#actually no your neck is so pretty already

[kdh-tally]

Saja Boys x Manager!Reader

Prompt : 9 minutes and 42 seconds of the Saja Boys falling for their manager

Author's Note : Since my “10 mins of Rumi and Jinu parenting Baby and Zoey” went well I wanted to make another but with the Saja Boys and their manager!! Tried my best to make this gender Neutral!!! If i missed anything let me know (I'm half asleep writing this)

[“WELCOME TO : 6 times the Saja Boys fell for Y/N (their manager) in 9 minutes and 42 seconds”] [Intro Music : “Gabriela” by EYE-KONS plays in the background] 📝 Narrated by: delulu4rujinu (what my u-tube user would be)

Time Stamp [00:08] [Scene: The Saja Boys being forced to do minimum wage jobs. ] Youtuber’s Caption (YC) : “This is specifically Y/n and Romance at Sephora”

There was an extremely long line leading out of the building and around the street. Why? Romance from the Saja Boys was currently running a free make up program. 

He and the other boys had been forced to split up, with each member being forced into minimum wage jobs for a day. He, however, had been sent to his happy place. A beauty store.

Y/N watched in exhaustion as customer after customer came in, begging the man for advice on what they could possibly do to help with their appearance. “Thank Heavens he isn’t an actual make up artist,” they sighed, rubbing the incoming headache out of your forehead. “These poor people would go broke so quickly.” YC : “They’re not wrong 😭”

As the day came to an end and the store closed its doors to the public, Romance came up behind his pretty manager, wrapping his arms around her torso, his face buried in their neck. Y/n, already used to this behavior, ruffled his hair as she texted instructions on what the remaining boys should do while home alone. 

“That didn’t go too bad right pretty?” The man hummed contentedly. 

“You surprisingly made a decent amount of money,” y/n praised him, turning off their phone and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Good job cutie”

Romance stood, fully stunned, as they walked off. Receiving any form of affection from the normally stoic manager was an achievement worthy of bragging about. So he quickly pulled out his phone, immediately contacting the boys group chat.

Romeo :  Y/n called me cute and gave me a kiss🤤

Spicy Baybie :  So... I think it’s about time we pushed you off a bridge! 

Furry :  Define kiss

Romeo :  Physical contact through lips

Furry :  As in their lips on yours?

Romeo : …. I mean….

#1 WWE Champ :  Man got a kiss on the cheek and went crazy 💀

Time Stamp [01:32 ] [Scene: Baby refusing to eat. ] YC : “That time Baby forced Y/n to feed him cause he was 'injured' ”

Baby was live for the first time in days. There had been no real reason for his random disappearances, he just didn’t feel like going live. Prior to him setting up the stream, he had asked the Pride what they would like to see him do.

The amount of people who begged him to do a spicy food mukbang was incredibly high and so he got to preparing. “Hello Pride~” he cooed at the camera before panning the view around the kitchen. 

Comments flooded the chat as the fans took note of their manager sitting comfortably on the kitchen counter. As he placed the phone on its stand, giving it a good view of where they would be working, he continued to talk, “Today, Y/n-ie and I are gonna be making spicy food for my mukbang later.”

“Hold on what? I never agreed to-”

“Anyways,” he smiled, clapping his hands together to silence his manager, who was staring at him in disbelief. “Let’s begin shall we?" YC : “The way none of them ever let Y/N finish their sentences bro 💀”

Though they hadn’t agreed at first, Y/n decided to help out with the cooking process. Chopping and mixing whatever Baby needed mixing. As he moved to stir the pot of spicy ramen, he had underestimated how hot the metal spoon would be and ended up burning himself. 

“Baby!” y/n gasped, quickly moving his hand under the tap to run over lukewarm water that she slowly turned to completely cold. She pulled out a healing balm from one of the cupboards before applying it to his hands. “You sit here, I’ll finish the rest” she ordered.

Baby nodded, it didn’t really hurt—demon powers and all—but he didn’t mind letting his pretty manager pamper him a bit.  YC : “He’s actually a child 😭🙁”

Y/n was quick to finish the food. She plated it neatly in front of the boy before stepping out of frame. He merely looked at her, easily forgetting he was live, before pointing at his injured hand with his good one. “I can't eat”

“Why Baby?”

“I’m right handed.” Unfortunately, his right hand was the one that was injured. That was how Y/n ended up feeding him every bite of his meal, the boy was kicking his feet under the table as he ate.

