#Fuller Brush Girl

[nextstopwonderland]

Films seen in 2024 (round-up post since March, part 2)

The Red House (Daves, 1947)

The Glass Key (Heisler, 1942)

The Body Snatcher (Wise, 1945)

The Seventh Victim (Robson, 1943)

I Walked with a Zombie (Tourneur, 1943)

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (Aldrich, 1962)

Who’s Minding the Mint? (Morris, 1967)

Gothic (Russell, 1986)

Valley of the Dolls (Robson, 1967)

The Fuller Brush Girl (Bacon, 1950)

[kaciidubs]

Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧  ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧  ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧  ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he��d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?” 

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell. 

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

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[neferaskingdom]

♡ You're Family | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: It's hard being casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser, And it's hard being casual when I'm on the phone talking down your brother.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

After the summer break, things between her and Charles shift in subtle but undeniable ways. He goes back to racing, and she falls into a comfortable rhythm at home, taking care of Leo and focusing on work. But her world feels fuller now, punctuated by unexpected calls, invitations, and little gestures that keep her close to the Leclercs, even when Charles is away.

It starts with Pascale, who invites her over one afternoon for coffee. It’s warm and welcoming, the kind of invitation that makes her feel like she’s known Pascale forever. “Come, sit down, ma belle,” Pascale says, guiding her to a cozy seat in the kitchen. She fusses over her with warmth that feels so genuine it makes her chest ache.

“You know, it’s ridiculous that Charles hasn’t introduced us sooner,” Pascale chides, shaking her head. “I told him, ‘If you’re serious about someone, we should meet her, no?’”

She feels her cheeks warm but laughs it off. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d call it serious. We’re just…”

Pascale waves a hand, dismissing her words. “Please, I’ve seen the way he talks about you. We know when it’s serious.” She pours coffee into a delicate cup and hands it to her, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Plus, the way he sulks when you’re at work—he’s like a lost puppy. We tease him for it!”

And just like that, Pascale has her laughing and sharing stories, making her feel like part of the family. Before she knows it, these coffee dates turn into a regular thing, and Pascale even insists on cutting her hair, brushing away her protests with a gentle but firm hand. They chat and laugh, talking about everything from family to work, and she leaves every time feeling a bit more like she belongs.

Then there’s Charlotte. One day, she calls, suggesting a girls’ day out, just the two of them. They roam the city, stopping at boutiques and trying on sunglasses, gossiping and laughing over coffee like old friends. Charlotte is sharp, witty, and fun, making her feel completely at ease.

“So, you’ve really got Charles wrapped around your finger, huh?” Charlotte teases as they browse the racks of a boutique. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this smitten since… well, ever.”

She rolls her eyes, brushing off the comment with a laugh. “Smitten? He’s just… we’re just friends.”

“Right,” Charlotte says with a knowing smile. “And I’m just the Queen of England.”

Then there’s Arthur. They start chatting more, mostly joking around after he realizes she’s following his races, and she finds herself quickly warming to him. Arthur is loud, playful, and full of life, and they click almost instantly. They trade inside jokes, and after a particularly hard race, he texts her sounding completely drained.

Arthur: "Rough night. I don’t think I’m cut out for this sometimes."

You: "Hey, that’s not true. You’re amazing — you know that, right?"

Arthur: "Maybe. But sometimes it’s hard to remember. Everything feels stacked against me."

So she called him, letting him vent as he rambled about the pressures of racing, the constant comparisons to Charles, and the weight he carried. She offered gentle reassurances, reminding him of his strengths and how far he’d come.

At one point, she said softly, “Arthur, you’re going to be incredible. I know it. And you know Charles would be the first to say that too.”

After a pause, he replied, a little more lighthearted, “You know, you’re like the family therapist at this point.”

She laughed. “Guess I’m putting in overtime then.”

By the end of the call, he sounded much better, his spirits lifted, and they both promised to catch up in person soon.

But it’s when Charles is back in town that things really start to feel different. He’s even clingier than before, draping himself over her whenever he’s home, complaining dramatically about his “stolen” family.

“Honestly, I go away for two weeks, and suddenly, you’re maman’s new favorite?” he grumbles one night, leaning his head on her shoulder as they lounge on his couch. “Arthur calls you more than he calls me, you know.”

She laughs, nudging him playfully. “Oh, come on, it’s not like they’ve replaced you. Besides, you’re the one who left me with your family!”

“Yeah, but they’re my family,” he insists with a pout, his eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “Honestly, you’re all I think about when I’m away, and then I come back, and I have to share you with everyone else? Unacceptable.”

“You poor thing,” she says mockingly, patting his cheek. “Must be so hard for you, having people who love you.”

Charles grins, leaning closer until his face is just inches from hers. “Oh, it is. I think you should make it up to me.”

The way he says it makes her heart race, and they end up tangled together until she can’t think straight. One thing leads to another, and the next morning, she playfully grumbles about needing to go back to her apartment to grab fresh clothes.

“Honestly, Charles, I swear you’ve destroyed half my wardrobe at this point,” she teased, reaching for her phone. “I don’t think I have any underwear left.”

Charles smirked from where he leaned against the doorway, still looking far too pleased with himself. “Check the top drawer of my wardrobe.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious look. “What?”

“Go on, take a look.”

Confused but intrigued, she opened the drawer, her eyes widening as she took in the sight: a stack of her clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts, a couple of sweaters, even some underwear — and her favorite bra. She gasped, lifting it up and shooting him an accusing look.

“Charles! You kept my favorite bra?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You leave things here all the time anyway, so I just… organized. It’s more practical this way. Now you don’t have to go all the way home every time.”

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You made me a drawer?”

“Of course,” he said, walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Gotta make sure my friend is comfortable.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling warmth spread through her chest. “If this is just friendship, Charles, I’d hate to see you with someone you actually care about.”

He chuckled, tilting her chin up and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’d just be even worse,” he murmured, eyes sparkling.

The words, though playful, lingered with her. The closeness, the drawer, his mother’s invitations — they all hinted at something deeper than what they’d agreed on. But every time she’d try to piece together her thoughts, he’d pull her back in, and she’d find herself giving in, trying not to read into every little sign.

As things grew deeper, she found herself wrestling with her feelings more and more, unsure of where she stood. Despite the time spent together, despite the way his family had practically adopted her, she kept reminding herself that they were just friends. That’s all they’d agreed on, after all.

But Charles’s actions often left her wondering. The drawer, the constant calls, the way he made sure to always check in on her… it felt like more. And yet, whenever she started thinking like that, he’d casually brush it off with a laugh, leaving her both hopeful and hesitant.

One morning, just as he was heading out for another meeting, he casually mentioned, “Oh, by the way, Charlotte called. She wants to meet up with you tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Oh? For what?”

He shrugged, buttoning up his jacket with that effortless confidence he had. “Wedding stuff, I think? She said she needed your help picking some things out.”

She blinked, surprised. “Wedding stuff? Isn’t that more… you know, family stuff?”

Charles glanced at her, looking amused by her confusion. “Exactly. That’s why she wants you there.”

Her heart stuttered, the implications of his words hitting her harder than she expected. She stood there, watching him as he finished getting ready, too shocked to find the words. Did he even realize what he’d just implied? Did he know what that invitation meant?

Unbothered by her inner turmoil, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “Don’t overthink it,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling with a familiar warmth. “I’ll be back early tonight.”

And with that, he was out the door, leaving her standing there, the weight of her growing feelings settling over her like a heavy blanket.

In the silence that followed, she let out a shaky breath, her thoughts spiraling. Somewhere along the way, she’d crossed an invisible line — a line she couldn’t pretend didn’t exist anymore. She was in too deep, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could keep up the pretense.

Taglist: @dullypully @sageskiesf1 @firefirevampire @eloriis @meadhbhcavanagh @raweceeks @amyelevenn @leclrcg @anunstablefangirl @chaoswithus @spngirl05 @bigdickdannyric1

@doofenshmirtzevil-inc @linneaguriii @gaslysainz @leclercdream

[brainddeadd]

saw those photos of Lando with P and this happened

A Little Heart in His Hands

Lando had been nervous all day. Meeting your daughter felt monumental—like the start of something far more serious than words could express. He’d met plenty of people before, but this was different. She was a part of you, the most important part, and winning her over mattered more than anything.

When you opened the door, your little girl peeked out from behind your legs, her big, curious eyes taking in the sight of the cheerful man standing at the threshold.

“You must be Evie,” Lando said, crouching down to her level. He smiled warmly, holding out his hand as if greeting a tiny teammate. “Hi, I’m Lando.”

Evie tilted her head, a small smile creeping onto her face as she studied him. “You’re the car guy, right?” she asked, her voice small but confident.

Lando chuckled, glancing up at you with a grin. “I guess you could call me that. Do you like cars?”

Her eyes lit up, and from that moment on, they were inseparable.

---

The day was filled with laughter and games. Lando had brought her a miniature McLaren toy car, which quickly became her favorite thing. He patiently answered her endless questions about racing, even mimicking the sounds of his F1 car, which sent her into fits of giggles. At the park, he pushed her on the swings, raced her across the grass (letting her win, of course), and even tried to build the “tallest sandcastle in the world” with her.

Watching them together made your heart ache in the best way. The way Lando’s face lit up every time she laughed, and how Evie kept reaching for his hand, as if she’d known him forever—it was magic.

As the sun began to set, you all curled up on the couch, Evie nestled between the two of you. Her excitement had finally worn her out, and her eyelids drooped as Lando read her a bedtime story.

Before the story could end, her little head lolled onto Lando’s chest, her soft snores filling the quiet room. Lando froze for a moment, looking at you with wide, awed eyes.

“She likes you,” you whispered, smiling softly.

He glanced down at the sleeping child in his arms, his expression a mix of pride and tenderness. “She’s amazing,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face.

You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. “So are you,” you said, your voice full of emotion.

As the night deepened, Lando held Evie close, his heart fuller than it had ever been. In that moment, he knew he didn’t just want you in his life—he wanted both of you. Forever.

[museanddream]

Heaven || Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x reader

Warnings: 🔞 || threesome, poly relationship, fingering, oral sex, strap-ons, degrading language, bottom!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Part 1 of 2

If heaven was a place, it would be right here.

Here, between your girls, your back pressed against Lucy’s chest, one of her hands plucking at your nipple while her other holds your knee up, making space for Ona to feast between your legs.

“Use your fingers,” Lucy commands Ona. “She wants you inside her.”

Ona lifts her head, lips shiny with your arousal, then runs her fingers through your dripping folds before she sinks a single finger into you.

“I can speak for myself,” you huff, though your words slip into a moan as Ona curls her finger inside you.

Lucy pinches your nipple roughly, which in turn causes you to buck your hips up into Ona’s hand. You’re coherent enough to chat back, but not enough to remember that it’s a bad idea to do so. Especially when Lucy is in one of her commanding moods.

“Oh, you can?” Lucy hums into your ear, and you realise too late that there will be consequences for what you said. Lucy addresses Ona next, “Add another one. You’re not fucking her hard enough if she can talk.”

Ona hooks her finger against your front wall to elicit a moan from your throat as she drags it out slowly, before replacing one finger with two on the next thrust. Her movements are rougher, the base of her thumb grazing your clit with every thrust, just enough pressure to remind you how desperate you are to come but not enough to actually get you close.

“Can she take three?” Lucy asks Ona, watching the way that Ona’s fingers enter and leave your body with fascination.

“I think so,” Ona answers, and it drives you insane, the way they’re talking about fucking you as casually as if they were discussing what to cook for dinner. “It’d be a stretch but she’s wet enough. Or we could…”

Ona’s fingers have stilled inside you and you open your eyes, feeling the way that your girlfriends are silently communicating with each other while you lie back against Lucy, a desperate mess between them. You watch Ona’s eyes flicker towards the nightstand as she wordlessly asks for Lucy’s permission and you involuntarily clench around Ona’s fingers at the thought of them using one of the many toys in the bottom drawer on you.

“Please,” you beg, needing to feel full, fuller than the two fingers currently nestled in your cunt. You want to be stretched open, to feel the soreness of a thorough fucking tomorrow.

Despite the way she looks down at you from where she’s knelt between your legs, Ona’s brown eyes are soft, almost understanding of your predicament. You have no doubt in your mind that if it was just the two of you, she’d give in to your every request, pleasure you exactly how you asked her to and make you come over and over again until you could no longer move.

Lucy is not quite so accommodating.

“Oh, really? You want our cock?”

The way that Lucy refers to it as their cock has you dripping onto the sheet, bucking your hips up into nothing as Ona withdraws her fingers and walks over to the nightstand to look for the harness. Ona might be the one about to fill you up but there’s no doubt that it’s both of them who are fucking you, Ona listening obediently to every command that Lucy gives you as they slowly bring you to ruin.

“Please.”

“Please what?” asks Lucy, sending one of her hands south down your body to replace Ona’s, brushing over your clit and down towards your entrance with barely enough pressure to tease, let alone give you the pleasure you crave.

It’s still enough to have you whining and begging.

“Please, I want your cock. Fill me up. I need it.”

Lucy drags her hand back up your body, ghosting over your throat with wet fingers before she slides them past your lips, encouraging you to clean your own arousal from her deft digits with your tongue.

“You heard her, Ona,” says Lucy, releasing her fingers from your mouth with a wet pop and deliberately smearing your saliva over your own chin. “Give the slut what she wants.”

Satisfied with the fit of the harness against her hips, Ona returns to the bed and kneels between your spread legs. The silicone cock nudges against your thigh, mere inches from where you ache to be filled, as Ona crawls up the bed and covers your body with hers. You think she’s coming in to kiss you and tilt your head to accommodate her mouth, but she bypasses you completely, instead kissing Lucy over your shoulder.

They kiss slowly, messily, and it’s normally one of your favourite things to watch your girlfriends kiss each other in front of you but right now, sandwiched between their hot bodies with Ona’s cock against your leg taunting your empty cunt, you wish they’d hurry up and get to the main event.

You thought you were doing a pretty good job of being patient while they kiss as if you’re not even there, holding back the whines and pleas that threaten to slip from your throat, but clearly not well enough. Your hips buck subconsciously, trying to get a bit of pressure from the toy that is so close to where you need it, yet still too far away.

And of course Lucy notices.

“Oh, was there something you wanted?” Lucy taunts you as Ona’s mouth descends to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to the hollow of Lucy’s throat.

“Please, Luce,” you beg. “Want Ona to fuck me.”

“Go on,” Lucy tells Ona, who grabs a pillow and slides it under your hips with Lucy’s help. “No need to be gentle, not when she’s this desperate. Need to show her who’s in charge.”

Lucy is the one in charge, even as Ona gets into position between your spread legs and rubs the head of her cock against your folds, nudging easily against your clit with the help of your natural lubrication. Lucy, the puppetmaster, holding your legs open as Ona, her willing marionette, listens to every word of instruction that Lucy gives for your pleasure. It’s almost demeaning, like you’re not good enough, not worthy enough, to be fucked by Lucy herself, instead having her pull the strings as Ona does the work for her.

“Ready?” Ona asks, testing your entrance again with two deft fingers, before using the string of arousal that clings to her digits when she pulls out to slick the head of the cock strapped to her hips.

Lucy answers on your behalf.

“She’s ready.”

“Ona, please.”

Ona widens her knees and nudges the head of the cock against your entrance. It’s not the biggest one in your collection - only Lucy is allowed to wear that - but it’s still wider than the fingers Ona prepared you with, the thick head stretching you open as she pushes slowly inside.

“Fill her up,” Lucy orders Ona. “She can take it. She’s not going to break.”

Ona pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in, deeper this time but just as agonisingly slow.

“More fun to tease her,” Ona counters, her eyes fixated on the point where her cock disappears into your cunt.

It’s not often that Ona disobeys an order from Lucy, always eager to please, but she also knows that the only time she can get away with it is when you’re spread out and desperate between them. Lucy isn’t going to punish Ona for questioning her authority when she’s already got you begging so deliciously.

Ona continues to fill you, sliding the toy into your hole inch by inch, pulling out occasionally before resuming. The stretch is so agonisingly pleasurable that you fumble around until you find Lucy’s hand on your thigh holding you open and grasp at her fingers. Lucy allows it, threading her fingers through yours and giving them a squeeze that almost makes you forget that your girlfriends are on a mission to ruin you, until she speaks again.

“Harder.”

This time, Ona listens. She withdraws a couple of inches, then drives back in with the full force of her hips, filling you completely. Your back arches, your head falling back against Lucy’s shoulder as you let out a cry of pleasure, and Ona’s hips start rhythmically thrusting against yours.

“How does it feel?” Lucy asks, pressing her cheek against yours as she cradles you from behind, the hand that isn’t laced with yours coming up to play with your tits again.

“Good,” you answer, between groans. “Fuck! Really fucking good.”

Lucy pinches your nipple, then addresses Ona again.

“Harder.”

Ona does as Lucy asks, leaning forward to partly cover your body with hers as she plants her hands on either side of you to support her body weight, giving her hips the freedom to pound the cock into your cunt with even more vigour. Ona’s frame is small, but her athleticism has primed her for this, barely faltering as she drives her hips into yours. The toy seems to hit deeper with every thrust, the slight curve to the shaft dragging against your front wall each time she withdraws, only for her to slide straight back in again.

It’s almost perfect, the pleasure building between your legs each time Ona’s hips slap against yours and the cock hits inside you just right. Almost enough to bring you right to the edge, if only somebody would apply the right kind of pressure to your clit to match Ona’s thrusts.

You’ll forgive Ona, her hands busy holding her body up so that she can hit that perfect spot inside you, but it’s frankly criminal that Lucy has two hands and neither of them are playing with your clit.

“Luce, I need…”

“No.”

The hand on your tit comes up to grab your jaw, tilting your head away from where you’d been pressing it into Lucy’s cheek and forcing you to look down your body at where the toy disappears inside you.

“Look at Ona. Look how well she’s fucking you. You don’t need anything.”

Ona lifts her head as she continues to fuck into you and you meet the gaze of her dark eyes. So what if Lucy won’t give you what you want? Maybe Ona will be kinder.

