#please this whole scene was perfect

[meep-meep-richie]

Buck called him a beast for a reason

[cryptiduni]

“white mourning.”

[lynne-monstr]

when you try to escape your captain but you’re not very good at it 1/?

[giantkillerjack]

ur post about queerbaiting and the dismissal of people in fandom to critical analysis is so incredibly true thank you. i feel like marcille's writing in the anime has been super misogynistic a lot of the time and every time i bring this up all anyone wants to say is "well maybe this isn't for you! and you shouldn't watch the show!" like. i don't think this is about taste lmao, i am analyzing the text in front of me and coming to conclusions about the craft of it.

[This is in reference to this post]

YES!!! THANK YOU!!!!!

It is so so frustrating!!!!

It's like being at a restaurant and being served a bunch of delicious appetizers, but then one of the bread appetizers is literally just a plate of crumbs; and then when you're like, "Hey, uhh, why are we being served literal crumbs?", a bunch of the other folks eating at the restaurant are like,

"WELL HOW ABOUT YOU JUST DON'T EAT HERE THEN??!? YOU MUST NOT BE THAT HUNGRY, SO JUST FIND ANOTHER RESTAURANT AND DON'T EAT WITH US!!"

And maybe they say it politely, but "Aw, sorry, maybe this restaurant just isn't for you 💖" is just trading out an aggressive dismissive tone for a patronizing dismissive tone. It's the same message.

And it's like! I was honestly happy to move on from the crumbs once my complaint was acknowledged because the meal overall is still delicious, but then all these folks got SUPER WEIRD AND DEFENSIVE ABOUT IT, so now I find myself double-checking all the other dishes -- and, actually, you know what those eggs DO look a Iittle misogynistic undercooked!!!!

[elegyofthemoon]

kicking my feet up bc finding good analysis of things i like has me very 🥰🥰🥰🥰

[achingly-shy]

agents of shield 1x06 fzzt episode of all time

[loverboybrightsideghost]

biting tearing ripping killing

[snoopythemage]

i’m going to Swallow Them Both like an anaconda

[twig---verginix]

swear to god i'm just gonna stop watching the endings to shows i like. good shows need to get cancelled on cliffhangers forever

[drchucktingle]

THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION TELLS CHUCK TINGLE TO STAY HOME BUT WE PROVE LOVE ANYWAY

just when you buckaroos thought 2024 would be a break from book drama, here comes chuck tingle in the mix. recently i was asked to be a featured speaker at the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION annual conference. a few days ago they rescinded my invitation. here is what happened.

(EDITED TO ADD THIS LINK. if you have a hard time reading this on way of tumblr you can also read for free on chucks patreon)

i would like to start off by saying it is not my intent to start a fight, and all those reading this should know that the actions of a few misguided folks do not speak for the whole TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. i am sure there are many involved who will be very upset to learn what others at TLA have done in their name. there are many individuals here, so please do not paint them all as villains in your mind. besides, chuck loves the dang library everyone knows that.

the point of writing this is not to vilify. i am writing this is because MOMENTS OF DARKNESS are the best places to SHINE A LIGHT AND PROVE LOVE IS REAL. this is a perfect time for learning and growing and for us talk on some very important things that queer buckaroos and neurodivergent buckaroos face every day. this is an unfortunate moment that WE can turn around and use to prove love is real.

i am also writing this to understand some of my own personal feelings on the matter. for something that seems very simple on the surface, the trot is complex, and i am still working out my emotions on the whole dang thing. i am learning in this way.

PART ONE: BAG OF LOVE

a few months ago chuck was asked to be a featured speaker at the 2024 TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION ANNUAL CONFERENCE. i have been asked to do things like the before and it is ALWAYS a fun time to meet bookseller and librarian buds. trotting around face to face and talking about my story of conquering chronic pain and overcoming my mental hurdles is VERY IMPORTANT to me. i say YES to these things whenever i can. (here i am with authors at CALIFORNIA INDEPENDENT BOOKSELLERS ALLIANCE conference. they are a WONDERFUL group and they proved love with their OWN invitation to chuck. this was such a moving event with so many amazing authors and stories. got very teared up during this photo)

ANYWAY BUCKAROOS i get the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION invite and say 'YES BUD LETS TROT'. we are then confirmed.

months pass. a few weeks ago i get a call from my manager and agent and publisher saying ‘the TLA have rescinded their invitation.’

turns out some things had been going on behind the scenes

at some point the TLA asked chucks INCREDIBLE HEROIC BAD ASS PUBLISHER if chuck would be okay with not wearing the mask, to which tor/nightfire/macmillan said ‘what the heck are you talking about of course chuck is going to wear his mask. this is how chuck presents himself’ (NOT EXACT QUOTE)

as you all know, my pink bag way is a VERY IMPORTANT SPACE. as an autistic buckaroo it is a boundary that allows me to express myself freely and relieve my chronic pain from neurotypically masking all day. i have talked about this for years, and it is why i consider my private identity a SACRED THING. it is literally a health issue.

fortunately THE PINK BAG is never really a problem when making appearances. i have spent years going on television shows, doing interviews, speaking at other conferences and conventions, hosting book events on tour, and even MEETING WITH LAWYERS in my pink face covering. it is always respected and that is very validating to my way.

when arriving anywhere i always take precautions. i always warn buckaroos ahead of time that there is a masked man coming. i always have someone go in ahead of me JUST IN CASE. again, there has never been an issue. at a big conference where i am a special guest there is ESPECIALLY not an issue because my face and bio are printed IN THE DANG PROGRAM

SOME FUN TIMES AT BIG EVENTS BELOW:

CHUCK ON TV SHOW NAME OF 'AT MIDNIGHT' BACK BEFORE I WROTE LOVE IS REAL ON MY HEAD:

well, there has never been an issue.... UNTIL NOW.

PART TWO: RESCINDED

a few days ago TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION suddenly messaged my publishers and said that chuck tingle is no longer invited. my invitation was rescinded. the reason given was that people could possibly be uncomfortable with my mask

right out of the gate i would like to say this: it is absolutely the right of the texas library association to disinvite someone from their conference. it is their event, after all, and they can ban anyone they would like, for any reason.

of course, that doesnt mean other folks HEARING THIS NEWS wont have their own opinions the TLA choices. if the TLA disinvites someone, their reasoning for doing this can be discussed and analyzed. whether or not they follow their own guidelines can be questioned, and certainly their kindness and tact can be considered

there are a few BIG POINTS to make regarding this choice from the TLA

first and foremost, i just gotta say buckaroos, it is incredibly rude to invite someone to be a guest speaker at your event, have them confirm and mark off their calendar and turn down other offers, then rescind their invitation. this is maybe the simplest of the points, but it is an important one.

second, (DEEP BREATH HERE WE GO BUCKAROOS) i personally do not think of my autism as a disability very often, but i also KNOW that despite these feelings it ABSOLUTELY IS. autism is important to be listed as a recognized disability because of the help some autistic buckaroos need regarding government programs and things like that. ALSO just because my neurodivergence has helped me in some ways (hyperfocus and a unique artistic sensibility for example). i personally need to step back and remember my battle with stress and chronic pain from having to neurotypically mask all the time. for as much as i love being autistic it has made some things very difficult.

in other words, i am perfectly capable of speaking and interacting with folks without this pink bag on my head BUT WHEN I AM IN THE CHUCK TINGLE SPACE I REQUIRE IT. i can ONLY use this space while covering my face. is not a want. it is a need. holding this boundary is more important than i can ever say. i will not, and can not, let these spaces cross.