Spicy Baybie :  Okay so what kissed your cheek? She literally fed me a whole damn meal 😋

Romeo :  You could've done it yourself I know for a FACT you weren’t even hurt 😒

Spicy Baybie :  Womp Womp Loser

Time Stamp [03:45 ] [Scene: Y/n doing Mystery’s hair. ] YC : “Y/N wanted to try a new hairstyle on someone"

You know that feeling when you watch a five minute tutorial on how to do absolutely anything on youtube and then you all of a sudden feel as though you’re an expert in whatever you were trying to do?

That was Y/n. They had just watched a tutorial on making a wolfcut and needed to practice on someone. Now, all the demons were fortunately able to grow their hair back at alarming rates, but it also meant any of the five would be perfect test subjects.

As they walked into the dorm lounge, their eyes narrowed on their target. “Mystery~ You wanna help me out?” 

Said boy looked up from his nintendo switch, eyes barely peeking out from behind his thick bangs. He said nothing but simply nodded in agreement. Beaming, Y/n moved to sit behind him on the couch as he sat on the floor. 

She already had her scissors and comb so she was ready. She gently laid the boys head back so it rested between her thighs before she began to cut layers into his hair. At this point, Mystery had turned off his switch to focus on the feeling of their hands running through his hair. 

“You don’t mind me doing this right?” she double checked as she evened out the side layers before parting his bangs so she could see his eyes. They were sharp but gentle and very expressive, but he nodded. 

“I don’t mind,” his voice rang out through the room. Y/n nodded before continuing and quickly finishing up. 

They pulled out a mirror from who knows where to place in front of the boy. He looked at his reflection, running a hand through his new haircut, he actually liked it. His eyes were a lot more visible now but he didn’t mind.  YC : “The hairstyle ATE DOWN you guys 😩”

“Thanks Y/n” 

“No problem! Call me if you ever want your hair done again,” they grinned before heading off to learn another tutorial. 

Furry :  [Selfie image of his head between Y/n’s thighs as she does his hair]

Spicy Baybie :  Choke Die Suffocate

#1 WWE Champ :  All in favour of kicking him out of the group say “i”

Time Stamp [05:16 ] [Scene: Y/n allowing Abby to sleep on her. ] YC : “I’d let him sleep on me too not gonna lie”

Y/n laid at peace on the living room couch. They had finished organizing the boys schedule for the next few weeks and was taking a well deserved nap. The boys had entered, taken pictures of their cute manager, and headed in their own directions. 

All of them except Abby. He had gone to his room, changed into pyjama bottoms, he could never find a comfortable top, and headed back to the living room. Without saying a word, he gently scooped his unknowing manager up, laid down under them, and placed them back on his chest. YC : "I want a personal teddy bear too :/"

He prayed they wouldn’t wake up or berate him and it seems as though his prayers were heard. Y/n cuddled closer to the new source of warmth that was being provided, humming in content once they got comfortable. 

Abby wrapped his hands around her waist before letting himself fall asleep as well. It couldn’t get better than this.

#1 WWE Champ :  [Image of Y/n sleeping on him (his face is in the photo and he’s smirking at the camera)] Probably wish you could be me huh?

Jinu-us (Genius 😉) :  When will it be my turn?

#1 WWE Champ :  Try again in maybe 400 life times?

Spicy Baybie :  They still wouldn’t want him then 💀

Romeo :  Jinu, are you going to take that disrespect from children???

Jinu-us (Genius 😉) :  I’m not trying to get banned like Mystery 🧍

Time Stamp [07:21 ] [Scene: Y/n in Jinu’s clothes] YC : “Y/n and Jinu switched outfits”

The boys were live again, this time it was Jinu and Mystery. They seemed to be bonding over losing their group chat privileges. Mystery stayed interacting with the fans and reading comments while Jinu scrolled through tiktok. 

“Could you do the outfit switch trend?” Mystery read a question out loud before looking to his leader, “You know what that is?”

Jinu shook his head before searching it up, Mystery watching next to him. It seemed to be a trend where k-idols would switch clothes with their managers. Jinu’s eyes sparkled as he realized it was going to be his turn to have a cute moment with Y/n. 

He immediately sought them out, Mystery walking slowly behind him. “Y/n! We need to–”

“Switch outfits I know,” they motioned to their phone in hand where they watched the live steam. 