“Ona, please. I want to come.”

“I want her to wait,” Lucy growls, the low rumble of her voice making vibrations against your back that cause all the hairs on your arms to stand to attention.

And that’s not an order Ona is willing to disobey. Unfortunately for you, Lucy seems to have just as much control over Ona as she does over you. Ona’s eyes soften in an apology as she continues to fuck you, though her hips slow slightly to give you a little respite from the pressure building in your core.

“Ona…”

“Lucy said…”

“Lucy can get fucked.”

The words spill from your lips before you can stop them and you know you’re in big trouble.

Ona does too, her hips stilling, the toy buried deep inside you, forcing all your attention onto Lucy.

“What did you say?” Lucy asks, her voice dangerously calm, but you know better than to believe there won’t be consequences for what you said.

You try to stammer your way out of a punishment, despite already knowing your fate.

“Nothing, I…”

“She said you can get fucked,” Ona supplies unhelpfully, interrupting before you can make excuses, or at the very least apologise.

“I thought so,” Lucy says. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. What d’ya think, Ona?”

“You want her mouth?” Ona asks, pulling the strap out and leaving you achingly empty.

“You want her arse in the air.”

Ona smirks, her eyebrows twitching up in agreement, and she uses strong hands on your hips to drag you down the bed towards where she stands at the foot of it.

“Do you like that idea, amor?” Ona asks.

Standing in front of you, Ona’s cock is right there, and you’re in half a mind to wrap your lips around it, cleaning it of your slick, but you’re already in enough trouble with Lucy without putting your mouth on Ona before you put it on her.

Instead, you nod and look back up at Ona as you say, “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” Ona praises you, her eyes full of adoration as she caresses one of your cheeks with her hand.

The tender moment is interrupted by Lucy behind you, impatient to get back to business.

“Get her into position.”

[fgumi]

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ HELLO

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; leehan x reader, GENRE; angst, romance, one shot, WC; 4.8k, A/N; if you've never seen exchange 3, be glad. if you have, this one shot is based off of the very couple that broke everyone's hearts. leehan is very slightly aged up. he's 21 in this. }

leehan couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been as happy as he was on the day he met you. the first time leehan saw you, he knew he was in trouble.

it was like a switch flipped inside him. one moment, he was just another kid with dreams too big to fit his hands, and the next, he was caught up in something he couldn’t name, something that felt bigger and brighter than anything he’d ever known. it was you—laughing, eyes sparkling with that careless confidence, as if the world was yours for the taking. and for some reason he still didn’t understand, you’d decided to take him with you.

being with you made everything sharper, like the colors around him were suddenly more vivid. time flew by in a way that only happens when you’re young and in love, and nothing else matters. you’d sit with him under the stars, talking about everything and nothing, dreaming together like you had all the time in the world. every laugh, every touch, every look you shared felt like a promise, one that whispered, this is forever.

with you, he was just leehan—the guy who’d show up outside your window at midnight, who’d sneak you into practice rooms to dance, who’d hold your hand under the streetlights, feeling like the luckiest person alive.

every stolen moment between you felt like a rebellion against the life he was being shaped for. the late nights, the times when you’d run down empty streets together, out of breath from laughing, hands tightly clasped, sure that nothing could ever break what you had. how you looked at him like he could be anything he wanted to be. for a while, leehan believed it too. you had a way of making him feel like there was a future beyond the grueling practices and relentless pressure, a future that included you and him, just as you were.

he remembered the night you’d gone to the beach together, the one night he didn’t care if anyone caught him because you were laughing, twirling in the sand under the moonlight. you’d both been fearless then, convinced that love could carry you through any storm. and when he’d told you he loved you, you’d looked at him like he’d hung the stars just for you. his heart had never felt fuller than in that moment.

but as the years passed, his world changed. his dreams, the ones he’d chased so recklessly, started coming true. fame crept in, first like a gentle wave and then like a storm, unstoppable and unforgiving. suddenly, his face was everywhere. people knew his name, his voice, his life—parts of himself he never intended to share with anyone but you.

and that’s when he felt it: fear. not for himself, but for you.

he remembered the way his heart had dropped the first time a fan recognized him when you were with him, the way the girl’s eyes had darted curiously between the two of you.

the first time the thought crossed his mind, he brushed it off. he was determined to keep you, to protect you. but with each passing day, it became harder to ignore. the gossip, the comments—people were ruthless, unrelenting. he’d seen what happened to others like him, and he couldn’t bear the idea of you being dragged into that world. the world where people were willing to tear apart anyone he cared about just to get closer to him.

the decision began to eat at him. he knew you loved him, trusted him. but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that staying with you would only hurt you in the end. he would never forgive himself if that happened. so, he made a choice, and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

it took weeks to work up the courage. he started distancing himself, ignoring your texts, avoiding your calls. he could feel you pulling away, the hurt in your eyes when he canceled plans or brushed you off with empty excuses. but the night he ended it, he had to make it believable—he had to make you think he didn’t care.

he could still remember the night he realized what he had to do, the night he’d decided to break both your hearts. he’d stayed up, pacing, agonizing over the words he’d have to say. how could he tell you that he couldn’t be with you, when every fiber of his being was screaming to hold on?

but you trusted him. and because of that, you believed him when he looked you in the eyes and said he needed to focus on his career, that he didn’t feel the same way anymore. you didn’t cry. you didn’t beg him to change his mind. you just nodded, your voice a soft, “i understand.” that hurt more than anything else.

and as he walked away, he thought maybe the worst was over. maybe he’d done the right thing, even if it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

in those first weeks after, he’d forced himself to stay away, to focus solely on his music, pouring everything he had into every note, every lyric, hoping it would numb the ache. he kept telling himself it was for the best, that he was protecting you, sparing you from the ruthless gaze of the world that now watched his every move.

but even with every excuse, he couldn’t forget you.

now, three months later, he was barely keeping it together. his company, clueless to the truth, thought the solution was simple: go on a therapy show for more exposure. show a vulnerable side. gain sympathy, more fans. they didn’t know that every second he spent being on that show would force him to confront the very thing he was trying to forget. he’d have to dig up the memories he’d tried so hard to bury, face the truth of what he’d lost.

the truth of the girl he still couldn’t forget.

for the first two episodes, leehan had been an observer, a listener. he wasn’t the one sharing stories or baring old scars; instead, he’d listen to the others as they spoke about their broken relationships, regrets, and long-lost loves. each time he was asked to comment, he felt a strange pull to respond honestly. there was something about the studio lights, the silent attention of the cameras, that made it impossible for him to hide his true thoughts.

“i think sometimes… we let go of people not because we stop loving them, but because we think it’s what’s best for them,” he’d said once, almost without thinking.

the words had slipped out, and he’d felt the familiar tug of a memory—the sight of your face that night, the way you’d nodded, swallowing back the hurt. he wondered if you’d known, deep down, that he’d loved you even as he let you go.

the crew and his co-stars seemed taken aback by his insight, and he could feel their eyes on him, curious. he’d brush it off each time, saying, “ah, well, it’s just my perspective,” but even he could see the wheels turning. viewers began to speculate, but in the world of entertainment, speculation was unavoidable. still, only a few wondered what experience leehan had to draw from.

by the second episode, netizens were already buzzing. people seemed genuinely impressed by his quiet wisdom, the sincerity with which he spoke. and he’d been content to leave it at that, to stay in the background, offering advice without stepping too far into his own past.

but then the producers had told him it was time for his story. he felt his pulse race at their words, and he nodded, though his heart pounded with the reality that he’d soon have to lay his heart bare for the cameras.

the night before the recording, he sat in his room, his phone in his hand, fingers hovering over your contact name. he knew he couldn’t do this without telling you first, couldn’t let you find out through a screen. so, he gathered his thoughts, choosing each word carefully, not wanting to stir up any more pain.

finally, he typed the message.

“i’m going to be talking about us on a show. i’ll be respectful, i promise.”

he stared at the screen, heart pounding, half-hoping you’d reply right away. he wanted you to understand that he wasn’t trying to hurt you, that this wasn’t some desperate grab for attention. it was just him trying to find peace with a decision that still haunted him.

but as the minutes passed with no response, his hope faded, leaving a hollow ache in its place. you didn’t reply, and maybe he shouldn’t have expected you to. after all, he was the one who’d chosen to walk away.

when he finally set his phone down, he felt more alone than ever.

leehan sat across from the host, feeling the weight of the cameras and the expectant eyes of his co-stars. he was prepared to talk about his past, but when it came down to it, he could feel the ache of it in his chest—how real it still felt.

he took a deep breath, casting his mind back to the very beginning, to the memories of you that were etched so deeply he could never forget them, even if he tried. “we met when we were seventeen,” he began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “we were young, just kids, really. but i remember thinking back then that i’d found something real.”

a faint, nostalgic smile crossed his lips. “she... was everything i thought love was supposed to be. she had this way of making me feel like i mattered, like i was more than just another person with big dreams.” he paused, his fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve as he tried to explain what you’d meant to him without losing himself in the memories.

“people say that first loves don’t last. but when i was with her, i thought… no, i was certain that we could make it through anything,” he continued, the words flowing as if he were talking to himself rather than a room full of strangers. “and it wasn’t just infatuation. it was deeper than that. she believed in me, even when i didn’t believe in myself. i can’t explain it, but she made me feel like i could be anyone, do anything, and it’d be enough for her.”

the host leaned in, clearly intrigued. “how long were you together?”

“four years.” leehan’s gaze softened, as if reliving each one of those years in his mind. “from seventeen until we were twenty-one. is that a long time? maybe it was. but, it never felt like long enough.”

one of his co-stars, who had already shared her own story, asked gently, “if she meant so much to you, why did it end?”

leehan’s smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of regret. he shifted, glancing away as he collected his thoughts, the truth a knot of emotions he could barely untangle.

“it wasn’t that i wanted it to end,” he murmured, almost to himself. “it’s that i… had to. as my career started growing, so did the attention on me. and with that came the fear. i’d seen how some people’s loved ones were treated by the public. how one wrong picture, one careless word, could turn a person’s life into a nightmare.”

he could feel his co-stars’ gaze intensify, their sympathy and curiosity mixing in the air around him. “she didn’t sign up for that,” he went on, his voice catching slightly. “she deserved to live her life without strangers dissecting every part of it just because she was with me.”

his gaze lowered, and his voice grew softer. “but i couldn’t bring myself to tell her that. instead, i told her i didn’t feel the same way anymore. i told her i wanted to focus on my career, that i didn’t have time for us anymore.” he swallowed, his hand clenching slightly as he admitted the words he’d hidden for so long. “i made her think that she’d done something wrong.”

the room was silent. for a long moment, no one spoke, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air.

one of the cast members, a little teary-eyed, said quietly, “that sounds like it was really hard for you, but, did she ever know?”

leehan shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “no,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “i never told her the truth. and every day, i wish i had. because she loved me.”

the host leaned forward, sensing the depth of leehan’s regret. “do you still have feelings for her?”

he hesitated, but only for a moment. “i don’t think you ever stop loving someone who showed you how to love in the first place,” he admitted, his gaze distant. “and i know i’ll always care about her. she was my first real connection. sometimes, i feel like i could never do enough to repay her for everything she gave me. she made me feel like i was enough, just as i was, and i never got to tell her that she was everything i wanted.”

when the recording ended, he felt drained, as if he’d poured out parts of himself he didn’t even realize he’d been holding onto. he hadn’t expected to feel so exposed, hadn’t expected the memories to hit him with such force. and as the episode aired, he found himself torn between relief and dread, knowing that his truth was now out there for everyone to see.

the reactions were swift. many fans were touched, moved by his sincerity and regret. they flooded online forums, calling his feelings heartfelt and genuine, urging him to find closure, some even hoping he’d reach out to you. but there were others who didn’t see it that way, who were outraged that he’d even had a relationship at all. they questioned his loyalty, his dedication, accusing him of betraying them with his “secret love.”

yet most people settled somewhere in the middle. they wanted to know more, to understand the story that had remained hidden all this time. and even through the noise, the love, the anger, and the curiosity, one thing became clear—people were invested in seeing where this story would lead.

filming continued, and the show’s crew orchestrated activities to help the cast "work through" their unresolved feelings. leehan found himself participating in exercises that felt strange, even surreal, as they dug into emotions he’d spent years trying to bury.

one episode had them writing letters they’d never send, pouring out the words they’d never spoken. he’d stared at the blank paper for a long time before he finally started to write, each word heavier than the last.

i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t tell you the truth. i’m sorry i thought i could just let you go like it would make everything better. i thought i was protecting you, but all i did was hurt you.

the pen shook in his hand as he continued, feeling the weight of every mistake, every regret.

i don’t think i’ll ever forgive myself for walking away from you. i thought i was doing it for you, but i didn’t even give you a choice. you deserved that much. you deserved everything.

when he finished, he felt hollow, like he’d just poured out pieces of his heart onto that page. but the worst part was that none of it mattered. you’d never see those words. you’d never know how sorry he was, how much he wished he could turn back time and fix everything he’d broken.

a few episodes later, he found himself sitting in a circle with the other cast members, sharing memories of things they missed about the people they’d lost. one by one, the others spoke about simple, beautiful memories, and leehan’s mind drifted to you, to the countless small moments that had made up your time together.

“i miss the way she’d laugh at my jokes, even when they were terrible,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “and how she’d always hold my hand when she thought no one was looking. i miss the way she used to call me out when i was being ridiculous, and... just how she made me feel like i could be myself.”

his voice cracked, and he looked down, swallowing hard. “i miss everything.”

the show carried on, each episode chipping away at the wall he’d built around his feelings. and though he tried to keep his emotions in check, there were moments he could feel his heart slipping, reaching for the memories of you he could never quite let go of.

and then, toward the end of the season, it happened. one night, his phone lit up with a message from you.

i’m sorry for not replying sooner. i needed time to process it all. the show reached out to me and asked for an interview. i just wanted to let you know. i’ll be respectful about everything.

he read the message over and over, his heart pounding. you’d watched the episode—his regrets, his apology, all laid bare—and now, you were reaching out, letting him know you’d be sharing your side. it was more than he could have hoped for, and yet it filled him with an ache, a reminder that he’d hurt you enough to make you wary, enough to make you careful with him.

when the day of the interview came, he found himself waiting with bated breath, nervous in a way he hadn’t felt in years. the producers set up a projector, informing the cast that they’d recorded interviews with the people who had been part of their stories. his co-stars seemed excited, but leehan felt his stomach twist, knowing that in mere moments, he’d see you again.

the screen flickered to life, and there you were. he sucked in a breath, his heart racing. you looked so familiar yet somehow different, more mature, like life had changed you during those long three months apart. your hair was a little different, and there was a strength in your expression that he didn’t remember. but to him, you were just as beautiful as you’d always been.

the staff interviewer’s voice echoed softly from the speakers, gentle but probing.

“thank you for joining us today. before we begin, i wanted to ask—have you been watching the show?”

you shook your head, offering a small, polite smile. “no, actually. i... needed some time to process everything, so i haven’t watched it.” there was a pause, and then you added, almost as if to reassure yourself, “i’ve only heard a little about it.”

leehan felt a pang at that. he wondered if it was too painful for you. the thought made his chest ache.

you took a breath, your voice soft but steady as you began. “i’m here to share my side of the story.”

and as you spoke, each word seemed to reach out and unravel the memories he’d held so close, all the years of love, regret, and loss flowing back to the surface.

“he was my whole world back then,” you said, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “and i wanted to be there for him, to support him in everything he did. but, i think i was young and lost in my own plans, my own ambitions. i didn’t always know how to be there for him the way he needed.”

leehan’s chest tightened as he listened, guilt crashing over him in waves. you were apologizing, talking about regrets, when he knew it was his fault you’d been left behind, his fault for not supporting you in the way you deserved.

“i just wish…” you trailed off, your eyes growing misty. “i wish i could’ve done more for him, given him the love he always gave me. i know he tried so hard, but looking back, i feel like i didn’t do enough to make it easier for him.”

he shook his head, unable to bear the thought of you blaming yourself. you did everything, he wanted to say, you were everything. but he could only watch, his heart aching, as you shared pieces of yourself, pieces he’d never thought he’d hear again.

the interviewer asked you the question he dreaded most, the one he hadn’t been able to answer for himself. “if given the opportunity, would you give your relationship another try?”

a tear slipped down your cheek, and you laughed softly, wiping it away. “maybe… maybe if i felt like i’d grown up a little. if i could confidently say that i could support him in the ways he needs, i would. he did so much for me, yet i feel like i did so little for him.”

leehan felt his eyes sting, his chest tight as the screen displayed photos of the two of you together. old memories flashed by—your first cafe date, your goofy faces at the aquarium, a candid shot of you laughing as he tried to photobomb you. he remembered each of those moments, the joy in your eyes, the warmth that had filled his heart every time he’d looked at you.

when your interview ended, the room was silent. his co-stars glanced at him, sympathy and understanding in their eyes, but he could barely look at them, his emotions too raw, too close to the surface.

one of the staff members asked gently, “if you could go back, would you give it another try?”

leehan’s voice was thick with emotion as he replied, “absolutely. only to prove to her that she really did give me everything, and that now, it’s my turn to repay her.”

as the words left his mouth, he felt a weight lift, but it was accompanied by a hollow ache. he didn’t know if you’d ever believe him, if you’d ever understand just how much you’d meant to him, even after all this time. but if there was ever a chance—a sliver of hope that he could make things right—he would do anything, absolutely anything, to show you that you’d always been enough.

after the episode aired, leehan found himself scrolling through endless comments, each one a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite sort out. some comments were kind, urging the two of you to rekindle what you’d had, filled with hope and nostalgia for a love story they’d only seen glimpses of.

“you can tell he still cares about her so much. they should get back together!” “there’s so much love there. i hope they find a way to make it work.”

but mixed in were other, harsher voices, ones that made his stomach drop.