TLA not letting an autistic author wear the face cover theyve set up to express their neurodivergence in a safe, healthy way is--for lack of a better term--NOT A GOOD LOOK.

i cannot fathom them disinviting another author for using a disability aid. i cannot fathom them saying that a buckaroo who hears better with a hearing device cannot use it during their panel because it would make others 'uncomfortable'.

but here we are.

PART THREE: WHAT DOES A BUCKAROO GOTTA DO TO GET BANNED AROUND HERE?

this is the TLAs official stance on disability issues according to their website:

when poking around on the TLA website i noticed a few other things. i noticed a previous guest speaker wearing a niqab, and i was left wondering if the religious significance is what make that okay but chuck tingle banned. that made sense until i looked deeper and saw mascot buckaroos dressed up on the exhibition floor, and saw some kind of spiderbud in a costume contest. nobody around them seemed to be all that scared. their invitations REMAINED INTACT.

it should be mentioned here that AT ONE POINT during the discussions an email was sent from TLA saying chuck is allowed to come and wear his mask in the exhibition halls and smaller panels, just not at any of the big PAID PANELS i was once supposed to participate on. this was a confusing offer, but their explanation was that people who paid for something should have the option to not see chucks 'scary neurodivergence aid'. i tried to wrap my head around WHY they would make a distinction. maybe the exchange of money (rather than time) causes some kind of philosophical adjustment that i just cant grasp?

i wonder, would the author who wears a niqab ALSO be banned from the paid panels? i hope not

my answers trotted up short until i investigated deeper and found this quick moment from one of the TLA help videos. while some events DO require additional buckaroo cash, it actually appears that THE ENTIRE CONFERENCE IS TICKETED AND COSTS MONEY.

at this point i realized there is clearly no actual official policy about not covering your face (other than one from a few years ago saying that you HAVE to cover your face), and the addition of 'money' is a red herring. these excuses make no sense

PART FOUR: CLOSE THOSE GATES

it appears that my neurodivergence is 'scary' enough to get me uninvited, REGARDLESS what their disability and mask policies may say

BUT WHY? why is chucks preferred physical presentation valued SO little by the TLA that a THEORETICAL complaint is worth more? is my neurodivergent expression so awful? is my own safety as a queer activist such an afterthought?

is a pink bag with the words 'love is real' scrawled across the front REALLY going to frighten someone when the posters and pamphlets on the way into in panel would have a photo of my masked face saying THIS IS LITERALLY WHO IS ABOUT TO APPEAR BEFORE YOU.

if THAT accommodation is too much, would it really be so difficult to have someone trot out beforehand and make an announcement? to say 'there is someone on this upcoming panel who needs a mask to express this part of himself, if this makes you uncomfortable then this panel might not be for you'.

and really, i have to heckin ask, is this physical expression of my raw inner truth really so hideous and frightening that fear of making someone uncomfortable is a REAL problem?

(a terrifying display of autism. apparently)

i cannot imagine what kind of precautions they need to take before a stage play featuring costumes and masks.

you MIGHT think chucks queerness and left leaning politics could be the issue with this organization, but they have had drag queens as past speakers (also featuring some GLORIOUS makeup and hair that covers almost all of their faces. VERY CURIOUS). regardless, the TLA do not seem like a conservative bunch.

if you are bisexual or an autistic person who is good at 'passing' you probably already know where this is headed, your dang spiderbuckaroo senses are tingling at FULL ALERT. i will say i do not KNOW the real reason why i was uninvited, and i do not have enough information to make any concrete statement of the real answer. there is only evidence that masks have been fine at TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION events in the past, but not much else to go on.

so the FACTS part of our discussion ends there, but i think it opens us up to talk about some very important feelings that bisexual and autistic buckaroos know well.

THIS is where we take a unfortunate, hurtful moment and turn it into a discussion. this is where we prove love is real.

as someone who is constantly doubted and put through purity tests because of my unique way, we are pushing up against a subject i know well. thats right buckaroos: we are talking GATEKEEPING

AGAIN, i do not know if this is the answer, but someone in my position might be VERY STRONGLY INCLINED TO THINK that a few well-meaning left leaning buckaroos think i am a joke and that this is a character, and that there is something problematic about my work because i am not really a real person.

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a neurodivergent buckaroo with an unusual visual presentation, an autistic buckaroo who conquered his chronic pain ONLY by creating this important space... but what about a FAKE autistic buckaroo?

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a queer LGBTQ activist standing up for gay and trans rights against a torrent of scoundrels hunting for his legal identity. its a matter of safety... but what about a FAKE queer activist?

let me be very clear for the 100th time: i am a real person. this is not a joke. i am not playing a character. i am really autistic and bisexual. tinglers are sincere and they are not ‘so bad theyre good’. they are just good. camp damascus is not ‘my first serious book’ because my queer erotica is serious. my art is important and real.

when people tell me to unmask they often do not know WHY they want it, and of course one very good reason is innocent curiosity. but there are SOME cases where i start to get THAT feeling--that tingle all of us ‘passing’ buckaroos get when we can sense the real intent behind the poking and prodding. that is the feeling of stumbling into a gatekeepers crosshairs.

if i was to take off my pink bag, what about my face would you analyze to tell if i was REALLY queer. my eye color? my ear shape? if you learned my legal name, would you see if it sounded autistic? is my voice neurodivergent enough?

or is all of that utterly absurd? i am curious what the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION thinks.

