girls like us. It was fun gossiping over the possible king and queen of the night while doing facials and mani-pedis.

I didn’t have a date, so one of my friends asked her brother if he could find someone to dance with and take photos with me. You know, for the ‘experience’. 

How I wish I didn’t agree to a date. 

God, trauma is such a backstabbing bitch. 

How am I supposed to get through life when every little thing gives me a flash of the past? I hate my life; I wish I would just drop dead so I wouldn’t suffer anymore.

I don’t know if you’d like to know what happened on that night, since it’s quite…disturbing, to say the least.

Fuck it. I’ll just say it. 

I was abused…sexually. God, I still feel disgusted. That little prom experience idea? It turned into one of the most sickening memories of my life.

At first everything seemed fine; he was this perfect gentleman. You know? The usual shit. Corsages, respectful touches, and very convincing words.

The night was perfect, almost.

I don’t drink, since I’ve already seen the effects of alcohol firsthand with my aunt. It terrified me to the point that I just avoided the mere mention of booze. Unfortunately, I couldn’t escape it on that fateful night.

See, my date had coerced me into drinking spiked punch and basically whatever the hell was in the flask he brought with him. It took a bit of a struggle to actually make me consume alcohol, but eventually I caved at the insistence of my friends.

Worst idea ever. 

Since it was my first time, I got drunk way too fast. Or maybe…it was just something else. Maybe he drugged me? I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.

Long story short, I woke up in his room the following day. My dress was ripped, my underwear gone, and my whole body absolutely felt sore—especially down there. 

It was horrifying, I’m sorry. 

He woke up the second I got out of his bed, well, technically because of my screaming.

You know what the fucker did? He stood up and pinned me against the wall and started kissing my neck. I couldn't move. I felt so humiliated, disgusted, and just hollow.

I couldn’t fight back; he was too strong.

I couldn’t do anything.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t do shit.

Eventually, he pulled away from me and went to the bathroom. While he was there, I mustered every bit of strength I had left to walk out of the room and leave his house, which was empty. His parents were probably out on a trip or something that day, which explains why he had the courage to do what he did. 

I was a mess. I looked and felt absolutely disgusting. My hair and makeup that I’d put hours of effort into looked like shit. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I quietly walked away from that hellhole, barefoot with my ripped prom dress.

After what felt like hours into my walk of shame, a sweet old lady found me aimlessly wandering through the streets. She asked me what happened, but I couldn’t utter even a single word. Though, she probably knew right from the moment she saw me.

She took me into her house and called the police right away. Unfortunately, he was never convicted. His name? Damien Harrison. He never paid for his crime. I never got the justice I deserved. And you know what’s worse? My so-called friends all sided with him.

No one would ever believe a slut like me. 

No one cares about a whore like me. 

The names people called me back then were absolutely terrible. From being invisible, I became the laughingstock of the school. I was the girl who got sexually harassed by practically every guy on the football team. I was the slut every girl should look out for because I might just seduce their boyfriends and shit. Those last two? That’s Kayleigh. She made sure to make my life even worse than it already was. 

I don’t even know how I survived the last remaining months of my senior year. After graduation, I just distanced myself from everything. 

Until now, I still do. 

Maybe I just deserve to be alone because I’m a disgusting human being that no one ever wants.

I hate it. 

I hate everything about me. 

I’m so done with the effects caused by everything that’s happened in my life. 

I’m so tired, so fucking tired. 

I just want the suffering to end.

All I ever wanted was to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

I think love or happiness has never been in my cards. All of those people I’ve loved either died or have tossed me aside like I was nothing. Happiness? Trauma just sucks it all out of my system, leaving me so hollow and lifeless.

God rest my soul; I miss who I used to be.

Maybe I should just end it all; what do you think?

— y/n 

Timothée felt his blood boil, anger coursing in his veins as he finished reading the letter. He sat there, gripping the paper tightly in his hands, almost to the point of ripping it in half at how tight he was holding it.

He felt…fuck, he couldn’t even describe what he was feeling. 

Y/n did not deserve to be treated the way everyone in her life did. She was an angel of a person, and they fucking took advantage of her.

Especially that Damien motherfucking Harrison. 

What he did to her was just so fucking disgusting; Timothée wanted to track him down, chop his dick off, shove it down his throat until he chokes on it and dies. He wanted everyone who hurt her to suffer and get the punishment they all deserve for breaking her over and over again. God forbid that he finds those people because he might not be able to control himself. 

“Oh, y/n…” Timothée muttered, his heart clenching tightly in his chest as he tried not to break down at the thought of her going through the hell she’s been through. “Mon coeur, I’m so sorry all of this happened to you…” 

Timothée felt more determined to find her, just so he could tell her that she deserves to be happy, that she deserves to live without being haunted by her mind, that she deserves to be loved, and that she is.

Because he loves her.

Timothée Hal Chalamet has fallen completely and irrevocably in love with this broken girl, and he had every intention to fix her—scratch that, there was nothing to fix because she’s already perfect the way she is—and make her the happiest girl in the whole world because she just fucking deserves to be worshipped and adored. 

Now he knows how it feels to be a reader falling for the main character. It was absolutely maddening, having to feel her pain and sorrow from the other side of the ink and paper. 

Timothée quickly pulled out his wallet from his pocket, desperately needing to see her. As soon as he opened the leather piece, his eyes met the most wonderful sight God has ever created in this world. 

“Oh, angel, help me find you…please.” He whispered, pulling the photo out of its place. His fingers delicately trace over her image, thinking how her skin would feel under his touch. Timothée’s gaze lingered over her lips, imagining how it would feel against his, hopefully in a bruising, mind-numbing kiss. If he was being honest, she’s been haunting his dreams for a good while now, in the best ways possible, of course. She was just so….

God, he was pathetic. He was just so desperately in love with this girl who poured her heart out to him, the girl who somehow made it impossible not to love her.

Suddenly, he heard his flight being called to board, snapping him out of his daze. Sighing, Timothée stuffed everything in his carry-on before quickly rushing towards his boarding gate. He would just have to continue reading on the plane.

As soon as he boarded the plane back to New York, Timothée quickly settled into his first-class seat. 

After a few minutes of takeoff, a flight attendant approached him, offering him a menu. “Would you like a drink, sir?”

Timothée nodded, not even bothering to check the menu. “Can you please get me the strongest you’ve got? Thanks.”

The flight attendant smiled. “Of course, sir.” 

Taking a deep breath, Timothée reached for his bag, opening it with one swift motion. He then fished for the last letter he read. “Let’s just hope I don’t go full-on Hulk.” He muttered, getting riled up by the second.

As he waited for his drink, he quickly skimmed over the letter and noticed something. There was something missing from her letter. Timothée ran a finger over the smudged ink where she had signed her name, realizing it was missing the all my love part she usually added in her letters.

He suddenly felt his stomach drop, dread consuming his whole body like a fever, and he was not liking any of it. 

“Mon coeur, what’s happened?” He asked, as if the letter was going to answer his question.

Letting out a deep breath, Timothée realized that he hadn’t paid attention to a detail that was absolutely heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. This woman who helped her, Lottie. She was probably the one good thing that’s happened in y/n’s miserable life, and for that, he’s eternally grateful. Lottie made y/n’s life a bit happy, even just for a little bit of time.

“Sir, here’s your drink.” The flight attendant who previously took his order served his drink that looked like either whiskey or brandy. “It’s whiskey, sir. Our finest on board.”

Timothée gave the attendant a small smile before muttering a quick thanks just as the attendant left. He then brought the glass over to his lips, letting the alcohol glide down into his throat with that satisfying burn. 

Staring at the glass, he suddenly felt uneasy.

Maybe I should just end it all; what do you think?

Oh, God, no. Fucking hell no. 