“why would he date at all? we’re the ones who made him famous.” “it’s disrespectful to the fans to have a secret relationship. we deserve loyalty from him!”

he skimmed through more comments, some even harsher than those, laying blame on you, criticizing your every word and expression. each line he read stung, a painful reminder of why he’d ended things in the first place. he’d left to protect you, to shield you from exactly this, yet here he was, watching it unfold again.

but as the backlash swirled, there was also a growing conversation he hadn’t expected—one about the boundaries between idols and fans, about the intense relationships fans felt they had with the people they idolized. some questioned whether fans truly had a right to be angry over his love life, pointing out the thin line between admiration and ownership.

“it’s strange how invested some people are in who he dated. he’s a person, not just a public figure.” “maybe it’s time we respect that idols have private lives.”

despite the support, the voices of the critics loomed large in his mind. he knew what they could become, knew how easily they could grow out of control. this is what he chose to protect you from. and even though the majority wanted to see the story unfold, their encouragement didn’t quiet the ache of knowing how painful it might be for you to see the hate mixed in.

part of him wanted to reach out, to make sure you were okay after the episode aired. he’d wanted to tell you that none of it mattered, that their words didn’t define anything between the two of you. but he stopped himself. he feared that if he reached out, he’d only be dragging you deeper into the chaos he’d tried to keep you away from.

so, he kept his phone silent, keeping his feelings to himself, even though every part of him longed to hear your voice.

the final day of filming came, and leehan found himself standing with the rest of the cast, staring at two doors set up at the end of a narrow hallway. the producers explained the choice: one door led to the future, to a clean slate, to moving on from everything they’d unpacked and left behind. the other was labeled “past” and opened to a room filled with memories, mementos of the relationships that had once meant everything to each cast member.

one by one, each person chose their door, some moving forward into a fresh start, others glancing back to revisit the memories they hadn’t been able to fully let go. leehan watched, his heart heavy, knowing his turn was coming. when the time came to step forward, he paused, his eyes lingering on the door to the future. it was what he should choose, he told himself. he’d already made his peace, or so he thought.

but his hand moved to the other door—the door that led back to everything he’d lost. taking a breath, he pushed it open.

the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. the room was filled with pieces of his life with you. photos of the two of you, eyes bright with laughter, arms slung around each other as if nothing could ever come between you. he saw the small notes you used to leave him, little scraps of paper with scribbled hearts and doodles. his fingers traced over one note that simply said, have a good day today. you’re amazing. he felt his chest tighten, his throat growing tight as the memories flooded over him.

on a shelf by the wall sat a small glass jar filled with tiny, delicate origami fish—each one a labor of love, a piece of you he’d carried with him long after you were gone. the jar shimmered under the light, and his heart twisted as he picked it up.

one of the staff members, their voice crackling softly through the telecom, asked, “could you tell us about the jar, leehan?”

he took a shaky breath, the edges of his vision blurring. “it’s a thousand fish,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “she made them for me. usually, people make a thousand cranes for a wish, but she knew how much i loved fish, so she folded me a thousand tiny fish instead.” he let out a weak laugh, tears slipping down his cheeks as he held the jar close to his heart. “she always did things like that. she made me feel like i was special, like i was enough.”

he blinked, staring down at the jar, his voice breaking. “i’d cash in that wish for just one more chance with her.”

there was a pause, and then the soft voice came over the telecom again. “leehan, there’s a phone in the center of the room. you can call her if you want. we can’t guarantee she’ll answer, but you have the chance to try.”

he turned, his eyes settling on the old-fashioned phone sitting in the center of the room. his heart pounded as he looked at it, a mix of longing and fear swirling inside him. this was it—a chance, a tiny sliver of hope that you might be on the other end, that he might hear your voice one last time.

he stood there, holding the jar, glancing between the phone and the memories scattered around the room. every laugh, every touch, every promise he’d made to you flooded back, and with a trembling hand, he reached for the receiver. he didn’t need the number on the paper the staff had offered him; he still remembered your number as if no time had passed at all.

slowly, he dialed, each click of the rotary phone echoing in the silent room. the phone began to ring, and with every second that passed, his heart climbed higher into his throat.

then, finally, a small, familiar voice answered, tentative but unmistakable. “hello?”

for a moment, he couldn’t speak, his breath catching as he closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!

tagged; ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ @en-dream @onedoornet

[lo1k-diamonds]

Bubbles 💜 (Part 1)

SX Seoul Series | Jungkook's Entry

PAIRING: Jungkook/Reader

SUMMARY: You're back in town and your first stop in a night out with friends is a new club: SX Seoul. You had no plans, but when you see your ex, everything changes.

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

GENRE: Exes to lovers, smuuuuuut, angst, making up

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: exes, explicit sexual content, in public, oral, slight degradation and rough cause you are both hurt

PARTS: [1] [2]

(You can also read it on AO3)

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You smiled at the bouncer on your way inside the club and brushed a strand of dark hair behind your ear. Your group called you to follow as you got lost looking around the newest club in Itaewon. It was purposefully dark with red neon lights in wavy lines flowing in the direction of the dance floor but not before a huge sign with black and white stripes coaxed your attention with promises expanding over the several floors: SX.

“Come along.”

You smile at your best friend and follow her and her friends to a reserved club area not too far from the bar. The Tech House music is making your rib cage hum comfortably, and you sit on a couch before she turns to you again.

“I know the bartender on our side tonight! I’ll go say hi for a second!”

You nod and watch her go as you take the space around you comfortably. The other girls are chatting, cross-checking who’s there tonight and who they know. You’re used to hanging with girls like them — fun and wild at parties and clubs. You don’t know them because you’ve been away for a while, but you trust your dearest friend to keep good company around.

Either way, you’re there to have fun and enjoy being back home. You take a deep breath, the familiar scent of sweat and alcohol latching itself onto your skin before you even contemplate dancing. Everyone else is already doing it, flowing like a perfect wave in that crowd, and you’ll join them soon enough.

The lights were flashing all around to the generous beat, making you tap your foot, and you contemplated getting up without waiting for your best friend when you saw him. Fully dressed in black in a way that avoided light and dancing so closely with a girl your guts burned with furious envy.

“Right? I’ve heard about him,” a girl gushed to your right. “He’s very hot.”

“You’re joking, look at that sleeve,” another one replied, and your eyes immediately traced his arm. It was fuller now. “I wanna ride that bad.”

“Do you think he has other tattoos?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” one answered, and they all giggled and laughed around. Your eyes never diverted from him or the way he was dancing with that girl, firm hands gripping her waist over a sparkly deeply cleavaged top.

“But you know, I’ve heard he fucks without kissing. Without even acknowledging you.”

Finally, your eyes turned to the girl sharing all the gossip, and you wondered how she knew that.

“First-hand experience?” You ask with a teasing smile, just making conversation. They didn’t have to know how truly interested you were in knowing.

“No,” the other girls turned to hear more, and you could see they were all charmed by the picture the girl was conjuring. “Not my kind of thing.”

The other girls teased her reply for a moment while you paid them little mind.

“Yeah, right. Look at him,” another one laughed openly. 

“He’s fucking sexy and has this cute smile,” one said, almost wantonly. She was possibly voicing everyone else’s thoughts. “Face it, who wouldn’t want to touch those curls?”

“He can get any girl on her knees.”

“And a bad boy? Get serious. We’d all be lining up.”

“What if he changes?”

“What if we’re the one?”

They all giggled except you, starting to regret not having a drink in your hand.

“Guys like him don’t change.”

“Actually,” the girl with the gossip leaned forward. “Rumor is he was in a committed relationship and that when she dumped him, he did a one-eighty and never dated seriously again.”

Your friend neared you all with a tray of shots and a wide grin, “Who’s not dating seriously?”

“Whoa, what a bitch,” one replied, leaning forward to grab a glass.

“Who would waste that?”

“If I could tap that, I’d hook him around my little finger.”

Your best friend looked at you quizzically, and you just twitched the corners of your mouth. You grabbed a shot glass as well while the gossip girl explained everything to your best friend. In an instant, her eyes shot to yours, but you were purposefully avoidant.

“What’s his name anyway?” One of them asked, turning her back so they could toast.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

Your eyes immediately fell back on him, and you ignored your friend’s worried looks. You cheered with the girls to a good and steamy night and drank the shot without much thought. It burned on its way down, but you were already burning from before, so no biggie. Who cared who he danced with, you were there to have fun too.

Your best friend called your name with a tinge of worry, and all you did was smile, “I’ll go grab another round.”

You got up and adjusted your short strapless dress to make sure it covered your ass before trying to get in between the crowd to reach the bar. You didn’t have to go that far, but you couldn’t control your curiosity. As you moved in closer, you could see how he seemed taller, more built, and so buff. He had let his hair grow longer, and it curled wildly around his ears, giving him an edge you found yourself liking a lot. Your lower belly was tingling already as you eyed him with hunger, especially those firm hands.

You were so hot that you were sweaty and by the time you leaned against the bar, you finally noticed something wasn’t right. The girl he was with was waving something small and flat between two fingers that she hid very quickly, and whatever it was got him angry. You knew that disgusted lip pull, and it made you smile.

He turned away from the girl, and you instantly faced the bar, giving the whole scene your back. You were curious, hot, and bothered by the mere fact that he was there, that you got to see him, that there was a possibility that you would talk. It had been a while. You shouldn’t be curious, but the tingly sensation down your stomach wasn’t interested in shouldn’ts.

It was then and there that you almost took a deep breath and committed to not look his way the rest of the night. Your curiosity shouldn’t be enough, the girls gossiped way too much so you had all the information you could need, and there was really no need for your paths to intersect.

But fate wouldn’t have you choose that road tonight, it would seem. You turned to the side, curious as to where he would be, and you smiled. There were only two people in between you and an outstretched arm with a full sleeve over the bar counter. He was too close to be ignored, and you just couldn’t.

You made your way to him and luckily the two people between you had just gotten their drinks and were ready to leave. Jungkook didn’t notice you getting near because the bartender was listening to his order, and you just leaned on the bar counter by his side.

“Order for me too, will you?”

He turned to you and his face was worth a million words. His lips parted to make way for air, but he wasn’t breathing, and that was when you noticed the lip ring. His skin was perfectly immaculate, the sweetness you’d recognize anywhere in the tender swell of his cheeks. Higher, his normally lovely eyes were wide in shock as he took in your presence. His eyebrows twitched, and you noticed another piercing, which along with the new ones on his lip made you smile as you leaned to support your head on your hand. He was still figuring out if you were a ghost while you were in wonderland, wondering what had happened to all that sweetness.

“Here you go,” the bartender placed a whiskey cola on the counter, and you turned quickly before Jungkook could react.

“Can you get me one too, please?”

You were already waving your credit card, and the bartender acquiesced without wasting a beat.

It was the moment he needed to grab his drink and chug half of it like he was dying of thirst. Or maybe he just really needed a drink after seeing you.

“Thirsty are we?” You asked, reaching for the glass from his hand and taking a couple of sips while never breaking away from his darkened eyes. The ice-cold drink had you close your eyes for a second, thankful for the refreshing sensation down your chest. “You always liked them sweet.”

You placed his glass near his hand again before turning to smile at the bartender returning with your card and your drink.

“You’re here.”

It wasn’t a question and if you weren’t interested in reading his lips, you might have missed it. So you smiled, letting the nostalgia fill you up in a nice kind of way. You had missed the little twitches of his lips while he mused, or the way he scratched his nose bridge softly when he was embarrassed or at a loss.

“I am. How are you?”

His eyes were focused on the drink, and he scoffed at your question, reaching to drink the rest of it. That was the first time you doubted this could end well. There was a bitterness in his features that dragged yours out of the deepest corners of you where you wished it would remain buried.

“Why are you here?”

Your lips twitched, “New club in Seoul.”

He sneered, “There were many new clubs in Seoul over the last year. Never crossed you before.”

“You know I wasn’t here.”

Your eyes locked, and yours had all the meaning they could have. You weren’t in Seoul, so you couldn’t have crossed paths before. But you were here now.

He looked down and licked his lower lip while kicking the bar pensively. You let him process the fact that you were there in the flesh while you drank. When he looked up at you again, you caught his eyes and passed him your drink. He took a second, but he grabbed it, turning to the bar to down it while you leaned into his ear.

“Dance with me.”

He looked out of the corner of his eye at you, and you pulled back, waiting. You weren’t as crazy as anyone could assume, you knew the options. He could outright laugh in your face and move away like you were a plague, and it would hurt, but you would understand. 

You kept your eyes locked on his, riding that heartbeat as you waited. You also knew that he could take you up on that offer, dance with you, and who knew what else. And it wasn’t as much as for the mystery, or a challenge, or anything of the like. You didn’t want him for any of those vain reasons. You wanted so much more.

He gave you a short nod and placed your empty glass next to his, with only the ice left. You gave him a cheeky smile before turning to go deeper into the crowd, far away and in the middle so that your best friend wouldn’t see you and advise you to be wise and think twice. What could you tell her; the moment fate challenged you with the chance of meeting him, you instantly lost.

You never turned back to check if he was following, you just assumed he did. You stopped with the flashing lights, sweating bodies, and thrumming music all around you, and you closed your eyes. You wanted his hands on you, his arms around you, his waist so close you’d be indistinguishable. You craved his presence, slick pooling at the thought of it alone.

So when two firm hands grabbed your waist and pulled you back flush against a firm chest, snaking arms holding your stomach and going up your sternum like they owned you, all you could do was free-fall into him, releasing a moan that you knew he could have never heard, but he surely felt.

He hid his nose in your hair, lulling you two to the beat, and you melted against him. He was always a good dancer, the way he rolled his hips to guide yours reminding you of far sweeter times. His hand reached your chest and rested there, and you thanked the dark, the loud music, the crowd, the alcohol, the moment. It was in those moments that the deepest desires came out, hiddenly safely away. Only the two of you knew: how he was brushing his nose and lips on your neck, and how you were grabbing his arms to close around you tighter.

“When did you come back?” His lips were so close to your ear that a wave of shivers ran down your neck.

“Two days ago.”

His arms around you had you losing yourself further and further. You couldn’t care less what the music was or where you were. All you wanted was that chance, and you were greedy.

“Are you alone?”

You sank your nails into his skin, “Youngjoo is here.” He didn’t react, but you knew he would remember your best friend. “Are you?”

You forced the words out of you. You almost didn’t want to know, especially after what the girls were gossiping about. Maybe they were wrong and he was dating someone seriously. But then he would have never been dancing with that girl before, so maybe the rumors were true. And on that end, you had very mixed feelings.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either. You loved everything as it was: every inch of his skin glued to yours, his lips ghosting your neck, his hands seconds away from groping you and making you beg.

But eventually, you needed more. You needed an answer. You’d beg, gladly, but not if he had his thoughts on someone else.

So you turned in his arms, the short dress allowing you to easily glue your bodies together as you hid near his ear. “Answer me,” you cooed, brushing his neck with your fingers until you were embracing and grazing his scalp with your nails. You leaned on him, his sweat not bothering you for an instant. It reminded you of what it was like to feel him that close while on his lap. When he would fuck into you, sweetly and strongly until every breath was a moany whimper, and you buried your fingers just like that to keep him close. His delectable scent would invade you then and envelop you tightly in everything Jungkook-related until all there was left was his coarse words tensing the coil in your—

He breathed near your ear, and you froze. But he said nothing, and so you sighed.

“Answer me,” you asked again. This time you nuzzled his ear and pressed yourself even closer, “Tell me what I want to hear. Tell me you’re by yourself, that you have no plans, no one waiting at home, and nothing stopping you from doing this,” you let out all your deepest desires, carried out by the close and delirious moment. 

His hand was pressing up your spine and nape as you spoke until it latched onto your hair, but it didn’t pull you away. You had moved by yourself to be as close as you could, breaths fanning each other’s faces as you waited for his reply. 

You waited and longed, and tried not to rub your body flush against that familiar warmth that you were craving like the air you breathed. Unmistakably, your body betrayed you by leaning closer and closer until your noses grazed briefly, and that was when you felt the pull. His hand pulled your head back by your hair, and you opened your glistening eyes, teeth deep into your lower lip with utmost desire, only to find his dark eyes and rigid expression. And that was enough to shake you and put out in the open everything you wished had stayed hidden: he was angry.

Suddenly, you remembered very well the last time you saw him. How much it hurt him, and you. How much of a coward you had been. How much you didn’t deserve a drop of his attention, let alone his time, touch, or warmth. 

He let you go slowly as memories you thought no longer haunted you came rushing back, making you swallow a lump. But you smiled, because how could you not? He was angry, so very clearly, and you deserved it.

Your bodies were finally separated and despite the happiness in your chest at having had the chance to see him, your knees were weak and your legs wobbly. You couldn’t do this.

“I’m sorry,” you voiced, hoping that your expression conveyed how much you meant those words. For now. For before.

And you turned to leave with a deep breath. Were you running away? Yes. In a way, from the anger you created in him and the regret in yourself. From the risk of being rejected head-on, which you knew you had coming. But you were never brave, so you couldn’t face it. You could even agree he deserved to have the pleasure, but you were far too selfish to let him have it. No. You’d remain the bitch who dumped him and couldn’t face the consequences, which was exactly why you were leaving. 

It was chilly outside, but it didn’t matter, you were too hot from all the emotions — the excitement and the shame and regret. You stepped to the street where you knew that among the cars stopping and passing, you’d eventually catch a taxi dropping people off, and took out your phone to text your best friend that you were leaving.

You had just hit send when someone grabbed your arm, and you offered resistance, ready to fight whoever dared to try to grab you and—

Familiar dark eyes faced you back, and you instantly let your body fall to his chest. His jawline was still firm as he clenched it, angry eyes stiffening his face, but you still let yourself get drawn in like a magnet to a polar opposite. You knew he was mad, knew he had reasons to hate you, despise you, treat you worse than the girls he fucked without kissing or acknowledging, but fuck were you—

He stepped back and dragged you along, and you offered no resistance. You had no idea where he was taking you as he walked you down the street tightly by the arm, hiding his grip between you as you walked. You looked up at him, ignoring if you’d trip and fall with such high heels. He looked angry, and you cursed yourself for thinking it looked hot as hell on him. 

