#sorry for the sudden spam after

[rotisseries]

does zelda friday mean no ethel cain dash spam

ok damn

[loving-delusions]

my LLEEGGSGSs hurtb

i liked the school event but god fuckin dammt it's not worth 9 hours to be there for the event to start at 5 fucking pm

[ba9go]

bakugou katsuki finds you annoying (he can’t stop thinking about you) pt. 1

sort-of enemies to lovers with bakugou katsuki <3

read part 2 💥 part 3 (nsfw)

from the very moment you walked into the 1-a classroom, you set off a ticking time bomb in bakugou katsuki. he hated your guts.

it was early in the morning, with about 20 minutes till class started. bakugou was seated in his chair, leaning back with his eyes closed, when all of a sudden he hears this agitating, grating voice.

his eyes snapped open and flicked to the source of the sudden noise.

you.

you stood in the doorway, bowing and apologising refusely to fucking icyhot for running into him. bakugou took one look at your stature next to todoroki’s and huffed. ‘idiot walks into a wall and apologises. what a dimwit.’

bakugou watches as todoroki awkwardly but earnestly bows back at you with a murmured apology of his own. you pause mid-bow to shake your head, “no, no, no, this was entirely my fault!” and bakugou thinks he can feel his temple twitch when you start laughing. “god, i’m sorry, we just look so stupid right now!”

‘damn right you do, fucking morons.’ bakugou tears his gaze away from your bright smiling face and spams the volume-up button on his phone until ears (jirou) can actually overhear travis scott from his earphones and flinches beside him.

bakugou closes his eyes and sighs through his nostrils. it’s way too fucking early for this.

later that day, aizawa-sensei announces that you’d be joining class 1-a as u.a.’s newest transfer student, and invites you to introduce yourself in front of the class.

you stood beside aizawa and introduce yourself with yet another beaming smile. your bright eyes roam around the classroom from face to face as you address your new classmates, until they land on bakugou, who narrows his eyes and glares at you.

bakugou feels a strange sense of satisfaction, watching you stutter mid-sentence, and he thinks you’re such an idiot, but then your eyes quickly dart away to look elsewhere and bakugou is somehow even more pissed off by you.

so he grinds his teeth and tears his gaze away from you once more to look out the window.

the rest of the week goes smoothly for you as you quickly befriended the class. with the exception of one, everyone seemed friendly and warm and genuinely interested to get to know more about you and your quirk. likewise, you were just as curious and enthusiastic about getting to know your classmates. with the exception of one.

you ignored bakugou like the plague — just as he’d wanted, bakugou thinks. you’re an eyesore, the way you’re all smiley and giggly, all of the damn time. bakugou hates it, hates the look in your eyes, like you’re so damn happy and you’re somehow just always having the time of your damn life.

‘just another fucking weakling who won’t last.’

it doesn’t take bakugou a long time to realise that his judgement of you was entirely off. you were in fact, not a weakling. you were strong, and you proved it every single time, putting your all in every training and going above and beyond with your hand stretched out to anyone who needed it, all the while with that damn smile on your face.

one training, bakugou busted one of his gauntlets. he had expected it, had already sensed that something was off when he was gearing up before training. he cursed under his breath and went to remove it, when you suddenly spawned by his side and scared the living shit out of him.

not that he’d ever admit it, but hearing your voice was enough to make his hair stand on end.

“hey, um, do you need help with that?” you asked, and bakugou freezed as you looked at him with those big, innocent eyes. “your gear, i mean.”

“hah?” bakugou flares up instinctively. it’s his default response to being approached, after all. “the fuck do you know about fixing jackshit?”

“oh, um, i tinker with a bunch of random stuff sometimes, so i figured maybe i could—”

“like hell i’m gonna let some idiot like you tinker with my shit,” bakugou sneers at you, and you flinch but you don’t take a step back. “find somethin’ else ta do if yer bored, sunshine.”

“sunshine— what—” you genuinely look a little concerned and even a little offended as you guffaw over bakugou’s words. “my quirk has nothing to do with sunshine!”

“hah?! ya think i’m stupid or some shit?! ‘course i know that it’s got shit to do with the sun, moron!”

“then why in the world would you call me that?!”

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want, shitface!”

then, class prez tenya iida dashes to break up the “fight”. “YOU TWO!!! BAKUGOU ESPECIALLY, CEASE YOUR SQUABBLING THIS INSTANT!!! SUCH PROFANITY IS NOT BECOMING OF A FUTURE—”

later that evening, you find yourself seated on the couch watching alien: covenant in the common room with kirishima, kaminara, sero and mina. however, you’re not paying much attention to whatever that egomaniac david’s doing in the movie, you’re still dwelling on how horribly your first proper interaction with bakugou had gone.

“y/n, darling, would you please tell us what’s wrong? this is, like, the tenth time you’ve sighed, and i know david is not that hot,” mina nudges your arm with an elbow. kaminari squawks in defiance, crying out that “if david’s not hot, i’m toast!” and kirishima reassuring him that he’ll be just fine, because “david’s just not manly, man!”.

“yeah, it’s not david,” you sighed yet again, and mina facepalms so hard you wince. “sorry, it’s just, i’m still a little peeved by what happened during training today.”

“bakugou, huh?” kirishima shoots you a wry smile, nodding sympathetically. “don’t mind it too much, bakugou’s just always like that!”

“i know, i know, but why the fuck did he call me sunshine?” you groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and shoving your face into it.

“holy shit, okay, guys, this must be really bad,” kaminari shoots up from his horrendous slouched position and grabs sero’s shoulders to shake him like it’s the end of the world. “y/n just swore, and bakugou is acting up! i mean, that doesn’t sound like bakugou at all!”

“okay, firstly, kaminari, i hate to break it to you, bud, but i swear. like, a lot,” you dropped the pillow in your lap. “secondly, what do you mean bakugou’s acting up? doesn’t he call everyone names all the time?”

“yeah, insultingly,” jirou walks by the common room and chimes in. she points at the earphone jacks dangling from her ears. “i’m “ears.””

“i’m pinky,” mina hums in agreement.

“soy-sauce face,” sero deadpans.

“dunceface!” kaminari high-fives sero.

“and bakugou calls me shitty hair,” kirishima completes with a sigh. “what did he call you again?”

“moron, sunshine, and shitface, i think?” an awkward silence falls over the room, and you frown. “what? what does that mean? does he, like, really hate the sun or something?”

“…not that i know of? but it sounds like, uh,” kirishima scratches his head and gives you another one of those wry smiles. “sounds like you don’t completely piss bakugou off.”

extras:

yes that was an abby miller reference

yes i have walked into a wall yes i apologised

i REALLY wanna watch alien romulus in cinemas soon PLS NO SPOILERS

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss

[yourfavwritersfavoritewriter]

Uncle ACE

a. donaldson x reader x p. zweig

rating: R (18+)

warnings: threesome, heavy making out, cunnilingus, p0rn with plot, one bed trope, patrick and art practically being in love

summary: You, Patrick, and Art are all booked in a room that only has one bed. Patrick, your boyfriend, and Art accidentally wake you in the middle of the night, seeking for something that they've wanted for a while.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: srry this is so shitty lolol. not proofread

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧

It's two days til your boyfriend, Patrick, and his best friend's, Art, tennis tournament for the US Junior Open and you're all currently impatiently waiting at the receptionist desk to get your room. It's 12 am and you all are exhausted from the long flight behind you. You would've had a bed already to be sleeping in if you didn't give Patrick the task of booking your room while you booked the flight.

Your head is practically bobbing against the receptionist desk when you hear the service bell ring right next to your ear, causing you to shoot up. "Patrick, stop." Art scowls. You turn to Patrick, still relentlessly spamming his fingers on the bell. He's clearly irritated from standing in the lobby for so long (10 minutes).

"Seriously, Pat, stop. We wouldn't even be here if you had actually listened to me." You remind him. He stops ringing it after you say that and rolls his eyes. A receptionist comes out about a minute later to help you get a room finally. You broker with her while the boys behind you whisper argue and shove, making you look back at them to grimace with your eyes. It was like you were watching over two little boys who didn't know when to just sit down.

"I'm sorry ma'am but we don't have any rooms with more than one bed. We have a king sized bed though." The receptionist explained, returning your attention back to her.

"Oh." Great, because of your boyfriend's absent mindedness you all have to share one bed between the three of you. "Are you sure?" You ask, hoping she overlooked anything. To your dismay, she nodded, leaving you to have to book a room with a single bed. At the end of the day, you don't care as long as you have a bed. It's not like you'll be sleeping with strangers. Just your two best friends.

---------------

You all make it to the fifth floor where your room is and drag your feet to the room number. Art's eyes are droopy and he's leaning on Patrick for stability. Patrick seems completely fine with this; happy even that his best friend is all over him. You reach and unlock the door to your hotel room, stumbling in with your duffle bag on your right shoulder. The boys follow behind you, pushing past and crashing onto the bed.

You roll your eyes at their dramatics and head to the bathroom with your bag of toiletries to take a shower. While you're in there you can hear the boys still arguing about something for a while until they stop all of a sudden. You finish your shower quickly, dry yourself off, and put on your pajamas. You get out of the bathroom to find Art and Patrick perched on the edge of the bed. Ignoring them and their ogling eyes, you turn off the lights and climb into bed behind them. They follow in your steps, each laying on opposite sides of you, per your usual array. You all exchange your goodnight's and without thinking of anything but comfort, lay down with your back towards Patrick, facing Art. They both look at each other for a moment before Art lays down after, Patrick following suit.

---------------

At about 3:00, you hear whispers in the in each ear. "Do you think she'd be okay with that?"

"Why don't you wake her up and find out?"

"She's your girlfriend!"

"You're that one that wants to fuck her! And you've been wanting to fuck her."

"Patrick! Shut the fuck up. You're gonna wake her."

You sit up on your elbows, rubbing your eyes. "Can you guys shut up? I'm trying to sleep." You scold and go to lay back down.

"Wait!" Art's voice cracks. He's looking at you, through the darkness, with wanting eyes. His hand lands on your thigh, causing Patrick to glare at him. He keeps it there still.

"Art wants your help." You're confused and ask him to explain further but Patrick just looks down to Art's crotch causing you to look as well. His boxers are strained around his harden dick. Your mouth makes an 'o' shape as you dart your eyes between the two boys.

"Surely you don't want me to--"

"He does. We both do." You look down to see Patrick's boxers are also strained, his inches showing more. You're taken aback that your boyfriend would ask you something like this, but not completely surprised. Sometimes you felt as though Art and Pat would talk about you behind your back. Not maliciously of course. Just what they would do to you if they got the chance. If Art got the chance.

"Okay." You turn to Art. "You want my help?" He nods sheepishly. You put your hand over his crotch and push down lightly. All the air leaves his lungs as he bucks against your hand. You keep rubbing him, his whimpers persisting, as you turn to your boyfriend. "You like this? Watching your best friend humping the palm of my hand?" You taunt him. You lean in to press your lips against his. He moans in your mouth, this whole situation making him impossibly hard and needy for your touch. Art makes his way to your neck, leaving warm wet kisses.

Art kisses up your neck until all over your mouths meet together. It's wet and messy as you're all tonguing at each other. You pull back to catch your breath. They're both looking at you panting, mouths uncoupled. Art retreats back into your neck, putting his lips back on over your adam's apple.

"Please touch me." Patrick begs.

"But what about Art? He needs help." Art's panting into the side of your neck at this point while Patrick watches his friend who's desperate for his girlfriend to go farther. "Why don't you help him?"

They both freeze in half-shock-half-desire. Patrick hesitantly puts his hand over yours, the one that's over Art's hard on. His eyes lock with Art, seeking silent permission. "Good." You say. You move Art's boxers so that the waistband rests below his balls. Turning over Patrick's hand, you spit in the palm, substituting your saliva as lube.

Slowly, Patrick starts to stroke Art, twisting his wrist like he would on himself. Art's tip is leaking and angry as Patrick's hand glides against his cock, the pre cum adding an extra slickness. His lips part in pleasure letting his moans escape. His head tips back and you take this opportunity to kiss down his neck, accelerating his moans. Art felt like he was heaven. Having the two people he wanted most practically worship him makes him writhe on the bed sheets. All of a sudden, Art feels Patrick's lips on the head of his cock. "W-what are you doing?"

"Don't you want this?" You ask, breaking contact with Art's neck. Art looks down at Patrick, who's once again silently asking for permission to go farther. Art nods, looking at you. There's an understanding between the three of you now that this is something you've all wanted since you've met. "You're so pretty, Art." You say as Patrick sinks his mouth onto Art. He whimpers in response while Patrick moans with Art's cock down his throat. You reach up under Patrick's shirt, tracing down his spine then bringing your hand down to the waistband of his shorts. Your hands are warm against his erection as he humps down into your hand. You're kissing down Patrick's back as his spit is dribbling down to the base of Art's cock. They're both swimming in ecstasy, filling the air with their lustful moans. Art's hands travel to Patrick's head of hair, grabbing onto the strands.

"Pat," Art pants. "Fuck, keep doing that." Patricks lips suck while his tongue swirls around the Art's length. All the while, Patrick's fucking into your hand, moaning, sending vibrations around Art, intensifying every ounce of pleasure. Art's vision fades white as he comes down Patrick's throat, evoking Patrick to finish all over the bedsheet, your hand, his stomach. They're panting, brain fog clearing slowly, when they both turn to you. Their lips are parted, wet and slick, Patrick's with Art's cum. Your clits pulsing, begging for attention. You pull Pat's face to yours, tasting Art on his lips and moaning into his mouth at the taste.

"You both did so well." You tell them against Patrick's lips.

"Why don't you let us help you now, baby?" Patrick lays you down on the bed.

"Yeah." Art breathed out, feeling up your thigh inching towards the place you wanted them both so much. You relax your body letting them, wanting them to take over and they do. Patrick towers over you, practically ripping off your cotton panties. Art's lips find themselves on the inside of your thigh, sucking and leaving marks for you to find in the morning. Patrick's kissing you while palming your boobs, one at a time, and you feel worship. Even though they're on top of you, you have all the power over the two of them.

Without warning, Art presses soft kisses to your clit, lightly licking it. "She likes when you suck on it, Art. Gets her real wet." Patrick aids. Art listens and starts sucking lightly on your clit, to which you moan out loudly and arch your back at.

"Mnhh Fuck!" Your legs are shaking already and they've barely done anything. Art keeps sucking on your clit as Patrick's kissing down your neck, twiddling with your hardened nipple between his fingers. When you're soaking the bedsheets under you, Art takes his two middle fingers and slowly glides them in, teasing you almost. His pace quickens in tune with your pants and whimpers. "Shit, Art." You go to praise him when your cut off by his fingers hitting that spongy part deep inside you. Your orgasm approaches quickly with the immense amount of stimulation you're receiving. Your boyfriend pinching your nipples and his best friend eating you out.

You moan out one last time before reaching your high, loudly. The hotel must have thick walls because there were no complaints of your guys' cacophony of pleasure. Art continues licking you for a moment, overstimulating you before pulling away from between your shaking thighs that were crushing him, making it hard to breathe. Not that he was complaining.

Sweaty and fucked out, Art, Patrick and you lay at the head of the bed. Patrick on his stomach, you in the middle on your back and Art clutching onto your side, his taint pressed into your hip. You fall asleep like that, content and satisfied. Just you and your two best friends.

[sjyuns]

WAY BACK HOME ┆ A SIM JAEYUN ONESHOT

BREAKING NEWS! the friendly neighbourhood superhero spider-man has been caught trying to swing into a girl’s heart — but why is he failing miserably?! is this the spider-man we all know and love? or has our hero lost his spark?

or in which sim jaeyun asks you, his best friend out, forgetting that he was still in his spider-man suit.

GENRE! best friends to lovers, mutual pining, extremely groundbreaking embarrassing pick up lines, my missed hit at being a comdeian, jaeyun being jaeyun ( ie a hot loser ),

CAUTION! idiots in love, two timing ( but they’re the same person ), kissing, love, mentions of weapons and fighting crime, bad pickup lines, embarrassment for sim jaeyun, both reader and jaeyun are nineteen in this fic

WORDCOUNT! 5100

MIKAELA’S! hey everyone, this is the first ever oneshot i’m posting on my shiny new blog! please feel free to leave feedback through reblogs or asks! hope you enjoy jake embarrassing the soul out of himself🫶 i love sim jaeyun so much ( too much it’s embarrassing tbh ) this is the last of my old drafts, sorry for the spam!

playlist ⟡ way back home — shaun ⟡ forever only — jaehyun ⟡ pov — ariana grande ⟡ daylight — taylor swift

i. with great power comes a platter of hot embarrassment

“With great power comes great responsibility,” is what Spider-Man once said in an interview with The Daily Times, the most widely read newspaper company in all of Seoul.

It’s so out of character of Sim Jaeyun that he himself wonders what exactly went through his mind at that given time to blurt out such a philosophical quote — especially when he was having the bad urge to take a piss at that very moment.

But whatever it was: he needs it to return now, because he’s standing in front of you, his best friend, and he thinks that now's the chance; to finally ask you out after saving you.

Unfortunately Sim Jaeyun is out of luck, like he always is with you, because nothing but five utterly embarrassing words come out of his mouth.

“You tingle my spidey senses.”

You choke back a laugh as you stare at the masked superhero, amused at his sudden pick-me-up. “Are you rizzing me up, mister friendly neighbourhood hero?”

It seems like too much thinking has altered the already broken thought process in Sim Jaeyun’s brain, because it is only now that he registers that he’s still in his Spider-Man suit, and you don’t have a single clue that he’s Spider-Man.

“Uh, I mean-” but he’s cut off by the roaring cheer of the gathered public, who have their phones out and recording.