PART FIVE: GENDERED

this will be the shortest of parts, but it has to be said. i have a very complex relationship with gender, as written about at length here and here. i understand these things can be difficult to parse for some, but i ask that you trust me when i say that the ONLY reason i have been able to talk about my gender and sexuality and learn these things about myself is because of this pink bag. this outward appearance is a direct expression and reflection of my gender journey.

if the texas library association does not care about my appearance as an expression of my autism, then i cant imagine them giving a dang about it as an expression of my gender and queerness. that being said, it is personally very important to me and i think it should be mentioned

PART SIX: SO YOU WANT TO REMOVE AN AUTISTIC QUEER AUTHOR FROM YOUR EVENT BECAUSE PEOPLE MIGHT FIND THEIR DIFFERENCES SCARY

there is a question to be asked here: how could the TLA have done this correctly?

i have one very big piece of advice i would like to shout from the rooftops. please, for the love of sweet barbara, DO ENOUGH RESEARCH to know if this appearance will be a problem and, IF SO, dont extend an invitation in the first place. unique buckaroos with different presentations are constantly left in this place of limbo because we are bombarded with careless actions like those of the TLA. before you consider extending a branch to an artist who might need more accommodations than usual, think to yourself 'CAN WE MAKE THESE ACCOMMODATIONS?'

putting all of this on the shoulders of a single 'buckaroo with a difference' is exhausting. as the TLA has shown, we currently live on a timeline where a buckaroo like myself never really knows if an invite is SOLID without doing a deep dive history lesson on how often a group discriminates and against who.

i did not want to spend my whole family holiday worrying whether or not i should say something publicly or just lie down and shut my dang mouth. i had to consider HOW i should say it. i had to worry whether or not its worth standing up for myself in the face of the largest state library association in the country. i think buckaroos with differences are with me when i say: WE ARE SICK OF HAVING TO DO THIS WORK TO COVER FOR THE POOR BEHAVIOR OF LARGE ORGANIZATIONS WHO TREAT US BADLY

another option would just be to use kindness and common sense and happily accommodate artists with unique presentations to your conventions

PART SEVEN: LOVE IS STILL REAL

i would like to close by saying THANK YOU to my publisher nightfire and editor kelly for standing up for me. they immediately stood firm and had my back. they are the real dang deal. THANK YOU to my management and agent buds dongwon and gino for trotting along beside me. THANK YOU to the folks at the texas library association who initially invited chuck with goodness in their heart and then likely got bowled over by someone else, and maybe even got knocked to the side by a big closing gate.

i hope there are librarians in texas who are still interested in carrying BURY YOUR GAYS when it comes out (which is ironically about someone who creates a space through art to express their queerness where they cant otherwise). libraries prove love is real and what they do IS SO IMPORTANT. it was SO IMPORTANT TO ME as a young buckaroo and i cannot thank you enough. i am not sure if me writing all of this will hurt my sales in some way, but this opportunity to speak about the reality of disability awareness and queer gatekeeping is too important to stay silent. (if you have not already preordered BURY YOUR GAYS then give it a preorder to make up for some texas library losses i guess.)

which leads me to my final thank you. THANK YOU to the buckaroos reading this. yes YOU. i am in the position to stand up and speak my mind against scoundrel forces ONLY because i have the might of you buckaroos by my side. the buckaroo trot is ALL OF OUR TROT and we are ALL HERE TO PROVE LOVE. i cannot tell you how much i appreciate the way you have created a space for me to express these important parts of myself. you have seen this pink mask over my face and saying YES, I ACCEPT YOU, you have literally saved my life. for that i am so thankful.

if you are UPSET by what youve read here, then turn it into something positive. you can support autistic creators, or make a donation to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

and besides WHO IS REALLY MISSING OUT? this is what it looks like when you invite the worlds greatest author chuck tingle to your event and treat their identity as valid. WE HAVE A DANG GOOD TIME

KEEP TROTTING INTO THE FUTURE. KEEP KICKING DOWN GATES WHEREVER THEY MAY BE. KEEP PROVING LOVE IS REAL AND PROVING IT TOGETHER. lets go buckaroos - chuck

UPDATE AN HOUR AFTER POSTING:

true buckaroo TJ KLUNE was set to be another author on panel chuck was removed from and has informed me he has now chosen to decline his invitation in support and solidarity with chuck. i am so deeply moved by this. thank you from bottom of heart buckaroo

to be very clear TJ has a huge platform and DOES NOT NEED TO DO THIS. these conferences are great for book sales and he is taking a hit out of pure solidarity. this is queer buckaroos standing up for eachother. i am floored by this kindness and love

please consider checking out his books if they are not already covering your dang bookshelf. chuck blurbed IN THE LIVES OF PUPPETS and i was blown away i heckin loved it

MOST RECENT UPDATE:

here is more

[rafecameroninterlude]

omg imagine s1 rafe bringing sweetheart!pogue!reader to his partay and she is like watching him do coke n stuff. idk theyre so different

warnings: drug use, suggestive ending

a/n: i’m imagining mean!s1!rafe who just loves to have pogue!sweetheart!reader around because they’re polar opposites and he needs the balance lol. this prompt is to die for, thank you anon <3

to say you felt out of place would be an understatement. you didn’t go to parties, you didn’t drink, and you certainly didn’t do any kind of drugs, yet you found yourself in the lap of the one person who did all three. “why are you so quiet, baby? you shy?” rafe ran a palm up and down your thigh, the feeling of his breath fanning against your skin bringing butterflies to your tummy. you smiled softly, shaking your head. “no.. s’just not really my scene.” you whispered.

rafe tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, kissing you deeply before he pulled away. “ i know, i know. we’ll ditch this shit and go up to my room in a few minutes, how does that sound?” his bloodshot eyes met your sober ones. you smiled softly, nodding. “yo’, rafe!” you looked up at topper, the boy flashing you a smile before dropping a small baggy in rafe’s hand. “you gotta get in on this shit, man. kelce said it tastes like candy.” you swallowed thickly, watching as rafe grabbed the rolling tray from the coffee table in front of him.

“are you okay if i do this?” he turned, noticing the way your eyebrow creased in worry. you weren’t fond of the fact that rafe used, but he was a good person with a good heart. at least you thought so. the last thing you wanted to do was point out his mistakes and lecture him as if he wasn’t a grown man who could make his own decisions, so you settled for a quiet; ‘yeah, it’s okay.’ before resting your head on his shoulder. he pressed a kiss to your knuckles before emptying the bag, using a credit card to formulate a perfect white line.

the gold ring on rafe’s finger glinted under the soft light of his home, the sight catching your eyes before you watched him snort up the blow. you couldn’t deny the ‘off’ feeling you got witnessing the way his eyes glazed over when the whole room erupted in cheers, a couple of girls glaring at you from a distance. rafe wrapped an arm around your waist, taking a swig of whatever alcohol he had in his cup. “alright, her turn.” topper came to you with another baggy, rafe immediately pushing his friend away.

“she doesn’t do this shit. leave her alone.” sensing the energy shift, everyone quieted down, now dispersing from the table as rafe rubbed circles into your skin. “wanna get out of here?” he stroked your cheek, finding the liquor on his breath weirdly comforting. “please?” that one word was all you had to say before rafe carried you upstairs bridal style. “you look like a doll in this dress, you know that? all pretty for me..” you giggled at his words, biting your lip once you heard the lock to his bedroom door click.