He pulled you into a dimly lit back alley that led to a residential area and stopped you just behind a hidden corner hidden by a parked car. Your back hit the wall, and you looked up at him while grabbing the chain strap of your bag over your head so it wouldn’t be in the way. 

That thought repeated itself — he looked hot as hell. You didn’t like that he was angry with you, but that tension on him was sexy as fuck, and you wanted to be the one to relax him. To let him take out his frustration on you until he was vulnerable and sweet like you always remembered him.

Those were the thoughts in your mind when you raised your hands to touch him, but he slapped your hands away harshly. You didn’t have time to react, though because a second later he caged your face in his hands and crashed his mouth to yours, pressing you between him and the wall. 

The cold wall was nothing when you were burning inside out. His mouth was hungry on yours, and you paid him back in kind, getting your tongue to meet his just as eagerly. Your hands gripped his shoulders closely while you tried not to let the lightheadedness get you, but it was too late. All you wanted was happening right now, you’d keep kissing him and reaching for him until the end.

His hands lowered to your curves as his lips trailed down your jawline, and you moaned when he squeezed your chest harshly. You pulled him closer; you wanted it all, and when he humped his erection to your hip, all you could think to do was beg.

“Yes,” you breathed, feeling how hard he was through both your clothes, from head to base. “Fuck me right now. Please.”

His lips quickly came to yours, if to shut you up or not, you couldn’t tell. Either way, he gave you enough space to reach his waist, unbutton his pants and grab his cock firmly. He rutted your hand with wanton groans into your neck, and you felt like the world was yours. If you could have him, then you wouldn’t complain or whine ever again. If that thick cock would stretch you again like you wished so badly, then you’d shut up about everything wrong in this world because absolutely nothing would be wrong ever again.

Maybe he heard your prayers because suddenly he grabbed your hips and tapped them for you to instinctively jump on his lap. You supported yourself on his shoulders while he kissed you and let you play with his lip rings, rolling your tongue over them. Meanwhile, you could feel but not exactly know what he was doing at your waist level in between your two bodies. Only when he put the condom wrap near his mouth so he could rip it open with his teeth did you realize there was a good reason to interrupt your make-out session. 

You let him have his focus while he put it on, lazily brushing your lips over his forehead. He searched for your panties, only to rudely pull them to the side and push himself inside you. You groaned with a hint of a whine at the burn, but soon he made you jump on his lap, shoving his cock fully into you, and you let your head fall back. Fuck, had you missed this.

You didn’t have time to let the pleasure reach every corner of you, but your enjoyment was not cut short. His hips snapped into yours and your chin dropped, eyes hooded when you realized that was how you were going to get him. He did it again, grabbing your shoulder and hip into place, and the corners of your mouth twitched. You almost smiled before biting your lip as he started a paced rhythm that didn’t give you a second’s rest. 

His angry eyes were on you as the slaps echoed into the night along with your stifled moans until you couldn’t care. Who cared if someone found Jungkook fucking your brains out? You wanted him to, dreamed of it, remembered it, had wished on all your lucky stars you would one day get to feel that way again. And now? Fuck if you cared who caught you. That thick cock ramming into you was the sweetest thing—

He grabbed your hair to pull you to kiss him, and you kept on moaning into his mouth. His tongue didn’t meet the reception he wanted, and you blamed the way he was fucking into you so hard you couldn’t even breathe right. Maybe it aggravated him, or it just gave him his next idea, but in a second he was kissing down your neck, which had you grabbing his head close so he would keep going.

Suddenly, he yanked the upper part of your dress and as it didn’t have stripes, the elastic gave in and let the fabric slide. He did the same on the strapless bra, not stopping his hips for a second, until your chest was out in the open, bouncing with every thrust.

He buried his face between your tits, licking and biting for a moment in which you knew you were dripping slick down both him and you. You fucking loved it. Your haze was so up in the clouds, you couldn’t be bothered to come down until he did something that shook your heart.

He tightened your legs around his waist and leaned in a special angle. It allowed him to hold you firmly against the wall and fuck you in a way that rubbed your clit just like you loved it. Instantly, the way he reached deep inside you had you moaning breathlessly. Then he straightened up, carefully perfecting his movements until your mouth was open, and you were jumping on his lap with him to the best of your abilities. He knew he had you in the right spot, you were squirming but desperate to stay close, moaning and completely lost, trying to sink your nails into his skin but weak to the sensations leaving you adrift. He reveled in that, with such pride swelling inside him, he didn’t know what to do with himself aside from grabbing both your tits and squeezing them harshly.

He felt the way you tensed around his cock, and he knew he had you. With every snap of his hips, your eyes closed further, your moans became breathy, and your legs pulled him more in. He knew he could squeeze you to the point it bruised without as much as a whimper, but he stayed clear from doing it, taking pleasure only in the way his cock was so deep inside you that he knew you’d never forget it.

You took your hands to his over your chest, and then it hit you that only he could do you like this. Only he knew every little thing that you liked, only he knew how to grope and squeeze without hurting you, only he knew exactly how to fuck you into oblivion every time. Because it was him.

Fuck, it’s him. After so long—

You tried reaching for him, but your hand dropped to his shoulder as you let the orgasm shake you and steal away your inhibitions if there ever were any. You closed your eyes and felt his body press closer to you, almost as if to hide you from the world, as you moaned and cursed him for releasing you like this. He fucked you through it, then hid in your neck when it came to his climax, grunting and holding you tightly. You grinned and petted his head when he stilled, blissful with having him tucked deep inside you again.

Until he cursed into your neck, and you weren’t sure if it was out of giddiness, delight, relaxation, or relief like it would have been for you, or if it was because he was pissed at himself.

When he let you down a bit more abruptly than you anticipated, you were left with a stronger doubt.

He turned to the side to get rid of the condom, and you took the time to put your bra and dress back in place. When he turned back to face you, you had already grabbed your bag from the floor and were just looking at him. Your lips twitched — he looked so fucking handsome with that spark in his eyes. 

He cursed, then ruffled his hair for a moment before looking at you again, “I’ll take you home.”

You pulled your hair neatly back and pursed your lips, “I’m staying at Youngjoo’s. I don't have a place yet, so we… wouldn’t have privacy.”

He openly snorted, “You're assuming I want seconds.”

You sighed with a light shrug, “Isn't that what we just did?”

His derision fell through as his features hardened again, but you didn't argue. You did what you did and didn't regret it for a second. You were both adults, and he followed you. There was no point in pretending you didn't want each other. That was what you asked for and what he had given you, whether that made him angry or not.

But you didn't want to antagonize him. You gave him a short nod, “It's okay, I can—”

He clicked his tongue and gave you a dry look before giving you a nod to follow him. You considered for a second if you should — if it made him so angry, maybe you shouldn't. But tonight you were giving zero fucks about shouldn’ts. You were doing what you wanted, and what you wanted was your hands on him for as long as possible. 

So when he stopped next to a red motorcycle and opened the seat compartment to get you a helmet, you smirked. You wouldn't tell him, but you missed exactly that — hugging him while he sped between every single obstacle and your hair flowed behind you with the wind. When you were free to go mad fast but remained safe as only he made you feel.

He sat first, putting on his helmet expertly and starting the motor in a well-rehearsed move. You had seen him do it before, when you were still together, but there was a certain magic to it. Even some things changed, he didn’t.

He leaned his head ever so slightly to glance at you, and you smirked, finally getting on behind him and gripping him firmly. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you were feeling daring — and he looked back. He checked on you, despite the derision and silences. You took the small win.

“You remember where Youngjoo lives?” You asked in a bit of a shout as he looked at the road to finally get going.

He didn’t answer you, but seeing the direction he took, you immediately assumed he remembered. And with this, you allowed yourself to lean closer, wrap your arms tighter around his torso, and relax. You inhaled his scent unapologetically by sticking your face into his shoulder; the helmet was big, and he surely felt it. You palmed his chest and torso over his jacket; you hoped he wouldn’t get too distracted. You were petty, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop and get angry with you or snap your hands away. Knowing this was perhaps the last chance you’d ever have to touch him, so you did. Wrong or right, it didn’t matter to you. You’d remember this later and all the little sensations, and you’d be happy you did.

You were lulled by his warm body and the drum of the motor raging on, so you paid little attention to where you were going. All you knew was that when he stopped and pushed a button for a communal garage to open at the foot side of an apartment complex, it was not Youngjoo’s place.

He rode more softly through the cars parked underground until he found his spot and stopped. You didn’t ask questions, you didn’t need to. You stepped out of the bike and handed him your helmet, and he took it and put it back, the both of you quiet. You made sure to remain quiet as you followed him, small as a mouse, into the elevator lobby. Then, you got inside one, and he pressed the seventh floor. Even when the doors closed with only the two of you there, you stayed quiet.

Your mind was roaring on about him bringing you to his place and the only reason he would have to do that. Your chest could have exploded. With every passing minute ever since you laid eyes on him, it felt like you were living a dream. Only in dreams did you think you’d ever have the chance of being near him, so no matter what, you were winging it. Living the moment, even if all of this turned out to be an angry fuck, you’d gladly get on your back.

He typed the code to unlock an apartment door, and you followed him inside. You left your cheekiness outside, in the night, right before you got into the bike and decided to make the most of your time with him. He threw the motorcycle keys on a table you couldn’t see because it was dark and turned on the lights, making you hold your breath. He had moved to that place, that much was certain, but this space didn’t remind you of Jungkook like you expected it to.

You had only taken one step to peep into his home, you meant to turn back and take your shoes off as it was respectful to do, but he was a step ahead. You moved out of the way to switch places with him right after he got his jacket on the hanger, but he had something else in mind. His hands followed you to your waist, and as soon as you looked up, eager lips were searching for yours.

You instantly melted against the wall, hands raising to run through his hair as you let yourself dive into that contentment again. While you were relaxed, he was clearly impatient. His palms traced your curves in wide but quick movements, so firmly you knew you could have already been naked, he was learning the same. His tongue was inside your mouth almost as quickly as his body pressed to yours, stealing your thoughts and any possibility you ever had to change your mind. Not that you would, and you were sure he knew that. Your hands were grabbing him close, your breathing was heavy and dragged, and you weren’t fighting his kiss in the slightest, on the contrary. Your tongue was inviting him and your body was arching to expose more skin. You were taking what you could, and you’d give back whatever he wanted.

But then he broke the kiss and looked down, forcing you to stop as well. You looked at him under wanton fluttering lashes, only to find him with that same stiff and reticent expression you had seen before. 

Your first heartbeat stung — you could guess why he was hesitating, and there was nothing you could do about it now.

The second revolted you — you were there, weren’t you? In his house? He brought you here, so why worry? Why hesitate? Why overthink?

The third got you annoyed — if he was that hesitant, why bring you there in the first place? Why bother?

The fourth riled you up, and that was when you spoke, “What’s wrong?”

He refused to look up at you, but never moved away.

His breathing was calming down, and you spoke without thinking, “Changed your mind?”

His eyes finally moved to yours and you saw his anger. And again, like a well-rehearsed exercise, all you could think was how you were right there.

“I’m here,” you said quietly, reaching for the curling strands of hair behind his ear.

He didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the corner of your lips, and you knew he was forcing himself to stay like this.

“I can leave,” he finally said. “You can sleep here, and I can leave.”

“Why?”

He finally looked up at your eyes as you let your head fall back to the wall.

“This is your place, why leave?”

His jaw tensed, and you could swear you saw a vein pulsing.

You sighed, “You brought me here, so here I am. What do you want to do? Fuck me until morning? Gladly. Just sleep? I’m sure you have a big bed. Drink until we pass out? I’m down. Talk?” His eyebrows twitched, and she nodded, “Not sure how that would work, but we can. Or not. I won't say another word if you don’t want me to. Just stop this internal struggle of yours. Do what you want to do.”

You were as comfortable as could be between him and the wall and just waited for his decision. Your eyes stayed on his pensive expression, taking in the little details before lowering to his wide shoulders and biceps. He was definitely more buff, and you wondered if it changed things a lot or—

“You can shower first.”

He backed away from you, and you couldn’t help your expression sobering up. He looked almost apologetic, hiding something deep inside while showing you something you could only call a mask.

But you knew him. All those women thirsting after him, wishing they could make him smile and fall for them, didn’t know him like you did. For better or worse, all they had were rumors while you had memories.

So you nodded and walked towards the bathroom, but not before turning around midway, “Please don’t leave.”

The look you gave him was enough — pleading, whereas his eyes flickered with an emotion you had not yet seen on him tonight. But even if you wanted to press it and ask, you didn’t. At the end of the day, it was still his choice, and you were well aware of it.

You took a calming shower, cleaning the sweat and alcohol from your skin with a shower gel that smelled of him, and wondered what your next step should be. You ended up deciding that if he had left despite your request, you would call a taxi and go back to Youngjoo’s. You honestly hoped as you toweled yourself that he would tell you to leave and be clear about it, instead of leaving to give you space at the expense of his comfort.

You glanced around the bathroom and ignored your discarded dress and heels in the corner, searching for something else instead. Your eyes fell on a black tee thrown over the laundry basket, but that didn’t quite make it in. You grabbed it and brought it to your nose, shutting your eyes instantly with a longing scrunch of your face — it smelled of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit the mess of feelings that his very existence created in you, but the tears in your eyes were enough.

You quickly put it on, looking at yourself in the mirror. He always enjoyed oversized clothes, which on you looked like two of you could fit. Your lips curved as you smoothed the fabric over your stomach, his scent gracing your senses every time you took a breath. Nothing beat that comfort.

You turned to leave the bathroom and hoped to find Jungkook still there. You hoped he’d let you keep the tee, though you wouldn’t be opposed to taking it off if it would be replaced with his strong arms—

The scent of coffee hit your nose quickly once in the living room, and your brow furrowed. Not because it was coffee, Jungkook liked coffee, but because when you neared the kitchen, your guts twisted. On the counter, you saw a fuming mug, and the cinnamon smell instantly teared you up. That plus the bottle of soy milk and the honey pot pushed to the back told you many things: he had those things he never really drank before lying around, he remembered your favorite latte, and he made it for you.

Your eyes jumped to his back; he was looking outside the kitchen window and by the intense coffee scent around him, you knew before he turned that he was having a black espresso.

He looked at you and your guts turned; all you could do was look into his eyes while your fingers gripped the hem of his shirt on you. You were tearing up in a way you couldn’t control, everything was too much. He didn’t leave. You were there, in his life, in his home, wearing his clothes, about to have your favorite drink that he prepared for you because he still remembered how. That meant he had to care, even if just a little, and you didn’t know what to say but—

Your chin trembled, but before you voiced anything, he finished his coffee, put the empty cup in the sink, and passed you to enter the bathroom. The door merely clicked closed, and you covered your eyes, trying to reel your emotions back in. You neared the counter to grab your coffee and as soon as the taste hit your tongue, your heart shook, creasing lines between your eyebrows as you teared up.

You didn’t want to have hope, but your stupid heart was turning a deaf ear. You never had hope before; you knew you fucked up and never handled things properly. Just for the way you hurt him, you knew you didn’t deserve any kindness. You scoffed at yourself and drank more to have the comfort of that warmth down your chest as if it came straight from him. You knew, and it made no sense, but you were still there, and you were willing to delude yourself for a moment longer.

So you took the mug and the opportunity to look around while you heard the shower faintly in the background. His place was bigger now, and you looked around with a smile on your face. He had the same black leather couch, the same gray bean bag, and the same shoebox by the entrance. The fact that he had a projector screen instead of a TV made you smile; he spoke for ages about wanting to do that if he ever moved out of his previous place. But as you took in the rest of the apartment, your smile broke a little.

On the corner, there was a barbell weight set, dumbbells, a pull-up bar, and resistance bands. He used to work out before, but now you knew why he looked bigger — he definitely worked out more now. You pursed your lips with the sweet latte comforting you as you sipped it slowly; you didn’t want to think about why he was making that effort.

You moved on to take a look at his desk, interested in what he was working on, and you stilled. He still had his gaming keyboard, mouse, and desktop, but now he had books about photography on the desk. He always liked photography and filmmaking, but the new camera and microphone spoke volumes about what he was working on at the moment. You searched around for the easel he’d always have with a recent work in progress or his sketch notebook, but you couldn’t find them, and so you pressed your lips. You loved it when he sketched you, always when you least expected it, showing you beautiful versions of yourself you only started believing because of him.

You finished the coffee, eager for the sweet trace to link you back to him. You wondered what happened to—

You turned when you heard the bathroom door open; you never noticed he had stopped showering. Your thoughts tripped over themselves at the sight of him: wet raven hair ruffled by a towel long abandoned somewhere, dark eyes set on you as if he wanted to make sure he was seeing right, soft golden skin covering wide shoulders and big arms, and chest, leading to firm abs that were always there, but not as marked. Your eyes lowered, but the black towel was hanging on to his hip like you could only envy.

You raised your eyes to find him serious, looking at you; tense features on a tense body. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, waving the empty mug before placing it down on the kitchen counter. You swallowed a lump at the view of him walking towards you, despite his demeanor. “It’s my favorite—”

You weren’t startled when he grabbed your head and crashed his mouth to yours. You were praying for it to happen, and the burn running down your chest from the way your mouths tried to consume one another had you melting instantly. You wanted him, you weren’t hiding it, and whatever way he wanted to touch you worked as long as he did. As long as those lips pressing yours covered all of you. As long as his tongue fighting yours spelled your pleasure at his whim, while his fingers pressed marks only he could trace on you.

Your hands moved to those wide shoulders that had your knees wobbly, and he pushed them away before forcing your head up to face him better. He wanted your focus on your kiss only, and you didn’t mind, but the temptation to grab him and scratch him was overriding your senses. You tried again, but this time he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you with him. You gripped his shoulders for support, finally sinking your nails in the soft muscle just as he nibbled your bottom lip.