“Don’t back down, Spider-Man,” a citizen calls out, and Jaeyun thinks it’s far too late to back out now, because not only will it crush his ego, you might think Spider-Man isn’t as cool as he seemed to be.

“Would you let me swing into your heart- I mean, could we” he pauses, “could we hang out sometime?”

You smile, and it makes Jaeyun frown slightly under his mask, because he knows that smile — it’s the polite one, the one you use in a slightly uncomfortable situation, as if you didn’t want to embarrass the popular superhero standing in front of you at the moment.

“Sure,” you grin, pearly whites on display, “could I bring my best friend Jaeyun though? He’s a big fan.” It’s him, he thinks, he’s the Jaeyun you’re talking about. And his heart skips a beat at your thoughtful action.

“Okay! Tomorrow, here, five in the evening,” he says in excitement without a second thought. You’ve just agreed to go out on a date with him, and he’s too drunk in love to think about how he’s going to meet you as Spider-Man without telling you his identity.

He shoots a web up and swings after shouting an elated “see you, yn,” in the air. All too caught up in you to realise the three critical mistakes he’d made.

ONE. He never asked for your name as Spider-Man

TWO. There’s no way he could ever go on a date with his suit on in public

THREE. How in the fucking world is he going to a date with you as both Spider-Man and Sim Jaeyun?

Sim Jaeyun spends the whole night twisting and turning in his bed, mind in a flurry as he tries to think of the smartest way to solve these problems.

And it doesn’t help him when his phone pings with a new message from you.

Guess who just bagged us a hang out with Spider-Man tomorrow!

Don’t wear that Spider-Man suit or I swear to god I will not bring you to see him.

He sighs as he presses hard on the power button of his phone, staring blanking at the black screen. Fuck power or responsibility, he thinks, all he wants is his best friend’s heart, is that too much to ask for?

ii. man up, spidey-boy!

“BREAKING NEWS! Spider-Man spotted trying to swing into a girl’s — who supposedly goes by the name yn, heart. And after failing miserably at the first try, he succeeded on the second. Spidey may be a hero who saves lives, but it seems like he might have to take up what youngster’s call ‘rizz’ classes.”

The wide billboard screen casts a video taken by a bystander as the announcer's voice blared into the main junction of the city.

Jaeyun groans as he hangs his head low, adjusting the baseball cap perched on top of his head to cover his face. Not like anyone knew he was Spider-Man, no, but it was just far too embarrassing for him.

He hears you before he sees you, your voice is illegally sweet as it causes a smile to appear on his face amidst all of the stress. “Jaeyun!” You call, “you’re unusually late,” and Jaeyun groans, blaming it on the lack of sleep he had gotten last night, “Spider-Man isn’t here yet.”

Right, Spider-Man. Jaeyun still hasn’t found a solution to that.

His suit is tucked safely in the bottom of his bag, just in case. But for now, Jaeyun thinks it’s a better decision to disappoint you as Spider-Man instead of as your best friend. Besides, he hasn’t missed a single hang out session with you, and he isn’t ever planning to.

“Do you think he’s actually going to come?” You ask, head tilting in question and eyes soft, and Jaeyun wonders if he actually underestimated how much you liked Spider-Man, misunderstood that seemingly polite smile you gave him yesterday — should he have came as Spider-Man instead?

“Uhm,” he pauses, hesitant to squash your expectations, “how about we go first? I’m sure Spider-Man will swing by, it seems like he likes you a lot.” And even though he was talking about himself, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy bubbling in him at the thought of another boy liking you.

“Right,” you say, giving him a smile that makes his heart melt, “I guess it’s just us, like it always is.” Your fingers wrap around his, “I like it like this.” You mutter softly, yet in the buzz of the city square, Jaeyun catches the whisper of your voice, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Plus, if I ever need, you can be my Spider-Man — whip out that fake suit of yours. You have his physique anyway, and your pick up lines are just as idiotic as his. Maybe even more idiotic.”

Jaeyun lets out a loud laugh, one that’s of melodious dreams, and it causes a few pedestrians to stare but he doesn’t care, not when you’re next to him, asking him to be your very own Spider-Man. And he agrees immediately, all too ready to put on the ‘fake’ red and blue suit just for you.

He’s a little amused that you still believe that he’s a hardcore fan of Spider-Man, because the only time you’ve caught him wearing that very suit was two years ago, when you coincidentally entered his room to see him in a Spider-Man suit without a mask.

And he still remembers your accusations of him being a fanboy, asking him if dressing up as his idol was what he did in his free time. Jaeyun was way too flustered to even explain himself, and letting you know that he was the real Spider-Man never even crossed his mind as he bashfully nodded to your words.

But it wasn’t like you ever laughed at him about it, though you did tease him. You would still buy him different types of Spider-Man merchandise, ranging from Spider-Man socks to a custom Spider-Man mug with the words ‘Spider-Man loves Jaeyun’ in bold red.

With every gift given, came an opportunity to reveal his identity. Yet Sim Jaeyun never seizes it, he refuses to, because he finds it so endearing — the way you have the proudest smile on your face as you give him merchandise of himself that he has never seen before, the way you send him a picture of every single Spider-Man related thing you see on the streets.

“Right,” he nods as he gazes adoringly at you, “forget the real Spider-Man, I’ll swing into your heart.” And the giggle you let out once again makes his knees weak — he thinks the smile plastered on your face is much more genuine than the one he saw yesterday.

And he wants to kiss you so bad, tell you exactly how much he likes you, loves you. This familiar feeling that has settled comfortably at the bottom of his heart and back of his mind for the past four years, has only grown and never dwindled. It was times like this, where he didn’t feel the burden of having to be alert about ongoing crime.

Only with you can he feel like Sim Jaeyun — a lovesick nineteen year old and not Spider-Man, the hero of Seoul.

“Jaeyun, what do you want to do first?” You ask, pulling him through the blaring fun of the amusement park. He hums, following behind your excited figure, letting you choose what you wanted to do. “Oh my god, look it’s a Spider-Man toy.”

You halt in your step and immediately turn towards him, eyes sparkling. “Do you want it Jaeyun? I’ll get it for you. Just so you aren’t too sad that Spider-Man ghosted us today.”

He scoffs, as he examines the booth. It’s a shooting game, and he knows that you suck at shooting. “You sure, love? From what I remember, you aren’t too good at shooting games,” he brings up and you shoot him a sharp glare before pestering him to pay the vendor.

You end up blaming your best friend for jinxing you, “Yun, if you never said that, I could have shot them all down,” you complain, eyes morphing into slits as you pinpoint the blame on him. Jaeyun raises his two hands in innocence, face displaying an expression of shock, “I didn’t even say anything wrong, plus you barely hit one out of five balloons.”

You groan, shushing him in embarrassment, “If you’re such a professional, win it for me then,” you challenge him. Jaeyun shrugs, it’ll be easy — all those years of shooting webs has made him extremely sharp, so he manages to shoot all the five balloons without any effort, snagging the coveted Spider-Man doll.

“You sure you don’t want it, Yun?” you question, “add it to your collection as a fanboy.” He shakes his head, handing you the plush toy, “I won it for you. Plus, I like the ones you gave me more.”

It overwhelms you, the stark sincerity in his voice. And you feel the sudden need to kiss him, not like you’ve never thought of it before (more like you’ve thought about it too much), because Sim Jaeyun with his bright personality and handsome face is far too good to be real.

But you can’t bring yourself to be that direct, so you settle for a kiss on the cheek. A quick movement and a short peck before you let out a loud giggle, walking over to the next booth with a stupid smile plastered on your face, leaving Jaeyun in shock and awe — eyes wide and mouth agape before he bites back a smile.

He thinks it’s too hard to conceal his feelings any longer; that he has to tell you soon, next week, tomorrow, or maybe even now. And he feels the three words, eight letters, at the tip of his tongue.

As always, though, he swallows them back down, throat dry as he stares at you. The fear of rejection far too intense for him to handle.

How ironic, that Sim Jaeyun could fight criminals with equipped daggers that could kill him in one swift motion, yet he could not say three simple words to a girl who has pierced his heart and filled his stomach with butterflies.

iii. in a sticky predicament

“Now on to our very own Spider-Man’s upcoming love story that seems to be wilting by the looks of it — Spidey, in fact, did not show up to his date with yn, who was seen with another boy at the amusement park. Our very own hero is facing multiple accusations that he may be, like his representative colour, a red flag. However, a minority of fans have brought up a speculation; that the boy we call Spider-Man, might be the very boy accompanying yn yesterday unmasked. That’s all for Spider-Man, here on The Daily News.”

“Don’t you think that’s insane Jaeyun?” you laugh, throwing your head back into the soft pillow on his bed, “they think you’re Spider-Man.”

“Right,” he trails on, arms crossed as he leans on the doorframe, “that’s so impossible.”

His laugh awkward as his fingers find themselves combing through his hair for the nth time. And you turn your head, looking at him with suspicion. Right, that’d be crazy, insane maybe, you think, because Sim Jaeyun was well — him. He’s slightly awkward, likes physics, and hell he’s scared of bugs, so it’ll be mind blowing if he ever was the real Spider-Man.

But impossible, you think, might not be true. And you sit up on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on him. Same physique, similar height, he’s athletic, and he shoots well. Plus, from your ever so short encounter with Spider-Man saving you from getting your wallet stolen, Spider-Man is just as awkward as your best friend.

Could he really be Spider-Man? But he’s a fan of Spider-Man, wouldn’t it be weird if he was such a big fan of himself. Still, you couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Jump,” you instruct, “hang upside down on the walls.” Jake is shocked, as his heart accelerates in nervousness at the thought of being found out.

“Don’t be weird,” he groans, trying to keep calm, “that’s literally humanly impossible.” His mind racing, finding a way to get out of this sticky situation, because as much as he wants to tell you his identity, the last way he wanted you to find out was through the internet. Also, maybe because you looked slightly angry, with your eyebrows furrowed and hands on your head, and Jaeyun didn’t want you to be mad at him.

You were deep in thought, was that why Spider-Man didn’t show up yesterday — because he is actually Sim Jaeyun, and he couldn’t be there as two different people.

That might be a stretch, but it isn’t an impossible scenario. You tilt your head, quickly grabbing the pillow you were just lying on, throwing it at him, “catch.”

He catches it easily, with one hand even, as his face contorts into an expression of surprise. “Don’t scare me like that, love,” he says. But you’re too flabbergasted at the fast reflexes of your best friend to even comprehend his complaint.

“You could really give Spider-Man a run for his money, you know?” you chuckle, as you tell yourself that no matter how much it might fit, it’s probably just a coincidence, “put on that suit of yours and fight crime.” It was all a coincidence, right?

“What if I’m scared of getting hurt,” he pouts, and you snort. With Sim Jaeyun’s level of cowardice, there’s no way he could ever be out there fighting.

“Then I’ll protect you,” you say, “I’ll be your sidekick, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”

He grins, walking over to stand in front of you; hands moving to ruffle your hair. “Okay love, you lead, I’ll follow.”

iv. tell him to grow a pair

Your newfound popularity brings you more drawbacks than benefits — by that you mean the sudden fury of boys approaching you to ask for your number. It annoys Jaeyun more than it does you, as your best friend flaunts a new irritated look that you’ve rarely seen.

“That’s the sixth fucking boy,” he grumbles, eyes rolling before he glares at the fleeting figure of Lee Heeseung, the boy who just asked you for your number, the boy who Jaeyun lashed out at.

“Be kind, Yun,” you chuckle, amused at your best friend’s sudden grumpiness, “I mean, I’ve never lashed out at any of the girl’s who ask you out.”

“No one has asked me out.” he groans, “are you flaunting right now?”

“Yes I am,” you reply, “don’t worry Jaeyun, you’ll always be my loser.”

He lets out a loud exaggerated sigh as he rolls his eyes, leaning against the locker as he grits his teeth in exasperation.

You wonder why no girl has ever hit Sim Jaeyun up. Granted, he wasn’t the best looking guy back in middle school with his choice of brightly coloured clothes that blinded eyes, but you think that was part of the appeal — how awkwardly adorable he was. Now, with his upgraded fashion style and bubbly personality, it’s a miracle no one has tried their shot at bagging him. Not that you wanted anyone to.

Sim Jaeyun is yours, just as much as you are his.

And he thinks the exact same. Despite what you think, he has had a girl approach him, professing his love only to get turned down by his puppy-like smile and his confession that he liked you.

Though his body exudes jealousy, there's a slight bit of relief at the fact that you turned all six of the boys down, telling them that you had a crush on someone else. He hopes, prays, begs that the person you think about is him. He furiously looks for a sign, because he’s tired of all this, and he needs a sign from you before he can courageously make the first move.

After school, the both of you walk down the buzzing streets with carts of street food lined up along the roadside. Your fingers bunching the fabric of Jaeyun’s shirt as he navigates the both of you through the crowded streets, making a beeline for his favourite churros shop.

“I told you the queue would be long, it’s Friday night,” you whine, mentally counting the number of people in front of you. Fifteen, that’ll take a while. “We should have just ordered in pizza and binge on Netflix shows.”

“Fine, we can eat churros another day,” Jaeyun pouts and you curse yourself for saying that even when you knew he wanted to eat churros.

“It’s fine, we can stay, since we’re already here.” You stop him, pulling him back beside you in the queue, “but you can’t leave to do something else like last time, you have to wait with me.”

The glow on his face coupled with the adorable smile on his lips makes you stare in awe. And you think Sim Jaeyun is so pretty and handsome all at once it’s a crime to look as good as him. His lips, god, they look so kissable and soft, you wish you could kiss them at any given time — now, tomorrow, forever.

But the moment doesn’t last long, as faint screams and shouts travel from a small corner shop down the road. “Thief, there’s a thief on the run.”

You watch as Jaeyun’s eyes widen, body in a sudden scramble, “uhm, I’m gonna go to the toilet for a moment,” he says amidst the whispers of the crowd, “stomach ache, you know.” Running off before you can give him a reply, brushing past people hurriedly into a random narrow street.

You shrug it off again because it isn’t the first time Jaeyun has acted out of character. However, you can’t help but realise it was always when there was crime.

The questions and suspicions floating around your head for the past week resurface as you focus on the narrow street your best friend had disappeared into.

Oh my god.

You blink profusely, pinch yourself, and rub your eyes because this is mind blowing information. You can’t seem to believe an ounce of what your eyes have just seen. Was that Spider-Man who just swung out of the very same alleyway?

Sim Jaeyun is Spider-Man. And your conclusion only seems to solidify as you hear the muffled voice coming out of his masked persona.

“Oops, sorry,” and a careless swing as he tries his best to manoeuvre through the crowd, accidentally knocking over a little girl’s ice cream cone, “I'm sorry, please don’t cry.”

Yup, that’s Jaeyun. His voice now so familiar you hit yourself in the head for not realising sooner. And his utterly helpless tone as he tries to soothe the little girl — you could recognise it from a mile away.

“I’ll get you a new one, I’m sorry,” he shouts as he spins his web and shoots again, lamppost to windows to signboards before effortlessly catching up with the thief; who was now bound to the wall by web.

“Sorry,” he groans for the fourth time in a matter of minutes, “it’s my job — i mean, not that you deserve to get away no, i just-” he rambles and you giggle at his comment. Seems like Sim Jaeyun will never change, even as a superhero or as your best friend.

“I meant to say, justice has been served,” he nods, seemingly proud of his awkward catchphrase that you were sure he stole from the superhero movie you watched with him a few weeks back. “I have to get back now, someone awaits me you know - i mean, no- I’m not supposed to give details of my personal life. I’ll just- stop talking… yeah.”

And you watch again as he swings back down the street. With his identity revealed, you can’t help but look up to Jaeyun even more now — a top student and a superhero? How unfair the world is. How lucky you were to have him as your best friend.

“Hey! Aren’t you yn? Spider-Man, is that your girl?” You shrink, head down as you fix your gaze on the floor immediately, cheeks a rosy red. God, you think, this is a little embarrassing.

You feel his presence before you see his shadow morphing with yours on the floor, “hey yn,” and you look up to see the superhero, who’s panting ever so slightly, stand in front of you in his glory. “Sorry about last week, I was well busy, and I know it isn’t any-”

“It’s fine,” you stop him from blabbering, a toothy grin plastered on your face. And Jaeyun feels proud, maybe him saving someone has put Spider-Man back into your good graces, maybe he has a chance with you as Spider-Man.

“I had fun with my crush at the amusement park. Actually, thank you for the opportunity, I kissed his cheek for the first time and it felt like heaven.”

He pauses, and Jaeyun wants to rip off his mask at the very moment to kiss you. You liked him back, fuck, you actually liked him back.

“Ah,” he says after a while of tense silence, his hands rubbing the nape of his neck, “that’s amazing. So- do you… I mean- so you’re like, in love with him? Wait love might be a little uhm-”

“Yeah, I’m in love with him.”

Time stops as your eyes pierce into his, and he can swear at this moment that you knew exactly who he was. He thinks it’s over, and he can finally ask you to be his — because he’s hellbent on loving you, for the past four years he has been.

“Seems like this crush of yours needs to step up his game, or I might just steal you away,” he remarks lightheartedly, uncaring of the sea of cameras pointing towards the both of you.

“Yeah, it seems like he does. Maybe you should visit him one day, tell him that it’s about time to man up, or I’ll be the one asking for his hand.” You shoot a knowing glance at him, a confident smirk on your face.

Jaeyun chuckles, “right, I’ll be sure to tell him that, wouldn’t want him to lose such a special girl.”

“Thanks Spidey, I wonder what I’d ever do without you,” you laugh, patting his suited shoulder before he once again swings away into the narrow alleyway, only to appear minutes later donned in his usual faded ripped jeans and white shirt, hair tousled and smile wide as he runs back to you.

And he’s before you all again, this time as your best friend and you swoon as his adoring eyes and elated smile. “You okay?” You ask, hand raising to fix his hair.