“You watch my lives 🥺”

“I watch all of your lives. Now are we going to do this or?”

He nodded and they both went ahead to change. As Y/n stepped back out into the camera view, the couldn’t help but get a bit nervous. Jinu was a pretty tall guy, so even the small t-shirt he had on completely engulfed Y/n’s slightly shorter frame.

His pants were too large for them so they had to hold them up by the waist. Overall, they looked like a “wannabe hiphop musician from 1995,” Mystery let out a huff of amusement.  YC : "Guy's I didn't know Mystery had jokes like that-"

Jinu was no better. Fortunately for him, Y/n usually walked around in big shirts and comfortable sweatpants. However, it was quite the fit on him, staying tight in inconvenient places. 

However he couldn’t care less. Simply watching Y/n laugh at him in his clothes filled his heart with that warm fuzzy feelings all of the boys got when around their manager. Gosh they were down bad.

Spicy Baybie :  Jinu embarrassed himself on live stream. Again! Your mom must be so disappointed :(  Oh wait–

Jinu-us (Genius 😉) :  I should've left you in the pits of hell with Gwi-ma

Romeo :  That’s actually crazy 🙁 Apologize to Jinu, his mom and his sister Oh wait–

Jinu-us (Genius 😉) :  I’m going to steal Rumi’s weapon and kill all of you myself.

Time Stamp [9:42] [“Thanks for watching!! Don’t forget to like, comment, and send some love to Y/n so they don’t die 💋😉🙏”] [Outro Music: “New Jeans” by Bunies]

[strangerstilinski]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Person A falls first, Person B falls harder — With a slightly more literal approach. [ 5.7k ]

𝗰𝘄: fluff, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader (but pls lmk if i missed anything), eddie does call reader "pretty" & "gorgeous", possibly probably incorrect dnd references, minor head injury, i am not a medical professional so don't yell at me, reader is mentioned to have flyaways but no other hair descriptions. don't mess w eddie bcos he can & will prank you <3

𝗮/𝗻: initially based off of this post but, oops! somewhere along the line the og plot ran away from me. still might fuck around and write a version more similar to the original post in the future! :)

divider by @/hellfiremunsonn

Eddie's head throbs with the kind of strength that feels a little bit like he's been hit by a car. Or a semi-truck. Or a fucking train, maybe— Because holy shit, it fucking hurts.

His lips part on a strangled gasp. He manages to pry his eyes open just long enough for the sun to pierce his retinas like a goddamn knitting needle being stabbed straight through his skull and quickly pinches them shut again with a pained groan. He's cursing like a sailor through clenched teeth, dirt and grass rubbing into his clothes when he rolls to one side, feels a stupid dandelion tickling at his nose, and then promptly rolls onto his back again. Jesus, are his ears ringing? He can barely hear the sound of his own expletives over the rush of blood in his veins. 

Jesus, he is such an idiot. He'd actually walked straight into a fucking lamppost. Like some bumbling imbesile in the Sunday Funnies. Eddie doesn't know where you are now — in any other situation he'd be desperately hoping that any bystanders somehow missed the painfully (ha) embarrassing blunder — But the only thing he can spare the brainpower to think about is the ache blooming sharply at the front of his skull. 

Then he feels the stupid, scaldingly bright sun warm him until the back of his neck prickles with sweat, and for just a moment in his melodramatic heart—Eddie knows. 

He knows he's a deadman. He's sure of it, in fact. 

No point in driving himself to Hawkins Memorial to wait around in the ER, he was already a goner. As good as dead. His gravestone would read: Here lies Edward Munson, killed by his infatuation with the relative stranger who sits behind him in Economics and his own short attention span. (But in his humble defense, your smile is bright enough to rival the sun itself, and Holy hell you looked gorgeous today. Sue him if he'd wanted to stare at you just a little longer.) 

Eddie is still rocking side to side in the grass when the sunlight over his body thins with a shadow. As if to add insult to injury, something knocks him in the ribs only a moment later. Eddie is still grumbling profanities when the fog in his ears clears enough to hear another voice, distantly familiar and so much nicer than the sound of his own. 

He dares to open his eyes again, fighting against the pain in his head to squint against the harsh glare of the sun shining out from behind the– 

Huh. He really must be dead. 

Because Eddie is pretty sure there is an honest-to-god angel kneeling over him. Shit. 