[crepezinhos]

Time-in

Kinich is not the most humble guy when it comes to setting hours to Ajaw's timeout and Ajaw hates it to the core. He hates it so much that he counts every single second until he can leave that stupid place and Kinich knows it, which is why he almost always prepares to have the pixelated dinosaur flying around him, screaming how reliefed he is to be out again... but not when he's fucking you.

Kinich is raw. He'll fuck you for hours in many kind of positions until he's made sure that your are full of him without emiting a single, clear moan. It's all whispers of praise and hums done inside his throat. It's not because he doesn't enjoy that kind of activity, he actually enjoys it like you're gonna die tomorrow, after all, he even manages to lose track of time, no matter how perfect he is with timing.

"Ahhh!!! Feels so good to be out aga-" Little Ajaw suddenly popped out from Kinich's back very excited to be out, but before he could start doing little 'celebration' dance where he’d just twerk his buttocks around, the scene and sounds below him made his whole tiny body freeze, to a point where half his forehead was blue due to the shock.

"A-Ajaw..?!" You moaned his name out in despair, using all the strength you had left to try angling your intimate body parts away from Ajaw's big eyes, but you can’t ‘un-view’ things unfortunately.

Kinich didn't even realize Ajaw's presence at first, so he got confused when you said that and turned to his back him right away, already ready to act tough on the poor dinosaur who was witnessing raw human breeding.

"Leave." Kinich scolded him with an annoyed voice tone, trying to censor your body from him by hugging you closer to his chest, but not a single muscle of his face moved as he did so, neither did he stop thrusting your swollen cunt, going back at staring at your pathetic sex face as soon as he was done ordering the pixel around.

Ajaw's jaw trembled some times, probably trying to find something to respond, but the view he was witnessing of his servant’s dick being so roughly inserted in such an angelic and modest woman like you to a point where you were all naked and broken into a hungry slut with sweaty hair, a creampie in your belly and so many marks of bites, hickeys and handprints all over you done by Kinich, was making him so uncomfortable that he just flew back to his timeout zone. Yes, he went to timeout on his own just because he was that uncomfortable. Just the fact that his servant knew what sex in the first place bothered him! You and Kinich seemed so modest talking to each other that in his eyes you two would never be able to do such carnal activity, especially a kinky one.

"K-Kinich! S-Slow down-! I-I just came, please!"

Were the last words he heard from Tevyat before he was back to his little pixelated jungle realm.

Silly little thought about Kinich before I finish my actual next post 😋

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[br0kenangel]

𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.

Aegon was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his baby sister in front of him. She was propped up on a small cushion, her chubby hands grasping at the air as she babbled away happily, her violet eyes sparkling.

“Come on,” Aegon coaxed, his voice filled with determination as he leaned closer to her. “Say my name, alright? Say ‘Aegon.’ Aeeegon.”

The baby girl looked up at him, her expression curious. She blinked slowly, her little mouth forming a small “O” as she tried to mimic him. Aegon’s heart swelled with anticipation.

“Go on,” he encouraged, his smile widening. “Aeeegon.”

She opened her mouth and made a sound—a tiny, excited babble that was nowhere close to his name. “Da-da!” she exclaimed proudly, her face lighting up with a giggle.

Aegon’s smile faltered, and he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “No, not ‘da-da,’” he said, trying to keep his patience. “Aegon. Aaaeeeegon.”

But his sister only responded with more giggles, clearly finding her own attempts at speech much more amusing than her brother’s frustration. She clapped her hands together, delighted by the sound she’d made, and Aegon could only groan in response.

“Why won’t you say my name?” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He tried again, leaning in closer. “Aegon. Aaaeeegon.”

“Da-da!” she squealed again, this time louder, as if she were very pleased with herself.

Aegon’s frustration was starting to build, and he was about to try again when the door to the nursery creaked open. He glanced up to see Aemond standing there, his silver hair slightly tousled from whatever adventure he’d been on earlier. Aemond tilted his head, his one good eye curious as he took in the scene before him.

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, his voice soft as he walked into the room.

Aegon quickly straightened up, a hint of embarrassment in his expression. “Nothing,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Just… trying to teach her something.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he walked over and sat down in front of their sister, smiling at her with that rare, gentle look he only ever seemed to have around her. She immediately reached out to him, her chubby arms waving excitedly.

“Hello, little one,” Aemond said softly, his voice filled with warmth.

And then, to Aegon’s utter shock, their sister opened her mouth and made a sound—“Amon!” It wasn’t perfect, but it was unmistakably his name, in her own very baby way. She grinned widely, as if proud of herself.

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise, a look of pride spreading across his face as he turned to Aegon. “Did you hear that? She said my name!” he said, unable to hide the delight in his voice.

Aegon’s mouth fell open, disbelief written all over his face. “She said your name?” he repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He had been trying for ages, and here Aemond comes in and she says his name just like that?

Aemond nodded, a small, smug smile on his lips. “Looks like she likes me better,” he teased lightly.

Aegon’s initial shock quickly gave way to a pang of jealousy. Determined not to be outdone, he gently lifted his sister into his lap, turning her to face him directly. “Alright, now it’s my turn,” he said with renewed determination. “Say my name. Aegon. Aaaeeegon.”

But instead of trying to repeat him, she just looked up at him with wide eyes, and then—she burst into a fit of giggles. Aemond, still sitting beside them, joined in, chuckling at the whole situation.

Aegon’s shoulders slumped again, this time in defeat. He looked down, his earlier excitement draining away. “Why won’t you say my name?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I’m your brother too…”

Just as he was about to give up, he felt a tiny, soft hand patting his head. He looked up, and there she was, her little face full of concentration as she tried to mimic his name once more. “Ae—” she began, her voice tiny and halting. “Ae…gon.”

Aegon’s eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face as joy and pride flooded his chest. “You did it!” he exclaimed, his earlier sadness completely forgotten. “You said my name!”

Aemond watched the scene unfold, a gentle smile on his lips as he saw the happiness on Aegon’s face. He wasn’t jealous—he was just glad that their sister had finally said Aegon’s name, even if it took a little longer.

Their sister, clearly pleased with herself, clapped her hands again, giggling at the reaction she got from her brothers. Aegon, still beaming, looked at Aemond, and for a moment, they both just smiled at each other, all traces of their earlier rivalry gone.

In that moment, the three of them were just happy and content in each other’s company. The sound of their sister’s giggles filled the room, her tiny voice echoing with the names of her two big brothers—names.