“I couldn’t be better.”

v. Batman vs Spider-Man, a battle of the mans

“Spider-Man should now change his name into wing man as he is spotted once again, engaging in conversation with the very same yn from last week. Spider-Man was not only ruthlessly dumped by her, but was also asked to quote on quote visit her crush to ask him to grow a pair. Seems like she is off the market for our poor lonely superhero, who can’t seem to catch anyone except for criminals. That’s all for Spider-Man, here on The Daily News.”

“Seems like you can’t catch a break, huh Yun?” You point out as you switch the television off, “not only defamed into a wing man but also asked to grow a pair.”

And it seems like he really can’t because ever since you confronted him about being Spider-Man, his days have been filled with even more ruthless teasing, and weird questions.

“How do you even piss as Spider-Man?”

“Can I swing from building to building?”

“Can you hang upside down for ten minutes?”

“How do you think you would fare against Batman in a fight?”

But there’s one unasked question still hanging in the air. And Jaeyun really wants to address it, but it seems like you’ve lost your confidence by the way the flesh of your cheeks heats an angry red at any slight hint of him being your crush — or as Jaeyun would like to call himself; your soon to be boyfriend.

“I’ve grown a pair,” he says, shifting towards you, eyes trained on yours, “seems like someone has lost a pair.”

“Have not” you argue, lies — you could barely look at Jaeyun now without a lovesick smile on your face. Neither could you muster up the courage to ask him to be your boyfriend. “And if you ever grew a pair, you would have asked.”

“Ask what?” He teases, face moving closer to yours. He looks too good, godly almost, with his black rimmed glasses perched at the bridge of his nose.

You pout, furrowing your eyebrows as you place a light slap on the middle of his chest. And he lets out a low chuckle, the vibrant sun rays flush through the sheer day curtains of Jaeyun’s room, a natural spotlight glowing on the both of you.

“Fine,” he whispers, and you can feel his breath on your lips, it’s warm and inviting and you feel yourself leaning into him. “Will you be my girlfriend, love?”

You barely nod your head before he attaches his lips on yours. And you think you’re going to be obsessed with Sim Jaeyun — your fingers find their way through his hair and he sighs. It’s like he’s imprinted in your heart and you want to kiss him again and again and again.

Sim Jaeyun with pretty eyes, pretty lips, a pretty face, a pretty being, breaks the kiss only to kiss you again and again as you wish.

“Did I swing into your heart, love?” He smirks as you playfully roll your eyes at his antics. “Are we not going to bring up the time when you fell after showing me your web skills?”

He tackles you down and you giggle, “I can fall from the sky, I can fall from a tree, but the best way to fall is to fall in love with you.” He grins idiotically before racing out the door as you cringe at yet another bad pick up line from him.

“Sim Jaeyun, are you kidding me? I wonder how you even make up quotes like ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ with that mind of yours.”

“What mind? You mean my mind — the place where you always are?”

You groan in fake disgust as you watch your boyfriend (boyfriend!) smile proudly at his idiotic pick up lines. The both of you drinking sunlight as if it’s love — where he’s all yours and you’re all his.

uncut. confessions i can’t make ( a crumpled confession letter written by a sixteen year old sim jaeyun )

hi dear yn,

i like you. it’s been a while since you took my breath away we first met. this is my first time ever writing a confession so i don’t really know what to say write… i guess it’s like writing physics notes so maybe it wouldn’t be too hard i hope

chapter one part one : what i like about you

i like the way you smile laugh, how your eyes turn into the tiniest of crescents, it makes me proud of the jokes i crack (that physics joke was good was it not). i like the feeling i have around you — it’s warm and fuzzy, natural — talking everyday without any forceful conversation, laughs or attention.

part two : why you should like me

i think you should like me because i like you. i think you should like me because i’m smart! i can help you with physics and maths. i don’t really know what else i can give you but i’ll try my best to make you smile everyday.

will you be my girlfriend? Oh god, this is so weird i actually like you a lot and

(a bunch of scribbling)

forget it. you’ll never like me back.

dear mister sim jaeyun,

after three hours of fighting for my life, i have finally gotten my hands on the most treasured item of the year, a sixteen year old you’s crumpled confession letter to me. and since you wrote it in a physics notes style like a loser, as your girlfriend i have no choice but to follow you (so that you don’t feel lonely)

one. what i like about you

everything. i like your hair, i like your face. I like the way you say sorry to every single person in the neighbourhood while courageously saving them. i like your pick up lines on some days and how you have the guts to challenge Batman to a fight when i proclaim him as my favourite hero. i like the way you laugh and i like the way you smile. i am especially enchanted by your kicked puppy ways and easily manipulated demeanour where i can always get what i want without question.

two. why you should like me

i’m your girlfriend and you’re my girlfriend. (you are my girlfriend) you should stop staring at me with those eyes, it gives me the ick (i meant that in a ‘whatever you say pretty boy’ kind of way) you should like me because i am the person who likes you the most. (i love you so much)

will i be your girlfriend? obviously i will, i mean who can say no to you.

love you babe,

spider-man’s (your) hot sidekick

© SJYUNS

[garfunklefield]

jjk men reacting to you wearing pheromone perfume and it makes them feel a certain way? chousou and getou please!!!!

Love me, girl..

JJK Men reacting to you wearing pheromone perfume! [Choso, Geto, Gojo, Toji]

18+ viewer discretion is advised

fem!reader/JJK MEN Warnings: established relationship, drabbles kind of, suggestive content, Geto breaks a door, Clingy!Satoru Gojo, Toji is just pure fluff sorry ;P Word count: 1645 DESC: JJK MEN's reactions to your new perfume!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN!!!!

This isn't super explicit but I thought you'd appreciate it anon!!

Also follow my spam if you want unfiltered funkle @garfunkle8008

Choso Kamo Whiny!

Choso was instantly intoxicated by that … that scent. It was hard to ignore as you walked through the door, busy on a phone call for work. At first, something sweet made him perk his head up and watch you stride into the kitchen. But it was strong. It filled his head and his senses for hours, although they were mere minutes. It was chocolate, with a hint of cinnamon. That smell was almost nostalgic as it brought him back to a simpler time with his family. However, the nostalgia turned into something else when you sat beside him. 

Innocent thoughts of cuddling next to you and inhaling your new scent were turned into things that were making his cheeks begin to flush. Kamo wasn’t inherently horny, in fact, he had the lowest sex drive of any guy you had ever been with. So he was surprised by the sudden arousal building in his pants. All from a smell? No, it had to be something more than that. Maybe he was ovulating? No, men don’t do that… Maybe he was just due to masturbate?

Your hand brushed over his knee, your body scooting closer to him as you began to speak delicately about your day. Your boyfriend, try as he might, wasn’t listening in the slightest. All he could think about was the warmth radiating off of your body. And that damn smell. It was making the man salivate as he tried to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. Not your neck, no, not your arms… Was it…? 

Choso snuck a very shy look down to your mini skirt, barely hiding the plush fat of your thighs. A lump formed in his throat as he stared; That’s where the smell was coming from, huh? His hand trailed down your thigh until he reached the end of your skirt. Slowly, he snuck his fingers underneath the fabric, until he was feeling up to your underwear. 

“Choso?” Your soft voice broke through his thoughts, causing the man’s face to tilt to see yours, flushed with embarrassment, “What are you doing?”

“You have a new perfume, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, “I wanted to… smell it.” It was a lame ass excuse to get into your pants, but whatever you did was beginning to drive him absolutely insane. Within seconds, he wrestled off your pencil skirt and then tossed your panties, you wouldn’t be needing them anyway. Your legs, they were spread perfectly for him as he gazed into your pussy. That’s where it hit him. You must’ve doused your whole body in this shit, and god was it amazing. Choso didn’t even want to move, the angle he was at, pressing his face into your thigh, was perfect enough to inhale you. To practically taste you without savoring you on his tongue. Not yet, no he was going to have fun with this.

Suguru Geto Impatient!

Suguru noticed you had been taking an extra long time in the shower. It wasn’t anything unusual, you were probably just shaving your legs. But something about it today was setting him in an impatient mood. He stared at the door and felt his leg bounce, hearing you hum and smelling your body wash waft into the air. Or at least, he thought it was that. Something about it was different, like honey but stronger. It captivated the air and made him stop for a moment. Was this new? Was this the right body wash he bought you yesterday?

He wasn’t complaining. Actually, he was rather content smelling you from there, sitting on your bed. After a moment, he cleared his throat, “Honey, are you almost done?” The man didn’t expect a response, seeing as you were busy doing something in there. He wasn’t expecting your voice to sound so … different. 

It was angelic how you laughed through the door, “Almost, dear!” You called out in the way you always did, but why was it so different now? Why did it send butterflies through his heart and a burning sensation down his pants? There was something wrong with him. Suguru stood and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe if he just saw you he’d feel normal, instead of these urges. It was the usual arousing urge he always felt when he got in the mood. Wanting to take you and make you his, breed you until you choked on his cum. Hold you close and slowly thrust into your warmth, grab your neck, and pull you into a messy kiss. 

The man went to the door and pressed his forehead against the wood, “Honey…” He whispered, voice threatening to rasp against his throat, “Open the door.” Your response was something basic like ‘Huh? Speak up!’ but it was killing him. Being this close and not even being able to touch you, let alone see you. And smelling you. This scent. It was honey and pure, melted, sugar. He could practically taste it on his tongue, as his hand grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. Suguru was surprised to hear it jam. You locked it. 

Geto pressed his lips together and turned the doorknob again, “Honey,” his voice was louder now as the doorknob snapped and opened with ease. He’d be replacing that later. He pushed the door open and stared at you, water-slicked hair clinging to your forehead as your bare frame was seated on the side of the tub, shaving your legs. He could see your back, rolls of fat perfectly seated on your sides into love handles, and your ass, perked up on the edge of the bathtub. 

He was going to make sure you couldn’t walk after this.

Satoru Gojo Handsy!

Satoru was already clingy, that was a fact. His best friend was so relieved he found you to take on the responsibility of babysitting him, so he wouldn’t have to. You didn’t mind, in fact, you loved being able to spend time with him. And he loved it more than you’d ever know. He’d religiously check your location until you arrived home, so he could pester you until you were seated in his lap watching movies until the latest hours of the night. Did he have a problem? Maybe! But he didn’t care. 

When you came home from being out with your friends he was in the kitchen preparing dinner. At first, your new perfume didn’t hit him, that was until you brushed your form past him to grab the salt for your meal. It made your boyfriend pause and stiffen in his tracks. This was a new one, and this wasn’t a scent he had bought you. The obvious cheating thoughts ran through his head before that smell started to clog it. Mint and chocolate were filling his senses and making his head turn to you. When did you start wearing that lipstick? Was that new too? He never noticed your lips and how full they were… Or how your eyelashes clung to your cheeks when you looked down.

“Hey,” you felt your boyfriend's body press against you from behind as you tried to assemble your salad. Large and lanky arms wrapped around your torso and pulled you in, making your own mind blank as he continued with a soft voice in your ear, “When’d you get this new perfume?” Satoru’s nose pressed against the back of your ear, with his lips practically ghosting your skin. 

“I got it today at the mall, it’s nice right?” You replied, moving away from his grasp to grab the shredded cheese for your monstrosity of a salad. Gojo let a frown pull at his lips as you moved away, staring at your body as he attempted to make a new plan. Every part of his body was on fire unless he was clinging to your side. This was normal for him, but now it was intense. More intense than usual. It had to be that perfume. 

“So…” He purred, grabbing both of your shoulders and pressing himself back against you, “Why don’t we eat this stuff in bed?” On any other person, this level of seduction from this tall hunk of a man would have made them melt. But you were used to it. So instead of swooning as he hoped you would, you giggled. 

“Sure, just don’t get any crumbs on my side, okay?” Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought.

Toji Fushiguro Straight to the point!

Toji was already on you as soon as you got home. It was less than a minute before he was taking hold of you and pinning you to the wall, pressing his face into your neck to inhale that holy smell. For him, it was less arousing than it was comforting. The rest of the guys on this list felt more lust than love, but I think Toji would be the opposite. 

He had a rough life, and when you came in and graced him with two beautiful children, he was forever grateful. It was hard for him to show how much he loved you, instead opting to show it in physical ways rather than being vocal. Smelling this on you, and holding you close as he did so was his way of hoping you’d never leave. Pressing his body to yours and cradling you close. He never wanted you to go. He never wanted you to turn away and tell him you didn’t love him because Fushiguro wasn’t sure what he’d do if he was alone. 

“I love you,” he muttered, tightening the hold he had on you. You let out a breathless laugh, mainly from the fact he was stronger than he realized with his grip, and wrapped your arms around him. You were different than him, but you both loved each other regardless. 

“I love you more,” you smiled to which Toji pulled back with a frown.  “No bitch. I’ll never stop loving you.”

[etherealstar-writes]

CONTACTS CHAOS | ARSENAL WFC X READER

pairings: leah williamson x teen!reader / arsenal women x teen!reader

summary: in which leah cheats to win against you in fifa and you get your payback

warnings: none

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

Leah and you were lounging on the comfortable sofas during the lunch break. The sounds of laughter and banter from the rest of your teammates echoed in the background, creating a relaxed atmosphere. With the PlayStation controller gripped in your hands, you were confidently leading in the latest FIFA match against Leah.

"Oh, come on, Leah, you're not seriously going to let me win again, are you?" You teased, a playful smirk on your face as your team dominated the field.

Leah rolled her eyes, a mischievous glint appearing. "Win again? I think you mean, let me come back and crush you."

As the match progressed, you were tied 1-1. But just when victory seemed assured and you were about to score another goal, Leah resorted to her infamous tactics. 

She scooted closer, her eyes widening innocently. "Hey, y/n, did you hear about the surprise meeting after this break?"

You furrowed your brow, momentarily distracted by her sudden announcement. "What meeting? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Leah seized the opportunity, swiftly manoeuvring her players to score a goal. "Sorry, distraction technique. Works every time," she chuckled, her team celebrating on the screen.

You groaned, realising the sly tactic she had employed. "That's cheating, Leah! You can't just distract me like that."

Leah grinned, unapologetic. "All's fair in love and FIFA, my friend. Now look, who's the winner?"

The final whistle blew, and to your disbelief, Leah emerged victorious. You couldn't help but shoot her an annoyed glance. "You cheated, and you know it."

Leah, revelling in her triumph, shrugged nonchalantly. "Call it what you want, loser. Maybe you should work on your focus skills."

Your annoyance turned into a mock glare, "Fine, enjoy your tainted victory."

Leah stuck her tongue out at you. "I always do, especially when it's against sore losers like you."

With that, she stood up, placing the PlayStation controller down and sauntered away, probably to a meeting, leaving you fuming. Your eyes landed on her unlocked phone next to you and a devious smirk spread across your face, seizing the perfect opportunity for payback. You quickly went to work with your genius idea before the England captain realised she’d forgotten her phone and would return to retrieve it.

And it wasn’t until later that night did Leah discover what exactly you had done with her phone. She was simply lounging in her living room, watching a tv show, when her peace was disturbed by her phone ringing. 

The blonde fished her phone out of her pocket, and out of the people she’d thought of who would be calling her at this moment, she definitely didn’t expect this as she read the name of the caller ID.

McDonalds.

Why the hell would McDonalds be calling her? She declined the call, thinking of it as a spam call. But the number kept on ringing. Finally having enough, she accepted the call, ready to go off at them but was cut off by a voice she was definitely not expecting.

“Finally!” Katie’s voice spoke through. “Why’d you keep on declining my calls?”

Leah’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Katie?”

“Yeah? Who else do you think?”

“Well the ID said McDonalds so I thought it was a spam call or something,” Leah tried explaining as she scrolled through her phone contacts. “I don’t know how your name got changed, I didn’t … oh god ...”

“McDonalds?” Katie burst into laughter on the other end. “What happened?”

Leah scrolled through and discovered the chaos you had wrought, realised a lot of her contacts had new, unbelievable names. And she knew exactly who’d be responsible for it.

The next day at training, Leah stormed over towards you with a fiery glare, and you couldn't help but smirk, knowing exactly what she was about to bring up. She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused.

"Seriously, Y/n?! Changing my contact names?! I know it was you who did it." She pointed towards her phone.

You shrugged, maintaining your smug expression. "Well, you cheated in FIFA, and I thought it was time to remind you not to mess with me."

"I demand an apology."

You crossed your arms, feigning innocence. "Me, apologise? Please, you cheated and deserved a little payback."

Leah sighed in frustration, realising that arguing with you would be futile. "Fine, but you better fix it, or I'll make your life miserable."

You chuckled, feeling satisfied with the reaction. "Make my life miserable? Good luck with that, miss sore loser. But hey, maybe next time, don't cheat in FIFA."

Leah groaned in defeat and walked away, realising she would have to face the teasing from the entire team when she went around collecting everyone's numbers again. And they couldn't help but give her playful jabs.

Steph grinned as she read her contact name. "The better defender, huh? Thanks Leah, I really like the new nickname."

"Same here," Beth agreed as she read hers over Steph's shoulder as the superior lioness. "I don't think they need to be changed."

"Shut up, you guys," Leah grumbled before shooting you another glare. "I will get you back for this.”

You merely flashed her a grin in return as you continued to watch her suffer.

[hannieehaee]

sorry to hear you’ve been feeling unwell, I hope you’re starting to feel much better and congrats on the milestone!!

I’d love to request a fic where both junhui and oc are on separate work trips, missing eachother not being able to talk much, arrive home separately on the same day and have the most super intense and passionate fucking EVER bc they missed each other ever so much :’))))

thank you thank you for your beautiful writing!!