Your ass hit something and when he pushed you to get on it, you just briefly freed one hand to throw whatever was on the dining table behind you off. You moaned with the bites he was leaving down your neck, while you focused on keeping him close with your legs wrapped around him. He fumbled with the tee shirt to get his hands on you and quickly grabbed your chest in a push-and-squeeze motion that had you moaning and humping him. Fuck, you missed this. No one could ever mess you up like he could, you always turned into a whimpering wet mess with him.

He scratched down your stomach to your hips, squeezing them harshly, then pulled away. He grabbed the hem of the shirt, and you raised your arms instantly to let him strip you.

The, he stepped back and threw the shirt on the floor, hungry dark eyes observing you from head to toe.

“Fuck, look at you.”

A subtle line showed between your eyebrows; his tone was abrasive in a way you weren’t familiar with. But the way he got back between your legs while getting on his knees was in line with what you knew. He, in a praying position, tracing your skin with open-mouthed kisses while he groped and scratched every inch of you, was one of the reasons you couldn’t forget him. You couldn’t let go of what it felt like to be desired by that man. The thought alone had you wet and whimpering, the only difference was that now you’d experience it again after only dreams and hopes.

His mouth kept tracing kisses on your inner thighs, just like he knew would drive you crazy, but you didn’t whine about it. No, you wanted it to last. Whatever he’d give to you, you wanted it. You weren’t beyond begging, but you wouldn’t just with a little bit of torture. No, you knew how that mouth could move on you, how his tongue could lap at the perfect rhythm. You could wait for perfection.

He slapped your ass on one side, opening your leg further with a whimper from you. He repeated the motion on the other side, and only then did you notice you were squeezing him between your legs. It made you smirk as you looked down — you could see his dark eyes with a few wet hair strands over them, the hint of teeth as he grazed your sensitive inner thighs. He could spank you all he wanted; you wanted him to. So you smiled and pressed your lips, clearly telling him that you’d keep your mouth shut.

He bit down, getting a deep moan from you. You were clenching around nothing, dripping with slick, and you were sure he noticed.

“Since when are you so patient?”

He sounded annoyed, and you giggled wantonly, so fucking amused you couldn’t help it. “I’m patient when it’s worth it.” You could feel his hands pressing your skin, going to the swell of your ass to squeeze, and you nearly sighed. “I wouldn’t dare to rush perfection.”

He scoffed but dropped his mouth on you instantly, having all your cockiness evaporating on the spot. He ate you like only he did, grabbing your squirmy self still while he made out with you. His tongue lapped at your clit in a fixed rhythm that you couldn’t explain, and seconds later you released every square inch of air from inside your lungs with a deep moan. He knew you liked a stable, slow rhythm, but keeping your thighs in place was irking you. It was right there! If only he’d let you move. Just a centimeter right— No! Just one or two to the left, and you’d be lost to those sensations you hadn’t felt in months.

You whimpered, but you couldn’t talk while he did that to you. You reached for his hands on your hips and squeezed them, both looking for support and for a way to be free. His humming to your core had you sucking in a breath, but what broke you were his words.

“Stay still, bubbles. Let me get you there.”

He licked you faster in a way that had you whimpering and tensing up like a coil about to spring. Every lap of his tongue increased your tension, pitched your moan, and stole your breath, to a point you thought you’d explode. You sat up and grabbed his hair, ecstatic. It was him with his face half buried in you, eating you, getting you there, calling you by your pet name like nothing changed.

That thought alone pushed you to the edge, and you hopped on the train. Steadily and surely, Jungkook would take you there, just like he promised. Just like you wished.

So you started moaning louder, half derailed, “Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so good.” You could barely breathe, but you wanted him to know how much you loved this. “Take me there, please, I’m—”

Your voice broke because you suddenly were cold. You were panting and shocked, but your first instinct was to look down at him and loosen up your grip on his hair.

“Are you okay?”

He faced you quietly, with your slick covering his nose, mouth, and chin while his digits dug into your hips. Your worry clouded your judgement, having your hand brush his cheek in search of an answer that only came when he stood up and turned away. Then, you blinked to reality and looked down and around. You were confused. Not because he stopped, but because he insisted on staying quiet and to himself.

You got up and were about to speak your mind when you saw that the towel had fallen to the ground. That gave you the impulse to walk up to him and look down shamelessly — he was so hard, he was pointing at you. You raised your eyes and found his on yours, darker than before. He was tense and angry, that was clear, but he was hard, having rubbed his hand over his face to clean your slick off him. But then, why was he licking his lips and his lip rings, where your taste was probably stronger?

You took a deep breath and placed your hands firmly on his shoulders, pushing him steadily. He let you, walking back until his calves hit the sofa. You tapped his shoulders once and he sat down. His hands were on your hips and started tracing circles absentmindedly, and you leaned closer to pet his hair. His sweet caresses were enough to soothe you, to become sure of something you weren't sure you had the right to be sure of. But it didn't matter — he chose the wrong night to be indecisive. You were willing to choose for you both.

You kissed his head before getting on your knees in between his legs. He gave you a dark cold stare and with anyone else you might have cowered, but not with him. You waited a moment with your hands over his legs, but he never gave you clear permission, incentive, or rejection. So you took the option that suited you best and leaned in.

You trailed your lips over his soft and built thighs, kneading the firmness with a whimper caught in your throat. You kissed closer and closer, releasing sighs left and right and paying little to no mind to what he would think of you for it. You both had always been like this: crazy for one another, praising and worshiping as quickly as you would use and abuse. You had never had another relationship like it, before or after, and to say you missed it would be an understatement.

But you weren’t going to sob over past mistakes right now. No, what mattered now was to not make a stupid mistake like not kissing, licking, and scratching every inch of him until he either begged or complained, or you lost it.

You moved ever so closer to his crotch but stopped by his balls first, giving them wide-tongued licks that had him sighing. You glanced up to see his eyes closed, with wet hair dripping down his shoulders; the first hint of relaxation from him. That’s it, you coed in your mind. Fuck, did you miss seeing him falling apart. You craved it and you’d make it happen.

You kept licking and kissing, and as you moved up his shaft, it occurred to you that it didn’t matter that you hadn’t cum. It didn’t matter that he had given up, or even why. You weren't opening your mouth around his tip and licking it with hunger because you wanted something in return.

You moaned as soon as his taste hit your buds, and your thoughts became a blur. Your head bobbed mindlessly, and you drooled all over him, using the expanse of your tongue on his tip, taking whatever you could no matter how because you fucking missed it. That taste, that hardness, the hand that came to grip your hair but remained light as a feather, until finally, you looked up. His eyebrows were knit in pleasure with his mouth agape, tongue peaking through, and licking his lip ring while grabbing your head in a firm yet loving gesture — that was it, the prize. He was finally relaxed as you bobbed your head and drooled all over him, and the perspective of making him weak exhilarated you in a way that had you going harder, firmer, stronger. You didn’t notice, but you were breathing in between his cock touching your throat, your cheeks stayed hollowed, and your hand accompanied your every move over his shaft while you played with his balls. When his precum invaded your mouth, all your thoughts went out the door.

You gripped his cock firmer and moaned all over it, adjusting your posture to focus even better. Fuck, did you want his taste in your mouth. You touched yourself to the thought of it before, of him, but now being there on your knees with his grunts finally adoring your ears, your focus was all on him. You could come later to the memory of that very moment, all he had to do was let go and shoot warm ropes of cum down your throat.

But he recoiled and guided your head away. You had no idea if he pulled your hair, but you knew he never asked you to stop. The only sounds out of his mouth were grunts of pleasure, and you had seen his face — he was on cloud nine. He liked it, he was weak for it, for you and the way you did it, so why?

You looked up, an arched eyebrow quizzically raised, but he had his bicep covering his eyes while his chest heaved up and down. You were done with him stripping away everything you wanted from you, so you got up and got on his lap with a knee on either side of him. You thought he might have shooed you away or told you to get off, but no. His hands went instantly to support your hips, and you were even more irked.

“Why?”

He opened his eyes and the stiffness was back to his pleasant features. That had you pouting with tears in your eyes. Maybe you could figure out why, but you didn’t care — you leaned forward and brushed his cheek gently. He brought you there, and he wasn’t rejecting you. It was time he made a decision.

“Why push me away?” You insisted, letting your nail graze his sweet cheek gently. He recognized that tone in your voice, and that was why he answered.

“I was about to cum.”

“So?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes only hardened, and you looked down at his erect cock between you. There were so many things you could say, and so many paths to choose from. You could get angry, whiny, blow him anyway, ride him, and you considered every option. But you kept reverting to that anger behind those beautiful dark eyes. And as you both faced each other, you knew why he was mad — because you hurt him the year before. Because what you were doing was maybe a source of conflict, it sure could have been for you as well if you didn’t still…

Well.

Your expression softened as you pressed your lips to his forehead, “Take it out on me.”

He didn’t move or respond, and you just dragged your lips soothingly over his skin in small peppered kisses.

“Please,” you whispered. “Take it all out on me. I want you to.” You dragged your nails up his neck, and he leaned his head forward. “I need you to.”

His hands gripped your waist as he seemed to hide in your chest, and you sat closer to him. You petted his beautifully longer hair, still, and sighed when he pressed your lower back to keep you close. You smiled and kissed his head, taking that as a yes. So you waited like that until he decided how he would do it.

Your answer came when he glued his mouth to your chest and started nibbling down until he caught a nipple. You didn’t hide your sigh — he was a tits kind of guy, and he always loved yours, worshiping them in every sense of the word. And you had always loved him for it, and for the way he could leave you a moaning mess with his attention exclusively there.

So you hissed and sighed, with his mouth, tongue, and teeth driving you insane. To return the favor, you reached down in between your bodies and found his rock-hard dick. Your spit hadn’t dried yet, so you jerked him off gently through your pitched moans.

You could feel him twitching in your hand. You knew he loved your tits and got lost in licking and biting them. You knew he got crazy when you played with him at the same time, playing with his weakness while truthfully wanting nothing more than for him to play with all of you.

So you leaned down by his ear. “Come on,” you whispered in a low tone. “Take it out on me. Do it.” You gripped him a bit harder, earning a stronger bite from him that had you instantly hissing and clenching around nothing. “I want to feel you.” Your hand never stopped, and he seemed to be listening to you — only his tongue was moving. “Hard. Deep. Fuck it all out on me.”

You buried your nose in his hair and waited, never stopping your hand on him. You preferred if he fucked you senseless, but even jerking him off would be nice if that was his mood.

But you doubted it was, and indeed, it wasn’t. He let go of your abused nipple and faced you for a second. He didn’t comment on anything you said, he only grabbed you firmly by the hips and stood up, taking you with him.

You gasped mutely and hugged him strongly, only to realize that he was carrying you without an ounce of effort. He was truly stronger, which could mean he would fuck you harder—

He dropped you on his bed, making you whimper, and your tits bounce around, then he moved away. You sat up, worried about him just leaving, but then you tilted your head. He was adjusting a full-body mirror that was purposefully facing another wall to show the bed. You saw your reflection on it and mused over why he had that mirror set like that and took the time to change it. 

He neared you while rolling a condom, and you looked at him, breath slowing with the perspective of what would happen now. He traced a hand down your hip, and you laid back, but he immediately gripped both your sides and turned you around. You puffed, half annoyed, half melting at being handled like that, and got on all fours for him. You thought he’d toy with you and you’d patiently wait for what you wanted most, but he didn’t. He instantly put his cock at your entrance, and you groaned, gripping the sheets with the desire burning through you.

“You want it?” His tone was quiet but sure, almost cold. His hand struck your ass, but you only gave him a gentle moan. “Get it then.”

You bit your lip and moved back, opening your mouth with the familiar stretch that had you curling your toes. You went slowly, thankful for his resistance that allowed his cock to brave more and more, inch by inch, until you were full. You knew he wasn’t totally in, and he reminded you by jerking his hips once until he bottomed out. You gave him a little whine and he chuckled.

“There. Didn’t think you had forgotten how I fucked you earlier, but I’ll remind you.”

He snapped his hips into yours, and you knew he wouldn’t be gentle, but you didn’t care. He was doing what you asked, finally connected to you, giving you the pleasure of your dreams. It didn’t matter if he was treating you roughly, you asked for it. You wanted it, you needed it. Him, his anger, anything he would give you.

“Look at you,” he grunted before gripping your ass better. “I haven’t even started.”

You opened your eyes and tilted your head to face him through the mirror. You gave zero fucks about how vulnerable you were, needy, greedy, whimpering, and begging for more even though you knew how much more could come. No, you looked at him. At his focused expression, telling you this wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. At his flexed abs, tense thighs, and buff biceps. At his hand on your ass, squeezing. At his eyes moving from yours to verify your position — not only if you looked good, but at your knees and elbows sliding. For your comfort. It had to be, right?

You were tucked in his grip, so when he went harder, you had nowhere to go. You took his hips slapping against you and moaned loudly, abandoned to the feeling that only he fucking you could tear out of you.

“Can’t take it?” His voice was mocking. “How’s that?” You couldn’t coherently answer. “Are you that desperate for a proper dicking?” 

“Wasn’t that what you did before?”

You barely got it out, but he heard you, not stopping for a second. “Clearly wasn’t enough. Your boyfriend must be doing a really sloppy job.”

His voice was tense. You wondered if bitterness was in the mix, but you were too high to think about it.

“No boyfriend. Maybe that’s the problem.”

His hand struck your ass so hard, you whimpered a cry. But in a second, he was rubbing that area and gripping you closer, fucking you harder. It made you see stars, and you couldn’t get enough.

“So whiny,” he grunted, “so needy.” 

You scoffed. He was the one fucking you as hard as possible.

“Do you always moan like that?” You felt his nails on your ass cheeks. “Any cock can get that noise out of you.”

You grinned, “No, only yours can.” You expected another slap, but it didn’t come. “Never met anyone who can fuck me like you.”

He smacked the other ass cheek harshly and gripped you so hard that the constant hit of his cock deep inside you almost short-circuited your brain.

“But you searched.”

He was speaking between gritted teeth, but you were in no condition to notice. “So did you. Fucked how many right here, on this bed?”

He smacked your ass again, but looking through the mirror, you could see he wasn’t just angry now. His eyes were closed as if in pain. But you were too riled up to stop.

“Looking for what? Any thigh cunt?” He was getting sloppy, and you couldn’t shut up. “Or did you really think anyone else could get you this desperate?” You fucked yourself on his cock against his rhythm, and you could swear he growled. But who cared, he was snapping his hips to yours again. “Why so quiet?” His hand striking your ass had you arching for him, but not quieting down. “Tell me. Do you cream yourself this easily with—”

He pulled your hair, forcing your back to arch and take him deeper. Your mouth opened, instantly melting in ways only he could cause, until you shivered when you felt him near your ear.

“No.” You opened your eyes in his silence to find him looking at you through the mirror. If your opened mouth spelled how deep he was buried inside you, then his eyes told of how desperate he was. “Only you do this to me. Only you drive me this fucking crazy.”

He connected his nose to your shoulder despite ramming into you wildly, and grunted together with you. You couldn’t stifle your moans, your curses, or your prayers. But you yelped when suddenly he let you go and rolled you over. He got between your legs and immediately slid inside, earning a sigh from you and a plea.

He pulled your legs over his shoulders and leaned down over you, seeing your eyes widen. You extended your hands, what for you weren’t certain, but he grabbed them and pressed them to the mattress on either side of your head.

His hips restarted their rocking and you moaned desperately. You squirmed, and moaned, and said his name, and begged, and squeezed his hands, and all the while he never stopped fucking you. He was sweating, it was dripping over you, but you couldn’t care. All that mattered was that he was as deep as possible inside you, torturing you with how good it felt, and you were there for it. Loving every moment.

“Fuck— You’re so deep—”

“You like it?”

His tone was gentle, almost as if he wished for nothing but to please you. You were lost. You wished for nothing else but him.

“Yes— Yes—”

You were desperate, at the edge of your emotions with tears in your eyes, and he saw it. “Tell me what you want.”

“You!” Your answer was instantaneous, at the end of a moan. “You, fuck, please, you, just you—”

“I’m here.”

You gripped his hands and anxiety crossed your features for a moment, “Please.”

He kissed you, relenting his rhythm, only to whisper to your lips, “I’m here, bubbles.”

You opened your teary eyes to look at him, and your heart shook. His eyes were sweet despite the pleasure and effort mingling in his features. He was looking at you, really looking, really seeing you, and he was there. He wasn’t taking it out on you anymore, he was really with you, like he once was. 

You didn’t want to delude yourself, but the way he continued, staying close to your face to peck your lips and your cheeks, was swelling your heart too much to be contained. You moved with him, lulled by that movement you longed for too long. That thought alone got you on the right tangent, and you made sure to tell him through moans, looks, and your hands in his. He nuzzled you, sweat dripping down, and answered every plea and moan with signs of his own pleasure.

You let it grow inside you until you knew you couldn’t be contained, and neither did you want it to. You opened your mouth to tell him and nothing came out, but he got it.

“Cum with me.”

He grunted his words before kissing you, and you whimpered and moaned your overwhelming pleasure without breaking away. He groaned into your mouth and pressed your lips firmly when you were both done, panting, sweaty, and spent.

You didn’t think about what would happen after that; truthfully, you wished time would stop. For a moment you believed it could be true — he stayed inside you with his mouth on your neck, just suckling as you enjoyed his weight over you. You were drifting away, so utterly relaxed, happy, and fulfilled.

Until he pulled away and your heart cracked.

You couldn’t open your eyes immediately, you weren’t ready to face it again, not after the way you were just together. But when you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised.

Jungkook looked tired and sleepy, but that was it. He was extending his hand for you and you grabbed it. He pulled you up and dragged you to the bathroom, pointing at the toilet and turning to handle the condom. You peed, but your mind latched onto nothing, you didn’t want to ruin that bliss.

He took your hand again and pulled you back to bed, opening the sheets before pushing you gently with an arm around your waist. You sighed and leaned back into him. He held you into his chest as he covered you both with a sheet, and you could swear that it was all a dream. All of it.

[Next part>]

[gators-aid]

decode (pt. 4) - toji f. x reader

masterlist

part three. | part five.