Five Minutes Earlier

You're sitting outside during your free period on one of the first few truly warm days of spring in Hawkins, trying to soak up as much fresh air as you can before the cold snap of 40 and 50 degree days the coming week has in store can wring out the final dregs of winter in the midwest. 

The past weekend had been a beautiful respite. Friday it had been sunny and seventy-five by lunchtime. It was a tease of what's to come, so close you can practically taste it. 

Finals, graduation, summer. 

Today is much the same, so by the time the bell rings to signal the start of your free period, you’re already outside basking in the warm weather and attempting to make use of your good mood by finishing the reading for your English assignment, dull as the material may be. 

You nearly drop the book cradled in your lap when the doors to the school suddenly burst open just ten feet from your sunshine-y spot in the grass outside the Hawkins High School science wing. The slam of metal hitting brick is jarringly loud. You flinch in surprise, gaze snapping toward the disruption as your heart rate works frantically to re-settle in your chest. 

Your eyes find Eddie Munson. 

He's standing tall in the doorway, his favorite leather jacket forgone with the warm weather, but he still has his seemingly very well-loved denim vest layered over a tshirt. His eyes are wild, his footing restless. His body seems to be thrumming with unsettled kinetic energy, leaving him wavering in place. He's searching for.. something — that much you can tell. His mouth presses anxiously against his knuckles as he spins in a jerky circle, cursing under his breath while the heavy doors slam shut once again behind him. 

You watch as Eddie looks longingly to the edge of the student parking lot, just barely visible around the corner of the building. His face scrunches up in deliberation for a moment before his head jerks to the side, as if listening to some noise beyond the doors that doesn't quite reach you. He turns toward the line of bushes along the side of the building, just a few feet from where he still hovers at the side entrance. It seems as if he's debating something to himself before he gives an unsure shake of his head, and then suddenly Eddie is diving into the greenery headfirst. 

The sight has you nearly choking on a gasp-turned-laugh. You watch the scene beginning to play out, feeling a bit like you must've been transported straight onto the set of I Love Lucy— like at any moment all color will fade from the world around you and leave behind only shades of gray. Cue the tinny laughter of a live studio audience. 

The doors are slamming open once more before you can so much as blink. The jarring sound of metal colliding with the brick wall again meets your ears just as the last bit of Eddie's denim-clad leg disappears within the thicket of poorly tended branches and leaves. You take in the sudden barrage of green, white, and gold that emerges from the building. Letterman jackets hang loose over the shoulders of the two jocks who have stormed out after Eddie, deep scowls on their faces, expressions pinched and nostrils flared in annoyance. 

“Damn it! We lost him-” 

“Where the hell did he go?” 

“How should I know? Shit, how's the freak so fucking fast?” 

You huff a quiet laugh of amusement, shaking your head as you attempt to refocus on the book in your hands. You've barely finished re-reading the start of the paragraph you’d unwillingly abandoned during Eddie's dramatic exit when a voice slices through your focus. 

“Hey!” One of the guys calls out. 

You catch the way he relaxes his posture into something less intimidating the moment your gaze settles on him. One hand raises above his head in a halfhearted wave, a gentle smile on his face that you're familiar enough with to not fall for — It's dripping with the same faux-charm that you've seen rake in unprecedented extensions for late assignments or subservient smiles in the place of tardy slips. He fixes that same smile on you now, the kind of efficacy that could probably land the guy a leading role in the upcoming Drama Club production. 

“–You, uh, you seen Munson around?” 

Your own acting skills are put to the test when the bushes rustle just slightly at the mere mention of his name. It's an honest-to-God challenge to swallow down the laughter that threatens to spill from your lips. You do your best to paste on an look of confused nonchalance, taking a moment to school your expression while you slide your bookmark into place and valiantly fight the urge to flick your eyes toward the white, rubber soles poking out from beneath the shrubbery beside them. 

“No, sorry.” The lie itself comes easy — The feigned apology etched into your expression, however, proves a little more difficult, “Haven't seen him.” 

The guys look to one another with clear frustration. They begin to mutter back and forth, too quietly for you to make out their words, but from the obvious anger between them, you're able to put the pieces together fairly well. You've watched Eddie Munson piss off more than enough people from afar to make an educated guess as to the motive behind their current hunt. 

The ever-magnetic Eddie Munson. 