Timothée had just been so consumed by his own anger that he let it devour him and blind him from what truly matters.

Her, always her. 

“Mon amour, please,” Timothée silently pleaded as he held the letter close to his chest, clinging onto the sliver of hope that she was still living and breathing after everything that she’s been through. “Stay with me…”

[lovermake]

wearing their favorite piece of lingerie ( ft jjk men )

synopsis: very short headcannons on how your jjk bf reacts to you wearing his favorite piece of lingerie <3

content warnings : NSFW 18+ ( viewer discretion advised ), fem!reader, lingerie, fingering, making out, dry humping, teasing, praise & slight degradation, face sitting <3

choso

when he enters the bedroom to see you resting in his favorite lingerie piece of yours (a navy set) he completely forgets why he came to the room to begin with. obviously it wasn’t important for he no longer cared for that thing, and instead gave you the attention you desired.

calling you his “sweet girl” as he begins to praise your body with kisses, his lips a little slow and teasing as they drag all over your body. he unhooks the bra to admire your breasts, all while gently teasing your clit by pressing his thumb against the thin cotton.

you’re gorgeous when you try hard to receive your boyfriend’s attention. dressing up and gently surprising him. how else were he to show his appreciation, having you laid flat, kissing you sloppily while his fingers went to work. “my pretty girl” he’ll whimper through kisses.

toji

the one lingerie sit that toji obviously adores on you, is not the one he bought(stole) for you but rather the black one that shows both cleavage and a side boob, with an open crotch thong. the reason so much is because he loves the thought of your breasts being a tease while having your pussy in his mouth.

he’s keeping your legs open, as you press your clit against his mouth, body shaking in pleasure. hands on the headboard and your moaning his name and other incoherent words. he adores the scenery of it all. but he loves it more when press your body harshly against his face to get closer.

“ah, fuck.” you whimper, your nails are digging into the headboard and, your pussy is shaking in pleasure. his hands once on your thighs now move to your ass, and the feeling of you riding his face turns makes his cock ache bad.

nanami

he almost loses his mind when he sees you wearing the pastel blue set he bought you. the way your breasts are perfectly held by the bra, and the thong that makes your thighs look all so appetizing. he doesn’t care for how bad his day was now that you were here, waiting for him. you won’t have to wait any longer he tells himself.

he’s got you spread in front of him, the bra remaining, and his cock that teases at your entrance. he kisses your temple when you plead for his cock, and finally he gives in which is an enticing moment for the both of you. the warmth your pussy provides for him that he would kill for.

you’re both a moaning mess, your hands wrapped around his neck, digging into his blond strands as you take every inch of him in. your heels digging into his back and he marks up your neck every time your head is thrown back in pleasure.

© lovermake’s works 2024. Do not use my writing for language translation, re-editing, plagiarism, heavy inspiration, posting through other social media apps, or stealing.

[ladycupcakes]

haiiii do you think you can make headcanons for Patrick Bateman x neurodivergent s/o who likes horror movies a lot?? tyy ^^

ahhh tysm for the request!! this idea was SO fun to play with—patrick + a neurodivergent s/o who’s super into horror? yeah, it practically wrote itself lol i hope you like how it turned out 🖤🧠🔪

Summary: He tries to scare you by showing you horror films. You love horror movies and he can't help but feel more obsessed with you

Tags: Patrick Bateman x Reader, Patrick Bateman headcanons

Warnings: Mentions of sex (non-explicit), Mentions of murder, Blood & gore, Horror and thriller themes, Graphic violence (described through film references), Romanticization of violent behavior (fictional only)

This is fictional. Don’t romanticize this stuff in real life. Viewer discretion advised.

Word count: 1k

Requests here

The “refined” movie night that backfires instantly:

Patrick invites you over for what he calls a “refined movie night.” He’s thinking wine, minimal lighting, pretentious conversation, and psychological control.

But the movie selection? Brutal. Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Psycho, Maniac, that one banned French film he insists is “underrated.”

His plan is simple: you get scared, he gets to play the calm, protective type. He shapes the tone. He controls the narrative. You melt into his arms. He's in control of the situation.

Except you don’t scream. You lean forward with fascination, practically glowing. You're not usually this focused on things.

“God, that’s such a good practical effect,” you murmur while someone gets disemboweled.

He’s sitting next to you in a pristine Valentino suit, gripping his wine glass like it just insulted his skincare routine.

“You like this stuff?” — He can’t process it:

You turn to him, smiling, eyes wide like a kid in a candy store: “Oh my god, thank you for picking this! I love horror.”

He blinks. “You do?”

He wasn’t expecting this. People don’t derail his plans. They follow the script. And now he’s… interested? Confused? Slightly turned on?

Testing your limits (and losing every time):

He recalibrates. Next time, he picks worse. Obscure, underground, ethically questionable horror. The kind of movies that make grown men walk out of theaters.

You? You show up with snacks and a notepad. You’re taking notes. You pause to point out camera angles and obscure references.

Patrick sits there, realizing he can’t shock you. Not the way he wanted to. Not at all.

And it bothers him. But also? He might be obsessed.

Infodump wars. You always win:

You start rambling mid-movie about the use of color theory in Argento films, trauma cycles in slasher narratives, and how 2000s gore was shaped by post-9/11 nihilism.

Your hands move fast when you talk. Your thoughts go faster. You bounce from one film to the next like you’re solving a bloody puzzle.

Patrick tries to pull a signature Bateman move: one of his cold, calculated, vaguely academic film rants.

But before he gets a word out, you go, “Did you know the original ending was cut by the studio for being too bleak?”

He did. Obviously. But the fact that you did? He’s genuinely shaken. Your head is usually everywhere and anywhere at once, what's got into you?

You can’t mansplain horror to an horror brain:

He starts getting visibly irritated every time you finish his sentences or one-up his trivia.

You’re not trying to compete—you’re just excited. But he’s used to being the smartest, the most composed, the one who knows everything. You're always the one who doesn't know, who listens to him. He must be the one on top.

And now you’re sitting there eating popcorn out of the bowl he didn’t want to share, talking about the use of Catholic guilt in The Exorcist, while he rethinks his entire personality.

For the first time in years, Patrick feels like someone’s ahead of him.

It’s a threat. It’s intoxicating.

“That’s a spinal hit.” — The casual overshare:

Halfway through a particularly nasty film, he starts describing a stabbing scene in chilling detail.

“You see how the body slumps forward after the third stab? That’s a spinal hit. Total collapse. Blood flow slows dramatically. It’s surprisingly quiet.”

You pause.

“Patrick?”

“Yes?”

“How do you… know that?”

He doesn’t blink. Just shrugs and goes,

“Read it in a book.”

You’re impressed. “That’s so cool, you’re like… a forensic genius or something.”

“Or something,” he murmurs, sipping his wine like he didn’t just give away a murder method. Jeez, you were too clueless for your own good.

He starts leaving you gifts (that aren’t really gifts):

He begins “accidentally” leaving ultra-rare horror DVDs and violent concept art around his apartment.

“Found this in a shop. It’s out of print. You can borrow it,” he says casually, even though it’s obviously meant for you.

Sketches of gore scenes appear in his drawers. Pages from fake “scripts” with disturbingly real detail. Blood-smeared storyboards from “unreleased” projects.

“This artist is rising fast,” he says. “Don’t show it to anyone else.”

It’s his own work. Maybe even real crime scenes, stylized as horror fiction.

You think it’s the coolest thing ever. He can’t believe you’re not running.

Jealous of fictional killers:

One night you casually say, “Okay but Hannibal Lecter is like… lowkey hot.”

Patrick goes still. "Is he.”

“Yeah! I mean, he’s cultured, articulate, unpredictable. The way he kills—”

His jaw clenches. You don’t notice.