18+ / mdi

content: bf!jun, softdom!jun, afab reader, smut, reunion sex, penetrative sex, dry humping, etc.

wc: 1734

a/n: thank u so much for ur concern im feeling way better now c: and thanks for requesting!! i hope u enjoy<3

masterlist

"okay, so you're getting home at 5, right? please tell me there's been no change of plans, fuck, i'll go crazy if-"

"jun! yes! i'm getting home at 5. nothing has changed. i'll see you today at 5, okay, babe? stop overthinking it," you reassured your boyfriend before he could go on yet another rant about how badly he missed you.

throughout the past three weeks, you and your boyfriend had had a bit of trouble aligning your schedules. he had left on a work trip about twenty days ago all while you left on your own trip two weeks after that. having returned home a few days ago, he was bummed to realize that he'd be coming back to an empty home as you finished up your own work.

finally, after far too many days away from one another, your schedules aligned. after three grueling weeks in separation, your return was set for today, with a ride already booked to bring you home at around five in the afternoon. jun had only been home alone for two days, but he had been itching to see you for far too long already.

it was uncommon for the two of you to spend so much time away from each other. work trips were not usual for either of your work schedules, so such a sudden and prolonged separation had thrown you completely off guard.

jun had taken the brunt of it, constantly spamming you with texts and calls detailing how much he missed you – and which parts of you he missed the most.

your boyfriend was not shy to express his desire for you even through the distance. although he missed the softer and less explicit parts of your presence, he was a little extra vocal about the carnal ways in which he yearned for you these past few weeks. calling you for phone sex became a common occurrence only a few days into your separation, as jun would call you every other day with his dick already in hand.

every single one of these calls would be accompanied by hints at all the things he would do to you the moment you were back together, leading you to becoming just as pent up as jun clearly was.

unsure, yet excited for what was to come when you finally arrived home, you prepared yourself the best you could to finally be dicked down by your boyfriend. you were practically vibrating with anticipation by now.

"okay, fuck, sorry," he apologized, "i'm just so excited to see you."

"i know, baby. me too," you reassured.

"don't even knock when you get here. i'll leave the door open. just run to the bedroom. i don't think i'll be able to waste even one second without touching you," he rambled on, completely serious too.

you chuckled, "okay, junnie. i'll be ready for you to tackle me with your dick."

"you think it's a joke, but i will!"

~

"baby? are you in the room? i'm hom- hmph!"

despite the lighthearted discussion you'd had about your return, you assumed jun had been exaggerating a bit. you expected a soft welcome accompanied by a hug and maybe a kiss before being ultimately led to bed to get the dick you'd been thirsting after for weeks. jun had different plans, though.

the moment you walked in, jun jumped you, running out of the room and meeting you as you'd barely crossed the door to your apartment. interrupting your inquiries for his location, he locked your lips in a kiss, forcing your bag off your shoulder with rushed hands and walking back into your room as he held onto your hips for guidance.

there were no thoughts in your head as you followed along, kissing him back just as passionately as he did you, putting everything in the kiss; everything you'd been holding back these past weeks. in a similar fashion, jun moaned and groaned into your lips, gaining pleasure from the mere contact with you.

clearly pent up and with a heightened sense of need for you, he continued to whimper and moan as he felt you up, hands liberal in their touches of your ass and tits.

"missed you so much, fuck. feel so soft ... so pretty and good for me," he breathed out as his lips trailed down your neck.

his hands went straight to your clothing, attempting to rip it off after a mere five minutes of kissing, quickly becoming frustrated by the lack of skin to skin contact.

"need to get this shit off you. been thinking about your body for weeks," he huffed, throwing off your shirt and clipping off your bra, "seeing it through a screen isnt enough."

he was a mess as he took off your clothes, but eventually got the job done, pushing you lightly onto the bee before doing quick work of his own clothes as he stared down at your bare body with a look in his eyes that could only be described as immense desire.

"junnie, hurry the fuck up!", you rushed him despite how accelerated he already was. you couldnt help yourself when he looked so good as he stripped down for you. his eyes only gave you indication of how good you were about to be fucked – how could you resist in riling him up a bit more?

huffing again, he basically toppled you over, making you lay flat against the bed as he climbed over you. immediately reconnecting your lips, he began to aggressively make out with you once more, hands groping at every inch they could reach. both your hips were uncontrollable, messily humping into each other in search of some sort of friction.

"baby, need you so fucking bad," he breathed against your lips, "gonna fuck you so good. been thinking about it every night," he mumbled into your skin as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of red marks and saliva behind.

"then fuck me already," you whined with grabby hands digging into his back, pulling his hips against your own by your legs.

with a rush, he reached into the bedside table, hands bumping into the table a few times before finally making it to the drawer and pulling out a long line of condoms.

"oh? you have a big night planned?", you snickered at the sight.

"shut up," he rolled his eyes with a laugh, getting up to rip off the condom and put it on.

in the meantime, you flipped yourself over, getting on all fours and arching your back for him with the knowledge of how pent up and desperate he was. the sight was usually able to flip a switch in his mind, making him lose all composure and fuck you senseless. today was no different.

upon realizing your change in position, he groaned deep in his chest, rushing to press himself up against you and grabbing harshly onto your hips to push them up into his cock. with no further warning, he eased his way into you, slow in his entrance but accelerating the moment you nodded back at him to give him the green light to begin moving.

with an inhuman speed, jun fucked into you almost animalistically, completely losing sight of himself and babbling nonsensical praise to your cunt while embedding himself into the pleasure. his fingers dug deep into your hips, surely leaving marks that he'd have to kiss later.

forcing your back into an even deeper arch, jun began dragging your hips back and forth into his cock, coordinating the rhythm of his own rocking of his hips. despite the mindless way in which he harshly fucked into you, he let out the most pathetic whimpers at the feeling of your cunt wrapping around him. faring no better than him, your own cries accompanied his own in filling up the otherwise silent room.

"missed this cunt so badly ... you have no idea how much," he grunted breathlessly, "t-tell me you've missed me too," he practically pleaded afterwards.

"missed you, junhui, so much ..."

"tell me how much," he demanded, hips never ceased in slapping against your ass.

"s-so much. missed you so fucking much, junhui," you cried out when his hips accelerated even more, making your eyes roll back at the aggressive yet finessed manner he fucked into you.

"missed you more," he let out in a huff, "gonna show you all night. gonna make you cum again and again til you're begging me to stop," he reassured in slurred words, clearly almost at the point of losing himself to his high.

"'m gonna cum, junie, please ... cum with me," you begged, needing to make him delirious with pleasure in the same way he did you.

with tears in your eyes, your orgasm reached you, making you hiccup moans and cries of jun's name while he continued to fuck into you.

"so fucking good for me, shit. got so t-tight, oh fuck- g-gonna cum, shit."

his orgasm was not far from yours, catching him off guard due to the pulsing of your cunt during your own high. somehow he managed to become even more desperate in the canting of his hips, making you cry out in sensitivity but prevail throughout it as the impact was too pleasurable for you to actually want to push him away.

almost falling against you, he leaned into you as he caught his breath. meanwhile, you were a shell of your former self, completely spent under him and attempting to regain your own breath.

in just a few moments, jun began silently kissing up and down your back before pulling out and ridding himself of the condom, immediately going back to loving on you with his lips and massaging at your hips tenderly with his hands.

wordlessly, he helped you lay down on your stomach as he wrapped around you, continuing to kiss and rub at your sore form before finally speaking up.

"i really missed you," he began with a murmur, "was that too much?"

"no, junnie. i missed you too much to not let you fuck me like an animal," you chuckled after recovering your ability to speak.

"good, cause i'm planning on using that whole pack of condoms," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

your body might not make it til the next day, but reuniting with your boyfriend and his endless stamina made it worth it.

[frogchiro]

Omg ur centaur könig got me thinking about a waternymph! reader who takes care of a local waterfall which she had been born into by the soft ripples splashing on the shore of the small lake, small bundles of flowers and cloaking trees practically it shroud it from sight and any passing adventurers. You're alone, the lake can't hold more than a single one of you and you can't help but feel lonely..

SO YOU MAKE IT A POINT TO TAKE TO ANYONE AND EVERYTHING THAT SOMEHOW MANAGES TO WALK PAST OR FIND UR RESERVOIR

You chat up to a passing chimera called Farah, then another few harpies which had flown by looking for her, another pretty nymph, a few satyrs who tried to be cheeky and get you to come out of the water despite your flustered protests. It's that you couldn't, you just find it odd! You protest despite their little teasing tugs, hands wrapped around your bicep to pull you up where instead, you mischievously pull them down and get them doused and their flutes ruined. You even meet a hulky centaur who seems very sleep deprived, with many other nymphs toddling around him! You greet them with an excited smile and you all immediately become BESTIESSS you help them refill their water, and even let them bathe in your spring, you even manage to talk to the massive centaur who is actually quite polite and curious about you. By the time they leave, you're all basically bawling your eyes out and hugging and despite their insisting you join them, u just can't leave ur little spot like that:( they leave and u wave them goodbye with a chirp and a song. You somehow met the formidable minotaur who had managed to escape the labyrinth, scarred and dirty and helped him bathe and drink some water. He returns the favour by catching you a deer for a nice, hearty meal and some wine which had been left by the entrance of the labyrinth he'd left, forgotten offerings. He leaves after a month of recovery and it's just as teary. But it's alright! U don't mind..:(

Until all of a sudden, when you're just happily sunbathing on one of the tilted rocks in the middle of the small lake, napping on your side,, when you're practically jolted awake by arguing! Uh oh, everyone you've ever met is back and arguing on the lake side about who exactly means more to you(in a more comical way, not in a weird boyfriend girlfriend sort of thing?? Idk how to explainnn) like:

"Well, she combed our hair and gave us forehead kisses!" Arguged one of the many nymphs, pointing at the band of satyrs who looked like they were going to shank someone with their flutes. "So? She played in the water with us!" One of satyrs snaps, giving the girl a mean mug. "How stupid! She let me drink from her personal cup, fools!" The chimera yelled. "Yeah, same!" The harpies tried to butt in. "I stayed with her for a month." The minotaur adds as well, his voice rumbly. Alongside them are myriad of other creatures you didn't even know you had made such an impact on, it would make u cry lf happiness if not for the fact they're still arguing. They all are rather passionate about ur happiness, and they all want to be the cause of it:((

And all waternymph! Reader wants to do is just take a nap..but first priority in her mind! Hugs and reunions! Fuck your arguing! You want to hear about everyone's adventurers! So, with a cute smile, u get everyone to set up around the lake and that night is filled with a ton of fun festivities, drinking and a lot of wrestling among different species(for fun and competition, it's actually really funny to watch!)

SORRY FOR THE LONG SPAM BUT THIS HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY MIND FOR SO LONG<<33 I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUCH I JUSTTTTT MWAH MWAH UR AMAZING!!! MUCH LOVE XOXXOO

It's very much okay darling, I don't mind!! Thank you for all the love and I'm sorry for not responding earlier :((

I hope you guys enjoy the read and please send me more of your thoughts on nymph!Reader and CentaurKönig♡♡♡

[mistydeyes]

just a cute little moment with ghost i was hoping u could write pls 🤭

imagine simon being gone on a mission and your house was feeling so empty and lonely.

So..... you decide to adopt a dog from the shelter to mend your loneliness and waited to surprise him with the new addition to the riley family!

On the other hand, Simon felt terrible for leaving you for months on end. To keep you company and protected, he brings home *drum roll pls*

another dog!!

The look on both of your faces when he comes through the door with dog in his arms and you with a little pup on your lap already 😭😭

(hope this isn't confusing lmao)

AHHH this is so cute and precious! love simon being a dog person fr fr

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summary: With Simon gone on some unknown mission, you decide to welcome a new member to the family. However, despite how much you love the friendly little guy, Simon has other ideas on pets.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

warnings: none :)

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"Hi, Simon," you smiled through the phone. "Hello, love, how are you?" he asked and you relaxed into the plush blanket on the couch. "Mhmm, same old, same old," you said, trailing off towards the end as if you had something to hide, "but how have you been, haven't heard any updates." You bit your lip as the line went quiet for a moment, you kicked your feet slightly in anticipation. "Something you want to talk about? Sorry, it's been a while since we've gotten stable service," he said, a soft kindness in his whisper. Before you could reply, a soft bark resounded through your shared flat as a car drove down your lane. "What was that?" Simon asked suddenly, "Someone's dog get loose?" As your newest and surprise addition to the Riley family came running to your side, you struggled to hold the phone and settle him down with soft pats and belly rubs. You hadn't intentionally wanted to adopt a dog without Simon but something about the young pup at the local adoption center made your heart melt. Plus you were no stranger to managing a new pet. However, your failure to answer gave Simon a full assumption as to the current state of your home.

"Did-did you adopt a dog?" he asked almost holding his breath, "please, just tell me." With that, the secret was out and you silently cursed your all too observational fiancé. "I'm sorry," you blurted out, "it's just too lonely without you here and you know how the colder seasons make me feel." You tried to calm your excuses by cuddling up to your big-eyed, gentle Golden Shepherd but were immediately off put by the sudden laugh filling your ears from the other line. "Please tell me it's at least a guard dog breed," he said between laughs and you felt your held breath relax. "Um you could say that," you replied as you smiled down to the bundle of fur curled up to your side, "he can be menacing at times." "To the mail carrier or actual intruders?" he joked a slight hint of sarcasm on his tongue. "I'll send you a photo so you can judge for yourself," you huffed but before the conversation could continue any further, you heard the call suddenly drop.

You pouted a bit as you looked down at Bones, your newest companion for the coming months. "Smile for your dad," you said happily before sending the picture off to Simon to see eventually. At the end of the week, your phone dinged with an incoming message. "golden shepherds are not guard dogs." it said simply and you were sure to spam him with more photos of you and Bones' latest adventures.

You lazily lounged around the flat as you looked at your phone's calendar. Simon's mission had been extended 6 more months from his initial departure date and since that update, you had heard little since. You put down your phone dejectedly before filling up Bones' bowl of food and water. As you turned with the bowl in hand, you practically jumped when the door knob turned. Bones ran towards it rapidly as you chased after him, nearly colliding with your kitchen island. "Easy now," you commanded sharply, pulling him by his collar. "Guess he is a guard dog after all," a familiar voice spoke and your eyes met with Simon's. You immediately jumped to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he levied a cardboard box into his other arm. As you reunited after many long months, you were monetarily blinded to the small bundle of fur peeking out from the top. "What's this, Simon?" you asked as you paused your barrage of kisses. "Look for yourself," he smirked, putting the box in your hand. Inside, a small Belgian Malinois began to lick your face. As you laughed giddily at the affections, Simon led you to the couch with Bones following cautiously. "Since you don't have much of a scary one here," he said pausing to pat Bones on the head, "thought he and you could use a companion." You nodded as you put the small puppy in your lap. "Well now that we have two children," you said turning to him, "you better be staying for a while now, Riley."

[crazy-only]

top!george spoiling you (among other things) in the gucci store !

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

pairing: top!george x fem!reader

idea: george gets turned on after seeing you in a dress and poor baby can’t hold back his feelings for you anymore!

creds: super cute dividers thanks to @cafekitsune !! go support ‘em !

preface: omfg think i’ve been sleeping on this george russell guy?! he’s so fine omg? especially in these gifs AHHHH with those big ass hands omfg i need to stop—

also, for the followers wondering: yes i’ve been posting a lot, it’s purely because i’m stressed out (life sucks) and need an outlet. hopefully you guys enjoy the spam smut either way, though!

“pfft, yeah, i’m sure charles would like that,” george said his usual sassiness, arms crossed, as he judged the red dress you were wearing. “that one i’m not paying for.”

“well what if i want to impress charles, hm?” you suggested, walking back into the changing room. “ever thought about that possibility?”

you could hear george sigh rather loudly as you changed into a more slutty, blue dress. your face heated up, thinking of exposing that much skin to your friend, but you brushed the thought aside. it was just a shopping trip (that he was kindly funding).

nothing would happen.

“i swear to god that man’s so overrated. literally i can beat him in a race at monaco if i had the cha—“

you step out of the room, waddling in the tight yet thin dress, trying to raise the front part so you wouldn’t accidentally flash george.

“fuckin’ hell.”

you give a twirl and try to gauge your friend’s reaction, but his face seemed rather frozen, mouth gaping open a bit.

“ugh, george! i told you that if you ever got bored you could tell me! it’s so obvious, let’s get out of here,” you say embarrassed, moving towards the dressing room.

“actually, it’s quite the opposite.”

you heard steps following you and then felt a hand grabbing your shoulder. you turned around only to find george’s tall figure bending down to kiss you on the lips.

you yelp in the kiss, losing balance, but george holds you tighter, hands reaching around your waist.

he breaks away, eyes a bit dark, and says, “couldn’t help it. sorry.”

your eyes are wide, a bit shocked but not appalled. “g-george?”

“hm?” he questioned seductively, eyes darting between your own pair and your lips, “not as good as charles?”

you wack his shoulder with a weak hand. “do you know i’ve never even talked to him?”

george cocked his head. “but hamilton said—“ yet george stops himself, quickly dropping his head into the crook of your neck, flustered.

“george russell, have you been asking about me?” you laugh, feeling his warm breaths fan on your neck, giving you goosebumps.

“whatever. it’s in the open,” george says shortly, picking you up and throwing you onto his shoulder, your ass in the air. you shriek at the sudden movement.

“so, know that you know,” he says as he places you onto the bench in the changing room, “can i touch you?”

your eyes are saucers at this point, and you quickly feel something get wet down there.

“please?” you squeak out.

unable to hold back any longer george kisses your lower thighs, eyes shuttering closed at the feeling of your soft skin. he’s daydreamt about this moment, and those fake scenarios couldn’t even equate to the feeling of bliss overriding his senses right now.

you let out quiet little hums and moans, careful not to expose yourself and george to the gucci staff.