A majority of the time it's far more difficult for you to not get sucked into his tirades and rants than it is for you to simply allow your attention to be drawn straight toward him. The captivating boy with wild brown curls, and dimpled cheeks, and expressive eyes, and a laugh brighter than life itself. 

You don't know Eddie, per say. You've never actually had a conversation longer than a few mundane interactions. During one of the more memorable ones, Eddie asked to borrow a pencil that he never actually returned — Instead he'd fixed you with an all-too-charming, lopsided grin at the end of the class and asked if he could use it for the rest of the day, seeing as he couldn't find his. Because apparently he owned only one pencil or something-

And Eddie had sauntered into class every day for the next few weeks with that very same pencil tucked behind his ear. His teeth carved little indents into the soft wood when he gently gnawed on it in thought. He'd drummed the eraser softly on his desk during quizzes, fidgeting with it teeter-tottering between his fingers while he pondered over multiple choice. The utensil whittled down more and more each time you saw him, until it was a mere stub shorter in length than Eddie's thumb — but still, he continued to use it even then. His dedication to keeping track of it for so long was endearing enough that you’d never once asked for it back. 

Point is, Eddie is kind of a secret sweetheart. And you do think you know enough to be confident in the assessment that even Eddie's craziest stunts are nearly always some sort of retaliation in defense of those he deems in need of his protection. The losers and the freaks and the outcasts. Those who would normally allow the abuse and ridicule from their classmates without putting up any real fight. Because if there is one thing you’re certain of, it's that under all of that bravado — hidden beneath layers of leather, ripped denim, and the illegal ink scratched into his skin — Eddie Munson is quite possibly the most genuine, well-meaning person you've ever encountered. 

While you're sure he'd be loath to hear it… Eddie Munson is cute. There's something real that sparkles in that easy charm he turns on the teachers when he wanders into the classroom ten minutes late, or on the lunch ladies when he's angling for an extra scoop of mac and cheese.

And sometime around December Eddie had begun leaving little doodles beside the red pen marking your grade on quizzes and assignments— Adorably disturbing animations of otherwise cute animals, a smiley face adorned with devil horns, a surprisingly detailed hand displaying a thumbs up, a stick figure with the same bald head and frizzy hair around his ears as your teacher. Whatever he could get away with scribbling in thirty seconds or so before continuing to pass the stack of day-old papers back. 

There's a sweetly endearing boy threatening to sneak through the cracks in his facade — You'd noticed, and you've been quietly and embarrassingly smitten ever since. 

Which is to say, you're well-versed enough in his antics to know that while Eddie has surely gone out of his way and done something- He probably doesn't actually deserve the brutal ass-kicking that these two obviously have in store. 

“But-” You call out suddenly when one of the guys teeters a small, unintentional step in the direction of the metalhead's current hiding spot, “I've heard he sometimes hides out from Principal Higgins in the track and field shed,” You fib easily. “Maybe you could check there?” 

The guys seem to perk up at the suggestion, shooting you grateful smiles and waving as they bid you goodbye with a quick: “Yeah, we'll go give it a look! Thanks for the tip!” 

It only takes approximately five seconds from the moment the heavy door slams shut behind them for Eddie to tumble out onto the grass just beyond the line of shrubbery. He curses up a storm all the while, letting out a little yelp when he has to kick one of his feet free from a tangle of low-hanging branches. You can just make out a few of his grumbled expletives along with the tinkling of the chain wallet clipped to his belt loop, the sound of metal on metal and twigs snapping making their way to you despite sitting at the far end of the grassy knoll. 

He scrambles back to his feet in a rush, cheeks pink, wide-eyes flitting about in the distance until his gaze settles on you. Eddie's blush only darkens at the realization that you've seen his fall, but then his cheeks are dimpling with a wide, earnest grin, one hand coming up to shoot you a grateful wave as he takes just a few long strides in your direction.

“Hey, hi, it's you!” He calls out, kicking at the ground below him bashfully as his hands fall to his hips. “I mean. I, uh, thanks for the assist, there.”

“Oh, no problem,” You laugh, “Happy to help.” 

“Well, ah… Just, let it be known that your gentle misdirection was greatly appreciated,” He finishes with a gracious little bow, and feels silly for about half a second before he hears you laugh softly at his theatrics and then any and all traces of insecurity immediately fly from his head to make room for the abundance of affection and puppy love that fills his chest. 

As your laughter tapers out, a small beat of silence settles in the vast space between you. 