That night he tells you a “story from a novel” about a man who murdered his coworker, cleaned the crime scene, and no one ever found the body.

You’re blown away. “That sounds better than most thrillers I’ve read.”

He smiles, tight-lipped. You just praised his real-life kill as if it were fiction. He’s never felt this validated. That was the biggest turn on he has ever had.

That night he fucked you dumb.

Domestic, but deranged:

The longer this continues, the softer he gets—in his own weird way.

He lets you fall asleep on his couch during movie marathons. Doesn’t even move you. Just lowers the volume and watches you breathe. So cute. Not knowing he had a dead corpse in his fridge.

He reschedules a murder one night because you asked to watch Hereditary again.

When you’re over, he makes sure the fridge is locked. The knives are hidden. Just in case.

He starts thinking about you when he walks past crime scenes. Wonders what you’d say about the blood pattern. About the artistry.

He feels something that might be... respect? Admiration? Affection? Obsession

Whatever it is, it’s terrifying. And he likes it.

He lets you win (which means a lot):

Patrick Bateman does not let people win. But with you, he bites his tongue. Often.

You go on tangents about obscure slasher lore and he doesn’t interrupt. He just watches, amused, borderline awestruck.

You misquote a director once and he almost corrects you—then stops. Smiles slightly. At least you weren't better all the time.

You make him feel like part of something. A shared obsession. Even if you don’t know the full extent of his.

“You’re worse than me.”:

One night, you pass out halfway through a brutal indie horror. You're curled up against him, half a blanket on, limbs everywhere.

The screen glows red from a massacre scene. He looks down at you.

You look peaceful. Safe. Completely unaware of how close you are to a real monster.

“Christ,” he whispers, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

“What's going on in that little head of yours. You're worse than me.”

And for the first time in his life, he says it with something like love.

[aajjks]

The Boy (II)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à dàrk pàst, yn ïs só dàmn hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès, híghly sèxúàl thèmès, nèèdy, shàmlèss ýn, tsúndèrè èúnwòò.

wc: idek it’s long tho

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

taglist. @tatumrileyslover @slut4jeon @strawberryberrygirl @starl0ver4 @darkcyclecreator @taekritimin123@erisuna @devilslittlehelper @introvertedsin @jadaocon1 @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @wowersblog@jincapableoflove @whothefuckisthishoe @avawants2havefun @sophipp1 @moonfloweronmars @crisle19 @ctrlsht@mrsjohnnysuh @ennvfv @kpopsmutty69 [open for more]

••••

The house is too quiet.

You didn’t notice it as much yesterday— not with Ji-seon’s perfectly manicured presence keeping you distracted or Jeong-hwan’s piercing gaze making sure you didn’t fuck up your answers.

Even though it had been a day, but you still got used to their presence and now that you’re all alone in this house…

You’re having some trouble

Especially now that they’re gone, it’s just you and this massive, eerily pristine house. You, a lifeless doll, and the suffocating silence pressing in on you like a weighted blanket.

Your second day begins with an unavoidable routine—the one they so kindly outlined in the rules. Rules that, frankly, feel absurd.

1. Wake JK up.

2. Get him dressed.

3. Prepare his meals.

4. Read to him.

5. Put him to bed.

You stare at the list on the old, slightly crinkled paper and sigh. “Jesus Christ.” You rub your temple, the lack of sleep from last night making your head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton. 

I should be getting paid double for this shit.

And honestly, when you think about it, it’s kind of triggering because… of your history that you don’t really like to think about anymore.

But you’re getting paid a lot of ridiculous amount of money for this so you’re willing to play along even if it triggers the fuck out of you.

With an exhausted groan, you shuffle towards the grand living room, where JK sits in his usual spot on the couch, his dark beady eyes fixed on you in a way that feels entirely too alive.

“Alright, little prince,” you mutter, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Time to start our day of make-believe.”

Nothing happens. Obviously. Because it’s a fucking doll.

Still, the weight of its stare makes you hesitate for a second too long before reaching for it. 

The porcelain skin is cold under your fingers, smooth and unyielding. 

You lift the doll carefully— half because you don’t want to break the weird rich people’s prized possession, and half because some irrational part of you thinks it might move on its own.

You carry him upstairs to the bedroom they set up for him, which looks far too elegant for a toy. 

The furniture is handcrafted, the bed is neatly made with expensive silk sheets, and the air smells faintly of lavender.

This is insane.

Still, you press on.

Dressing JK is an experience you never thought you’d have. Buttoning up a tiny sweater on a lifeless doll is humiliating in ways you can’t fully articulate. 

Fuck your life, even a doll has a better life than you.

“You know, I don’t even do this much for an actual man,” you scoff. “You should be grateful, JK.”

The doll, of course, says nothing. But as you move to fix his collar, you swear the corners of his lips seem… slightly upturned.

Your hands freeze. No. That’s ridiculous. I’m just sleep-deprived.

You shake the thought off and place him back in the chair by the window, as instructed.

This is your life now. Taking care of a doll.

It’s laughable.

The rules are just guidelines, anyways, and rules are always meant to be broken.

•••

By noon, you’re already getting restless.

You’ve done everything technically required— dressed the doll, made him breakfast (which was a complete waste of food), and even read a chapter from a dusty old children’s book you found on the shelf.

Now you’re sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, but there’s no service. 

No Wi-Fi. No contact with the outside world.

Frustration bubbles up in your chest. You sit up, stretching your sore muscles, and glance at JK, who sits stiffly in his chair. 

“I doubt they’ll know if I take a little break.”

The doll stares.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky I even got up today.”

The doll should remain motionless. It should stay exactly where you left it.

But when you look back at it after getting up, something feels… different.

The head is tilted ever so slightly to the left.

Your breath catches in your throat. Was it like that before?

Slowly, you approach the chair, fingers curling into fists. “You’re really fucking with me now,” you whisper.

JK doesn’t respond.

You hesitate for a moment before reaching out and adjusting the head back into its original position. “There.”

Then you turn around—

clunk.

Your heart stops.

You whip back around.

JK’s head is tilted again.

Further this time.

A shiver runs down your spine.

No. No fucking way.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you back away, refusing to take your eyes off him. 

Your entire body is screaming at you to leave the room, to run, but you force yourself to breathe.

“This is just my imagination,” you whisper. “That’s it. I’m sleep-deprived, this house is fucking with me, and I need to get out of here for a bit.”

You don’t even bother “putting him down for a nap” like the rules say. Instead, you decide to explore.

•••

The house is massive.

You wander through the hallways, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors. 

The architecture is grand, intricate details carved into the moldings, chandeliers hanging like ghosts in every room.

But it’s the paintings that unsettle you the most.

There are so many of them. And they’re all of the same little boy—dark-haired, round-cheeked, with a bright bunny smile. He looks… sweet. Innocent, even.

And yet, the more you stare at them, the more something feels off.

Some of the paintings have his eyes looking straight ahead. Others have them slightly to the side. And a few—you swear to God—have his gaze locked directly onto you.

A cold shudder runs through you. 

Nope. Nope, we’re not doing this.

You turn to leave the room when—

“Pretty… stay.”

Your stomach drops.

You freeze, hands trembling as you whip around.

JK is nowhere in sight.

You left him upstairs.

Right?

You feel sick. Your hands grip the fabric of your sweater, the walls of the house suddenly feeling too close.

Something is wrong.

•••

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a firm knock on the front door.

You don’t even hesitate to answer it.

When you swing it open, Eunwoo is standing there, his hands in his coat pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Your stomach clenches—but not just from fear.

Because of course even when you’re scared out of your mind, your body decides now is the perfect time to get turned on.

Eunwoo’s eyes sweep over you, taking in your disheveled appearance. “You look…” His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up. “…tired.”

You lick your lips. “Tired isn’t the word I’d use.”