“so fucking hot,” he murmurs, licking a long stripe up your right thigh, his nose prodding your dress upwards.

“th-thanks,” you whisper, unsure of what to say as george works his magic on your lower half.

he laughs against your pussy, making your eyes shut at the foreign yet delicious feeling. “anytime, baby.”

he quickly rips your gucci panties and places them into his back pocket, but you snap out of your trance.

you say a bit nervous, “w-wait, george those were the expensive ones that you bought for me last week! they were like 250–“

“and i’ve been waiting for the time when i could rip them off,” he murmurs, nudging and teasing your flaps with his nose.

your hand goes to his fluffy hair in support, small moans and lewd sounds raising in your throat uncontrollably.

still not over the expensive lingerie he tore, you manage out: “but, george! are you sure you don’t mind? they were super expensive.”

he sighs, yet continues to tease your pussy with licks as he says, “woman, i’d literally buy the whole gucci store for you if you wanted me to.” he rubs your clit with a finger, successfully raising the volume of your moans. “so stop asking about the fucking lingerie and let me taste this pussy.”

your pussy soaks at his eagerness to taste you, your hips raising a bit in hopes of getting his mouth again. “s-sorry.”

george says nothing, watching you with the sexiest eyes possible as he goes down to tongue-fuck your pussy. he stills your shaking legs with those big hands, veins protruding, all in the while of maintaining eye contact with you.

“mmmm, georgeeee,” you whimper, head falling back at the insane drug in which he was.

but he stopped, and you look back down at him with a pout.

“eyes on me.” he licks your thigh, making you shake. he watches your cute face and all the reactions that make that bulge in his pants just that much more uncomfortable. “need you to see how much i love you, baby.”

you moan at his confession. it was insane the hold those simple three words had on you.

“i love you—love youuu too!” you get out, staring at his tongue going in and out of your hole.

you feel your high come but try to control your movements, eyebrows scrunching in the process.

george takes notice and starts rocking your hips with his hands, murmuring, “let it all out, baby.”

so you follow his instructions, because maybe it was the long fingers he just entered into your spasming pussy, or his big aqua eyes—but your self-control snapped.

rolling your hips and tugging onto george’s hair you cum, liquids gushing all over george’s face. “mmm, fuck, george!”

“so goddamn sexy,” the man below you murmurs, licking all the stickiness off of you like it was his job. “fuck, baby, you should see how hot you are like this, splayed out for me.”

you blush, closing your thighs as george went to lick the cum off his fingers. “george.”

he looks up, pupils so large the blueness of his eyes almost disappeared. “yes, ma’am?”

“need to make you feel good, too,” you whisper shyly, dropping down to sit on his lap, the bulge in his pants only growing bigger.

you can guess what happened next. (^ω~)

[oishiyani]

🦐 ; Where Were You?

🦐 ; y/n’s presence never missed every single day! a text, a voice call, maybe even a visit. but then one morning.. boom! y/n vanished, not a single sign of life from them has got them shuffled in their minds! who knows could be what their reaction? (SCENARIOS)

— this is a fun little drabble while i had on my free time!! huehue, i swear ill make nikolai on the pt2 of this and along with another character in mind!

Sigma

Would end up trashing in fear in his body.

sigma's love for you is known to be only pure, he loves you whole and so do you. a routine where you'd keep him occupied with everything that's happened to you while he shoots you a bunch of questions of things he hadn't heard such about. the more you talked, the more curious he got.

the way you talk has him falling head over heels for you! that's the most special event in his daily life. the part where you'd find him and call so sweetly of his name out of your lips, your voice instantly makes him forget whatever's disturbing his head- soon relaxed when he recognizes your voice.

with this everyday routine with you is like a vitamin he has to take everyday, without it he may not function well. it's the most crucial part of his life- he can't miss a day without you. then one day, he did almost did miss a day.

usually you'd be calling out for him when he's really stuffed with the casino of his. a perfect timing for you to be his savior to come and comfort him, but after a few hours- he looked at the clock that was hanged on the wall.

'that’s strange.. y/n should be here at any moment now.. y/n's coming here soon right?'

and so, he waited. and waited. and waited. like a dog waiting for their owner to return home behind closed doors.

sigma begins to fidget without him realizing, one of his legs starts fiddling as both of his hands clasped together, his right index finger tapping up and down for who knows how long. and you still weren't here.

its been hours, he noticed. he spammed your phone number with a few text messages asking where are you, were you alright? were you not safe? the thought of you in danger increased his worries. could fyodor have captured you to use you against him?

he swallowed the developed lump in his throat, he had to search for you immediately. now was the time to take action. who knows what could’ve happen to you? he stands up and grabs the telephone by his desk- before he was about to dial, the sound of his main doors pushed open.

there you were, standing with a bunch of bags hanged on your arm. "hey, sorry i kind of arrived late! as you can see here i bought-"

"s-sigma?" you were cut by your sentence as you were took by a sudden surprise of sigma who dropped the telephone and approached you with his footsteps in a haste. he then hugged you tightly- wrapped in his arms, never wanting to let go of you. his head on your shoulder while his face hides at your sight. you almost fell behind and tumbled because of the unforeseen of event.

"where were you?" he asked, a sound of his voice cracked as he spoke. you hugged him back trying your best to tolerate how really tight his hug is, "i was out in the mall.. my phone happened to run out of battery so i couldn't message you. i'm sorry about that." you let out of a bashful giggle.

soon you felt slight coldness on the fabric you wore, your eyes dilated and grabbed sigma's forearms to push him slowly from you.

with his face in front of you. sigma's eyes were bottled up with tears, his nose a bit red. which looks like he's been holding in his emotions for a while. the tables have turned- now you were the one worried, confused, why was sigma crying? did you do something wrong?

"huh? did something happen? what's wrong?" sigma looked down, a sigh escaping his lips- his eyebrows furrowed. "you were gone for too long and i just got worried.. really that's all." his eyes shifted in another direction, a small pout on his lips formed after.

you also sighed in relief after thinking that something worse happened to him, "i'm sorry for that sigma.. next time i'll invite you to the mall with me. we could try one of those fancy restaurants i saw."

he sniffled, his index finger swiped the tear bubbling from the corner of his eye. "sure, i'd love to go." he then smiled. "i'm happy you're back."

sigma then felt something pressed on to his lips. it was.. a cookie?! his eyes lit of sparks. you pushed the cookie futher and sigma took immediate bite of it, "i also bought these cookies for you! do you like them?"

a faint pink shade of blush wave on his cheeks, "mhm."

Fyodor

Would come and fetch you immediately. and once found- it’s a must to return.

your presence being absent for a while doesn’t shaken fyodor himself. why? oh y/n, you lack the knowledge of fyodor’s tracking skills- an absoulute maniac at it! he could be watching you at every placed cctv camera by the city and you’re fully unaware of it.

fyodor fonds you quite alot- well for more than what you can think. he loves how you bring gifts for him on the way back, after he just watched you struggle to buy something for him. unable to choose between two goods situation. he smiles internally at how cute you look while deciding if he'd

with your loyalty to him, he surely should protect you from any harm that opposes you. that’s why he’s spectating you from the cameras y’know! it’s all for the sake of your safety after all. he even thought of placing cameras in your house, maybe if someone attempted to rob you then he’d save the day.

as soon as fyodor came back from his office- sitting on his chair, eyes stamped on the screen that displayed different corners of each street. in an insant his eyes hunt for you like a prey.

switching from cameras to cameras, he was unable to find you through it. he double checked again- maybe you’ll appear at any moment but no. you still weren’t there at the store you always went.

‘that’s strange..’ fyodor said as he gently rubbed his chin, thinking where have you might go. he only set off his eyes away from the screen for a minute and you’re gone that quickly? that was the least he expected since you take your time at browsing your items.

little did he know you stumbled upon this local cafe that just opened up! it was located at this small apartment that the owner set it up as their own business. you happen to saw a poster and an immediate urge drove into you as soon as you saw the cafe’s new release of a drink.

with that in mind, you went on your way to try it out. you open the door that supposedly says in the poster that this is where they’re located, a small, shady place for a cafe indeed. you were met by the sound of a small bell that clang on top when you opened the door. the aroma of coffee strikes you.

there were only a few people, really few.. like 3. the man who’s behind the counter greeted you a welcome. you came upfront and told him that you wanted to try their new drink. the man agreed, but as he went on to make it- the man seems like he couldn’t find himself to stop talking about you.

he continuously asked you multiple questions about yourself, what you do for living, how was living in the city, were you still studying, ‘till he abruptly asked if you were in a relationship with someone.

the first set of questions weren’t that bad, although they progressively became more personal. the conversation still about yourself- you ended up being uncomfortable as you sat and waited for your drink to be done.

“maybe we could exchange numbers.. if you ever don’t have one though! and we could go get some coff-“

“do you serve tea around here?” the familiar voice spoke. you quickly turned to your side and saw fyodor who was about to sit down beside you. “wait- fyodor?! what’re you doing here? i mean, when did you even get here?!”

“just now.” fyodor replied, his gaze on the man who was doing the finishing touches to your drink. the man who was behind the counter was also just as confused as you for the unexpected new customer. “tea sir? i’m afraid we don’t-“

“well, that’s unfortunate. i was hoping me and y/n would go here sometime.” fyodor replied. cutting the man’s words off. “y/n?” you looked to fyodor again, giving him a sign that he has your attention. he told you to bring out your phone and to wear your headphones for some reason, he then told you to listen to this orchestra piece he liked.

“just for a moment.” he told you, mouth close to your ear, then puts back the lifted half of the headphones on your ear. you watched him talk to the man, both of them having a conversation while you listened to melody in your ears. you then continued to sip your finished drink, ‘this is good.. and refreshing..’ the wave of relaxation was disturbed by a sudden slam that vibrated on the wooden counter.

you turned your gaze back to the two, lifting your headphones. the man’s face expression showed he was terrified, while fyodor was only giving the poor man a smirk. “get out before i call the police!” the man threatened. “wait- what happened?” yet again confused, you asked fyodor. he only stood up and stared at the man who’s legs began to shake.

“let’s go y/n. we surely don’t want to be in this place of a stench.” fyodor took his steps to the door turning the doorknob. you left your payment on the counter and catched up to fyodor on the way out of the apartment.

you were filled with questions for fyodor to answer, but the only answer you ever got was quite odd-

“i only gave him a little piece of advice, i wouldn’t want that cafe to be shut down completely.”

the next day, you were walking by the side of the streets. you found yourself in the same spot where the cafe you went was located. but this time, you took notice that there was a sign that said ‘THIS PLACE HAS BEEN SHUT DOWNED’

[lvvgyu]

Stay for me..? C.bg x you

warning ⚠️⚠️

🔞!! toxic!gyu, obsessive!gyu, gyu masturbates infront of reader twice. Pillow humping, panty sniffing. Yknow, all the shit in a stalker fic! Theres hardly an ending to this but its been in my drafts so long that I just needed to get it out, prolly will make a part two just say the word! 😉😉

Beomgyu didnt understand how you could just ignore him.

At first, the calls were normal. He’d call during your lunch break to make sure you ate, text if you ended up when working long nights to say goodnight and encourage you to get your work completed.

A few months into the relationship there was a sudden change. Beomgyu couldn’t stop messaging you constantly, calling you, and berating you about who you were with, how long you would be there..When you’d come back to him..

He’s just showing you that he loves you, why would you get mad at that?

But are you even mad? He’s not sure, he’s just assumed that since you haven’t texted him or called him back, you’re mad. God, he wants to hear your voice again.

His calls are one after another. Why won’t you answer him? Did you find someone better? You can’t leave him..He loves you so much, and you love him! So why are you doing this to him?..

“baby?..Why didn’t you answer my calls? I’ve been texting you all night, are you okay? Did something happen?” His voice is laced with worry.

You glance at the phone and start to respond, watching the traffic light turn to green.

“I’ve been busy at work, Gyu..I’m sorry I couldn’t answer, I was jus-“

“You’re on your way home right? I want to see you so bad, I was so worried..” He says, the worry in his voice not even slightly gone. You grip the wheel tighter and sigh quietly.

“Yea, Gyu..I’m on my way…” You say gently. You wish he would calm down a bit, he’s making it seem like you’ve been gone for days.

He speaks again, his voice softer this time.

“Are you mad at me?..” Even though he decided to ask, his guts twist at the suspense of what you’ll say. What if you are mad at him? He just wants to be good for you, he wants to be yours and he wants you to be his!

“No..Gyu, baby I’m not mad..” You say, looking at the time and then glancing ahead at the road.

“Yeah you are..” He says gently

“I-I just want you here, I need you..I really need you..” As the words fall from Beomgyu’s mouth, you can hear how slurred they are. And you figure that he’s worked himself up so much that he can barely speak coherently.

“Gyu, I’m almost home. We can talk about this, yeah? I have to hang up but, im not m-“

“You don’t even wanna talk to me?…What did I do? Did I say something wrong? I-im just worried about you and that..that guy, Yeonjun or whatever..You’re always with him and then..you come home, like you’re angry at me..”

You don’t respond, trying not to fuel his anger anymore. When you hear his sniffles and hear shuffling, you decide to hang up.

He calls back immediately, spamming you with text messages and begging for you to call him back. To stay, to be with him for just a bit longer. He needs you, that’s what he always says.

The car ride lasted about 5 more minutes, and when you reached for keys to the front door Beomgyu had already opened it.

“Baby! I missed yo-“

“Gyu..I need to talk to you…”

Beomgyu still doesn’t understand. A break? Why would you want to take a break from him?..You love him, so why would you ask for a break?

“No..no, no you can’t do that..” He moves closer to you quickly. Trying to grab your hands.

“Gyu, I love you. You know that, but all of this is overwhelming..” You say, kissing his hands gently.

He shakes his head, searching for your gaze with his own teary eyes.

“But I NEED you..” He whispers.

After moments of silence, there’s a soft rustling sound and frantic movements made by Beomgyu. When you look up, you see him removing his clothes. He wipes his tears and sniffles as he grabs your hands again.

“Let me show you! I can be good, I’m worth it I promise.. I’m-..I…” He stops once he sees your worried expression. Not frightened, at least not visibly.

“I’m leaving for now..I need time to think…”

Beomgyu watches you leave, wanting his tears to stop you somehow. When he sees that you’re actually leaving, he’s already trying to find a way to make you come back to him..

You were pleasantly surprised by how distant you two were becoming. No more constant calls from Beomgyu, or text messages.

Until one day.

When you received a video from Beomgyu titled “come back :((?” You were beyond confused. He hadn’t texted you in days, never called, and it was refreshing.

Opening the file, you didn’t expect much. But as Beomgyu came into screen and fixed the camera, you were utterly confused.

“I miss you baby…I know you miss me too..” He says softly, His hand moving away from the camera as he gets comfortable on the bed. He pouts softly as he looks into the camera.

“I know you’ll come back, you always do..” He says softly as his fingers come up to rub his nipples.

You always loved how sensitive they were, and how his body would react. Beomgyu let out soft moans and tilted his head slowly, moving his hand down his body gently.

You want to turn it off, to tell him that he’s gone too far this time. But..

He looks so pretty, and you know it just for you. His legs are spread perfectly infront of the camera, his hair falling onto from his forehead. Just slightly covering his pretty eyes.

Beomgyu grabs something from off of screen, a pair of your panties. He gently takes them and brings them up to his nose, taking a gentle whiff.

You should be disgusted, really..Hes jerking off infront of you, using your panties to get off.

But you aren’t disgusted..in fact, you’re turned on.

Beomgyu pants gently, sniffing the panties as he jerks off.

“I love you..I love you, i just want you to come back..I-I need y..” He can hardly continue to speak, stroking his cock faster and faster.

His hips thrust up constantly, and he grinds against his palm. “Please, want you to come back..just want you-“

Beomgyu whines in frustration, every attempt at trying to get off comes to no avail..Because its not you..Its not you stroking his cock, its not you silencing his moans because hes always a bit too loud.

Tears brim in his eyes as he pulls his hand away from his cock. He whimpers and reaches for your pillow behind him, slowly shifting and straddling the pillow.

As you watch, your gaze falls onto the way his hips thrust, desperate and needy. Normally, you’d be there to soothe him. But now, all you can do is watch.

“Y-y/n..” He whines gently, thrusting onto your pillow. Beomgyu tilts his head back, finally finding some relief after all these tries to cum.

And for some reason, you turn off the video there…

You immediately open up your text messages and stare at his contact, attempting to find something to say.

But, you leave it at that. Turning off your phone and sliding it to the side. Of course Beomgyu wouldn’t let this break happen…

Guess the break’s ending already, hm?

[englandsgirl18181234]

I'd say sorry for the sudden political spam but I'm really not. We finally have a good option and we need to grab it with both hands and run with it as far as we fucking can. So here's some facts that people seem to be ignoring when they say you shouldn't vote for Harris.

Harris was not a fucking cop, she was a district attorney and attorney general. Stop fucking saying otherwise, it's misinformation and you need to understand that.

Harris is documentedly pro LGBTQ+. When she was elected Attorney General, she co-sponsored legislation to ban the gay and trans panic defense which passed. She also officiated the first same-sex wedding in California after Section 8 was overturned 20 years ago.

In her entire time as District Attorney she never sought the death penalty. She also created the San Francisco Reentry Division, with the first of its kind reentry program Back On Track for first-time nonviolent offenders. 200 people graduated from it with less than 10 percent going on to commit another crime, compared to the 53 percent of California drug offenders that would do so in less than 2 years after release.

When she was elected to Attorney General of California, she introduced the Homeowner Bill of Rights, considered one of the strongest protections nationwide against aggressive foreclosure tactics.

In 2015, Harris's California Department of Justice became the first statewide agency in the US to require all of its police officers to wear body cameras.

So to reiterate:

Fucking vote for Harris.