“Right.” Eddie nods to himself as he speaks, waving once more when he begins to backpedal toward the parking lot a few yards behind him. “Well, don't tell anyone, but I'm cutting last period, so-”  

You mime twisting a key to lock your lips, “Mum's the word.” 

“Oh, mum, you say? Shit, here I thought you'd just send anyone else who asks after me on a futile side-quest to the track and field shed.” Eddie jokes, moving another two steps back toward the sidewalk. “My own personal mastermind rogue.” 

The reference goes over your head, but the grin Eddie shoots you as he says it is enough of a thrill to have your stomach erupting with a small swarm of butterflies. 

“I'm practically aiding and abetting,” You tease, rewarded with a sharp laugh that has Eddie's eyes glittering even from a distance. “Better be careful. Too many people come looking for you and I just might have to start keeping a tally.” 

A hand flies up to his own chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, “Oh, but of course!” Eddie grins. “Merely name the time and place and I'd be more than happy to repay any and all debts owed.” 

“I’ll keep you updated.” 

You find yourself smiling back— can't seem to stop smiling, actually. You sort of wish he'd invite you to skip class with him, English assignment be damned. He won't, of course, it's not as if you're friends, but… The longing is there all the same.

“Right. I, uh.. Thanks again. I'll.. see you around?” 

Does he look reluctant to leave or is your mind playing tricks? 

“Yeah,” You pause for just a beat, “See you.”

Reluctant to look away from you just yet Eddie keeps moving backwards, his sneaker catching on cement for half a second before he steps up onto the curb behind him with only a small stumble. 

He laughs good-naturedly at his own clumsiness, hands joined at his lower back as he breaks the lingering eye contact with an embarrassed bow of his head.

You watch with bated breath as Eddie nears a lamppost at the edge of the lot. Your lips part on a warning that proves to be about half a second too late. 

Because Eddie has already turned on his heel and suddenly finds himself too close and moving far too fast to avoid walking into it— facefirst, at full-speed. Your entire body jolts just watching the impact from afar, your own yelp in your ears nearly drowning out the awful sound of his head colliding with metal. 

You're scrambling to your feet as Eddie staggers back a step on wobbly legs, and you're abandoning your things to rush in his direction as his knees give out and he lands on his backside in the grass with a choked-off gasp of pain and surprise.

By the time you drop to your knees beside him, Eddie's already cursing up a storm. He's rolling side to side in the grass, long legs kicking out as if the constant movement might actually be able to siphon some of the pain from his head. Your knee catches him in the ribs in all of his thrashing, but Eddie seems too caught up in his hurt and his own dramatics to have even noticed. 

“Fucking–” Eddie cuts off with a groan, long and drawn out as it rumbles in his throat. “Stupid piece of– What a stupid fucking place to put a god damn pole. Jesus H. Fucking Christ! Ouch–!” 

“Oh god! Are.. Are You okay?” You manage to get in over the sound of his breathy expletives. 

All of Eddie's writhing and flailing comes to a halt as he casts a look up in your direction, big brown eyes settling just long enough to be blinded by the sun behind you. He squints hard against the sheer brightness, his gaze instantly gone a little hazy. He looks at you for about half a second, empty gaze flitting over your face like he’s never seen you a day in his life.

“Ah.. Oh, damn it, you're pretty.” He manages before his eyes pinch shut against the onslaught of light penetrating his corneas with another curse, “Real pretty. Ah shit, did I fuckin’.. Am I honestly dead right now? Fuck.”

At least, you're mostly sure that's what he says. He's grumbling under his breath more than speaking, really. Regardless, you're going to reassure him, lips already parting to do just that, but Eddie hardly gives a moment of pause before babbling on faintly, words coming out worryingly garbled to your untrained ears. 

“I-I mean, don't get me wrong, angel, alright?” Eddie’s words slur together, “I am, uh, pleasantly surprised if it's you welcoming me to eternity.” It sounds as if each word is heavy on his tongue, or perhaps, like each one is being forcibly dragged from the depths of his chest and they've lost some of their clarity by the time they reach his lips. “‘m sure you know I'm not exactly in a place to turn away a free pass into heaven, but, uh, Jesus- Or, sorry- Ow.” He finishes inarticulately. 