He steps inside, his presence commanding the space effortlessly. “Have you been following the rules?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Why does it matter? It’s just a doll.”

Eunwoo’s jaw tenses. “It’s not just a doll.” His voice is low, cold. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

You raise a brow, shamelessly letting your eyes trail down his chest. God, he’s so fucking hot. “You really care about this thing, huh?” You take a step closer. 

“Maybe you should care more about me.”

Eunwoo doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even react.

That pisses you off.

You tilt your head, voice dropping into something sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little distraction.”

Eunwoo stares, his expression unreadable—until his eyes darken.

For a second, you think he might actually give in.

Then—

“Yn…”

Your body freezes.

That voice. That mechanical, eerie fucking voice.

You whip your head around.

JK is sitting on the couch.

You did not put him there.

Eunwoo doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just exhales through his nose and adjusts his coat. “Follow the rules.”

And then— just like that— he turns to leave.

You’re left alone.

With him.

With JK.

And the second the door closes, you hear it again.

“Pretty… stay.”

A chill runs through your spine.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

“Fuck this shit I’m hungry, let’s go check out the kitchen.”

•••

You are never eating in this kitchen again.

The ramen was fine. Actually, it was good, especially considering how you barely ate today. But the problem isn’t the food. The problem is the audience.

Because across the room, perched on the goddamn counter, watching you, sits JK.

You drop your chopsticks. “Nope.”

The word echoes in the quiet kitchen. You didn’t put him there. You didn’t put him there.

He was on the couch earlier. You remember because you kept side-eyeing him while eating your sad little meal, feeling his beady little stare drilling into your soul.

And now he’s here.

Perched. Looking. Waiting.

Your throat tightens, a nervous laugh bubbling up before you can stop it. “So this is it, huh? This is how I die? Starved, single, and haunted by a fucking toy?”

Silence.

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip as the air shifts. It’s subtle, but you feel it—like the whole house just took a breath. The walls seem taller. The shadows stretch just a bit longer.

And then, soft and eerie, comes the whisper.

“Don’t forget…”

Your body locks up. A cold chill rolls down your spine, your skin breaking out in goosebumps.

Okay. That was new.

Your gaze snaps to JK, your heart hammering against your ribs. You heard it. Someone said that.

It wasn’t your imagination. It wasn’t your tired brain playing tricks. It was a fucking voice.

And yet, the doll remains the same—blank, expressionless, his tiny porcelain lips forever pressed into that neutral, unsettling almost-smile.

Fuck this.

You’re about to throw him in the oven. Maybe deep fry him. Maybe start a religion based on setting creepy dolls on fire.

But then, your eyes flicker to the list of rules pinned to the fridge.

6. Give JK a goodnight kiss.

7. Make sure JK is comfortable before bed.

Your entire body rejects the idea. Your soul leaves the chat.

Absolutely not.

A loud, frustrated groan leaves your lips. “Oh my God.”

This is beyond humiliating. This isn’t even a job anymore—it’s a prank. It’s gotta be. A weird, rich-people, fucked-up social experiment.

First the rules, then the mechanical voice, and now this?

You want to scream. You want to walk straight out of this house and never look back.

But the money.

The fucking money.

It’s ridiculous, the amount they’re paying you. It’s life-changing. And if all you have to do is follow some creepy-ass instructions to get it, then fine. 

Fine.

You slam your hands on the counter, glaring at JK. “You win, you little shit.”

And then, you pick him up.

Instant regret.

His body is solid, heavier than it looks, and the second his cold porcelain presses against your fingers, your entire body reacts.

A strange heat pools in your stomach.

Your breath catches. Your thighs clench.

You freeze. Oh no.

Not this. Not now.

This job is already ruining your sanity—you can’t let it ruin your self-respect, too.

But your body doesn’t get the memo.

The feeling spreads, slow and insidious, like a slow-burning fever. It’s not because of JK, obviously. 

But it’s him being here, the eerie tension in the house, the fact that you’ve been alone all day, untouched, unstimulated.

The thoughts you had earlier about Eunwoo don’t help. 

His sharp eyes, his broad frame, the way he completely ignored your flirting like an unbothered, frustratingly hot statue.

I need to get laid.

Or at least, you need to do something about this overwhelming heat crawling under your skin.

But not now. Not while holding the fucking doll.

You shake yourself off, gripping JK tighter, storming upstairs like you’re on a personal mission.

Put him to bed. Get this over with.

But the whole time, the feeling of being watched doesn’t leave you. If anything, it gets worse.

•••

somehow, you have managed to convince yourself that you just need a shower to make yourself feel right

And by the time you make it to the bathroom, you’re two seconds away from losing your mind.

Not just because of the creepy ass doll or the fact that your entire body is covered in goosebumps that won’t go away—no, no. That would be normal.

The real problem?

You’re fucking horny.

It makes no sense.

You just had the most unsettling dinner of your life, spent way too much time arguing with a porcelain freak, and still—your body refuses to cooperate.

Your nerves are shot, your thighs press together every time you move, and worst of all—Eunwoo.

Eunwoo being an asshole should not make him hotter.

But goddamn, did he look good tonight.

That stupid cold expression, the way his jaw clenched whenever you spoke, the way his voice dropped when he scolded you like some strict, brooding villain straight out of a fantasy novel—

Ugh.

Maybe you should just throw yourself into the nearest well and be done with it.

With a deep breath, you rip off your clothes and step into the shower.

The second the water hits your skin, a soft sigh slips past your lips.

Oh, that’s nice.

Heat runs down your spine, melting every tense muscle. Steam curls around your body, thick and intoxicating.

You tilt your head back, letting the warmth sink into you, washing away everything from today— the exhaustion, the unease, the sheer insanity of this house.

It’s just you in here.

Alone.

Finally.

Your fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbone, heat pooling low in your stomach.

It’s fine. You deserve this.

It’s not like there’s a fucking ghost watching you, right?

You exhale, the steam making your skin tingle.

Your mind drifts immediately—

Eunwoo’s voice. Low, commanding.

“Follow the rules, yn.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You don’t want to follow the rules.

You want to break them.

You can practically see him, standing outside the shower, fully clothed, watching. That blank expression, that disapproving look. His lips parting just slightly as he takes you in, dark eyes flicking lower—

God.

Your fingers twitch, a slow press against your hipbone.

He’d be so strict with you. He wouldn’t just let you do whatever you wanted—no, he’d make you follow the rules. Wouldn’t even touch you unless you begged for it.

Your breath hitches.

You bite your lip, hand sliding lower, heat growing—

Click.

Your entire body freezes.

That— That sounded like the fucking door.

No. No, no, no.

Your breath stops. Your skin prickles.

Water pounds against the tiles, drowning everything else out.

You can’t even turn around.

Click.

Your stomach drops.

That wasn’t just the wind. That was—

That was inside the bathroom. A violent shudder rips down your spine.

Your hands shake as you peel the shower curtain back—

And your breath dies.

The bathroom door is open.

Just a few inches.

A sliver of darkness beyond it.

The air is too cold.

Your pulse pounds against your skin, your legs trembling under the hot water.

You swear you locked it.

Didn’t you?

Your heart is in your throat. Your body still aches, heat thrumming through your veins—but now, it’s laced with something else.

Something primal.

Fear.

You clutch the shower curtain, your mouth dry.

You are not alone.

You feel it.

Someone is watching.

And then—

“Pretty, pretty, stay… stay.”

The whisper is right there.

Behind the curtain. Inside the fucking bathroom.

Your body jerks. A choked gasp rips from your throat.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe.

You just grab a towel—

And run.

You don’t stop.

Your feet pound against the cold floor, water dripping from your skin as you clutch the towel around you. Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, your heart slamming against your ribs.

That voice. That fucking voice.