Voting third party right now is not the fucking way. All it's gonna do is split the fucking votes that we need to keep Trump out of office. None of the third party candidates have the numbers to actually beat Trump. It's not going to fucking happen, stop saying it will because you're lying to yourself and others.

Not voting at all is even fucking worse than voting third party and you're an idiot if you think otherwise. Not voting isn't a fucking protest like some idiots are spouting. It's not making a fucking point. It is giving the fuck up and being a coward about it. It is actively choosing to not make things better when you have the fucking chance and I am disgusted that people actually think it's a good idea when we are on the verge of a second term for a literal traitor and convicted felon that actively thinks disabled and LGBTQ people should die.

Someone is still going to be President. Full stop, that is how elections fucking work. THERE IS STILL GOING TO BE A PRESIDENT. There is still going to be a president whether you vote or not. And our only real options right now are Harris or Trump. So use your fucking vote to make things better in the only way we can right now.

Yeah, there are things Harris needs to change and things she isn't on the right side on. But Trump is worse in every possible fucking way. So we need to lock this down and push for improvement, not decide shit is hopeless and fucking give the bad guy the win now that we finally have a fucking shot!

You didn't want to vote for Biden? Great, you're not! Now take the fucking miracle that just dropped into our fucking laps and run with it!

[hoseoksluna]

RASPBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and luna)

genre: smut, angst

word count: 10.5k

summary: a step towards breaking the curse of your life—nothing could be sweeter than that, could it?

pinterest board: raspberries / taglist: join

warnings: anal sex:), blowjob, a bit of an argument?:), bathtub sex, ass eating, pussy licking, this whole chapter is a warning itself, oc and hobi are just horny, anger, crying, daddy issues, breeding kink, praise kink, spitting:), their emotions are all over the place, brief mention of suicide.

note: okay, this chapter might have salvaged this entire series. i wrote entirely through my feelings and the plot took a whole different direction. like i had something planned, but the characters do what they want. :) SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. THE CHAP WAS GETTING LONG. and i want the last (next) chapter to be juicy! please, send me your thoughts via my inboooox. i'll be waiting. do we trust jk or not? skfhskfhs. enjoy, my loves!

Perhaps, you should’ve seen it coming—the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t pick up. The rosily gold sunlight warms your fire of anger as you try and try again, the number beside his name on your screen rising and rising until another digit joins it. Something about it feels like a childish payback and you don’t really know why you like it so much. Why you like making him feel the way he made you feel when he spammed your phone after you made the worst mistake of your life by accidentally sending him the video of you professing that your intimate parts belong to Hobi. 

Perhaps, it's as simple as that—it’s childish. And you find yourself to be in a safe realm for your inner child to come out and live. Come out and take revenge. 

Another layer of warmth is pressed against your bare back, heavier, more homely. You swivel your head to bump into Hobi’s jaw, to catch the furrow of his brows as they serve as a shadow from the morning sun, along with the antique structure of his body. His trembling hands hook onto your shoulders, squeezing once before they drift down your arms. Inching closer, he wraps them around you in a suffocating hold. And it isn’t until he closes his lips down onto your temple and steals your phone, flinging it away, that you realize he did it in order to stifle the fire. 

“That’s enough,” he whispers and it graces you with the notion that it should be saved for another time, the picture of his tremor coming forth and the question of why. It kills you, slowly, the liveliness of his emotions, portrayed so gently by his hands. Why are they shaking? 

They snuffed out the fire, but the residue of the painting, colorless and bland, remains. It lines your skin—you can even see it in the streaks of the sunlight. The curves, the message. What was he punishing you for? It’s a question that now unfolds within the strange calmness descending down your body. Was he punishing you for having a man? For returning to your salvation that is in a lung burner? For going against him? Or for raising your fists—feeding him the poisonous negativity of your emotions? 

The need to reach for your phone and talk to Jungkook seizes you again and you fight against Hobi’s hold, but he says no. Sternly, seriously. Tightens his hold. Doesn’t let go. 

“Let it be,” he adds, rubbing your arm with the hand that lays across your chest. But you can’t, you can’t—

“Hobi, I can’t—”

Your sentence is silenced by the sudden kneading of his hands upon your knotted shoulders. Relief evaporates every need, every black fume of your doused fire. His hands bear strength now as his thumb focuses on the tightness of your muscles and you droop, you crumble. And what you didn’t expect—Hobi droops and crumbles with you. 

The violence of his heart against your back, it becomes yours when he pulls you into the shadows of the wavering structure of his body. Its stones ricochet off of your decaying figure, dropping onto the floor with a loud, thunderous thud. You feel the saddened line of his mouth against your cheek, into which he sinks, quietly as a mouse, his whimper. He doesn’t cry and he doesn’t yell, his infelicity, bound to yours, radiates the entire room in gloom. Clouds swim past the sun and linger, the rosy glow snuffed out—just like your fire. 

The wedding of your joy has been put off. The groom has been left at the altar, and it’s all your fault. 

Why is everything so temporary? 

Why are you unable to be stable? To stay submissive amidst the ups and downs of your life? To stay calm, unaffected? 

You’re so weary of it. Weary of yourself, weary of your life, of the curse. 

You turn around and embrace him. Feel like it’s the only right thing you can do at this very moment. Hobi welcomes you in, lets you sign and recuperate in the kingdom of his arms. Rubs your back, gathers the ends of your hair in his hands as if it were a stream of water he longed to refresh himself with. 

It’s so different, to be given love when you don’t ask for it. Something opens within you, a circle of mildness that cracks its mouth wide to consume the edges of the curse until only its axis, its middle core remains. Lightness drives your hands to embrace him tighter, only for Hobi to follow the movement—lungs in sync while your heart tries to mimic his rapid movement. 

It’s like a wordless eulogy. Goodbye to the old life, to the old pain, so the new can settle. Hobi can sense it, too. Supports it when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the crown of your head, wets his mouth, prepares himself to speak. 

But then your phone starts ringing. 

Your heart lurches forward, but you dwell in motionlessness. You don’t care anymore. Hold the serenity, the lightness in higher regard. 

“Let it ring,” Hobi whispers, tracing circles on your back, the same pattern that has opened within you. 

You nod against his clavicle. “I will.” 

His hands descend to your waist and clenches it for a while, a sensation of groundedness washing over you, cleansing you. You kiss his collarbone. Then, a message dings. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Hobi asks in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair, muffling out the sound of another Jungkook’s intrusion. The idea resembles a paradise to you and you beg for it with a singular, pretty word. 

Scooping you up in his arms, he sets you down in front of your bathtub, your nipples brushing against his chest with the descent, awakening the dried pool of your arousal deep in your core. A fresh spring of water fills it until it brims over and so you don’t waste a drop, you slam your mouth onto his, kissing him. He hums, lowly, into your mouth, not foreseeing something like this, and the sound splashes in the pool, drenching you whole, showering your orchard in the life it needs. 

Slipping your tongue inside, he lets you taste him for a mere moment, before he clasps your mouth in his hand and stares you down. “Hold it.” 

Hold what? Your incessant stream of horniness for him? 

Reaching over, he fills up the bath with warm water with one hand, its mist rising up your body, spreading little dots of anticipation on your skin, erasing the lines, the curves and the message of the painting you never saw, but envisioned. And before he can straighten, you pull him back up. He smiles down at you, kissing you, tenderly, mouths smacking within the briefness and the pool within you heats up. 

Except for the orgasm he gave you in the middle of the night, right before dawn, neither you or him got the release you needed when you were connected. Pity ripples in your water and you grasp his manhood in your hand, semi-hard. How did he get excited this quickly? You coo, but only for yourself, drifting your hand down his poor, blue balls, squeezing them, coaxing a pained sigh out of him. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, softly, flicking your gaze up into his. They must be hurting, considering the amount of arousal that swirled inside without an ounce of alleviation. 

He doesn’t respond, but that’s an answer for you. Light flows from his eyes as seriousness draws his features tight, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You kiss his chest, gripping him a little before you let go, threading your fingers through your hair, parting them into three sections and, blindly, instinctively, you plait them into a braid, securing the end with a silk, thin scrunchie. Pink, like his imaginary wings. 

“Come join me.” 

Hobi shakes his head, though. Holds you steady as you swing your leg over the lip of the bathtub, sinking into the warm, misty water. At the sight of you kneeling, he lets out another pained sigh, prolonged this time and you feel so bad for him that you don’t think twice before you take him into your mouth. 

“Pup, fuck,” he moans, grabbing the crown of your head as his knees shake. All of his emotions are expressed through the tremors, you note, and it drives you to open your mouth wider, swallowing him deeper. “Oh, yeah, that’s so good.” 

Your walls clench and you mewl around him, dragging your tongue flat on the underside of him as you draw back, swirling the muscle around the tip of him as you grip him. You use your saliva to stroke him, making him cage in his bottom lip between his teeth again. Eyes rolled back, his reddened lip springs back, and he gazes down at you, fingers trailing down until they meet your loose plait, acknowledging themselves with the newness. 

“I love your hair like this. You’re so pretty,” he comments, voice so terribly strained, and you hum, pleased to hear such a compliment. You hollow out your cheeks on his tip, sucking him, slowly, and he repeats those words you love so much, your noises of pleasure rising in pitch. “You really do love it when I say that, don’t you? God, I adore you. All of who you are.” 

You withdraw, completely, without losing your grip on him, panting. Can feel your eyes send waves of love towards him as you bore them, piercingly, into his. He groans, divulging to you that he received the message, and you could burst, you could fly—turn this water into fire as his godliness from his precum sweetens your throat once you swallow, the aftertaste of him transforming you into an unknown being of holiness. You’re not God, you’re not an angel, either. You’re something else, entirely. A figment of his creation on the cusp of awakening and living. A moving picture of stability, submission and feline softness. Something he adores. Something he’ll soon love. 

And it pleasures you, intensely. 

“Do you adore me, pup?” Hobi asks as he wraps his hand around your braid. One time, two times, three times—until your hair is pulled so tight that he inclines your chin up to him, waiting for your answer. And he doesn’t have to voice it out—the dark side of his desire, the bad things he wants to do to you. You perceive them clouding his pearlescent eyes, making them brighter. 

You wish the moon would turn its face towards you, so it could see the change that is occurring.  So it could see the way you’ll use its magnetism to blanket yourself with Hobi’s darkness. 

Now you’re able to. Now you’re prepared. 

“I adore you, Daddy,” you breathe out, stroking him faster, your chest mimicking the rhythm. “And I want to show you just how much. You said you wanted to make me forget. Let me do that for you.” 

His moan transmutes into a vulgarity, a tender shade of pink scattering along his cheeks and you could eat them. Your heart thumps, colorfully, your longing to help him forget the taste of the bane of your life growing and growing like a thick bush of raspberries. He deserves it—needs it, considering the infelicity of his that he poured over you when he held you, his lack of words shared with you. He deserves the fucking world and you’re willing to go above and beyond to give it to him. To give it to your boyfriend. Your husband. 

“How? Tell me how you’re gonna do it.” 

You draw your face to his cock, but he pulls you back by your braid, coaxing a dark mewl out of you. A drum begins to beat in your clit—the start of his song, incited by his darkness. 

“Did I not tell you to use your words?” Hobi scolds, so awfully sternly, and you flutter all over, the peaks of your nipples stiffening, the drum picking up its rhythm. Your eyes widen as that darkness of his overwhelms you and you want more of it. 

“Help me say it,” you say, your heart not letting you lie to him as the words, ‘I don’t know how to say it’ were on the tip of your tongue. 

Hobi smirks, tightening his grip on your braid. Pain shoots up your scalp and even though you hiss, you like it. He inches forward, his lips a mere centimeter away. The radiation of his pleasure hits you, drifting down to your core. You almost reach your hand down to it, so the ache disappears, but you yearn to focus on him, wholly. 

“If you want to suck on this cock and if you want me to praise you, then you’re gonna have to give me those pretty words that I know you’re capable of saying,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue at the halt of your hand around him and you resume, pressing play on the movie of his guttural moans—and you moan along with him, enjoying the sound. 

Is that a hint of his pent-up anger? You believe, wholeheartedly, that it’s somewhere hiding in him, that he’s keeping inside, adamant on not letting it out in your presence. You want to unlock that cage and beckon it out, meet it, learn its name and its desires. And you’ll do it—just so Hobi feels better. 

You can handle it. 

And to do it, you linger, intentionally, in your quietness, ceasing your movement on his cock. In fact, you withdraw altogether. Arch your spine when you sit back, your breasts bouncing a little. And he lets you, unbelief slackening his hold on your braid, mouth parted. Perhaps, he’s thinking you don’t want to go along with the foreplay, so he’s taking a step back, but what he doesn’t know is that what you’re doing is as much of a means of it as it is one of healing. 

There’s no way he isn’t angry at your ex-boyfriend for punishing you silently for whatever he thinks you did. There’s no way there isn’t the same fire in him that burned in you at the sight of him marking you with the palm of his hand. He saw the painting, you didn’t. There is simply no way he doesn’t want to explode. 

Hobi does lots of things for you. Stifling his emotions until they lash out in the form of his tremor is one of them. And you crave, with your whole being, to do the same for him. Let him feel like he let you feel. Make him come, vividly, like he made you come. 

Adore him like he adores you. 

“I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?” you purr, lifting your fingers to your breasts and swirling them around your hardened nubs. His eyes flick to them and enlarge. You spread your legs and let him see all of you, bolts of pleasure swaying your body like the water lapping at your stomach. “Withholding my words on purpose when you’re so hard, when you need me. Hm, don’t I deserve to be punished? Don’t I deserve to be punished so hard that I willingly give you my words?” 

Hobi pants and his nostrils flare, chest heaving and slightly shuddering in tandem with the drum in your clit. Sweat coats the antique structure of his body, darkening it as if rain fell upon it, staining it for a little while. You want to stain it with his ivory arousal—make a magnificent sculpture out of him to remember this important moment. 

His anger will change everything. His anger will be a step to breaking the curse—to settling the process of the bane, Jungkook’s intrusion. You may have decided to do this alone, but it was wrong of you. He should be the one to make order like the father he is while you stand behind him, clutching the material of his pants. 

You will get him there. 

“I want you to spank me.” 

He doesn’t let a second pass. Doesn’t blink. “I can’t.” 

Your heart cracks, but you will strength of the raspberries into it. “Yes, you can. You can make me red and you can show him. You can show him who’s the boss. Who owns me. Who has his handprint on me. It’s you and it’s always going to be you. You have every right to do what I know you want to do, Hoseok.” 

He raises his brows, mouth agape. Clenches his fists. “You want me to spank you and send a picture of it to him?” 

You nod, dipping your hands into water. 

“Why would I stoop to his level?” he asks, scoffing, and your throat dries, struck with shock. You didn’t anticipate this kind of answer from him and you don’t know what to say, his fatherliness and dominance enveloping you in a milky blue aura of smallness. What does he want to do, then?

Hobi steps closer. Doesn’t bend at the waist. Doesn’t crouch. Doesn’t get on his knees. He lets you look up at him in your smallness. Lets you feel his control, the manliness of his stature and energy and you gulp. Turned on and intrigued at the same time. 

“I’m not a boy, pup,” he says and you wish he would touch you, touch your pebbled nipples, soothingly, feeling yourself needing it as he reprimands you. “I don’t need to play games. I’m too old for this shit. This is what pubescent boys do when they feel threatened, when they feel jealous. If I were to play his game for you, I’d only encourage him. I wouldn’t be stopping it, I’d be kicking the ball over to him. Do you really think I want to do that?” 

You let out a breath. Your muscles tense, ready to scream out the question that has been boiling in you all this time. 

“What do you want to do?” 

He sucks in a breath, baring his teeth. There it is—there is that anger, the whole resplendent, monumental rawness of it. 

“What do I want to do?” he asks as if he couldn’t believe you’re asking him that question, as if he couldn’t believe you’re allowing him to have a part in it. It thrills you—and as it thrills you, it moves forward your transformation. 

“Yes, tell me what you want to do. Tell me how you want to settle this.” You stand your ground, inviting him in, inviting him into your life, to have a say in it, to have a fatherly hand in it; letting the sunlight make it right, make it alive, real and serious. 

“Is that what you want? For me to step in?” he whispers, that disbelief still ringing—and you pout, touched by it. 

“Yes, Hobi,” you hush out, leaning over and grabbing his hands. He lets you hold them for a second before he untwines your hold and cradles your face, kneeling by the bathtub. 

The light in his eyes is too overwhelming and you melt into it, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender. He presses his lips in a firm line, his thumbs brushing away your flyaways, and you lean into his touch, head tilted to the side. 

As he tastes the newness of the conjunction to your life and his, you ask again. “What do you want to do?” 

He sighs and takes in heavy breaths right after, seething, pressing his forehead against yours. And as you and him close your eyes simultaneously, he finally answers. “I want to break his fucking face.” 

Dots of gooseflesh chill your skin and you don’t stop yourself from humming out your pleasure of hearing that. “Yes, Hoseok.” 

You feel his gaze on you as he continues—and it might as well have been him who opened your eyes. “I want to break his hands for creating that degrading, shitty painting of you. And I want to break it. Destroy it. So it never sees the light of the day again.” 

You choke out a moan, your whole body set on fire—a different one, this time. A blue fire, milky blue like your aura of smallness. “Yes, Daddy.” 

Hobi groans, kissing you, nastily. Tongues and clashing of teeth, hunger and anger gratified as he pours it out into your mouth. Lets you taste it, swallow it. The same fire, but brighter, bigger, scorching hot, so alluring. 

You don’t have to fan the flames of his will. He’s already decided. 

“Once I’m done with you, you’re gonna send him a text,” he shares his plan with you between hard kisses; you can only whimper in your neediness in response. “You’re gonna tell him that you’re coming over to his place to talk, to look at the painting.” A sigh, a suction of lips, a moan. “Alone.” A swirl of tongues until the details of his plan spiral in the same dance in your brain. “I’ll come with you. And I’ll settle this once and for all.” 