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, cheating, mention of spiking drinks (nothing happens, just mentioned in passing), americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.7k

If you had to admit it, you were getting a little sick of house parties. Sure, they were fun once you got fucked up, but the aftermath wasn’t always worth the temporary thrill. 

There was one time where Toji had to physically carry you out of the bathroom of some girl’s house. If you were being completely honest, you couldn’t exactly remember her name. Since you two had started going to parties together, he had stopped drinking all together so he could keep an eye on you. It was a little embarrassing to fake the flu to your mother when you woke up hungover the next day. 

Hakari’s parties were cool, sure, you always felt safe at his house, but that’s typically because you had Toji there with you. Not many creeps were willing to try and spike your drink when a big mass of darkness lingered around at all times. Going alone (with Utahime) for the first time in months was a little daunting, but you had a plan.

An immature, potentially incredibly damaging plan, but a plan nonetheless. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Utahime had said when you explained it to her. She looked just a little concerned. You thought she was exaggerating a bit, but when you caught Shiu’s eye from across the room that night, you understood. 

It would be worth it, you had convinced yourself.

It only took a couple of drinks for Shiu to be all over you. You knew if he was here, Toji was sure to be nearby, but you hadn’t seen him all night. The two of you danced together in Hakari’s living room, lips unnaturally close and bodies in contact at almost every possible surface. 

You would never necessarily say you were attracted to Shiu, he was just your boyfriend’s friend to you. Always in your peripheral, sometimes tagging along with you and Toji. Usually, you were too wrapped up in your boyfriend to even notice he was there. Frankly, you didn’t think about him much at all. If he had paid any attention over the past couple of months, he would know that too. But maybe he had thought about you quite a bit, because it was almost too easy to get under his skin.

A touch here, a brush of the lips there, a few drunken stumbles into his chest, and boom. The night found the two of you making out in the same closet Toji had kissed you in for the first time. It was almost like desecrating a sacred temple. The cramped closet full of Hakari’s parent’s winter coats and a giant vacuum cleaner in the corner should’ve stayed a holy ground, but you wanted not only to hurt Toji, but to erase any memories you had of him.

Would this work? Probably not. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You had planned to sleep with Shiu that night, and you planned to make Toji know about it as soon as it happened. You and Shiu exited the closet, going to make a trip upstairs, to a bathroom, or maybe even the back of his car. You held his hand lightly in yours as you led him out. 

The whole time you couldn’t help but compare the two men. Toji’s hands were larger and more calloused. His lips were slightly fuller with a dry patch where his scar crossed over. Toji was a lot more intense, that intensity translating into a passionate exchange whenever you two were together. 

You didn’t care much for Shiu. Sure, you felt bad to be using him like this, but you weren’t concerned about his feelings right now. 

You were only focused on yourself and your conquest for revenge. 

The two of you made your way down the hallway, squeezing past drunk teenagers and squealing couples. That’s when you saw him. 

The whole night you had been wondering where he was. You knew he had to be here if Shiu was, but he had eluded you. Earlier, during a particularly spiteful thought, you wondered if he was upstairs with another girl, fueling your rage. 

There he was, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen and staring right at you. 

Fuck. He was just a little bit scary. 

You had never seen his face like that. It was completely blank, but you could see the rage simmering under his eyes. You could see the way his hands gripped his forearms where they were crossed across his chest. All the indicators of his rage were incredibly subtle, but something about him seemed to warn of danger.

You felt Shiu’s hand fall from your grasp, could hear him ruffling his clothes behind you, probably adjusting his shirt that you had grasped in your hand earlier. 

This is what you wanted, so why didn’t you feel accomplished? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to smile in his face and continue on with Shiu? 

“Y/N!” Someone yelled over the music. Utahime. You finally broke eye contact with Toji to look at her bounding toward you. 

“Come with me, I wanna dance!” She grabbed your wrist and dragged you away, stumbling along as the two of you moved toward the living room. But she didn’t go toward the living room, instead taking you to a downstairs bathroom, cutting the line to bring the two of you into a private area. 

“Shit, are you okay?” She asked omce the door was closed, suddenly sounding a lot more sober. You want to reply yes, tell her that you got what you wanted without even having to sleep with Shiu, but instead you felt your hands start shaking. 

“I thought I should step in, that shit looked intense. He scared me a little bit.” She said nervously, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and pulling on your shirt to straighten it out. 

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, “I’m okay.” She smiled at you sympathetically. “You ready to go?” She asked. 

You were, but you didn’t want to ruin Utahime’s night because of your drama. 

“No, no! I told you I’m fine!” You heard someone banging on the bathroom door, clearly not happy that the two of you had cut the line. “Let’s get back out there.” 

Toji and Shiu were gone from their spot in the hallway. You didn’t know what exactly you expected. Maybe for them to be locked in a staredown in the same spot, maybe beating the shit out of each other in the kitchen, but there was no sign of either of them. 

“Saoriiiii!” You heard Utahime yell. She grabbed your hand and pulled you with her to the living room, the designated spot for dancing. 

It felt like your ears were ringing, you were too aware to be this close to the speakers and surrounded by this many people. You could feel a deep anxiety start to pool in your gut, your fingertips starting to feel tingly. 

“I’m gonna go get something to drink!” You yelled at Utahime, not looking back to see if she had heard you. 

The walk to the kitchen felt longer than it should have. Would Toji be lingering around in there? Would Shiu? You definitely didn’t want to see him right now.

Neither of them were. The kitchen was almost completely empty except for one person. Takako.

Shit. You’d rather not see her either. She looked at you over the rim of her cup. She had to slightly look down at you, as her seat on the kitchen counter placed her about a head taller than you. You tried to ignore her as you sorted through bottles of liquor, trying to find something that wasn’t empty or filled with questionable liquids or cigarettes. You intentionally put your back to Takako, hoping she would just ignore you.

“You’re a real selfish bitch, you know that?” That makes you pause. No way she seriously just said that. 

You turned around to look at her, preparing yourself for conflict. You didn’t think Takako was the type to physically fight, but people are a little different when they’re drunk. What you see is not what you expected. She’s crying. 

“You have,” she pauses to take another drink from her cup “everything I’ve ever wanted,” You squeeze the neck of a bottle in your hand. “and you just throw it away. Like nothing.” 

She’s not seriously talking about Toji, is she? “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Is what you decide to reply with. 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” She hops down from the counter and crosses the kitchen to approach you. “I can’t even get him to look at me now.” She says. From here you can see just how miserable she looks. Her eyes have deep bags, her mascara is running down her cheeks and her lips are bitten raw. 

That sets you off. “You can get him to fuck you, though.” You say bitterly. 

She laughs. “You’re the one who has no idea what she’s talking about.”

You grip the bottle harder. “What, so you didn’t sleep with him? Do you think I’m stupid?” You don’t have the energy for this. You need to get out of here. 

“I sleep with him one time when we’re both drunk, and then the next day he won’t even respond to my texts. I try to talk to him in person and he looks at me like I disgust him. I can barely get him to look me in the eye.” She’s swaying slightly with every word, clearly very drunk. You know this is the kind of information you couldn’t torture out of someone like Takako. 

“His bad attitude toward you isn’t my problem. He slept with you of his own free will. I can’t control how he acts afterwards.” She sighs and throws her empty cup onto the ground. “You just don’t fucking get it. I would do anything to be in your spot right now, to be with him.” She laughs, “and you get to go fuck Shiu when you have him sitting here fucking waiting for you.” She must have seen the exchange between you and Toji earlier, but she won’t even say Toji’s name. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to be cheated on, clearly.” 

“I have an idea.” 

“What the hell is your point in telling me this?” You finally ask.

She sighs. “Hm.. I don’t know.” She throws her head back and looks at the ceiling. “Appreciate what you have.” You scoff at that. 

“I’m done talking to you.” You say. You should probably have taken up Utahime’s offer to leave early. This is way too much.  “Take it as a win that he doesn’t want you. He brings nothing to the table but misery.” You say.

“I think we both know that's not true.” She retorts. 

You unclasp your hand from the bottle you’ve been holding and leave the kitchen.

A week goes by before he shows up at your window. School had been uneventful. Takako had stopped giving you looks everytime you passed each other in the hall. Toji hadn’t made another appearance. You seriously wondered how he got away with missing so much school.

This time, you’re fresh out of the shower after work, towel drying your hair when a tap on your window makes you jump out of your skin. You can see him standing there, waiting for you to come over and open the window. Usually he would push the window open himself. You still hadn’t locked it back, you refused to acknowledge why that might be. 

You stand there for just a second, contemplating what to do. Ultimately, it was a no-brainer, you walk over and open the window. You don’t move to allow him in, just standing in front of the window to see what he has to say. 

“Hey.” Is all you get. 

“Hi.” 

Something rustles in his hands, you can’t see beyond the stool of the window. He pulls up a bouquet of flowers. They’re slightly wilted, and have clearly been out of water for a couple of days. 

“I, uh, I wanted to bring you this… flowers…” He says awkwardly.

You take them from him through the window. “Thanks.” You say, not offering anything more. The two of you stand there for a second, not saying a word. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. You’re getting some serious deja vu. 

You bite your lip. What is it with you and losing all sense of logic whenever he’s around? How can you be so clear headed and (reasonably) rational up until he comes back.

“Sure.” You move aside and let him climb in. This time, you walk to your door and lock it before your mom can come bursting in again. You look into your mirror to continue drying your hair. He sits at the foot of your bed, facing you so that you can see him through the mirror. 

“You look nice.” He says. You look at him in disbelief. You’re out of the shower looking, in your opinion, like a wet dog. Your shirt is wet from the dampness of your hair and your eyes have deep bags under them. “Is this what you came to talk about?” You ask. 

“You know what I want to talk about.” 

“If you’re here to argue I’m not in the mood, Toji. I’m tired.” You’re sure to keep your voice down. 

He doesn’t look as scary as he did the last time you saw him. He almost looks shy. 

“I’m not either, mama. Just wanna talk. Seriously.” 

You throw your towel onto your dresser and sit down at the head of your bed, causing Toji to scoot closer so the both of you can continue to talk quietly to each other. That's what you tell yourself, at least. 

“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing he says, and you feel your heart drop to your ass. This is the first time he’s ever apologized for anything. You didn’t think those words were even in his vocabulary. Your shock must show on your face, because he grimaces. 

“I don’t have an excuse. I regret it every day, though.” It’s a lackluster apology, you definitely shouldn’t accept it. He can’t just show up here with day-old flowers and expect everything to go back to normal. 

But you start to feel the tears pool in your eyes. Can feel your heart clenching in your chest. You miss him. Bad. You had never been attached to someone like you are to Toji. Never felt so strongly about anyone in your life. You just want to hold him again. 

“I, um, I’m sorry too.” Is all you say, though. “About… Shiu.”

He nods at that. 

“I know you said you don't have an excuse,” you say, picking at your nails, “but can you at least tell me why?” you ask. 

There's a pause. 

“I was drunk, and she was there.” Is all he says. Ouch. That doesn’t hurt at all. All you can do is grit your teeth and nod, too scared to say something you might regret later. 

When you get older and wiser and you look back at this time, you’ll know it’s because it was all becoming too much for Toji. He was getting too close to you, letting you in just a little more than he expected. He wanted to push you away, wanted you to leave him before it hurt him too bad. Didn’t think he was deserving of anyone’s affection, let alone yours. So he wanted to hurt you before you could hurt him. 

And then he never got the call to come pick you up from work that night. And he waited for hours, hoping you had just gotten held up, until he decided to drive over and all the lights in the diner were off, and his heart dropped. That’s when he realized he was already in too deep to lose you now. And he had went ahead and fucked it up anyways. 

“Can we call it even?” He asks. 

You purse your lips. “Well, I never slept with Shiu, so not exactly.” 

He moves closer to you, taking your hand in his and biting his bottom lip. “Really?” he asks, not looking you in the eye. You nod. 

He lets out a laugh that sounds like a single breath, he's relieved. You almost wanna punch him in the face, but you don't, you grip his hand a little tighter. Idiot. 

That was the first time you forgave Toji Fushiguro for something that should be unforgivable. The first time you let him worm his way back into your life with little to no resistance, and it would not be the last. 

last flashback chapter! we get back to megumi in the next part :)

thank yall for all the love! send me asks & requests im BEGGINGGGGGG i need validation.

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[corruptedcaps]

The Bitch Box

Gina tiptoed into her stepmom’s walk in closet, heart racing. Her stepmom, Veronica, was everything Gina wasn’t. Gorgeous, confident, and ruthlessly cruel. Veronica had made Gina’s life miserable since she’d moved in, always quick with a sharp comment about her appearance or a snide remark about her lack of friends.

Gina wasn’t supposed to be in here, but she was looking for something, anything to convince her dad to leave the bitch.

As she pushed aside the rows of designer clothes, something caught her eye. It was a black box with a black tag hanging from it that read ‘Regina’. She knew instantly it was from Veronica, only she used her full name. A name she abhorred hearing, even reading it made her shiver in disgust.

Gina worried that Veronica knew that she would be snooping around and left the box as some sort of message but then again her birthday was coming up soon. Veronica had never been the gift giving type but Gina had to know what was in the box. Taking it barely out of the closet it, she lay it on her parents big bed.

As she slowly lifted the lid she prepared herself for the worst. Maybe it would be some diet pills, maybe it would be a coupon for a salon, an insult masked as a gift. However of all the things she expected she was surprised to see a pair of tight black latex pants.

Intrigued, Gina reached out, her fingers just grazing the smooth material when, without warning, the pants sprang to life.

They coiled around her hand, slithering up her arm like a snake. Gina gasped, trying to pull away, but the pants had a mind of their own. They slithered down her torso and wrapped around her legs.

Gina’s heart pounded as the latex pants tightened around her legs, clinging with an unnatural force. Panic surged through her, and she immediately tried to pull them off, her hands frantically grasping at the slick material. But the pants seemed to have a life of their own, resisting her every effort, fusing with her jeans in a way that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

“No! This isn’t right!” She gasped, yanking harder, but the pants only gripped tighter, inching up her thighs and forcing her hips to curve seductively. Her initial panic began to mingle with something else, an unexpected thrill that sent shivers down her spine. She could feel them reshaping her, every twist and pull of the latex transforming her body into something new, something… sexy.

Each squeeze sent a wave of heat through her body, starting in her legs but quickly spread upwards. It was a tingling sensation that left her skin humming with energy.

Her stomach was next to change as all fat evaporated, giving her a perfectly flat and toned tummy. She had seen girls in her school spend months in the gym to achieve such a look.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it as the day from her stomach moved upwards and merge with her modest boobs. She watched in disbelief as her tits began to swell, becoming fuller, more pronounced. The pants were seemingly moulding her body into something more undeniably alluring, almost predatory.

As the changes continued, Gina’s resistance faltered. “No… I need to stop this…” She whispered, but even as the words left her lips, a part of her wasn’t so sure anymore. The fear was still there, but it was quickly being overtaken by a strange sense of exhilaration.

Her hair, once wild and frizzy, straightened into silky waves that cascaded down her back. She reached up to touch it, marveling at the luxuriously sleek texture. “This… feels... mmmm so fucking amazing.” She murmured, her voice becoming smoother, more seductive. Her hands had moved from trying to rip the pants off to instead roaming them over her new body.

She could see her reflection in the mirror now, the girl staring back at her was almost unrecognizable. She looked wickedly sexy, with a hint of danger in her eyes.

Gina’s fingers brushed against her lips as they plumped up. The sharp, polished nails that had replaced her bitten ones made her smile with a newfound confidence. Thick makeup covered her face and dark eyeliner gave her a look that could kill. The initial urge to fight was waning, replaced by a growing sense of entitlement.

The more the pants changed her, the more she found herself enjoying it. The power, the beauty, the seductive allure, it all felt so right, so intoxicating. The fear and resistance that had gripped her at the start dissolved into a deep, self-assured arrogance.

Gina’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Why was I fighting this? I feel so fucking hot and amazing.” She purred, her voice filled with satisfaction. She struck a pose, admiring the way the pants clung to her now-perfect form. The transformation was complete, and she had never felt more alive.

Gina couldn’t stop staring at her reflection. She turned slowly, letting her hands glide over her newly transformed body. “Look at me, I’m… perfect.” She gloated, her voice laced with awe. She ran a hand down her chest, feeling the firm curves that the latex had sculpted.

She struck a pose, arching her back slightly, one hand on her hip. “All those girls at school, with their cheap makeup and tacky clothes… they’re nothing compared to me. How pathetic they must seem now, trying so hard and failing so miserably.” She purred, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous confidence as she stepped closer to the mirror, her gaze sharp and cold. “They’re beneath me, all of them. From now on, I’ll be the one they look up to. The one they envy. The one they fear.” She said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Looking over to the box she spied there was still more in it. With a grin she took out a leather jacket and a pair of expensive Louboutins. Knowing what the pants did, she eagerly held out her arms and the jacket leapt up and snaked up them. She slipped seamlessly into the leather material as it complimented the pants perfectly.

She sat on the bed and held her feet out. The shoes jumped out and snugly fit onto her feet. Standing back up she gazed at her completed form with a self satisfaction she had never experience. It was intoxicating.

Gina smirked, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she struck another pose, reveling in her newfound power. “I’m not just better, I’m superior. And they’ll all learn that soon enough.” She declared, her voice tinged with arrogance.

As Gina admired her transformed reflection, the door creaked open, and Veronica stepped into the room, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She took in the sight of Gina, now exuding a wicked allure, and a sly smile spread across her lips.

“Well, look who’s found her birthday present a bit early.” Veronica said, her tone dripping with mock surprise.

Gina turned to face her, a mixture of confusion and curiosity flashing in her now-intense gaze. “Birthday present? You did this?”

Veronica chuckled, sauntering closer. “Of course, darling. I was getting tired of having such a pathetic stepdaughter, someone who couldn’t even stand up for herself, let alone command the attention she deserves. But I knew the bitch box could help.”

“The bitch box?” Gina echoed, a mix of intrigue and wariness in her voice. Veronica stepped over to the bed and picked up the now empty box sitting there and put the lid on.