You don’t look back. You don’t even blink until you crash into your bedroom door.

Shit—

Your hand shakes as you grab the knob, your entire body screaming at you to move, to lock yourself inside.

And then—

Knock.

Your stomach drops.

The knock is slow, deliberate.

Right on the other side.

A violent shiver rips down your spine.

It’s not the wind. It’s not your imagination.

Something is there.

Your fingers clench around the towel, water still trickling down your thighs. Every inch of you is tense, skin burning with leftover heat—

Knock.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You can’t just stand here like a fucking idiot.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down your fear.

And then, with a deep breath—

You open the door. Your entire body jerks.

It’s not a ghost.

It’s Eunwoo.

Holy shit.

He stands right there, dark eyes flickering over you, his expression unreadable. His face is blank—cold, unimpressed.

And you?

You completely forget about everything.

The fear? Gone.

The horror? What horror?

The fact that you were seconds away from pissing yourself? Irrelevant.

Because Eunwoo is here.

And you are barely wearing anything.

A wicked heat pools low in your stomach.

He looks good tonight. So good.

That stupid expensive coat, those broad shoulders, the way his jaw tenses as he looks down at you—

God.

If he wanted to take advantage of this moment, you would gladly let him.

Your lips part, your entire body still buzzing with adrenaline and… something else.

Use it.

You let out a slow breath, tilting your head just slightly, making sure the damp towel hugs every inch of you perfectly.

“Eunwoo,” you murmur, your voice just soft enough. “Did you come to check on me?”

His jaw tightens.

“No,” he says flatly.

Cold. Rude. Unfazed.

And you love it.

Your stomach twists, heat flaring in your chest.

He is so fun to mess with.

You take a slow step closer, just enough for the towel to shift over your thighs.

“Well,” you breathe, voice smooth, “I appreciate the concern.”

“I’m not concerned.”

He says it so fast, so deadpan, that you actually giggle.

The audacity of this man.

“Mm. If you say so,” you hum. “But you did show up at my door.”

Eunwoo just stares.

Like he’s debating whether to entertain this or just walk away.

His gaze flickers—just for a second.

And you see it.

The way his throat bobs, the way his fingers twitch at his sides.

Oh, he’s trying so hard to act like he’s not affected.

You almost feel bad for him.

But mostly?

You just want to see how far you can push.

Your hand loosens on the towel, your skin still damp, heat rolling off your body.

“You should come in,” you murmur.

Eunwoo exhales through his nose.

“No.”

“No?” You pout. “Not even for a drink?”

“No.”

You bite your lip.

“You’re really no fun.”

His eyes darken, but his face remains blank.

“I’m staying the night,” he says.

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh, that’s interesting.

You blink up at him, trying so hard not to smirk.

“Staying?” you echo.

Eunwoo nods, still completely expressionless.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon asked me to.”

Right.

The Jeons. Your actual employers. The whole reason you’re here.

You totally forgot about them.

But honestly?

That’s not your problem.

Because now—

Now, Eunwoo is here.

And he is going to be so much fun.

•••

Eunwoo doesn’t wait. He just walks in.

No hello. No Can I come in? Just boom—he’s inside, like he pays rent.

Which he doesn’t.

You watch, still clutching your towel, as he scans the room with sharp eyes, looking for—what? A hidden crime scene? Your black-market organ-harvesting operation?

“Where’s JK?” His voice is flat, uninterested in anything that isn’t made of porcelain.

…Are you serious?

You blink. “I—I don’t know? Where he always is?”

Eunwoo finally looks at you.

Well, not at you. Past you. Through you.* Not even sparing you a glance below the neck, as if you aren’t standing there, soaking wet, in nothing but a towel.

Your jaw drops.

You just had the most terrifying, borderline supernatural shower experience of your life, you’re practically naked, and all this man can think about is—

“The doll is in his room?” He cuts through your internal crisis like a knife.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Did you follow the routine?”

…The routine.

The routine that consists of treating a doll like a human child.

You squint at him. “Why are you asking like it’s life or death?”

Eunwoo doesn’t even blink. “Because it is.”

You snort. “Right, of course. If I don’t brush his teeth, he’ll develop cavities.”

Eunwoo looks exhausted already. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you or did you not follow the rules?”

You shift on your feet, trying to suppress the absolutely ungodly urge to eye this man like a piece of prime steak.

Focus, yn. Focus.

“Listen,” you sigh dramatically, stepping closer—closer than necessary, really. “I tucked him in. I read him a nice bedtime story. I kissed his forehead.” You place a hand on your heart. “I’m the picture of maternal instinct.”

Eunwoo gives you the flattest look you’ve ever seen. “You forgot to change his clothes, didn’t you?”

You pause.

“…He has outfits?”

Eunwoo exhales through his nose like he’s regretting every life choice that led him here. “Yes. He has outfits.”

You resist the urge to laugh.

Barely.

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” you say, grinning. “You’re seriously telling me you came all the way here, in the middle of the night, to check if I changed the doll’s clothes?”

Eunwoo looks you dead in the eye.

“Yes.”

And that’s it. No hesitation. No shame. No realization that this is, in fact, a batshit insane thing to say out loud.

God, he’s so serious about this.

And it’s so hot.

You step even closer, tilting your head. “You know, for a guy who looks like he should be modeling for luxury cologne ads, you sure do care a lot about—” you gesture vaguely “—porcelain toddlers.”

Eunwoo doesn’t move. “Are you following the rules or not?”

You lick your lips. His gaze doesn’t drop once.

How rude.

“How about,” you say sweetly, “we stop talking about the doll and start talking about you staying the night?”

He raises a brow. “And why would I do that?”

You smirk. “Because I might be scared?”

“No, you’re not.”

Your smirk falters.

Okay, rude and perceptive.

You try again, biting your lip. “Maybe I just want some company?”

Eunwoo gives you the most deadpan look of all time.

And then—without a shred of hesitation—

“The doll is company enough.”

You gasp.

“Did you just compare me to a fucking doll?”

“Considering you’re both brainless? Yes.”

Your jaw drops.

Eunwoo just turns away, completely unbothered. “I’m staying the night to make sure you don’t mess up again. Go put on some actual clothes.”

You stand there, towel-clad, seething.

And so fucking turned on.

•••

I can smell you.

The damp heat of your skin. The soft, lingering scent of your shampoo. The faint traces of sweat where your body burns beneath that useless towel.

You’re flushed— your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. I see all of it.

And you don’t even realize what you’re doing to me.

How fucking obscene you look, standing there in front of him, teasing, tempting, like you’re offering yourself. 

Like you’re waiting for someone to grab you, press you against the cold walls of this house, and take you apart.

But not him.

Never him.

He doesn’t deserve to look at you, to hear your breath hitch when he steps closer. 

He doesn’t deserve the way your lips part, the way your fingers clutch that towel like you know what you’re doing.

But I do.

I deserve it. I deserve you.

And I will have you.

You’ve already given yourself to me, in ways you don’t even understand.

 Every time you touch the doll, every time your fingers linger on his cheek, every time your voice dips into something soft, something affectionate..

You’re touching me. You’re speaking to me.

And you don’t even know it.

But you will.

I watch you now, legs shifting, thighs pressing together as if that will help. As if anything but me could ever give you what you need.

Your body is betraying you, isn’t it?

I know what you want. I know how badly you want it.

The frustration in your movements, the way your fingers tremble when you adjust your towel, the way your breath comes out in soft, shallow little pants.

You’re aching.

Dripping.

Begging.

You just don’t know who you’re begging for.

But soon.

Soon, you’ll understand.

And when you finally do, when you finally look at me, see me for what I am—

There will be no more teasing. No more waiting.

No more towels.