Part 1 ♡ Part 3

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[iconchae]

OFF THE FIELD ➽ L.HS | 18+

PAIRING: football captain ! lee heeseung x tennis player ! afab reader. GENRE: smut, friends to lovers. SYNOPSIS: being friends with heeseung was hard, especially when you couldn't help but want to get fucked by him. but the plan turned into something else when you accidentally made him jealous. WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, mdni, friends to lovers, unprotected sex (please don't), kisses, contains cuss words, sexual content, fingering, boob play, dirty talk, pinning, marking, public setting, bondage, blind fold, hand cuffs, physical punishment, food play, rough, jealousy, possessiveness, lmk if I missed anything. WORD COUNT: 5.1k. (a/n: help— I just had this random idea and knew that I needed to make it asap. so here it is, I hope it's not too boring <3)

Being friends with Heeseung was hard. Not because you were envious of the girls who constantly fawned over him, but because your desire for him had grown into something you couldn’t ignore. Every smile, every laugh, every touch lingered in your mind long after you’d left his side, haunting you with the fantasy of what it would be like to have more. To have him.

The thought had become an obsession, one you indulged whenever you found yourself alone in your room, the door locked and curtains drawn. Today was no different. You lay sprawled across your bed, legs parted and back arched, with your clothes discarded in a messy heap on the floor. A smutty book was held in one hand, its pages creased from how often you’d returned to the same scene—the one that always set your imagination ablaze.

"His knee placed itself between her legs as she grinded against it, ruining his pants." The words sent a shiver down your spine, every line feeding the vivid image in your mind, only it wasn’t some faceless character; it was Heeseung. It was always Heeseung.

Your free hand moved with practiced ease, fingers pumping in and out of your wet heat as you tried to mimic what you thought his touch would feel like. Your breath hitched, lips parted as you gasped softly, the dull sound of your slick movements filling the quiet room. You pressed your fingers deeper, arching into the sensation, desperate to chase the high that only thoughts of him could bring.

You imagined his strong hands on your hips, his knee pressing between your thighs, guiding you with that confident smirk you knew all too well. The idea of grinding against him, of feeling the hard muscle of his leg beneath you, made your core tighten, a rush of heat flooding your senses. You quickened your pace, fingers curling just right, as you let the fantasy consume you completely.

Your head fell back against the pillow, your moans growing louder, more desperate. You could almost hear Heeseung’s voice, low and teasing, urging you on, telling you how good you felt, how perfect you were for him. The thought of him seeing you like this, legs spread and completely undone by the mere idea of him, sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds escaping your throat as your hips bucked against your hand, the tension building rapidly. The book slipped from your grasp, forgotten as your need overtook you. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the fantasy fully—Heeseung’s weight above you, his breath hot against your neck, the rough drag of his knee between your thighs, and the deep, aching pressure of him finally inside you.

Your climax hit you suddenly, your whole body tensing as you cried out, your fingers working frantically to prolong the blissful wave of pleasure. The image of Heeseung burned brightly behind your eyelids, his name almost slipping from your lips in the throes of your release. As the intensity slowly ebbed, you collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving and skin flushed, still haunted by the lingering sensation of what it would be like to have him for real.

You lay there, the room heavy with the scent of your arousal, heart still racing as the reality of your solitary pleasure settled in. Being friends with Heeseung was hard, but wanting him like this, with every fiber of your being, was so much harder.

“All the best for the match,” Heeseung said, his voice smooth and confident as he flashed you a smile that made your heart stutter. His dark eyes sparkled with a warmth that always seemed to melt your resolve, and for a moment, you found yourself lost in the depths of his gaze. Heeseung was effortlessly charismatic, his presence commanding the space around him, and you couldn’t help but get caught up in his orbit every time.

“Hmm…” was all you managed to mutter in response, your voice barely above a whisper. You tried to play it cool, but the way your breath hitched gave you away. Heeseung didn’t seem to notice, though—or if he did, he didn’t let on. He just gave you a playful wink before jogging off towards the football field, the muscles in his legs flexing with every stride, his figure quickly swallowed by the throng of players warming up.

You tore your gaze away, feeling the heat creep up your neck. You had your own match to worry about, and lingering thoughts of Heeseung wouldn’t help your focus. With a resigned sigh, you made your way to the locker room. The hallway was quiet, the distant echoes of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the faint shouts from the football field filtering through.

Inside the locker room, you changed into your tennis outfit—short white pleated skirt, a fitted top, and mini shorts underneath to maintain your modesty. As you slipped on your wristbands and tied your hair back into a neat ponytail, you took a moment to steady your breathing.

Your fingers brushed the smooth fabric of your skirt, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of confidence. The outfit was both functional and flattering, hugging your form in all the right places, and it gave you a sense of poise as you prepared to step onto the court.

You walked out into the bright afternoon light, your tennis racket in hand, and approached the court where your match was set to take place. The air was electric, a blend of anticipation and the faint scent of freshly cut grass.

Spectators lined the perimeter, their eyes following every move with rapt attention. The rhythmic thud of tennis balls against rackets echoed, mingling with the occasional cheer or gasp from the audience. You could feel the pressure of their gazes, the silent judgment of each swing, each step.

As the match began, you moved fluidly across the court, your feet light and quick on the asphalt. Each time the ball soared toward you, you met it with a sharp, confident strike, the satisfying crack of your racket cutting through the air. Your skirt fluttered with each pivot and jump, but your mini shorts kept you secure, shielding you from the scrutiny of wandering eyes.

The game demanded all of your focus; your senses were attuned to the rhythm of the ball, the strategic placement of your opponent, and the calculated timing of each hit.

Despite the concentration required, your mind kept drifting back to Heeseung. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was watching, even from afar. Was he thinking about you the way you were about him? The tension between you two had been palpable lately—small, lingering touches, the way his eyes would darken when they settled on you for too long, and the subtle, unspoken pull that drew you closer every time.

The sun bore down on you, beads of sweat trickling down your temples, but you powered through each rally, refusing to let fatigue show. The crowd's murmurs grew louder with every successful shot you made, your confidence swelling with each point won. As you neared the end of the match, you saw a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye—Heeseung, standing just outside the crowd, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed intently on you.

He was dressed in his football uniform, his hair slightly damp from practice, and the way his jersey clung to his frame made your pulse quicken. Heeseung’s expression was unreadable, a mix of concentration and something else, something deeper that made your skin tingle. You felt a surge of adrenaline, the heat of his gaze adding fuel to your movements.

With one final, decisive swing, you sent the ball flying past your opponent, sealing your victory. A round of applause erupted, but all you could focus on was Heeseung. He uncrossed his arms, clapping slowly, a small, proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As you made your way off the court, you could feel the flush in your cheeks, partly from exertion but mostly from the thrill of knowing he had been watching.