He withdraws, letting you breathe. Your body tingles, your lips, especially, every nerve ending crying out in need, whimpering at the way he studies your form—eyes lifting and falling over your swells, curves and marks. And something about the way he ogles you like that makes you feral. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks, that urgency flashing again in the light of his eyes, and you nod—a thousand times. “Repeat it back to me.” 

The drum in your clit becomes unbearable and you can hear its song in your brain. All thoughts fade to nothingness, memories, triggers, pains. All of it evanesces, but one thing remains.

His plan.  

“I’m gonna text him that I’m coming over to his place alone to talk and you’re gonna come with me and settle this like the Daddy you are,” you stream out, panting, focusing on the sudden numbness of your lips as his kiss still engulfs them as a new memory. 

Hobi grins, pleased, and it propels you so fucking quickly to lean over and lick up the underside of his now fully hard length. Even though you can’t see it, you know the grin breaks as he deeply moans, your tongue circling his sensitive, red tip. You begin to suck it, bobbing your head up and down in a short, curt motions, and he fists your braid in one hand while the other digs into your hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as you give him what he befittingly deserves. 

“Good girl. My good fucking girl. Oh, yeah. Like that, pup. Fuck, it feels so good. Just like that,” he praises and your whole body clenches and doesn’t let up, your nectar dripping into the water. “I’m gonna fix everything and then I’m gonna make you a Mommy, arasseo?” 

You growl around him, taking after him, his words intoxicating you enough to withdraw, yearning to have him inside you. But not in the place, where he engraved his enigma, the breaking of the curse. You burn to have him stretch out the hole, where no one has ever been—the one you teased him about on your first date. 

He blinks at you, hearing your sound, and his grin grows all over again, massaging the back of your scalp as if you were a puppy. You reciprocate it, devilish with your own plan. Feral, feline, and incessantly horny for him. 

The water reaches your belly button and you turn off the tap without breaking the contact. Then, you tug his hand, inviting him into the bathtub. 

“Let’s pretend,” you say, knowing beforehand that he’ll get the message, the meaning of your vague words, and Hobi curses, pleasing you, brushing his hair out of his forehead, exposing the undercut that makes you even wetter. 

Such a beautiful Father. 

You tug him again. Create space for him in your tiny bathtub and he loosens your breath when he gets in and manhandles you—pushing you flush to his body and over his lap, his hands coming over your bum, kneading it, his slender fingers sneaking to the little hole that craves him. The sunlit water sloshes and it’s so intimate—the way it ripples around your body and his, stilling as he looks deeply into your eyes, the two of his digits circling around that virgin part of you. 

He’s going to consume the little purity you have left and there’s nothing you want more at this moment. 

“You want me here?” he murmurs, growling as he feels you open for him there when he prods it, and you drip, drip, drip onto his thighs. 

You kiss him, chastely, in his fashion, willingly giving over your purity. “And from the back.” 

He chuckles, flashing his white teeth, and you want them all over your body. The effulgence of his blush, too. 

“Lie back. I’ll get you ready for it.” 

Preparation, such an important word in your relationship. 

You do as he says, giddy, leaning against the rounded wall of the bathtub. Yelp as he raises your hips above the surface of the water and right onto his mouth, delving onto your pussy without a second spared, licking over the entirety of her, mouth open, letting you see everything. 

“Fuck,” he moans, smacking his mouth, and your legs hanging in the air begin to tremble. “I can feel you throb for me. You wanna be Mommy so bad, don’t you?” 

You can’t stop it, the scream of agreement that emits out of your mouth; that goes on once he swirls his tongue around that drumming pulse, learning its song—because as soon as he does, he sucks it, possessing it. Your orgasm crests and his hands never shake, never waver, holding you up as if in Greek celebration. 

You can feel the stone burst forth from your legs, completing, little by little, your transformation. He’s creating a sculpture out of you. Not of Virgin Mary, not of Mary Magdalene, either. A sculpture, authentic, of you. And on the cusp of your orgasm, he takes his tongue to your other, tiny hole, fucking you there with a verve as if he sensed the work of his hands that resume the godly abuse on your clit after he tells you to place your feet on the rim of the tub. 

And when you come, you’re white, smooth, magnificent and whole. 

You’re you, in the simplest of words. 

Mind spinning, swimming in the delight of groundedness, authenticity and love, all your body asks for is to be taken. You go to turn around, but Hobi stops you with a hand on your waist. 

“I want to look at you when I fill you up,” he croaks out, shades of pinks adorning him. As he is the God of everything, you think at heart he must be the God of all pink flowers with the way they blossom underneath his skin. You believe the same flowers will sprout out of your stone as soon as you’re stuffed full and feignedly bred. “I want to see the look on your face when you feel our kids inside you.”

Our kids. You close your eyes at the wave of a profound emotion sprinkling over you and you feel like crying, feel like sobbing, begging him for it, wanting your old life to be finally ended, killed, destroyed, wanting to cling to him with your whole being and newness, to his godliness, his flowers, his masculine fatherliness. You want to live in him, and the notion, the craving is so intense in you that you exhale it out with every breath, with every pleading word you give him. 

“Please, breed me. Please, please, please.” 

He sucks in that breath, eyes large and dazzling, filled with so much tenderness and adoration. Pulls you flush to his body again, raising you just a little bit as he lines himself up at your little hole. Spits on his fingers while boring that gaze into yours, so terribly up close, his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your bum as he spreads that lubrication over his tip. Does it again, rubs it over your hole. And a perverse obsession with it overpowers you, seizes you in its grasp, and you crave it. 

You gaze your lips along his, sharing a breath that is perfumed with the scent of roses. “Spit in my mouth.” 

Those eyes of his narrow in dark, dark pleasure and he nods in a promise. Driving your fingers up his undercut, you let your body follow his guidance as he sinks you down on him, stealing your mouth in a deep, long kiss that showers your figure in those familiar tingles. Discomfort parts them while you stretch around his tip, though, and he doesn’t stop kissing you, even when you mewl. In fact, he steps into that realm of the painful sensation by thumbing your clit, by toying with your tongue, and whimpering into your mouth when you convulse around him. Gets rid of anything that prevents you from accommodating him. 

Your thighs burn at the slowness of your descent, but once he’s nestled, at home, and you feel so full that you could come from it alone, Hobi breaks the kiss; and using the height difference, he spits into your waiting mouth, growling. Even his saliva is filled with powerful godliness and when you swallow and show him, the same power becomes yours. 

And he smiles. It seems as though he can see it on you and his mouth widens in a lopsided grin. You clench around him. 

“You’re such a good pup,” he praises and you do it again, coaxing a growl out of him. He still remains motionless, waiting for you to get used to him, and your love for him grows owing to that. “That was your reward.” A sigh, a grin. “Now I’m gonna fuck you hard.” 

You latch onto his neck, trembling like him. “Yes, please, Daddy.” 

It’s not just your life and his that joined. It’s your soul and his that becomes one singular face of joy when he begins to pound you. He whispers to you to keep holding onto him like that as he drives in and out of your little hole with such rapidness and hardness that you lose your own knowledge of your name. All you know is his. 

Hobi. Hoseok. Daddy.

And you whisper it, you say it, you scream it. All while the water sloshes around you; all while you stretch and tighten around him and his praises for you are strained, choked out, giving you all of his strength while remaining full of it as if he never gave you an ounce of it. 

His eyes never leave you, never stray away from your emotions, your pleasure, the twists of your features, the opening and closing of your mouth. And you look right back, your feline energy dousing him in sweat and ardor, the force that furrows his brows, that tightens his lips in a firm line and loosens it in pleasure as he bares his all. 

And suddenly, you’re up in the air and your wet back soaks your bed sheets. Hobi rummages in your Nike box under your bed and you feel yourself stretched open, a gaping hole for him. You gasp when you drift your finger along it and you already miss him there. 

Hobi chuckles at your disbelief, your most favorite toy in his hand. A pink egg—a clit sucker and a vibrator at the same time, though the vibrations never did much for you. It’s the pressure, sucking waves that kept you company in your singleness before Jungkook and after, save for the waves of the sea. 

“You never thought you could stretch like that, huh?” 

The ‘huh’ pinches you, but you shake that feeling away, understanding Hobi’s dislike when you asked him to spank you. A momentary sensation before your horniness washes it away at the soft sound of the toy coming to life. 

“Do you have lube somewhere?” Hobi asks, but you can’t speak. You point to the bedside table and he’s quick to slide it open, fishing out your raspberry and strawberry scented lube. 

What a coincidence. 

And you laugh when he squirts it on you from a distance, its coldness refreshing like a lick of ice cream to your heated body. And Hobi laughs along, smearing it all over you, especially over your still gaping, red hole, fingering you there with two fingers, fleetingly, just to tease you, just to pull those sounds out of you that get his head back in the game. 

Then he’s inside, back home. You can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi can’t swallow down his noises, growling and humming as loud as his body asks, ramming into you until all you can hear is his pleasure and the music of skin slapping on skin. 

And when you least expect it, he places the pulsing toy on your swollen clit. 

Your muscles strain, tense and taut, your throat dead silent as you can’t speak, can’t compose any sort of song of the delight that paralyzes your body. You scratch your nails down his back in effort to declare to him the beauty of his artwork and Hobi whimpers, pounding you into the mattress while keeping the toy steady, your breasts bouncing up and down, gleaming in the sunlight, pebbled, aroused, begging for his tongue when he looks down at them, his blush deepening. 

“Look at me,” he commands, stopping, so you can focus, and you begin to inhale quick, staccato breaths as your orgasm nears, the pressure in your tummy coiling and coiling, threatening to rip. You open your eyes, just in time to catch his endeared coo—because he can see how close you are. His lungs mimic the same rhythm, abdominal muscles prominent and defined as he, again, gives you his all. “There, baby?” he asks, speaking of the placement of the toy, and you’re only able to nod. “Ready to become a Mommy? Daddy is right there with you, pup. You squeeze around me so well, you’re doing such a good job. We’re gonna come together, yeah? You want to come with Daddy?” Another nod—because you’re trying your hardest to stall your orgasm as he jackhammers your little hole. You thank him in your heart, like the God he is, that he’s keeping the toy steady because if he were to move it… you’d come on the spot. “Say ‘yes, Daddy’ or I’m not letting you come.” 

You hiccup, shuddering so awfully pitifully while your cat-like aura of power strengthens, giving you all that you need to say it. And your eyes narrow in that sultriness, mouth pouts and you dig your claws deeper into his back, making him fuck your ass harder in payback that feels more than fucking delicious. 

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck, fuck. Give it to me, please. Make me a Mommy, please, fuck. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—”

And it’s a litany without end as Hobi moves the toy side to side and sweeps you off your feet, bringing you over the threshold of your shared home with you as his bride in his arms. You come, violently, its electric sparks shocking Hobi and he pumps you full of his cum, never stopping his hard motions, even as he twitches, growls—praising you, groaning the two words you like—and shudders just like you. He fucks you through your feigned impregnation, throwing the toy away when you squeak in overstimulation in the middle of your delirium, and he kisses you as if he hadn’t done so in a thousand years, sucking your lips so hard that they must bruise, his mound hitting your clit and stimulating it further. The warmth, the wetness—tears line your eyes and the same ones wet his eyelashes as he presses his elbows on either side of your head, panting against you, his nose brushing yours. He stares down at you, a look full of shadowed, yet pure love, the realization that you’ve done it, at last, but differently, bathing his face in light that blinds you—and blinds your tears, drying them as you smile up at him, running your fingers through his hair, through his undercut. 

“I got a big load for you, pup,” he croaks out, fucking you, slowly. “I can’t fucking stop coming. You feel so good. I’m weak for you, fuck.” 

You sob, finding your voice, made tender by his cock. “Give it to me, Hobi. I want it all. All your kids.” 

He moans and proves it to you how weak he is by emanating such a pathetic sound that forces you, most saccharinely, to clench around him all over again, milking him out of every drop you stirred but never drank. 

And for it, Hobi marks you in the middle of your breasts. A big, red hickey, redolent of your raspberries. You hold him to your chest, like the Mommy he made you into, as he sucks onto your skin, nibbling, licking, the noises akin to blowing those raspberries while he makes sure the bruise lingers for as long as possible. Then, he travels to the peak of your left nipple, trailing his tongue flat over the curve on his way up, and you’re wet, bespeckled with his children that trickle out of you as another wave of sopping arousal comes over you, because he begins to make love to that stiffened pebble. You cry out, tug his ruined hair, try to tell him you can’t anymore and Hobi hears you, takes care of you. 

Drags his teeth along your nub. Flicks his eyes up to you as he sucks. “Milkie, please, Mommy.” 

You burst into a roaring laughter, your shoulders shaking, arousal erased, and Hobi chuckles, lifting himself onto his hands and kissing your forehead. He moves you to your side of the bed, your skin dry and scented by him, soothed by his natural scent and the residue of his patchouli fragrance. And you revel in it, as he leaves you for a moment to fetch some wet wipes, with which he, mirthlessly, cleans you off his stickiness. His aversion to it makes an indentation in his face as his brows curl downward, features solemn and terribly serious. 

Such an abrupt, speedy change of energy. Laughter dies out and fades into nothingness that spreads across your private atmosphere shared with him. Your mouth emulates the form of his dourness, cheerlessness blotching your now clean skin with invisible, downcast glitter that scarcely shines in the sunlight—and even that lessens, a cloud expanding over it, dimming it. 

You touch his face and he looks up. 

“Just a little more time and it’ll be here,” you say, seeping that hope, that promise into his pores by swiping your thumb along his warm cheek. “And then my belly will be big and full. And you’ll be Daddy Hobi.” 

He smiles, sadly, eyes glistening, and he kisses your nose, folding into your chest. You caress him, his hair, his back—discover plump, thick marks of your fingernails and you lighten your touch, barely grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers. When he resurfaces, another, different dents embellish his face—the fresh memory of the way he’s accepted hope on your bosom and you kiss him, sealing it. Kiss that downturned smile. That red nose, those brisk cheeks. And his eyelids, wetted by his eyelashes. 

“How do you like your coffee in the morning?” Hobi asks, turning over a new leaf, moving past. 

You brush his hair back, enjoying the silky feel of his strands slipping through your fingers. “With you.” 

He blushes, profusely, and you’re struck by the impression that he’s falling for you. There’s no fight this time, no war, only housewarming, submission and stability. You grip his hair, thank him with the silent gesture that also expresses how much it means to you because you, too, have fallen for him. With your heart, with your soul—with your entire being that has undergone so many transformations. 

Now you’re climbing a mountain with him and on its peak, your children, your home, your future await you. You’re almost there. You’ve become who you were meant to become and Hobi has received the promise of his deepest longing. 

One more thing, one more lift of the knee and you’re there, hand in hand with him—your husband, your God. 

He kisses you one last time, tells you to rest while he makes you coffee and breakfast. Hands you your phone. Helps you think of a short message that you immediately, without a thought spared, send. And while you lightly slumber, you dream of the promise, of the hope. Dream of your swollen belly, the ethereal picture revealing you looking at yourself in a floor-length mirror as Hobi stands behind you, assuaging you of the weight of your child by holding it with both of his hands, his imaginary wings, fully rosy, carrying half of it, folded over his knuckles, your fingers sunk between his and the feathers, silky, soft like his hair. It melts into another scene, in which you both hold the child, hip to hip, gazing at the mountain you climbed together once upon a time and the child, bearing a heavenly, delectable concoction of your and his features, cannot pull away their eyes from the peak. Their hair blows in the wind, rippling like their Father’s wings, and you and Hobi break their hypnotion by kissing each of their cheek. 

Hobi wakes you up with the same kiss—as if he was kissing you and not his child. And something about it heals you, gravely. 

You tell him about it over coffee and breakfast and he weeps. And while you weep with him, your tears fall for another, secret reason. For the period that you slept, Hobi baked vanilla pastries with raspberries and you would tell him about it, too, but you’d sit at the table all day. He has a curse to break and you don’t wish to prolong the time, not when you sense that it’s burdening him. 

Because his shirt is blood-splattered, he takes you to his house. And what you’ve never expected to happen—you meet his roommate. 

A munchkin cat with the littlest legs you’ve ever seen. Black and white coat blankets her chunky body and you sink onto your knees, extending your fingers to her tiny pink snout, just like her Daddy’s, and you die as the fur baby sniffs you and doesn’t run away in fear. It keeps smelling you in curiosity and you think it’s due to the fact she can recognize Hobi’s scent all over you. You’re so absorbed by the furry animal that you don’t even care to look around the vastness of its home and, like your child, you get broken out of the spell when Hobi chuckles. 

“Pet her. She likes you,” he says and you hear the familiar clanging of keys being set on the table, the leather of his wallet sliding along the wood and the thud of his phone as he empties out his pockets. 

Giddiness seizes you. 

You stroke down the baby’s fur on its head, cooing at its softness, at the way the wisps whirl in the air the more you pet it. And you squeal when she leans in into your touch as Hobi did not that long ago. Now you know who he gets it from. 

You take it into your arms, scratching its neck. It purrs and your heart springs, eager to embrace it. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you ask, enthralled by it, nuzzling your face into her fur. 

Hobi pets your head and you feel as small as the baby. You look up at him, knowing you radiate, visibly, the energy. He smiles down at you, shines down his love and joy clutches you so hard that you can’t breathe. 

“A girl,” he says, his smile widening, and before you can ask about her name, he already tells you. “Her name is Luna.” 

Luna. She’s your new best friend, your little baby, and you begin to entertain the idea of bringing her along to your misfit visit to your ex-boyfriend’s apartment because you can’t let go of her. Not when she purrs most homely, most happily. Not when she likes you so much that she’s not afraid of you. 