[callsignfate]

Hi I have some ideas for Valeria ( if you need something 😆)

1. Movie night with a fem reader, we know Valeria is cold and heartless but for her girlfriend...she can be a total sweetheart. Reader finally convinced Valeria to watch a cartoons with her ( I love cartoons 🙈) so they take some snacks and go watch cartoons. Unfortunately reader fall asleep after an hour and that was a moment when Valeria realized how good and safe she feels with her girlfriend

2. Valeria had a stressful day (obviously 😅) when she finished her work only thing she wanted to do was to go to sleep. She went to her bedroom but she couldn't find her girlfriend (reader) so she went to find her. Reader was in the kitchen cooking something for both of them when Valeria found her. A lot of fluff ,maybe some sexual tension who knows 😆

I have a lot if ideas and your stories are always sooo good and I think it might be interesting 😆 I hope you like it

Thank you 🖤

Reader x Valeria

TW: Possible sexual content viewer discretion is advised

Okay so, Authors note, I had taken such a long time off of writing that I had to rewatch all of the Valeria scenes to make sure I wrote the character as closely as I could get. This didn’t take long but, yea. I also went and found a laptop with a great deal so I use it just for writing and can now write whenever I want instead of having to write only on my desktop that's having some minor issues right now. I would like to apologize again for the large wait in between posts as I have a lot of things going on with my mental and physical health. I kept trying to get back into writing but every time I would I’d end up sick, at the doctor's for some reason, or just not in the mood to write. I also have been getting into other shows and games so might expand the characters and fandoms I write for. This is the 2nd prompt btw I will work on editing the first prompt draft after I post this.

Lightly edited as I wanted to post something ASAP!

She ended up taking longer than even her normal long days, finding herself up to her eyes in work and calls that had to be done soon to move her products smoothly as some unforeseen hitches had ruined her previous plans with ease. Her office was now shrouded in dark other than the two lamps she had turned on absentmindedly. Her last call was the longest and most infuriating one as luck would have it, her foul words being muttered under her breath and she slammed her phone down and left the office she found stuffy and claustrophobic after sitting in it ceaselessly.

Valeria was a busy woman, of course, often keeping her empire running wasn't a small feat. Her days weren’t the standard eight hours as most were, after your busy schedule that kept you busy for eight to nine hours of the day. After work, you often waited around for her while relaxing and walking about the endless villa she called home.

Her mind was fuzzy with stress and exhaustion as the night before was restless and short, her morning with you being cut short had made the day already negative, only making her day longer and filled with her having an even shorter fuse. She yearned for sleep, to hold you in her arms while she listened to you ramble about the simple things that kept your mind busy and happy.

The trudging steps became lighter as she got closer to your shared bedroom where she half expected you to be in bed curled up either asleep or awake pouting and waiting for her with some small comment about how long you waited for her.

Instead, when she opened the door to get ready for bed you were gone, her eyebrows pinched together and furrowed in frustration. Her thoughts were filled with endless questions and fear? She scanned the room again to see the clothes she had seen you in when you had visited her office before were thrown into the hamper hanging off of the side of it messily. With a slightly agitated huff, she began opening doors down the hall in search of you, the bathrooms were cool and the mirror wasn't fogged up meaning you weren’t there, so she headed down the stairs before a sent of warm food led her to the kitchen, her eyebrows raised as she found you wearing an oversized sweater and short thin sleeping shorts that you usually wore to bed after she bought them for you on a particularly hot day a year or so ago.

“What are you doing?” She finally spoke with a slightly playfully mocking tone, making you jump while you leaned back and forth and mouthed the lyrics of the song you were listening to in your earbuds.

“I was making us something to eat, I tried to lay down but I got snacky and bored waiting.” You said after quelling your quickened heart and letting out a small breath.

“I had calls to make and the idiots on the other side weren’t listening.” She muttered with a small hint of frustration before she moved to stand behind you, her arms wrapping around you before they moved under your hoodie so slowly that your mouth slacked and goosebumps raised on your arms and the back of your neck.

“Let's eat and head to bed.” She hummed out in your ear with a small teasing and cocky laugh.

You offered a nod and plated the food before her hand slipped into your loose shorts making you lean forward onto the counter, your stomach tensing as a gasp escaped your lips. 

The food, sat on the counter cold you realized as you watched her sleeping soundly, the subtle soft snore making your lips turn up into a small smile.

[ryiju-muunie]

Pray to the lord. Baby I'm Yours.

18+ viewer discretion is advised

Omega!Prince!Satoru Gojo/Alpha!Servant!Suguru Geto Warning: omega verse, bottom gojo, top geto, royalty au, omega heats, pillow humping, frotting, 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 frotters, accidental voyeurism, technically handjobs, naked cuddling Word count: 2871 DESC: Suguru was the servant of the Gojo family, mainly Satoru's personal servant. What happens when he, the alpha he is, goes to check on the prince [very big omega] while he's suffering an extremely bad heat? Not to mention, he has no idea what actually happens during a heat.

I originally wanted to do this with Zosan but satosugu's been on my mind

NOTES: this is my first omegaverse fic so yes obviously geto would've heard about heat but I think he didn't have good access to sex education as a kid. so he most likely only knew what his classmates said and since he had probably only been with alphas (if he grew up in an alpha dominated area) it would've been mainly alpha stuff.

and lets just say.. he's probably just recently joined the staff, so he has yet to see gojos insanely intense heats.

Suguru Geto was an alpha by all accords. The way he acted and especially the way he smelt. It was intensely intoxicating for anyone who walked past, and he was none the wiser. Yes, he was smart, but he didn’t entirely understand how omegas functioned. He never bothered to truly research how a heat affected them, or how his presence could make it worse. He was handsome, it was obvious, and his scent was strong. So that mixture could send any omega in heat over the edge. But that never interested him. He liked omegas, sure, but the only omega he had on his mind was the Prince. That prince was his best friend, his everything [no homo], so he was always thinking about him. Even on the days he had off from being his indentured servant, his mind always wandered back to the crown. 

He found himself on this fine day washing dishes in the kitchen. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him aside from the fact he hadn’t been summoned all morning. It was bridging on noon and the prince hadn’t even called for him through one of his maids. Any other day he wouldn’t think too much about it and sit around until he was useful, but today he was more concerned. The servant had heard from a maid who heard from another maid that Prince Satoru Gojo was set to start his heat any moment. Typically he would just block it with his hormone blockers but the king wanted him to mate at some point to provide an heir. 

How could you have an heir if the Prince wasn’t going to have sex with anyone? He thought, with a slight roll of his eyes. Satoru wasn’t interested in anyone, he knew that. Especially, since his prince would tell him that. He could recite every suitor and what was wrong with them. Every flaw, every freckle out of place. It was trivial things that made the prince say no, and he couldn't care less. As long as he got to serve his prince that was all that mattered to him. But- but not in a weird way. 

Suguru looked down at the running water, as it splashed against the plate he had been scrubbing incessantly for five minutes straight. At some point, he’d have to bite the bullet and just walk in there. Don’t heats make the omegas sick or something? He wasn’t sure. He knew it had to do with fertility and babies, and slick, whatever that was. One of the maids had talked about slick before and he found himself looking away and pretending he wasn’t there. Setting the plate down, the servant strode to the fridge and opened it. What do sick people like to eat? Well, there was soup… But did Satoru even like soup? No, he liked… The man stood there for a few minutes as he debated what the prince would like before a voice cut through his thoughts.

“You know,” he turned to see it was Ms. Shoko Ieri, “I think his heats pretty bad this time. Postponing it and all.” Oh right, he had been blocking it for several months before this. Did it cause some kind of intense explosion of sickness? 