Heeseung met you at the edge of the court, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and something else—something that made your stomach flutter. He stood close, closer than usual, the faint scent of sweat and grass clinging to him, and you could feel the tension crackling between you like static.

“You were amazing out there,” he said, his voice low and warm, carrying that same electric charge. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “Really. You kicked ass.”

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly under his intense gaze. His hand lingered near your face, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you closer. Your breath caught as his thumb brushed against your cheek, lingering just a second too long, his touch soft yet charged with unspoken intent. The way he looked at you, as if he was fighting the urge to lean in and close the distance, made your heart pound in your chest.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice husky, his eyes searching yours as if he already knew the answer.

“Just… thinking,” you murmured, unable to meet his gaze directly. You were painfully aware of how close he was, the heat radiating off his body, the way his presence seemed to engulf you entirely. Your fingers tightened around your racket, a flimsy attempt to anchor yourself against the overwhelming urge to lean into him, to let the magnetic pull between you finally snap into place.

“About what?” Heeseung pressed, his voice dropping lower, his breath fanning across your cheek. His proximity was intoxicating, every nerve in your body alight with the promise of what could be.

“About… us,” you confessed, barely audible, but Heeseung heard you. His expression softened, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, as if weighing the gravity of your words.

Heeseung’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing light circles that sent sparks skittering down your spine. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, the space between you charged with a simmering tension that begged to be broken.

“I’ve been thinking about us, too,” he whispered, his lips just a breath away from yours, the air thick with unspoken desire. The world around you blurred, the noise of the crowd fading into a distant hum as the two of you stood there, caught in the precipice of something more.

As you stand in the dimly lit boy's changing room, the mirror in front of you reflects the surreal scene unfolding. You didn't know how it happened or when it happened but right now, Heeseung, your best friend, has you pinned against the lockers, your legs wrapped around his waist as he holds you up.

His fingers, long and thick, are buried deep inside you, eliciting gasps and moans from your lips. The smell of sweat and testosterone fills the air, mingling with the scent of your arousal. Heeseung grunts softly, his breath hot against your neck. "You're so tight," he growls. "Like a vice around my fingers." His hips buck against you, his hard length rubbing against your thighs through his football shorts.

You bury your face in his neck, your fingers clutching at his broad shoulders. "Feels so good," you pant. "More, Heeseung. I want more." Your words spur him on, and he adds a third finger, stretching you wide.

Heeseung starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thrusts deep and relentless. The sound of his fingers slamming against your pussy echoes through the changing room, mixing with your cries of pleasure. Your legs tremble around him, your toes curling as he hits that sweet spot inside you.

Heeseung's voice is low and commanding. "You like that, baby? You like me stretching out your little hole?" His dirty talk sends shivers down your spine. You nod, unable to speak, and bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

With a grunt he pulls down his shorts along with his boxers, Heeseung lifts you higher and aligns the thick head of his erection with your slick opening. He pauses, his dark eyes locked onto yours in the mirror's reflection. "Ready for me, love?"

He slowly pushes into you once you nod eagerly, the stretch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You throw your head back, letting out a loud moan as he fills you completely. His cock throbs inside you, the sensation making you quiver.

Heeseung grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh. "Look at us," he growls, nodding at the mirror. You look up, your eyes meeting his intense gaze in the reflection. He begins to thrust into you, slowly at first, then harder and faster. As Heeseung fucks you, the sound of your slapping skin and heavy breathing fills the changing room. Your breasts sway with each thrust, your nipples hardening into tight peaks inside your sports bra.

He reaches up to unhook your bra, throw it away and caress your breasts, his fingers brushing against your rigid nipples. You mewl at the sensation, your body tensing as pleasure courses through you. Heeseung's grip on your hips tightens as his pace quickens. "Touch yourself," he demands. "Play with your pretty little pearl while I pound into you."

You obey, reaching down to rub your clit in tight circles. The combination of Heeseung's thick cock and your own fingers sends you hurtling towards an intense orgasm. Your legs shake, your walls clenching around his dick as you scream in ecstasy. "AH! AH! AH!"

Heeseung's face contorts with pleasure as your inner muscles milk his flesh. He lets out a low growl, his voice hoarse as he rasps, "You're going to make me come, baby. Keep squeezing me like that." His words egg you on, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper with each thrust. He buries his face in your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he reaches his peak. He grunts loudly, his hips jerking as he spills into you.

As he finishes, you feel his hot cum filling your pussy, the sensation pushing you over the edge into another intense orgasm. You scream his name, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. "HEESEUNG! HEESEUNG!"

Heeseung catches his breath as he slowly pulls out, a smug grin on his face. He watches as his cum drips down your inner thighs, leaving you feeling deliciously dirty and satisfied. "Damn."

The entire week had passed in an agonizingly slow blur, and the tension between you and Heeseung was almost unbearable. After finally crossing that line with your best friend—exploring the boundaries of friendship in ways you’d only ever fantasized about—he seemed to vanish from your life entirely.

He didn’t call, didn’t text, and somehow always seemed busy or just plain uninterested whenever you crossed paths. It was driving you crazy. Did he regret it? Did he not enjoy it? Was he simply avoiding the awkwardness? A dozen scenarios ran through your mind, each more unsettling than the last.

Tonight, you were at a party hosted by a mutual friend, a buzzing, crowded house filled with laughter, loud music, and the faint scent of spilled beer. You found yourself in a conversation with Jay, whose playful grin and easygoing charm had always put you at ease. He had an arm casually slung over your shoulder, his presence comforting yet strangely thrilling, as he ruffled your hair in that friendly, older brother kind of way. “You’ve been working out, huh? Your muscles are so big, Jay,” you commented, giving his bicep a squeeze.

You didn’t notice the way Heeseung’s eyes narrowed from across the room, his jaw set in a hard line as he watched the interaction. Jay chuckled, leaning in just a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Sweetheart, I’ve got something else even bigger,” Jay teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, caught off guard by the sudden flirtation, and you quickly turned your gaze away, hiding your embarrassment behind a shy smile.Heeseung’s grip on his drink tightened, his knuckles whitening. Every laugh you shared with Jay felt like a deliberate jab, every touch like a betrayal. He tried to play it cool, leaning against the wall with a casual air, but his eyes told a different story—one of jealousy, frustration, and a growing sense of possessiveness that he couldn’t quite control.

By the time the party ended, Heeseung was practically seething. He watched as you politely waved goodbye to Jay, who winked at you before heading off with a carefree swagger. You didn’t see the way Heeseung’s gaze followed Jay, almost daring him to look back, but it didn’t matter—Jay was oblivious, and you were already heading toward Heeseung’s car.

The drive was tense, the silence between you thick and suffocating. Heeseung’s grip on the steering wheel was firm, his knuckles still pale. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but the stiffness in his posture screamed of pent-up anger and something more—a wounded pride, perhaps, or the sting of seeing you so easily entertained by someone else.