Veronica’s eyes sparkled with a dark satisfaction. “It fulfills the owner’s darkest desires and gives them what they need to become a true bitch. Inside your box were those stunning latex pants, the leather jacket that’s now molding to your curves, and the heels that give you that perfect strut. Everything you needed to unlock your true potential.” She explained, her voice low and enticing.

Gina glanced down at her outfit, admiring how her new body fit it perfectly. She flexed her fingers, admiring the sharpness of her nails, and felt a rush of power and confidence surge through her.

“So, you planned all of this?” Gina asked, her voice tinged with both awe and a newfound edge.

Veronica nodded, her smile widening. “I knew you had it in you. I knew Regina was inside you waiting to be unleashed. You just needed a little push. Now look at you. You’re everything I wanted in a daughter. Strong, beautiful, and above all, utterly ruthless.”

Gina’s lips curled into a smirk. The resistance she had felt earlier was completely gone, replaced by a thrilling sense of destiny. Hearing her full name no longer filled her with disgust. It filled her with evil pride. Gina was a loser nobody, Regina was everything. She never wanted to go back.

Regina turned fully to face Veronica, a sly smile spreading across her newly enhanced lips. “Thank you, Mommy.” She purred, her voice dripping with the seductive confidence that now defined her. The word "Mommy" rolled off her tongue naturally, with a warmth and affection she’d never felt before. Veronica wasn’t just her stepmother anymore. She was her true mother, the one who had unlocked her potential.

Veronica’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she heard the new name, and she reached out to gently cup Regina’s chin. “That’s my girl. You’re everything I wanted you to be. My perfect bitchy daughter.” She said, her voice full of pride.

Regina nodded, her eyes full of eager anticipation. “What next?” She asked, her tone laced with excitement and a newfound hunger for more.

Veronica’s smile widened as she handed over the sleek, black box that had started it all. “Whatever you desire, darling.” She said, her voice a whisper of dark promise.

With a sense of purpose, Regina took the bitch box and carefully opened it, her breath catching as she saw what lay inside. A pair of designer sunglasses, sleek and impossibly chic, resting atop the velvet lining. They weren’t there before but they were the perfect final touch to her transformation.

Regina lifted the sunglasses from the box, admiring their expensive design. They were the perfectly haughty item to finish her spoilt brat look. She slipped them on and felt the world shift through their tinted lenses.

“How do I look mommy?” Regina said as she admired herself in the irritating some more.

Veronica watched her with pride. “You look spectacular, my dear. You’ll always be my little princess but it’s time you claimed your place as Queen at school.”

Regina smirked, the sunglasses perfectly complementing her new look. “Oh, I will, Mommy. I will.”

Without another word Regina strutted out of the room and down the stairs. Veronica walked over to the window and looked at the black sports car wrapped in a red ribbon parked in the driveway. She waited with bated breath for Regina to walk out. The box would always provide for Regina but Veronica still wanted to spoil her new daughter.

THE END

[child0feden]

SUMMER BREEZE

peter steele x pregnant! reader

- general headcanons for peter with a pregnant partner!

i remember being so obsessed with this man when i was younger, i could not shut the fuck up about him! i hope you like it anon <3

- requested by anon | view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: glass by daughter - summer breeze by type o negative

- honestly, i feel like due to his general height, strength and build, peter could still very easily pick you up when you are pregnant!

✩ if you offhandedly mention that your feet kind of hurt or your back aches a little whilst the two of you are on a walk, peter will just take you into his arms and pull you up to eye level with no struggle at all…

- at family gatherings or at the baby shower? you are always sat comfortably on his lap with one of his big arms thrown around your waist and his large hands stroking your noticeable bump through your maternity dress!

✩ your newly added weight that is bound to come along with pregnancy is absolutely nothing to him

- with his genes, your hormones definitely cause you to get mad at him so much for even giving you his baby at all

✩ like, why are you carrying a 6 ft 8 inch man’s baby right now? why are you doing this to yourself? why did he do this to you?

- but you never really mean it, of course, and he knows that! so he never gets upset at you, he usually finds it pretty funny and cracks a small smirk before coming to comfort you when you suddenly burst into tears and chastise yourself for being so mean to him

✩ and you better not dare to ever even try to put your own shoes on around this man when you are pregnant!

- he will be bending down and putting them on for you all the time, being incredibly and almost overly gentle as to not get your skin caught in a clasp or tie the laces too tight around you, asking you if they feel okay and if they are comfortable enough before he stands back up

✩ peter is just so in love with watching your baby bump grow just a tiny bit everyday! ever since you first told him you were pregnant, he was waiting for the little bump to finally show up

- when your bump first appeared, he was actually who noticed it first… it was early one morning and you were just brushing your teeth together in the bathroom of your shared house, his broad figure looming behind you before he halted his brushing and brought his hands to your stomach, making eye contact with you through the bathroom mirror as he pulls your sleep shirt tighter against your stomach just a little bit to really highlight the tiny bump

“ you have a bump… y’see it? ‘s only small for now, that’s our baby in there… ” ( his voice is so calm and gentle as he says it, as if he is trying to approach or soothe a baby deer )

✩ after that day, whenever brushing his teeth behind you in the morning, he will always bring his hands down to your stomach to feel the bump! he will always tap against it three times to symbolise an “ i love you ” as he awaits the day he will feel his baby kick back against his hand

- he definitely takes physical record of the bump progression after that day too!

✩ he has an old polaroid camera that he takes pictures of your bump with, he takes at least three pictures every month! he scribbles the date down on them before taping them inside of a photo album that grows fuller with each passing month of your pregnancy

- i feel like peter is the type of father to not actually want to know the gender before they are born!

✩ he just knows that he will be happy with any gender, it is his baby! so he just does not really see a major point of knowing before they are born…

- but if you really wanted to know the gender before the birth, he would definitely do it for you

✩ he will absolutely want to practice braids and other hairstyles on you before the baby comes! wether his baby comes out a boy or girl, braids and other cute hairstyles will be useful and he wants to know the process

- you guys either sit in a comfortable silence with the tv on low as background noise or you have quiet little conversations whilst he practices, likely talking about music or talking about the baby

“ i like this style… ‘s not too hard, you know? really gender neutral which is good too… ” ( he has a little trouble with braids and plaits because he has such large fingers but he is absolutely determined to get the hang of it for his child )

✩ i can see peter actually really liking a few of the weird food cravings you have…

- stuff like pickles dipped in nutella? yeah, he weirdly kind of likes them! he is never against trying new stuff, no matter how strange, so when you held it up to him and told him he just had to try it, there was no hesitation from him at all

✩ he chews it normally, not making a sour face or even gagging! i mean, he does not think it is incredible but he thinks it is strangely nice enough and indulges in all of your cravings, so long as it makes you happy

- peter lets you wear his shirts all the time when you are pregnant! i mean, he always let you wear them anyways but when you are pregnant with his baby? he almost wants you to wear them more than you want to yourself

✩ he just really wants you to always be incredibly comfy and he knows just how oversized his shirts are on you, obviously! and he just thinks you look super cute with a baby bump, wearing his shirt whilst your hair is messily tied up or clipped back away from your face

- but he also loves when you wear quite fitting things, like dresses that really showcase and hug your bump…

✩ that just really gets him going so bad! he thinks you are so insanely hot with a bump, you are so beyond beautiful carrying his child with the infamous pregnancy glow to your skin! he will always hold you on his lap, his hands tapping against your stomach as the baby kicks in response, his mouth pressing kisses to the skin of your shoulder and speaking lowly against it

“ y’look so beautiful, you know that, honey? so gorgeous carrying our baby… ” ( no but seriously, he already thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world but now with his baby? his attraction to you somehow doubled and he cannot get over just how amazing you look )

- peter buys so many little cat and bat plushies for the baby, they had a vast collection before they were even more than a few clumps of cells…

✩ he always comes home from tour with so many new little plushies and toys, you probably do not go with him because travelling whilst pregnant is not fun at all and he just hates leaving you and the baby, even if they are still in your stomach

- oh my gosh, he would definitely get one of those little build a bear plushies with the press noise things inside!

✩ he puts a short recording of your babys heartbeat inside, so that he has a piece of them when touring, because obviously they are not born yet and cannot talk babble to him over the phone as he wishes they could

- he calls you every day and at least three times, spending hours on the phone with you! asking you if you have definitely ate, if you feel okay, if you are comfy and all that jazz, he just needs to know you are okay when he is gone!

✩ so when he finally comes home with a bunch of plushies and toys he picked up in different cities, he shows you them all whilst the two of you are laying in bed together, smiling whilst you coo at how cute they all are

- he probably does not speak much when showing them to you but he will speak up to tell you a special reasoning behind why he got some of them! like how a cute vampire one reminded him of himself and a princess one reminded him of you <3

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x hellhound!reader. blitzø comes home from a mission to find you a wet, whimpering mess - your heat has set in and there's only one thing that can alleviate the pain of it... but I'll leave the filthy single entendres to blitz. 3.3k

(I had two requests for blitzø with a hellhound; one for a sunshine!reader that told me to have fun with the genre, and another for a reader in heat. so here's a combination of the two. thank you for being so patient, dear anons! hope you like it!)

featuring: smut, afab/fem!reader, petnames that reflect gender (e.g. good girl), light petplay vibes in that there's petnames that reflect species (e.g. puppy), breeding kink, sex toys, overstimulation, minor references to blood, dom!blitzø, hellhound anatomy, oral sex, blitzø being a little shit, hell's version of contraception (I pulled it out of my ass, okay?).

Whining as you roll your fingers needily over your clit, you thrust your hips up to meet the dildo you’re pumping in and out of your aching, dripping cunt. Your usually downy fur is damp with sweat, your brow creased with frustration and your tongue lolling out of the side of your mouth. The thick silicon stretches you almost uncomfortably – you were using a toy that only saw action during your heat, one too big for you – hoping that the fuller you felt the more you could trick this fucking heat cycle into thinking it’s satisfied. Even with how wet you are it hurts a little, but that doesn’t stop you from fucking yourself roughly, desperately. You know you’ll hurt too much tomorrow, but right now all reasonable thoughts have been replaced with raw, unending need.

Pain flares in your cheek when you tense your jaw, irritation doubling as you feel yet another orgasm slip away from you despite your efforts. A snarl – a rarely heard sound coming from you – ripples out of your throat, one that rolls out of you chest in pure, unadulterated annoyance.

“Fuck!” you bark out at the ceiling, the sound devolving into a whimper as you shift your hips up against the toy, angling it to brush against your g-spot better with every thrust. Your arm aches with overuse, your lower back complains with every roll of your hips, but you can’t stop. All you can do is wish desperately that your vibrator would recharge just a little faster.

Not that it would matter. It didn’t the first time.

For the love of everything unholy, you hated being a hound sometimes.

Your ears prick upward suddenly from where they’d been flattened back against your skull. The sound of the lock in the front door turning over catches your attention, and you’re off the bed and on shaky legs son fast it makes your head spin. You barely notice the feeling of the dildo sliding out of you to land with a dull thump on the carpet, your thighs slick with your own excitement and your knees threatening to collapse under you as you stumble out into the hall.

Blitzø closes the door behind him and is halfway through shrugging off his coat when your legs finally give out and you fall sideways into the wall in front of him. You barely notice the pain that flares in your shoulder over the aching heat burning in the pit of your stomach. You’re panting, overheated and exhausted and so fucking needy, and you shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Blitz—”

“Shit—!” the imp moves to help you up, leaving his coat in a heap on the floor behind him. You must look a mess – hair dishevelled and sweaty, your naked body on full display – but you don’t care, nuzzling into his palm needily when he cups your cheek in his hand. “Christ on a stick, I thought you weren’t due for another week – fuck!”

He chokes on a laugh as you knock him onto his ass and try to straddle his lap, the sound breaking off into a groan as you grind yourself against his thigh. He pushes you away as gently as he can while you cling to him, and you’re too far gone to be embarrassed by the stain you’ve left on his jeans. Instead you whine, the reedy sound catching in your throat, and Blitzø makes a show of hauling himself to his feet, brushing himself off as though you’d just knocked him into a pile of dirt instead of onto the carpet.

“Alrighty eager-beaver,” he continues, unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops to toss it aside. His grin widens when your tongue wets your muzzle in response, your eyes wide and hungry. He takes your hand and hauls you up off the floor, smacking your ass and pointing towards the bedroom. “Let’s get your sweet lil’ ass to bed so I can pound it into the mattress for ya, that’s a good pup.”

You whine again as he takes hold of your hips and guides you back to bed, stumbling over unsteady feet. Blitzø snickers as he sidesteps the dildo on the floor pointedly, and he raises a brow as he takes in the disaster area that is the bed. Sheets thrown back and torn, feathers from where the pillow has been ripped open by your teeth scattered across them. There’s a wet patch eclipsing the middle of the bed, your charging vibrator blinking from the bedside table. When he reaches the side of the bed he reaches out and flicks the dildo still suction-cupped to the headboard, watching it bounce as he affects a tone of faux-sympathy and an exaggerated pout.

“Awww, poor little puppy’s been fuckin’ herself raw for hours, haven’t ya?” he coos tauntingly, smirking as you climb onto the mattress to kneel in front of him, fumbling with the button of his jeans with shaky fingers. He lets you, snickering again when you pull the zipper open with enough force to tear the fabric. He groans, eyes rolling back as you cup your hand eagerly around his half-hard cock, your tail thumping against the headboard with every wag of it. “Roll over, puppy. Let daddy take care of you.”

Blitzø strokes himself, squeezing the base of his cock with each slide of his fingers as you do as you’re told, rolling over and leaning forward on your elbows. Blitzø smooths a hand over your ass appreciatively, swatting it hard enough to draw a yelp out of you. You’re practically quivering with the need for him to fill you, to fuck you, and when Blitzø presses the head of his cock into your wet, eager cunt you choke on a moan, the sound coming out as more of a sob.

“Fuuuuuck…” Blitzø groans as you squeeze around him, even with only an inch or so inside you. Instead of fucking you, he stills his hips, scratching his claws up your thigh teasingly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet… Sexy little slip’n’slide…”

“Blitz, please…” you plead, a canine whine slipping out along with the words. “Please, I—I need you—fuck, please, fuck me. I can’t…”

Blitzø’s undoubtedly snarky reply breaks off into a moan, low and rough in the back of his throat as you move against him. You fuck yourself desperately back onto his cock and he doesn’t stop you, grabbing hold of the base of your tail so he can watch the way his cock slides in and out of your aching cunt. Watch the way your pussy kisses the head of his cock before enveloping him again, tight and hot and so fucking wet. You let out another strangled sob through gritted fangs when he still refuses to move, your forehead pressed uncaringly against the wet patch on the sheets as you fuck yourself onto him, the scent of your own arousal thick in your nose.

You can feel Blitzø’s grip on your tail, the claws of his other hand digging deep into the muscle of your hip.  Already this feels so much better than any toy, the warmth of his touch, the almost painful strength of his grip on your hip. He isn’t as thick as the dildo but he still stretches you, filling you with this delicious, familiar ache that makes heat tingle through the small of your back.

Or maybe that’s the way he tugs on your tail, forcing your back into a more severe arch, making each slide of his cock as you bounce yourself back on it graze against that sweet spot inside you. It didn’t matter – your brain can’t focus on anything through the haze of the heat except for how fucking good it will feel to have him fill you, breed you; to feel his cum filling you up so much it will have no choice but to drip back out of you and stain the fur of your inner thighs.

“Good girl,” he croons, his voice hitching when you thrust back against him and squeeze, and he snickers in the back of his throat deliriously. “Fuck… you want me to fuck you proper? Fuck you like a good little bitch?”

“Please, Blitz…” you whimper, claws tearing further into the sheets beneath you. Tears are burning in the corners of your eyes, and your voice breaks as you beg. “Please. I’ll be—I’ll be a good girl, Blitz, please, just fuck me—”

Blitzø runs a hand over the swell of your ass, squeezing wantonly at the flesh. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

The imp grasps roughly at your hips and thrusts deep into you, bottoming out inside you with a groan. He doesn’t hesitate to fuck you forcefully, his hips slamming into the back of your thighs with every push of his hips. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, of his cock filling you is downright filthy, joined by the throaty gasps that escape you each time he buries his cock to the hilt in your cunt.

“That’s it,” Blitzø grunts, tail wrapping itself tightly around your thigh. You choke on a sound halfway between a moan and a yelp as the spines of it dig into your skin. It’s a possessive move, one that will leave marks on your inner thighs for weeks, and it thrills you in a way that makes your entire body shudder. You’re his, and Blitzø chuckles when your tail wags at the idea, battering against his chest. He catches hold of the base of it again, holding it down against your thigh. “Yeah… such a happy puppy gettin’ fucked like this… feel so fuckin’ good…”

The bed springs groan beneath you with every roll of your hips into his. His tail quickens against your clit and an orgasm rocks through you, your thighs shivering and your hips jerking disjointedly as he continues to thrust into you. Blitzø slows his pace, hissing a string of curses under his breath as you tighten, vicelike, around his cock.

“No, no, no, no,” you beg, trying to fuck yourself back onto him again. His claws tighten painfully on your hips, forcing you to stay still as he steadies himself, and you let out a purely canine whine that makes him chuckle breathlessly. “Please, Blitz… don’t stop. Don’t stop, I need—”

“I know what you need, baby girl,” he groans, grinding himself slowly into you again. You whimper, desperate for more even as the aftershocks of your orgasm still make you twitch. This fucking heat… even with how good it feels to finally cum, the tension inside you won’t break until he does too; not until you feel him fill you with cum. “You… fuck…. ‘m not gonna last if you keep squeezin’ me like that… shiiit…”

“Don’t need you to last,” you tell him, pushing hair out of your face with a shaky hand. “Need you to cum, Blitz, please.”

“Jus’ what every dick-carryin’ member o’ Hell wants to hear,” Blitzø snickers, unwinding his tail from your leg. He massages a hand over where his claws have left blood welling up against the fur of your thigh. “Cum quick and no foreplay.”

Your answering laugh catches as Blitzø swats your ass again, and you let out a strangled sound of frustration when he slips his cock out of you.