You reach out cautiously, making for the area of skin hidden away beneath his fluffy bangs. Eddie startles the moment your fingers brush the welt forming on his forehead, despite how deliberately gentle you are with the movement. There's a bump, swollen under your fingertips and warm to the touch already, the injured skin flushed with heat — If the poor guy comes out of this with lasting brain damage, you're going to be seriously riddled with guilt for just existing to distract him in the first place. 

“Fuck.” Eddie grumbles again in discomfort, halfheartedly swatting at your hand until it retreats from beneath his bangs. 

His warm knuckles are such a stark contrast to your own, his fingers curling around the edge of your palm before you can fully retreat back into your own space. You ignore the way the metal of the ring on his middle finger pinches your skin when he squeezes your hand. You return his grip just as solidly while Eddie's head falls back to the ground with a dull thunk, your thumb swiping anxiously over the jut of his knuckle as he begins another round of disconcerting grumbling. 

“Ohh, if I die, my– My uncle is gonna be pissed, man.”

He sure is babbling a lot for someone with a head injury. You wonder if that's normal — If it's a good sign or a horribly bad one. 

You pull in a shaky breath, “You're not dy–”

Eddie doesn't seem to hear you over the light ringing in his ears. Rather, he's continuing on before you can finish, “Shit, he's gonna move ’imself back into my room ‘nd.. ‘N he'll see the state of my mattress. God. He's gonna see the shit stuffed under my mattress–”

You bypass the more obvious implications of his second statement (read: porno mags, drugs) despite your piqued interest, but you're far too stumped and curious to bite back a question regarding the prior. 

“What's wrong with your mattress?” 

It comes out quiet, but still, this time your voice works like magic at pulling Eddie's attention back on you lightning fast, as if he's noticing your presence for the first time all over again. 

Like some sort of divine intervention, a thin cloud passes over the sky then. The filtered sunlight allows Eddie's gaze to fully catch yours, wide brown eyes meeting your open, blissfully honest expression of curiosity. 

You're momentarily stunned by the way the molten chocolate of his eyes goes honeyed in the light, his irises glowing with an enchanting mosaic of brown and gold. 

Eddie, himself, is still squinting against the light, but this time the brightness doesn't hit him with the immediate need to pinch his eyes shut again. Instead, his brain goes blissfully blank, distracted by the way the sky seems to cast a halo around your head. A few of your flyaways sway in the breeze, sparkling so pretty in the sunlight. He murmurs as much, the words nearly incomprehensible aside from the quiet utterance of ‘pretty’ that you catch slip from his lips for a second time. 

“Eddie?” 

You cut through his tumultuous inner monologue with a soft voice, worry etched into your expression. You can't help the way you scrunch the denim lapel at his neck in your anxious fist. You pull, just a little. His shoulder lifts an inch or so off the ground before you’re releasing him again, smoothing the fabric out over his clavicle with gentle fingers. 

He still hasn't responded by the time you’re finished, so you try again.

“Hey, Eddie..” 

His eyes drop from where they've been stuck somewhere just above your own, trailing slow down the length of your torso. You watch him finally take in the extent of your proximity bit by bit; your hand in his own, your knees in the grass beside him, the way your folded legs brush his hip, the fingers you have resting where his shoulder meets his neck, the little flap of denim at the collar of his battle vest caught between your fingers. 

“What?” Eddie croaks after a few seconds of silence, the sound of your name falling from his lips immediately afterward fills you with a sense of relief the strength of which you've never quite experienced. “You.. Sorry. Uh, what’d you say?”

Still recovering from Eddie saying your name in that low, grumbly tone, your mouth quirks up at the corners of its own accord, a soft smile gracing your lips.

“You said something about the state of your m-” The words trail off, hand not currently trapped in his grip finding their way to the space between his brows. The pads of your fingertips brush featherlight over the microscopic hairs above the bridge of his nose, ever cautious in their ascent upward. “Nevermind. I just- Eddie.. Seriously. Are you okay?” 

“I, uh.. Honestly, angel?” He cracks open just one eye, shooting you a playful grin, “Think I might be concussed.” 

You laugh but it’s more in relief at his cognizance than genuine amusement. 

“Here, let me-” You reach out a hand and Eddie allows you to slowly help him to his feet with minimal resistance. He sways precariously for only a moment in a struggle to regain his balance, but your hands are right there on his chest to help hold him aloft. 

You carefully usher him back toward where you'd been reading in solitude earlier. Slowly, lest the metalhead suddenly collapse to the ground. You guide him by the hand, eyes flitting between Eddie's pain etched face and where his calloused palm is pressed firmly to your own.  