“So, you like Jay or what?” Heeseung finally spoke, his voice laced with a bitter edge that you didn’t immediately catch. You turned to face him, brow furrowing slightly at the question.“I mean, he’s good,” you replied honestly, oblivious to the storm brewing beside you. “He’s nice. And he’s a gentleman.”

Heeseung let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on the wheel. “Gentleman? That guy was undressing you with his eyes the entire night.”

You shrugged, not really sure where this was coming from. “Not that I mind.”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking just beneath the skin as he fought to keep his composure. “You don’t mind?” His tone was sharp now, the undercurrent of jealousy unmistakable.

“Hm,” you murmured, looking out the window, trying to ignore the tension between you. It felt suffocating, and for a moment, you wondered if maybe you had pushed too far. But then again, Heeseung had been ignoring you first.

Heeseung exhaled harshly through his nose, the car suddenly feeling too small, too cramped. “You’ll regret that answer,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. You glanced over at him, catching the flicker of something dark and possessive in his eyes—a promise of payback, of making you realize just how much he wanted you to be his, and only his.

He pulled the car abruptly into an empty parking lot, the tires screeching slightly as he parked with more force than necessary. Before you could question what was happening, he was out of the car, rounding the front with long, determined strides. He yanked open your door, the sudden rush of cool night air sending a shiver down your spine.

“What are you doing?” you asked, startled as Heeseung pulled you out, his grip firm yet careful, his eyes blazing with something you hadn’t seen before.

“Showing you exactly why you don’t need Jay,” Heeseung replied, his voice low, almost a growl, as he backed you up against the side of the car. His hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to send a spark of anticipation racing through your veins. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’m the only one you should be thinking about.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours—demanding, urgent, and filled with all the frustration and desire that had been building up between you. His hands roamed freely, tugging at your clothes with an impatience that spoke of his need to claim you, to remind you that he was the one who knew you best, who could make you feel this way.

There, against the cold metal of the car, you felt the full force of Heeseung’s jealousy and longing, the heat of his touch igniting every nerve in your body. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, his mouth hot and insistent against yours, each kiss a reminder that no one else could ever compare.

As his hands slid under your shirt, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake, you realized that Heeseung had no intention of letting you forget what you shared. He wasn’t just your best friend anymore—he was the one who had seen you, wanted you, and wasn’t afraid to fight for you. And in that moment, you knew that whatever this was between you, it was far from over.

Heeseung watched you squirm with a mixture of frustration and desire. He had wanted to punish you, to make you feel a fraction of the hurt he'd felt when he saw you with Jay. He paced around the room, his jaw clenched, hands balled into fists.

He paused by the dresser, running his fingers over the cold metal handcuffs. A dark thought crossed his mind, and he picked them up, along with a silk blindfold. He approached the bed, his steps heavy with intent.

He gently lifted your head, securing the blindfold over your eyes before turning his attention to the handcuffs. He fastened one to your wrist, the cold metal biting into your skin. He then attached the other end to the headboard, leaving you helpless and trapped.

You whimpered softly, your heart racing with fear and anticipation. Heeseung's breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in to speak. “You're going to stay like this until I'm done punishing you,” he whispered, his voice low and menacing. “And I'm just getting started.”

He dragged his fingers down your arms, your sides, your thighs, igniting goosebumps on your skin. He paused at your knees, lifting one leg and placing it on his shoulder. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as he ran his hands up your inner thigh, his touch maddeningly light.

Heeseung continued his merciless punishment, his hands and objects unknown to you, working in tandem to break you down emotionally and physically. The blindfold and handcuffs left you at his mercy, unable to escape or even anticipate his next move.

First, it was the ice. He trailed cubes up your thighs, over your belly, and between your breasts. You hissed at the cold touch, writhing on the bed. He chuckled darkly, “Cold, baby?” Without warning, he pressed an ice cube against your warm, wet center. You gasped, the sensation intense and overwhelming. You heard the clinking of ice against a glass, and then his voice, “You're so hot, and I'm making you cold. How does that feel, hmm?”

He held the ice cube against your pussy for what felt like an eternity, the cold seeping into your core. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the pain and discomfort mounted. Every now and then, he'd press the ice cube against your clit, making you scream into the blindfold.

“Please, Heeseung, I can't take it anymore!” you pleaded, your voice shaking with tears. “Shut up,” he replied coldly, pressing the ice cube against your sensitive clit once more. ”You're not allowed to speak until I say so.”

You bit your lip to keep from crying out, your body tensing as he continued the torturous punishment. He ran the ice-cold cube up and down your folds, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, never giving you what you truly wanted. “Heeseung, please...”

Heeseung silenced you with a sharp tap on your inner thigh. “I thought I told you to shut up,” he growled. “Now, you've earned yourself a little extra punishment. Open your mouth.” You hesitantly parted your lips, and he slid the ice cube into your mouth.

Heeseung watched as the ice melted against your tongue, a cold tear trickling down your cheek. “Now, I'm going to fuck you with this vibrator,” he announced, pulling a sleek black toy from his pocket. Heeseung's words sent a shiver down your spine, the unknown heightening your senses. You felt the cool silicone toy press against your entrance, and you clenched your teeth around the melting ice cube in your mouth. He slowly pushed the toy inside you, inch by inch, stretching you deliciously.

"Now, let's see how long you can keep quiet,” Heeseung taunted, turning the toy to a low hum. Your breath hitched as the vibrations washed over you. He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. “Remember, no speaking, no making a sound, no matter what.”

Heeseung's eyes glinted with determination. “This is going to be a long punishment.” He circled the vibrator around your clit, making you squirm in his grasp. Then he began to thrust it in and out of you, gradually increasing the speed. Your mouth was still stuffed with the melting ice cube, and you desperately tried to stifle your cries as the toy battered against your g-spot. Heeseung added the ice cube to the mix, pressing it against your asshole while the vibrator continued its merciless assault on your pussy.

Sweat beaded on your brow as you bit down on the ice to muffle your whimpers. The cold and heat mixed within you, overwhelming your senses. Heeseung intensified the torture by slapping your thighs and breasts, leaving reddened marks on your skin. Your hands were cuffed above your head, leaving you helpless and at his mercy. You begged and pleaded, desperate to touch him, to feel his cock against your lips, but Heeseung remained firm. “Not until you learn to keep quiet,” he hissed, the vibrator still buzzing furiously inside you.

With each unfulfilled thrust, your resolve crumbled. You let out a muffled cry, your body bucking against the handcuffs and the cold sheets. Heeseung paused, his face hard. “Looks like someone needs more training.” Heeseung pulled the vibrator out of you, leaving a shivering and needy mess. His fingers traced your thighs, up to your hips, to your breasts, and finally to your jaw. He squeezed it gently before whispering, “Beg me again.”