“Roll over; that’s a good pup.” the imp orders, smoothing his hand up over your knee to your thigh as you do as he asks. He grips the base of his cock with his other hand, appraising your naked body and mussed fur with half-lidded eyes. His tongue slides hungrily against his lip as crawls up onto the bed to kneel between your legs. He leans over you and palms your breast, squeezing it roughly, pinching the nipple hard enough to make you gasp. Blitzø’s smirk widens lasciviously, and you wrap your legs around his hips eagerly, pushing his jeans further down his thighs. He trails his palm over your knee where it rests against his waist in what’s almost an affectionate gesture, and he slides his cock over your clit a few times, slow and teasing. “Wanna try begging again?”

“Blitz,” you groan, pressing your hips up against him needily. You sigh a moan ass the move makes the head of his cock dip into you, and Blitzø moans in the back of his throat, giving in and thrusting fully into you again. “Fuck!”

The imp grips at your hip with one hand, bracing himself over you on the other as he fucks you, rough and hard and deep. You clutch at his arms, his chest, claws digging into his skin and leaving dark tracks across it. Blitzø hisses at the feeling of it, grin widening, and he meets you halfway when you lean up to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Blitzø kisses you hungrily, demandingly, his tongue sliding into your mouth to meet yours almost immediately. He moans into your mouth, the sound almost obnoxiously pornographic, when your fingers graze the side of his throat, his teeth catching on your bottom lip. “Christ, fuck, you feel so fuckin’ good… shit…”

His fingers find your clit and you arch up against him as you cum, the way Blitzø’s cock hammers into your cunt making it gush out of you. You almost shriek with the force of it, your head falling back against the ruined sheets, eyes rolling back. Blitzø curses, shivers when your fingers graze along the spikes at the back of his head, pulling you into another desperate kiss.

“So fuckin’ tight…” he groans, lips and teeth brushing against your cheekbone before he buries his face in your neck. “Gonna fill you up. That’s what you want, isn’t it, pup? Fill you up and breed you like a good little bitch…”

“Yes!” you gasp as he buries his teeth in your shoulder, pushing your hips up to meet his with every thrust. His hips slam into yours, a thrill of pain mingling with the addictive pleasure burning through you. Your voice is a breathless whine, jaw tight. “Yes! Fuck, Blitz, fuck… please, let me have your pups… please… cum inside me, please, fuck…”

Blitzø kisses the underside of your jaw, breath hot and heavy against your throat. His fingers find your clit again and you moan aloud, voice hoarse and rough and broken as you cum again. The imp echoes it, desperately trying to steady himself long enough to get his words out. “Gonna cum, baby… Gonna fuckin’ fill you so fuckin’—fuck!”

Blitzø thrusts deep into you and cums, grinding himself hard against your cunt as he shudders through his orgasm. A sob tears from your throat as the tension inside you finally, finally breaks, your entire body shivering under his touch. Blitzø fucks himself slowly into you in a disjointed rhythm, forcing his cum deep into your cunt, and you barely register the way he brushes his lips over the marks he’s left in your shoulder. When he kisses you again, you taste the iron of your own blood, and he slides his cock out of you slowly with a heavy, tired sigh. He rolls off of you and onto the mattress beside you, laughing breathlessly as his back meets the soaked sheets.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he reaches over to pat your thigh, snickering when his touch makes you jump, over-sensitized. “Might wanna think about changin’ the sheets.”

“I’ll get right… right on it,” you reply breathlessly, thighs aching. The sound of your tail thumping against the mattress fills the space between you, and Blitzø smirks, his own tail switching back and forth lazily by your ankle. You whine quietly when you feel the warmth of his cum dripping out of you and down your inner thigh. You roll over to rest you chin on his chest and stare up at him with wide, happy eyes, tail still waving merrily behind you. “Thanks. For coming—”

“Heh,” he cuts you off obnoxiously, laughing when you poke him in the ribs in retort.

“—over.” you finish pointedly. “I know you had work to do today.”

“Oh, fuck work,” Blitzø says, one arm tucked up behind his head. His other hand comes up to tousle the hair between your ears affectionately. “You really think I’m pickin’ work over blowin’ your back out when you’re all heat-horny?”

“Well…” you shrug a shoulder, face warming in a blush, “you really like work.”

“And I really like the way you do that bouncy-squeezy thing when you’re all impatient for more of my thick, red co—”

You try to cut him off by covering his mouth with your hands and Blitzø laughs, ducking back out of reach. He catches hold of your wrists and pulls you into another kiss, forked tongue sliding against yours. He releases them to cup your cheek in his palm, fingers carding through your fur and up to the base of your ear. He rolls you onto your back, moving with you to brace himself on one elbow.

He breaks away with a breathless laugh as you reach down to curl your fingers around his cock. It’s soft, but it twitches under your touch.

“Christ on a stick, tits, give me a minute,” he snickers, pulling your hand gently away again and smirking when you pout.

You sigh childishly. “A whole minute?”

He grins and kisses you again, stopping when a thought comes to him.

“You’re early – that shit Fizz’s barnyard bitch makes is, uh…” he gestures vaguely down over your belly. “It’s, uh… doin’ its thing in there, right?”

“Took it this morning; the test for it is on the table,” you nod hurriedly, trying to pull him on top of you again. Blitzø shakes his head in amusement; as eager as you are right now to be knocked up, neither of you are particularly thrilled at the idea of actually breeding outside of the heat. Taking the contraceptive before heat set in was basically foolproof, and the test provided reassurance to partners when the one in heat is too far gone and needy to be worried about telling the truth. “Now, fuck me already, please.”

Blitzø chuckles, sparing the test a long enough glance to confirm you’re telling the truth. He slips a hand down over your belly to tease two fingers over your clit and you shudder, your breath catching in a quiet moan. He watches your expression almost affectionately, circling your clit slowly. “Thirsty bitch.”

“Blitz…” you draw his name out needily, bucking your hips up against his hand.

The imp smacks a kiss to the side of your muzzle, flicking your clit and making you jump before rolling away and sitting up. He claps his hands and rubs them together, stretching out a kink in his lower back.

“Alrighty, here’s the plan. You want me to fuck you again?” he grins when you nod enthusiastically, leaning over to fish a packet of wipes and a bottle of lube out of the bedside drawer. He cleans off the dildo still suctioned to the headboard brusquely and squirts some lube on it.

“Then you: fuck that,” he stands on the bed, cupping his hardening cock in his hand. “While you—” he points at his crotch with his other hand, “—suck this. Alrighty, tits?”

You roll over onto your hands and knees readily, and Blitzø bends down to kiss you again as you reach back and line the dildo up with your still-aching cunt, stroking it a few times to spread the lube over the silicon. You moan into his mouth as it sinks into you, your eyes rolling back behind closed lids.

Blitzø straightens, fisting the base of his cock and groaning as you lap at the head of it with your tongue. When you take him eagerly into your mouth he groans, his head falling back and his hand clutching at the hair between your ears. “Fuuuuuck… that’s my good girl…”

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a/n: it was two anons who requested this one, but I'm tagging @clovrplayz and @rhiandoesfandom because the vibes are very much there for them lol.

hope you all enjoyed! don't forget to comment/reblog and let me know what you think! :)

[bloomdim]

Aged Up Ao’nung x Size Kink | Human Reader

Warnings: Size kink, p in v, major size difference , belly bulge, dirty talk

He was staring, your tiny human body trembling under him the farther he pushed into you. That huge bulge in your stomach, the only thing his eyes were concentrated on. Shit did that look good on you, all nice and filled up by your giant of a boyfriend.

‘N-nung’ you whined out, quickly snapping him out of his trance. His eyes darting back to your flushed face, his hands moving towards your red cheeks.

‘Yes baby?’ He cooed lovingly, stopping at the tip of your cervix. Brushing the hair out of your beautiful face, so small and fragile he thought.

‘I-it’s so big’ you mewled, filling fuller then you ever had. His cock stretching out your tight little pussy, making a home for himself inside of you.

‘Cause your so tiny baby’ he teased, hands outlining the curves of your tiny frame. God were you adorable, 2 times smaller then him and a whimpering mess. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, smirking at the way your eyes fluttered closed at his touch.

Slowly his hips began moving, admiring the way he could see his cock move in and out of your tiny cunt. His mushroomy tip hitting your cervix as your small moans and whimpers became more frequent. His giant hand being able to wrap 2/3 of the way around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

‘Shit your tight’ he hissed from above you, the way you clenched around his length had him seeing stars. His lips found yours in a second, his tongue gliding into your mouth deliciously. Your small hands holding onto his head, gripping onto his hair tightly. He relished in the way you pulled onto him, weak hands forcing him closer.

‘F-faster nung’ you begged, pulling away as your hands wandered down to his shoulders, nails digging deeper into his turquoise skin.

“Tight little pussy” he grunted, his hands gripping onto your waist, leaving marks for tomorrow. The smell of your arousal and sweat mixing together as he pounded into you with a deadly speed. God did he feel good, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, arching your back as he pulled you closer.

‘Such a good girl’

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[hotdsworld]

Sylus has the dirtiest mouth known to a man. And I'm not even kidding I can bet my life his dirty talk has MC blushing, all flustered and dripping wet. Like for sure he talks MC through it, enjoying how flustered she is with the comments he makes, pumping even harder into her (cock, fingers, whatever) when she tries to be bratty, "reprimand" him for the dirty mouth OR look away because of how shy she got. He would just grab MC's chin and make her look at their bodies joining one way or another.

Also he's all about praise (mixed with degradation IF MC is into it)

An example underneath the cut

18+!

A/n: didn't start writing for LADS just after the event I had so many thoughts 😭

His fingers linger on your thighs. Sylus was taking his sweet time with you, enjoying how your body trembled with need. His ultimate goal was to drive you crazy and then gave you pleasure you haven't experienced before. Sylus smirked, knowing he was the one who got you like this: impatient and needy.

"Is my kitten getting impatient? Haven't you said before that you don't need me? It seems like your pussy doesn't agree with you. Do you want me to take care of it, doll?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. It was one of your sensitive places and he knew about it too well. "You know, you just have to ask and I will grant any wish you may have, cupcake... unless you prefer to lie to yourself and me that you don't need me? Hmm?" Sylus whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His words seemed to reach your core as you felt the warmth spreading there. His thumb rubs circles against your clit gently, and your whole body aches to finally have something inside of you, to have him inside of you. It didn't matter in what form.

"Please, Sylus. I need you inside," you whine, going against your own mind. You were prideful, you didn't want him to know that you needed him, but perhaps it didn't matter now. Perhaps you needed to stop pretending that you didn't need him, perhaps you just needed to stop being prideful and just embrace the need and desire. Because right now, your body yearned for his. Sylus chuckled, it wasn't exactly the perfect begging, but you would get there eventually. For now, it was enough. He knew how much it took for you to say it. Sylus pushed his thick finger inside, savoring the way in which your heat clenched around it. You moaned, content with having your pussy stuffed with something, the irritating ache finally disappeared. Sylus began to move his finger slowly, driving you crazy. You bit your lip, stifling your moans. It felt so damn good to finally have him inside of you, even if it was just a finger. A finger was enough... for now.

"Good girl. Such a greedy pussy. You really needed this, didn't you? I'm glad that you finally embrace your desires, kitten. It was about the damn time. As much as I admire the little brat, hearing your need for me is much more enjoyable, don't you think so?" Sylus smirked, pumping his finger in and out of you a little faster, before adding a second one. You whimper, feeling fuller than before. It felt fucking great. "It seems like she agrees with me, doesn't she? She's sucking my fingers back inside, can't get enough huh? So greedy. Good, with me you're allowed to be greedy, always. I will give you anything you want, and more." Sylus whispered, satisfied with the way your pussy responded to his touch. You blushed, pressing your face into the pillow. Somehow, even with his fingers inside of your pussy he was able to make you flustered. With his other hand, Sylus pulled you away from the pillow by your chin, pulling your face down, making you look at his fingers disappearing in your tight heat. The sight sent shivers down your spine, you watched with perverse fascination, even though your cheeks were burning. "What is it, cupcake? Feeling a little shy? You certainly were bold enough to get yourself into this position," he nods down at his fingers moving inside of you. Sylus smirked, looking back up at your face. That cocky smirk of his... always present. Your eyes widened a little. He was too confident for his own damn good. Sylus knew what he was doing and how he was affecting you, and it was amusing, to him at least, because you were absolutely out of it. Lips parted, cheeks burning in shame and desire, pussy stuffed with his fingers. "No need to be shy, doll. I thought we were way past that? Look at how well your pussy is taking my fingers. Preparing to take something bigger later. Don't hide, I want to see that pretty face contorted in pleasure only I can provide. And I want you to see and be proud of yourself, proud of how good you're doing, kitten" he said before planting kisses all over your thighs, leaving little marks. Your hips bucking against his hand involuntarily. "Now you can say that you need me, wouldn't that be sweet? Maybe for that I will make my precious kitten cum. After all you have been so good, weren't you? Doing what I ask, expressing your needs, taking my fingers so well... I'm proud," he was rock hard, his cock straining painfully against his pants, but pleasing you was his priority. Sylus could deal with a little discomfort if it meant you're properly prepared for him and satisfied. You were to deep in this, your body and mind just set on one thing: cumming. You looked into his eyes, a bit annoyed at his smirk but it didn't stop the words coming out from your lips.

"I need you, Sylus. I always need you, even when I say and act like I don't. I do I just don't want to admit it. Please make me cum," you move against his hand, trying to get his fingers as deep as you can. Sylus moved back up, not interrupting the rhythm of his fingers fucking your hole.

"That's it. That's it, kitten. Such a good girl. Cum for me like the good kitten that you are," Sylus pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. That's all he wanted to hear. He wanted to know you needed him as much as he needed you. Sylus rarely would let himself be vulnerable, but with you it was different. You enjoyed the connection, he thought about it even in the most intimate moments. His skilled fingers pushed you right to the edge, he held your waist as your body shook due to intense climax. Gently, he pushed you on your back and leaned down, just to lick up any juices remaining on you, causing you to mewl. "Such a tasty pussy, I can't get enough of it. You came for me so hard, cupcake. I'm proud," he hummed against your flesh.

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 24: Behind the Scenes

Word Count: 701/Rating: T/Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader/CW: Eddie's got a crush, theatre girl!Reader, reader wears a dress, one dirty joke thanks to Gareth/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, theatre girl!Reader, Principal Higgins

Divider credit to @silkholland

“This is all your fault,” Gareth hissed at Eddie. “I should be behind the bleachers, making out with Annie right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, swiping a paint brush over a two-by-four. “Sure, blame the guy standing up to The Man. Let’s not consider that Principal Higgins was the one who banned us from the talent show.”

Jeff hiked up his sleeves and grabbed the nearest hammer, ready to construct the Scarecrow’s perch. “Higgins didn’t ‘ban’ us,” he countered. “He just told us we couldn’t play War Pigs.”

“And that’s better?” Eddie shook his head. “No, we were given freedom of speech for a reason! We should be able to play whatever we goddamn want!”

Mrs. Porter, the school play’s director, glared at him and shushed. Eddie held up his hands in surrender, but continued complaining in a loud whisper. 

“All I’m saying is, if he didn’t want us putting on our own lunchtime performance, he should’ve let us do our thing at the talent show.”

“I think the lunch ladies enjoyed it,” Grant chimed in, earning himself a thwack in the back of the head from Jeff. 

Eddie was about to thank him for his support, but a flash of pink caught his eye. You were standing in front of the girl playing Dorothy and twirling in your Glinda dress. After a few spins, you got dizzy, and Dorothy caught you as you both burst into laughter.

Gareth resumed his rant, oblivious to Eddie’s sudden smittenness. “I’d rather play Girls Just Wanna Have Fun than build sets for the fuckin’ school play.” He held the perch in place so Jeff could hammer in the nail. “At least we could write lyrics and plan campaigns in regular deten–are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Eddie blinked a few times, snapping himself out of his daze. “Yeah. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Got it.”

“What’re you looking at?” Grant peered around one of the fighting trees, his face splitting into a grin when he saw. “Oh, that’s why you’re not pitching a fit about this set design detention.”

Jeff batted his eyelashes flirtatiously. “Eddie, do you have the hots for the fairy princess?”

“Shut up!” Eddie grumbled. “And she’s not a fairy princess; she’s Glinda the Good Witch.”

The backup guitarist put up his hands in mock surrender. “My apologies.” 

“You gonna ask her to play with your wand?” Gareth snickered, but he quickly stopped once Eddie shot him a look that could kill.

You disappeared back into the makeshift dressing room, and Eddie let out a silent sigh of relief. He might not be able to stare at you from afar, but at least he could think about you without the guys interfering. The subject naturally shifted to the songs they wanted to add to their setlist for their Hideout gigs, and Eddie was in the clear.

Until.

“Those look great!” 

Eddie’s head shot up at the sound of your voice. His cheeks reddened and his mouth relaxed into a sheepish grin.

“Thanks, yeah. I’m not much of an artist–like, a painting artist. I band. Um, I mean, I play in a band. So, like, music artist. I do music. Yeah.”

You raised your eyebrows, clearly unsure how to interpret his rambling. “Well, a music artist is still an artist.”

“Yeah.” Christ, Munson; is that the only word you know?

Gareth was more than happy to supply further conversation. “Sorry, he’s kind of an idiot around girls he’s hopelessly in love with.”

‘I hate you’ was perched on Eddie’s tongue, but you stepped in. You paid no attention to the menace-formerly-known-as-Gareth as you spoke directly to Eddie. “Well, we always need music artists to help make the orchestra pit fuller. If you’re interested.”

“No–I mean, yeah, I’m interested. Super interested.” The paint brush clattered to the ground, but he barely noticed. “Where do I sign up?”

As Eddie followed you to where the orchestra conductor was tuning violins, Gareth leaned closer to the two remaining bandmates. “Think it’s a good idea to tell him that Higgins is technically the reason why he got to talk to his dream girl?”

Jeff clapped a hand on the drummer’s back. “Good luck with that.”

--