Suguru nodded, turning his body and acting as if he had a clue what she meant by bad, “I was going to bring him some food. But I’m just not sure what he’d like…” A small and unsure smile pulled at his lips. He wasn’t sure if the prince was awake! Don’t sick people sleep a lot? Maybe it would do him some good to just walk in there and assess how sick he was before he made him some broth. After his conversation with Shoko ended, where he stated he would be checking in on the prince, she made a comment that utterly perplexed him. 

“Careful, your scent might send him into shock.” 

His scent? Do alphas smell somehow make omegas even more sick during their heats? Or perhaps their mere presence? As the man walked down the silent hallway, he looked around before bringing his wrist to his nose. One of his scent glands was there, aside from his neck or his face. He didn’t smell more pungent than normal, although everyone always commented on his musk. He didn’t really notice all of that. Satoru had a smell, but it was faint enough that he never took notice of it. It was sweet, just like his taste in food. He always thought it had fit him, smelling like pure sugar and cookies. Like a freshly baked batch of cookies left to cool on a window sill in his memories. 

He pressed to fingers to the scent gland on his neck, pressing down a bit to pick up more of his scent. Apparently, he smelt the most there. But when he brought it to his nose to take a whiff, he got just barely anything. Was he nose blind? Was nose blind-ness to your own scent a thing? Suguru was lost in thought as he approached the door he didn’t hear any of the very obvious noises from it. Well, he didn’t for a moment until he heard the first sob. Was the prince … crying? Oh no, he must have been very sick. He never cried unless he was in absolute pain. Geto pressed his ear up against the door and listened for a minute, hearing nothing but muffled sobs and sniffles. Maybe a few words but it was hard to make out through the door.

The servant let out a breath, at some point, he’d have to open that door and face a very sick Satoru. His mind was going on and on about how he could make the prince feel better, that he wasn’t prepared for the sight his eyes found waiting for him. It had slipped his mind that earlier that week, he had misplaced one of his more casual jackets for when he was on his days off. It was dark blue with very soft cotton lining the inside. Well, now he knew where it had gone. Before him, Satoru was lying on his bed, with the jacket around him. At first, the sight was just, a man crying with a jacket around his shoulders. Until he took a closer look to see that he was A) bottomless and B) rocking his hips around a pillow enclosed in between his legs, while sobbing into the jacket. It was hard for him to make out exactly what it was, but once he saw it he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He just walked in on his sick princess masturbating while wearing his very own jacket. 

Then it clicked once he smelt it. It was raging and emitting solely from Satoru and Satoru alone. Sweet and sickly at that was what Suguru would describe it as. Pungent and making his ears begin to throb. Was this what omegas emitted during their heats? It was … intoxicating. Almost better than cookies, it smelt like heaven. But… was it supposed to be arousing? That was what was truly bothering him. For how good it smelt, it made the alpha feel a certain way. The throbbing in his ears subsided, and another area started to twitch. Maybe it was the fact he was watching a man who didn’t know he was there jerk off, but it was hard to keep away. It was almost instinctual and purely uncontrollable as he closed the door behind himself and cleared his throat. 

Satoru sat up almost instantly, but his hips didn’t stop. The jacket fell around him, revealing a shirtless chest and eyes welled with pleasurable tears. He didn’t look sick, he just looked flushed. He eyed the servant and choked out a few words, “I.. I’m sorry.” 

Suguru raised an eyebrow; His grinding was as uncontrollable as his own urges being splayed before him. Was this what a heat was, not sickness but rather an unattainable thirst he couldn’t quite quench? Then the man realized he was utterly stupid. It had to be similar to his own ruts. He didn’t even know there was such a thing as an omega rut! My god, this guy was clueless! Had he been living under a rock? He knew he would’ve remembered if Omegas went into rut. Maybe it slipped his mind. But, he knew how it felt when he was in rut, how he acted, so it must be the same. Peak fertility right? He just needed to get off, and the servant could help with that. He devoted his life to Satoru, of course, he’d do anything to help him. 

“Don’t apologize, you can’t help it,” his voice outright purred against his own volition. God, even the way Satoru looked at him was enough to turn him on beyond belief. That poor, helpless look, desperate to relieve his tension. All that smugness he typically carried was gone and left was a submissive little slut who was continuously grinding his cock against the pillow despite the shame he so obviously felt.

“Su-Suguru…” He mewled, hiccuping as he did so, “Come here…” Satoru looked away, a hazy blush burning across his cheeks. It was adorable, white hairs falling into his face as he let out a guttural moan. His cock looked swollen as the servant approached him, loosening his tie by rocking it back and forth with one hand. Was this from the prince trying to cum, or was this from his last orgasms? He bet that his hands would feel much better than that pillow, and his scent would be nicer too. 

Suguru tossed his tie to the ground, kicked off his shoes, and started to unbutton his shirt, “I’m going to make it all better, okay Satoru? You won’t have to lift a finger. I’m here.” His eyes were half-lidded as his white shirt slid down his chest to reveal pectorals he had worked so hard at building. Then came his underwear. He wasn’t going to be shy if his prince was already on full display. Just eyeing his cock made a whimper escape the other man's lips, his hips swiveling side to side to scratch that itch. 

The bed dipped down with his weight and he sat in front of Satoru, lightly picking up the pillow and promptly tossing it. The prince sat on his knees, hovering slightly above the bed as his slick covered his inner thighs and dripped onto the mattress. How pitiful. He just needed to release and that made the servant throb at the sight. Seeing their dicks, as he looked down, it was a bit of a turn-on and a bit of an ego boost. Suguru was hung, sorry it’s canon. He watched as his cock twitched and begged for some kind of stimulation. He glanced at Satoru’s smaller cock, spasming more than his own. 

Well, he had to think about this carefully. Satoru was at peak fertility, right? If he came inside him, there was a guarantee he’d become pregnant, which would be the worst possible scenario. On any day, he’d love to breed him. But… if he was at least on birth control. The prince couldn’t get pregnant from a commoner whose education was so poor he didn’t know what a damn heat entailed. So what else could they do? The obvious was a blowjob or a handjob, but he didn’t want the other man to have to lift a finger for him in return. He wanted to give him the most pleasure without Gojo needing to return it. He didn’t even care if he came, as long as his prince was satisfied. 

“Lay down,” was what Suguru ended up saying. Without hesitation, the princess fell to his back and awkwardly stretched his legs out around his servant. How submissive. If he wanted to take his time and relish in this, he would’ve. But they had business to attend to! The first orgasm was always the most intense, in his experience. And heats and ruts were basically the same thing, right? Probably! Geto sat himself below Satoru’s lap, so their dicks were touching. It was sensitive, as they pressed against each other in a perfect curve. Almost like his cock was made for him. The man rolled his hips, just once, to see how the other liked it. 

The white-haired male brought a hand to his mouth and bit down on his fingertips to stop a wail from escaping. Oh, so he definitely liked it. “H..hold it.. Mm.. hold- hold them.. T-to.. together hah…” Satoru whined, bucking his hips up uncontrollably. The servant did exactly as he was told, cupping both of their cock-heads together then running his down the middle, so his palm graced his cock and his fingertips touched the others. It felt, so good. The warmth of Gojo’s cock mixed with his firm hand was enough to get bouts of precum to leak from his tip. The prince was past the point of leaking, he was practically gushing pre through his swollen tip. It was cute, he thought as he rubbed his thumb across the slit. 

“H-ha.. you’re g-gonna m..make me..,” Satoru chuckled, a hazy expression taking hold of his features as he squeezed the bed beneath him. His eyes were blown out, blue taken over by a black pupil. It was strange to look at as he ground his hips back and forth while using his hand to jack the two of them off. It was slow and methodical, and god was it hot. Pleasure built at the base of his cock, slowly building until it shot up almost instantaneously. It was jarring, going from a pleasurable buzz to an intense eruption. 