You haven’t grown up with animals, so when the opportunity comes and you get into contact with them, it’s difficult for you to unattach yourself from them.

Luna is yours now. 

Hobi pivots on his feet and you’re quick to scurry onto yours, following him into his bedroom. As you carry her, you take a moment to look around his living room. The color beige lines every detail of its spaciousness. From the walls, to the pigmentation of the stones that decorate the side, where a huge flatscreen hangs up, to the smooth floors that glow in the light. Beige, whites and grays, with the tiniest hints of browns, greens and yellows. Small plants and bigger palms sit in the corners, by the windows, and they give the room those colors—as well as his collection, which comes as the biggest surprise of all, of his modern art. You can see a rainbow of Bearbricks everywhere you look, especially in the brown kingdom of his bedroom. 

Those pretty one-eyed fuckers stare at you there. Along with their KAWS brothers. And they’re colossal. 

Hobi’s back faces you as he rummages in his closet. You kiss Luna on her empty head before you set her on the bed, walking over to Hobi amidst the dimmed light. His curtains are pulled in tight and you think about how he must’ve been getting ready for bed when he called you last night, only to sleep in your light-filled bed. You wrap your arms around him, too hasty with your need to give him your affection—you smear your foundation on his blue shirt, staining it further. And you kiss his back, planting a red lipstick mark right in the middle. It’s going in the laundry bin, anyway. 

Hobi reaches his hands back, fingers tapping along the open back of your white top, drumming there and you smile, finding it cute. 

“You really like those figurines,” you murmur, propping your chin on his spine, drumming your fingers on his abdomen in similar fashion. 

He laughs, softly, as if embarrassed, and you dig your claws, faintly, into his skin. No embarrassment for him—you’re not letting that in within him. 

“Don’t you fear they watch you while you sleep?” 

Now he laughs through his nose, swiveling his head halfway. “They’re my dream catchers.” 

You hum, endearingly, in high pitch, liking the sound of that. Wonder if he knows that he’s such a poet. “Everything you say is so poetic.” 

He massages your waist, deepening your hum. “Something tells me that’s your doing.” You punctuate the sound with a vulgar word and he squeezes the place he holds. No laughter, only alluring, affectionate seriousness. You sigh, blissfully. “I actually have a book of poetry here.” 

Your brows rise. “What?” 

Hobi clasps your hand, dragging you to his small library that is organized with his dream catchers. He pulls out a thick book with a white cover and hands it to you. 

Birthday letters by Ted Hughes. The husband of Sylvia Plath, the reason behind her suicide. The female poet who loved E. E. Cummings, the female poet, whom you loved, too, in your lonely girlhood. Who always inspired your longing to die as the curse over your life went on. 

It’s surreal to be holding a link to her when you’re standing at the end of the chapter of this curse. 

You didn’t die. 

You didn’t die. 

“I stole it from my school library,” Hobi explains with that lopsided smile of his, so fond, so full of old memories that you’re learning at this moment. Time stands still and you strain your ears, wanting to hear every syllable of it. “Everytime I would go hide there, mess around or just study, I’d always see this book. It would always be right in front of me. I thought, and I still do, that it has some kind of meaning. That it somehow needs to be in my life. So I took it. And it’s been here for more than a decade. I’ve never even read it.” 

You pout, touched by the symbolism, by the fact he never opened it. “Never?” 

Hobi shakes his head, shortly. “Never.” 

You look down at it, caress its cover. “Maybe it’s a dream catcher, too.” 

His mouth ends curl. “Open it. Read me something.” 

His fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and you sense the magnetism of the symbolism attached to the book closing over you. You watch the work of his hands as you slip your digit into the middle of the book. Page one hundred and forty two. Portraits, the title of the unknown poem. But you don’t read it until he bares his chest and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

You stand between his outstretched legs. He rubs the back of your knees, waiting.

You skim your eyes over the page and break, prematurely. 

Licking your lips, you begin. 

“What happened to Howard’s portrait of you? / I wanted that painting.” 

You lose a breath, your throat constricting, and you gaze down at Hobi to see him lost in a thought that you can’t discern. 

Can he perceive the link? Does he realize who Howard is as you bring that poem into reality with your recitation? 

You continue, biting your lip, momentarily.

“Spirits helped Howard, ‘Sometimes / When I’m panting, I hear a voice, a / woman’s, / calling Howard, Howard — faint, / far-off, / fading.” 

Your phone dings in the front pocket of your ivory mini skirt—Howard has texted you back. The book droops out of your grasp as you fish out the device, your screen enveloping the room in a small twirl of brightness. 

Jungkook: my door is always open for you 

You pocket it back, the light snuffed out. The book quivers and you steady it with your other hand. “Jungkook texted me back.” 

Hobi is deathly still, in an uncanny way. “What did he say?” 

You lick your lips, but it’s not enough moisture. “That his door is always open for me.” 

He props an elbow on his knee, his teeth nibbling on a fleck of skin upon his thumb. “Keep reading.” 

Your breath shakes. You risk the question swathing your heart, needing to know whether you’re on the same page before you can go on. “Can you see the correlation?” 

He blinks, rapidly, as if awoken. “To what? You mean to the painting of you that I’m about to break?” 

You nod, relieved that he sees it, but the heaviness loiters. Slightly, you fear the next lines. “Jungkook is Howard.” 

His eyes stray, his being crestfallen, his mouth biting into his cuticle. He doesn’t say anything and you’re not sure if you should read on, but he taps the back of your knee that he still holds, propelling you to do so. 

In fact, he tugs on it, guiding you to sit on his thigh—like you did in your favorite reading armchair when you cleaned his wound. You flutter a kiss on the healing bruise that has the colors of his home and with a wet thumb, Hobi angles the book so he can read along with you, staining the page with his humanity, imprinting his presence, the gravity of the moment into it. 

It took a decade for the time to be right. Enough for him to read this. 

With you. 

You push away the panic regarding him not reacting to your affection, figuring the importance of this moment is held in higher regard. Clearing your throat, you continue. 

“He got carried away / When he started feeding his colors / into your image,” you stop, the words affecting your vocal cords with emotions. Hobi is the only one who knows what colors Jungkook used in the painting. How can a random page in a random book describe the flavor of the bane of the curse upon your life? How is it possible? You take a moment to regain your composure, willing smoothness into your voice. Hobi rubs your thigh with his hand, thumb tracing patterns, a help in need. “He glowed / At his crucible, on its tripod. / How many sessions? / Yaddo fall. Woodstoves. Rain, / Rain, rain in the conifers.” The rain that fell upon Hobi when you exited the museum after you talked to Jungkook. The rain that brought you closer to him as he shrouded you and himself in your trenchcoat. The memory is sweet, another help in need. 

“Tribal / conflict / Of crows and their echoes. You deepened. / Molten, luminous, looking at us / From that window of Howard’s vision of you.” 

Your scream in the middle of the night after that morning at the museum; the physical violence that followed after. The painting that was created in the same hours. 

“Yourself lifted out of yourself / in a flaming of oils, your lips exact.” 

The flaming of your reddened bum within Jungkook’s made-up world of the painting; the punishment that you broke out of his clutches and became your own person. 

You suddenly understand it, the painting. 

You feel sick. 

The poem is a maze, but Hobi looks as though he has the sixth sense that enables him to navigate through it. You’re burdened by your emotions, dragging your feet as you follow him, looking at him. He burns his sight into the scattered words, not breathing, not blinking, his thumb stuck in his mouth. He’s connecting the dots, the wheels turning in his brain. 

Luna crawls onto the other side of his lap, the third help in need. 

You take a deep breath. 

“Suddenly — ‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ / out of the gloomy neglected chamber behind you / Somebody had emerged, hunched, gloating at you, / Just behind your shoulder — a cowled / Humanoid of raggy shadows. Who?” 

The squeaks of breaks behind you, Jungkook stepping out of his car and joining the demon of shame looming at you, waiting for you to end your phone call with Hobi. 

“Howard was surprised. He smiled at it. / “If I see it there, I paint it. I like it / When things like that happen. He just came.’ / Came from where? Mystery smudge extra, / Stalking the glaze wetness / Of your new-fired idol brilliance. / I saw it with horrible premonition. / You were alone there, pregnant, and unprotected.” 

You snap the book shut, the lump in your throat so enormous in size that it alone begs you not to read on. Your chin quivers, but no tears come out, mind barren as the words alone, pregnant and unprotected echo within there. On an ungodly, immoral loop. 

Hobi takes the book from you and flings it into a corner of his room, hitting a lonesome gray figurine that topples over. Your eyes witness the movement, but you don’t grasp it. Numbness seizes you, the paralyzation of bizarreness that causes bile to push through the lump in your throat. 

You gag. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

Hobi is quick on his feet, but you don’t make it. The vomit spills through the cup of your palm over your mouth, staining your white top. Hobi carries you to his toilet, stained just the same. Holds your hair as you retch your guts out—the letters of the poem, the realization of its meaning, the symbolism, the raspberry pastries. Presses his lips against the nape of your neck, holding you together. 

Wipes your chin with toilet paper. Puts his plastic cup with cold water to your mouth to wash it clean with. 

Rips the three pages of the poem out of the spine of the book in taciturn fury, its ending never to be known.  

You watch him do it, with the same speechlessness, and you’re not sorry for the prosaic lawlessness—it strengthens you and it relieves you. Watch the tremor of his hands, after, as he constringes the poisonous papers in his fists. The book abandoned back in the corner with the figurine, vanquished. 

He paces the room, fleetingly, stopping in front of you. Gets on both of his knees. Grips your hands, with the crumpled papers. Kisses them. Over and over. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers onto them. The noise of the papers is like the shaking of leaves and you want to leave. You want this wretched thing settled. The smell of your puke hits your nostrils and it’s what prevents you from folding into him in the way he did this morning. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. It’s fate,” you reassure, tearing the papers from his hold and throwing them away from his sight. Yours, too. It’s not his fault that the curse sneaked into something intimate he desired to share with you. But your heart aches that it did it before he knew you all those years ago, planted in its mind false beauty, only to cause ruination. You need it gone. “Help me take this off. Let’s go.” 

He sighs and the sadness of the sound deepens your ache, though all you can do is accept it and fight. The will is enough—if the conscious will is there, things will change, things will move forward and all will settle into place. 

Tomorrow will look different. 

Hobi dressed you in his clothing. A white linen shirt, to match your skirt. One would say it’s oversized, the way the fabric puffs and slides off your shoulder, not an item of masculine affection. You left your bra hanging by its strap on the handle of his closet. Left the buttons undone. Left the bruise between your breasts unconcealed, proudly, for every eye to see. He tied it in the middle, a tiny sliver of your midriff exposing tanned skin, because the hem would only bunch up the waistband of your skirt as it reached way down below. It could’ve been a dress alone, meant for loungewear, but you weren’t going to do much lounging. 

Hobi dressed you for war. 

He himself matched you. A white polo, beige pants, a vivid green beanie to hide the sweat coating his tousled hair. A king, ready to march. 

The king is dead, long live the king. 

You know the ending. You trust Hobi, you believe in him. So did Luna when he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet. She meowed so much encouragement that it curled a smile on yours and Hobi’s face. You nuzzled her, considering saying goodbye to her harder than facing Jungkook, the dead king, but her purring made it better. It was a promise that she would be here with another set of fluff balls of encouragement once you come back from the war. 

You thought the ride to Jungkook’s apartment would be silent, but no. Hobi put on his The Weeknd playlist, the dark, ambient songs from The Trilogy album saturating the shifting atmosphere. Placed his hand on your thigh while he drove. Things seemed normal as they did before shit hit the fan. Your body submitted to that impression and so you pretended it was so. Relived, quietly, in your mind the way you rubbed your clothed pussy on that very seat, steering him into insanity, which he controlled so well. 

A coping mechanism, that lustfulness. As you know it. But oddly, it didn’t turn you on. No, it composed you—tranquilized your emotions, so they wouldn’t be burdensome in the battle. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hobi asked, knowing he was five minutes away from Jungkook’s apartment. He didn’t live far away from him. 

Bizarreness.

He probably noticed your lack of visible reaction to your favorite singer. 

“I’m having flashbacks.” 

A beat of pause. “About?”

“About the way I drove you insane when I stuck my hand in my panties.” 

He hummed, softly, the noise barely audible. “You got so wet just from me praising you.” 

You sighed, delighted. “I did.” 

“I’ll never forget the fact that I ate you out first before I kissed you.” 

You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “It comforts me,” you admitted, baring your private soul. “Sex. Lust. It’s not always dirty to me and it doesn’t always make me horny. It makes me feel safe.” 

He thought about your words, thumb searching for yours, waggling. You closed your palm over the back of his hand on the shift stick, hooking your thumb over his. 

“How did that painting make you feel?” 

You didn’t feel much. Just one singular emotion. “Furious.” 

“Why?” 

“It makes me angry that he thinks he still has a right to control my life. That he took what I consider to be safe and made it unsafe.”

He ruined the act of spanking for Hobi, which ultimately ruined it for you. It scarred him enough that he wasn’t able to do it to you when you asked him. And for that, you’ll never be able to forgive Jungkook.  

Hobi clenched his jaw. “When we get inside, I want you to think twice before you look at that painting. You’ve gone through a lot these past twenty-four hours. Put your well-being first, okay?” 

Your veins pump warmth into your heavy heart due to his care and you kiss his knuckles, leaning your cheek into them. “Okay.” 

“Good. I’ll break it anyways.”

The deal rings in the hallway as you walk towards his door, Hobi two steps behind you, obfuscating his presence. You rack your knuckles on the wood, your stomach rolling, your blood curdling into bits of frozen cranberries, and your lungs lack air. You don’t know if you can do this, if you can be posturing stoicness when the threat is right in front of you. You wish Luna were here with you, her fluffy wisps a reminder of her encouragement. You can’t even find her on the material of your skirt, for she’s as much clothed in white as you. 

The door opens, revealing a distressed, wrinkly Jungkook with the stars in his eyes tear-stained. The lines of his sleep shoot across his bare chest, down to his abdomen that he sucks in at the sight of you. And you don’t hate him for the way his eyes skip to the bruise in the middle of your breasts—because it were your eyes first that skimmed that low on him first. 

Shame stops your blood flow, which restores your forgotten memory of how further aroused your body became when you saw his excited manhood in the picture he sent you. It floods back at full speed, in tandem with the bile in your throat. 

“I didn’t expect you to come over so soon,” he says, confusion rasping his tone, and his wide eyes narrow once they whisk to a taller head behind you. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge his presence, despite the fact you expected that much from him. A rude remark, the closing of doors. Anything but him opening the door wider and turning around, wordlessly inviting you in. 

And Hobi. 

The bile lowers. You exchange a worried look with him, but he runs a hand down the length of your hair upon your back. 

Bloodthirst flashes in his eyes. 

And you’re no longer sure if his plan is the right one to unravel. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four

[ghoulphile]

corruption kink anon again (srry for spamming you I just have a lot of ideasss): At the beginning your shoulders brush and you shift away with a barely hidden look of disgust. "Now, don't be like that. Lots of folks like the idea of me touching them." Coop would mumble, pulling off his gloves with his teeth. He'd catch your eyes and wink, notice your grimace as well as your cheeks flushing. "After all, it's ribbed for your pleasure." Even though the particular reference is over 200 years old, the implication isn't lost on you. Not when you turn away completely from him with a quick noise of disapproval. He would chuckle, letting his legs fall open as he relaxed fully tipping his hat so he could see you, but not the other way around. He would get real comfortable, maybe even place a hand on his belt for added measure. He loves that you stare at his dick through his pants, hoping for a peak of what's under the faded fabric. And he especially loves the way your pupils dilate when you start staring too long, getting lost in thought as you chew at your lower lip. Sometimes he splayes his legs out to the approximate space that you would fit in to, just to feed your imagination.

💀 And when you finally can't take it anymore and do sink to your knees before him, fingers brushing curiously over his crotch, he leans back and watches.

Those intense eyes stripping you bare as you stroke along the curve of his cock, see the fabric pull taut as it fills out. Watch with wide eyes as it twitches.

"Heh, you really wanna take a peek, don't you, darlin'?" His thighs spread wider in invitation, emphasizing the thick bulge of his erection. "Why, be my guest."

You exhale through your nose at the clink of his belt buckle, your fingers shaking as they grasp at the zipper and tug, the sound of the teeth popping free scraping down your spine.

It shouldn't surprise you that he goes commando, and yet...

When his cock springs out with a heavy smack against his lower belly, you nearly swallow your tongue. He's so girthy, your fingers have no hope of fully encircling it. The skin is rough, ragged - little patches of texture and ridges of ropey scar tissue decorating the shaft.

All you can do is stare, eyes tracing along the thick vein that pulses on the underside, the sticky ooze of pre-cum beading on the fat tip. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, like there's a nuclear reactor boiling just beneath the surface.

And you know there's no fucking way that's going to fit (unless he forces it to).

He tsks, reaches down with a gloved hand to grope at himself. Rubs his knuckles over his balls before grabbing the head between his fingers and squeezing until the pre dribbles from him in a long string of fluid.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

"I--"

He sucks his teeth, taunts, "Why the sudden change of heart, huh? You was gaggin' for it just a minute ago. Too gross lookin' for you - s'that it?"

"No!" you protest, a spike of panic shooting through you. Maybe once upon a time but not anymore. You're long past that. "No, I just - there's no way that's going to fit."

"Ah, I see." He smirks, a dark, crooked little quirk of the mouth. "Well, then, if that's all you was worried 'bout... get ta work."

"I'm sorry?" you blink.

"I ain't sayin' it again." He grabs the base firmly, uses his grip to hold his cock out towards your face. "It ain't gonna suck itself. Now, open up them pretty lips of yours. I'm gonna make it fit one way or another."