You were already panting and desperate, but you mustered your strength and whispered, “Please, let me touch you. Please, I need you inside me.” Heeseung smirked and slowly lowered his head between your thighs. Heeseung's tongue traced circles around your clit, driving you to the brink of madness. You arched off the bed, straining against the handcuffs as he increased his tempo. Your cries became moans, then sobs as the pleasure became almost unbearable.

Just as you were about to shatter, Heeseung stopped. He rose from the bed, leaving you breathless and unfulfilled. “Not yet,” he said coolly, and walked out of the room. You heard the distant jingling of keys and the hum of the refrigerator. Moments later, he returned, carrying a tub of ice cream and a spoon. “Since you can't keep quiet, maybe some cold dessert will help,“ he taunted. He sat beside you and slowly fed you spoonfuls of the cold, sweet ice cream, ignoring your frustrated whimpers.

Heeseung scooped another spoonful and held it above your mouth. As you opened to accept it, he gently pressed the cold treat against your lips, then trailed it down your chin, across your chest, and between your breasts, coating your skin with the sticky sweetness.

He continued to spread the ice cream over your body, circling your breasts, pinching the hardened peaks, then dragging the cold, wet spoon down your quivering belly, and finally, parting your thighs to coat your swollen, throbbing folds.

He traced the edge of the spoon along your nether lips, leaving a cold, tingling sensation in its wake. You gasped, arching your back, moaning softly as he began to tease you using the ice cream as his tool. Heeseung's voice dripped with cold intent. “You wanted to touch him, did you not?” He slowly spread more ice cream over your feverish skin. “You called his muscles big? Well, now you'll learn the difference between boyish arms and a real man's physique.”

His touch grew harsher, his breathing heavier. “Every time you disobey, it'll be ice cream and cold showers. And you'll only get to touch me when I say so.” He lowered his head, his breath cooling the icy mess on your belly. “Understand?”

You nodded quickly, tears pricking at your eyes as he used the spoon to scoop up a generous helping of ice cream. He held it over your face, the cold droplets falling onto your cheeks and nose, before he pressed the spoon against your lips, forcing you to open wide and receive the punishment. As you lay there, blindfolded and handcuffed, you felt him lean closer. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “I'm going to teach you to appreciate what you have.” You heard the spoon clatter onto the table before his mouth was on yours.

He licked the ice cream from your lips, his tongue cold and demanding. He sucked on your tongue, his mouth moving to your cheek, his nose rubbing against your tears. He then moved down to your chin, licking the ice cream from your skin before moving to your neck, leaving a trail of cold kisses.

Heeseung gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he buried his face between your legs. He licked and sucked the ice cream from your folds, his tongue cold and unyielding. He nipped at your tender flesh, then soothed it with slow, languid strokes. He moved up to your chest, his mouth closing over a hardened nipple. He sucked the ice cream from your breast, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin. He then moved to the other breast, giving it the same treatment before standing up and slapping your pussy with the cold, wet ice cream.

You hissed at the sudden cold and the sharp slap. He chuckled darkly. “Count,” he ordered, his voice cold. “And if you forget to, I'll start over.” He raised his hand, the cold, wet ice cream dripping from his fingers. “Ready?”

You nodded, bracing yourself. “One!” you cried out as the cold, sticky mess hit your core. He slowly dragged his fingers down, spreading the ice cream, then slapped your wet flesh again. “Two!” you moaned.

He continued the slow torture, his voice growing colder with each count. “Three... Four... Five...” Each slap was followed by the slow drag of his fingers, spreading the cold, melting ice cream. Your moans grew louder, your body tensing with each touch. “Six... Seven...”

His touch became gentler, his fingers slowly circling your entrance. “Eight... Nine...” He pushed two fingers inside you, the cold, wet sensation intensifying as he curled them upward. “Ten...” He leaned down, his warm breath on your ear.

He whispered, “Beg.” You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand. ”Please... Please, Heeseung... I can't... I need to...” He silenced you with a hard kiss, his fingers moving faster inside you. “Beg properly,” he growled.

“Please, Heeseung... I'm going to... I'm going to explode... Please let me cum... Please, I need it so badly... I'll do anything... Just let me cum!” You begged, your voice breaking. Heeseung pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and empty.

Heeseung smirked, his fingers still wet with your arousal. “What about Jay? You said he was big, didn't you?” He traced circles around your entrance with his cold fingers. “Are you thinking about him right now?”

You bit your lip, hesitating. Heeseung's touch became firmer, his voice harder. “Answer me. Is Jay on your mind as you lie here, handcuffed and begging for release?” He slowly pushed one cold, wet finger back inside you, then two, curling them upwards. “N-no...” you stammered, your breath hitching. “I'm not... I'm not thinking about him.” Heeseung's expression darkened. He added a third finger, his touch punishing. “Liar,” he hissed.

He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and aching once more. ”You want to think about Jay, don't you? You want to imagine his big, thick cock stretching your tight little pussy.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

Heeseung's anger melted away, replaced by a softness he hated to admit. He gently stroked your clit, trying to coax you into an orgasm. “Please, just cum for me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I can't stand the thought of you thinking about him.” You whimpered, the intense pleasure Heeseung was wringing out of you. “I'm sorry...” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. “It's not... It's not like that... You know I only want you...”

Heeseung let out a shaky breath, his touch gentling. “Good...” he murmured, his fingers slowly circling your heat. “Just me... Say it.” You moaned, your head falling back. “Only you, Heeseung... Please, just you...”

“Only me...” Heeseung repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He increased the pressure of his touch, watching as you writhed under him. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, drowning out any other thoughts or doubts.

You screamed as your orgasm crashed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. Heeseung watched, his heart pounding, before gently pulling you into his lap. He took your lip between his, kissing you softly as he held you close, his dominance gentling into a caring, protective embrace. You nuzzled into his neck, still catching your breath. Heeseung's hand was still in your hair, no longer holding you down but gently stroking through the strands. “Good girl, you're not thinking about Jay or anyone else again.”

Heeseung carefully unbuckled the blindfold, his touch gentle as he revealed your eyes to the dimly lit room. Then, he slowly unlocked the handcuffs, massaging your wrists tenderly. “Come here...” He pulled you into a tight hug, his voice soft.

You wrapped your arms around Heeseung's waist, burying your face in his chest. A moment of silence passed between the two of you, before he leaned down and whispered, “I've got you..”

“And you belong to me,” Heeseung murmured, his voice firm yet gentle. He tilted your chin up, his eyes locked onto yours. “No more talking to Jay, alright? You're mine, only mine...”

• september three — 08:56 pm

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