He didn’t stop his movements, even when the heat was rising too hot in his lower stomach. Suguru focused his other hand on the male's tip, making sure to toy with it in the way he, himself, liked. Surely when you’re that horny any stimulation is good stimulation, right? He was already close, but to see Satoru squirming at the brink of a slow orgasm was too much to see. He bucked his hips every time it got too much, and the other would slow, just to draw out the pleasure. The more Geto teased, the more he knew it would pay off for the other.

“Are you ready?” He cooed, leaning forward to press their dicks closer together. Satoru moaned in response, head bobbing back and forth as if his neck had been broken. Oh, he wanted it so bad. To get sent over the edge and shudder until he could barely take it anymore. He wanted to cry until he passed out. 

Suguru nodded, a bit of determination filling his face. He was going to try at the very most to fill the prince's expectations as much as he could. His thrusting sped, and his hand jerked them off with more vigor. Just even applying more pressure was too much for Satoru, and he came within seconds. His moans were a flurry in the air, filling the servant's senses as he found himself spilling over too. It was a rush of heat from his length up to the tip, where it exploded in sensual bliss. Wave after wave washed over his cock and through his lower half, and he assumed it was more intense for the other since his breathing was quickening with every stroke. His cum splattered onto his stomach, dribbling out in a desperately slow manner. He could tell it felt like heaven as Satoru’s eyes rolled back and his back arched to the orgasm. That’s all the man wanted, was his prince to feel good. 

Suguru got off of him, eliciting a small whine from his other half’s lips, “I’m just getting you a tissue.” A small smile played on his lips as he did so, focusing his energy on cleaning up Satoru more so than himself. Most of his cum had landed on Satoru anyways. Once he set the tissues on the side table, he slumped down beside the prince and pulled him close. He didn’t smell as potent as he did before, this must’ve meant the first big wave was over. Of course, he’d have a flare-up again, but the majority of it had to be out of the way. However, he’d have to ask another omega maid and clarify all his questions since he was still going off of his own rut experiences. 

Satoru wrapped his arms around his servant and buried his head in Geto’s scent gland, reveling in the fact it was his scent. Sure, alphas scents helped [at least Suguru assumed that] but he didn’t realize that it was his scent only that was the most comforting to Satoru. I mean, why do you think he stole his jacket in preparation? They had gotten so close in the months of him working there, that it was only fair he’d want to be with someone he loved during this time. 

“Satoru…” he whispered, running big hands through tufts of white hair, “I’m so glad I could serve you. Now and forever… I’m yours.”

[anonymous333sthings]

The following statements are just my personal opinion i thought i would share with the class. VIEWERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!! If you read anything of mine there, more than likely will be mature themes such as sexual indos. If you do not like it, do not read it. You have the power to skip. If you do like it your eelcome and leave comments on other things you would like to see. With that said. Enjoy and have an amazing day. :)

(Not proof read. I'm just the writer, I can't spell. 💀)

Ass, tits, thighs, or hips.

Bangchan- Ass man all the way. He knows he has a big one. But all he wants is yours. Laying on your stomach. Hands on your ass. Walking in front of him. Hands guide you, but they're on your ass. He doesn't care who sees. How can he when he was blessed with a girlfriend who has such a pretty ass for him to grab. He loves doing it doggy so he can see it jiggle and spanking?! Absolutely. Spanking you till you're crying as he thrusts deeper. "Awe, can my little baby not take it? Yes, you can. Sweetheart, be a good girl for daddy. Take it. For me" Would grip your cheeks so tight there's obviously bruises. Have you ever worn a short skirt around that man?! Plan to not walk for the rest of the week. He is absolutely gobsmacked at how turned on he is when you bend over slightly, and he sees the little flash of your pretty panties and your ass cheeks.

Leeknow- Ass Man. We know. WE KNOW LEEKNOW. man's can't leave his members ass alone, so yours? Absolutely not. Only he can touch you, and he makes sure. Sucking hickeys onto your ass touching it and spreading your cheeks for him to watch them jiggle as they fall back together. Man loves it. Loves the idea of seeing his cock ram into you over and again as your ass bounces because of how hard he's thrusting into you. "Yeah, take it little slut. You know you like it. Take it for me."Look at your ass bouncing." Smacks it. Loves loves loves the way it bounces back against him.

Changbin- is such a thigh guy. Man's loves his thighs and yours. Like. He just wants to faceplant into them. Kissing, licking, sucking. You're not wearing shorts for a while. Binnie, has you marked up. Just comes home after a day of work exhausted and falls on his knees in front of you. "Can I just touch them? I need to feel how soft and warm they are." LOVES THIGH RIDING. man knows he has thick thighs and loves to see you get absolutely wrecked while riding his. He wants you to make a mess and lick it off his pants. "That's it, baby, ride my thigh. You're doing so good for me. So good. Feel good?", "your gonna cum? Good girl. I'm so proud of you."

Hyunjin- personal opinion. Hips, man. We know he's talented at everything. Painting, singing, daning.... I imagine some dirty dancing Havana nights shit. But at home in his art studio, maybe? Walk in wearing a tank top and any pair of panties his eyes are on your hips and the way they move. Touching them ALL the time. There is no way he can live without it. Has to be. He wants a hug he's pulling you to him by your hips. They are his favorite thing to hold as you bounce on his dick. "Yeah, that's it, jagi, ride me, ride me till you're creaming around me." Can't go a day without touching your hips.

Han- boob man, all the way. Is absolutely obsessed with your boobs. Wants to have them in his face all day. "Baby," "What?" pointing at his face, then your chest, and making a stuffing motion. Wants to hold them so much. When you get ready for bed, He's watching you change and has to reach up and touch them before you put on and take your shirt off. Get out of the shower. He'll hold them, kneeding them. Telling you how pretty and percky they are. Rubs your nipples in between the pads of your fingers. Loves holding them in his hands. Loves feeling the weight if you have big boobs, you got small boobs not a problem. Holds his hands to your chest and smiles at you. "Love your titties." Talks absolutely non-stop about them to you. "You know how pretty they are? Fuck I want to hold them. Let me hold them baby."

Felix- such a boob guy. I'm a sucker for Sub felix. He just wants to suck on them. "Please, I just, I need it, please. I'll be such a good boy" once you finally let him He's up agasint the bed his hands on your hips as he sucks on your boobs tounge swirling around your nipple and tears falling on his cute freckled cheeks as he wines about how hard he is. Making the most slopy, sucking sounds he can before pulling away. "You taste so good. You're pretty tities in my mouth." Crying more. "W-will you touch me, it hurts," just a stuttering silly baby. If you do start touching him 10000%, rutting up into your hands. Baby voice felix has left the chat. Man's is moaning and groaning so deep he has you Cumming from just the sound of his voice <3

Seungmin- second hip man. Hear me out. Another dirty daning Havana nights. Loves Loves to sing to you, and you love it too. Why wouldn't you?! So he pulls you to him by your hips, and your back is against him. Feels down your sides until they're right there, and he grips them tightly as he grinds against you. Singing softly. When you're practically begging for him to touch you, he's chuckling in your ear. "So needy? So desperate? Can't go a one day without wanting me too fuck you silly." Bends you over and fucks you his hands never leaving his hips. "That's right. Take it, angel. Take my dick inside your pretty pussy."

I.N- pretty baby. Pretty hands. And pretty thighs. LOVES seeing his hands on your thighs. He knows you like his hands. In fact, he makes sure of it. Driving? Hand on your thigh. Out to eat? Hand on your tigh. Hanging out with the boys. Your stting on his lap and his hands are on your thighs. Squishing and kneeding them. "So pretty, baby. Do you like the way my hands look? Hmm? Loves taunting you with them. Trailing his fingers over your thighs slightly and seeing them squeeze together. Loves have his hands in-between them. Only other places that's half as good is your mouth when you suck on his fingers.