As the two of you reach your abandoned belongings, you release his hand to drop to the ground and unzip your bookbag. It only takes a moment of rifling through your things, you find what you’d been looking for: a half-frozen ice pack, tattered kitchen towel still wrapped around it to protect your sandwich from going soggy. 

You remove the towel now, turning to face Eddie right as he plops down in the grass beside you. He stretches out, long legs extended in front of him, leaning back on his hands with a casual coolness that makes your head spin. He's lounging next to you as if this is a totally normal occurrence. Like he skipped class and actually chose to come spend that time with you, of all people. Like he's not currently pretending there isn't a sharp ache in his head. 

“For you.” You hold the ice pack out in offering, the plastic already beading with condensation in the warm air. “It's not frozen-frozen, but it's still pretty cold. I could run to the nurses office real quick, though, if you-” 

“Nah. No need, sweetheart. No, this is great-” He takes the proffered item, fingers brushing yours again, “A Mastermind Rogue and a Healer. How lucky I am to have stumbled into your path this morning.” 

He flashes you that entirely too charming smile again, cheeks dimpling in a way that sends your heartbeat into overdrive. You can't quite believe that before today you'd never really looked at him this close. Plenty of class periods have been spent staring at the back of his head studying the pattern of his frizzy curls — Far more time than you've ever spent actually looking at the blackboard at the front of the room. But now you've gotten close enough to notice the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, the long lines of his eyebrows usually hidden away beneath his bangs, the short, clean stubs of his fingernails and the green tint staining the skin underneath the ring on his index finger. 

You doubt you'll ever be able to overlook him again after this. 

Eddie must take your momentary silence for confusion, because he immediately delves into an explanation into DnD classifications. He uses simple terms, laying it out in a way that would make sense even if you had no prior knowledge of the game. It's no wonder he's in charge of the after school club, because while he’s boisterous and loud and sometimes a little bit wild and scary on purpose — He can also be so gentle and patient when the situation calls for it, especially when he thinks no one of consequence is paying attention. 

But you're paying attention. You're watching the way his full lips move. The way his one free hand gesticulates while he talks. You're watching a bead of water from the ice pack drip down the soft line of his nose. You're listening as his rambling explanation bleeds seamlessly into the concept for the summer campaign he's planning. You find yourself caught up in the whirlwind of his attention and his excitement and the sound of his fucking voice. 

Eddie's rambling pauses suddenly, and when he begins speaking again, his words come with a deliberate slowness. “Sorry, I- Sometimes I get going and I don't really know when to stop.” He smiles again but this one is more of a bashful grimace as he scratches at his head awkwardly. “You can just tell me to shut up and I won't even be offended. Promise. I, uh-”

A little bit of the light has dimmed from his eyes, and you can't fucking stand it. You don't want to tell him to shut up. Actually, you'd be far more inclined to sit right here listening to him talk about anything and everything until the final bell of the day rings out, hell until the sun dips below the horizon-

There's so much more nuance to Eddie than you'd expected when he mosied into Economics on that first day at the start of the school year and dropped unceremoniously into the desk in front of you. He is so much more than just a seemingly lacksadasal indifference to his education, or the wild storm of the constant chaos that seems to erupt in his wake. 

And speaking of that chaos…

“Hey, um. Can I ask…” You hesitate for only half a second before he’s urging you to continue. 

“Yeah, ‘course, anything. Go on.” 

“What did you do? To piss those guys off earlier, I mean.” 

Eddie drops the ice pack to his lap and twists his body toward you in a rush of excitement, leaning his shoulder against the trunk of the tree and grinning at you until you turn slightly to match him. His cheeks dimple again, eyes filled with a giddy mischief that tells you whatever tale of hijinks he’s about to bestow upon you is going to be good. Or, maybe, bad? 

Eddie makes a show of dropping his voice into a low murmur, “You ever smelled a hard boiled egg after it's been sitting in a hot car?” 

Your lips quirk, “Can't say I have.” 

“Nah, ‘course not,” Eddie replies easily. “Well, you're not the only one, apparently. Swear to God. I, for one, cannot imagine how bad those idiots’ jock-straps must reek… I don't think they even bothered looking for the source of the damn smell ‘til yesterday afternoon.” 

You try to hold back your laughter, but you don't quite manage it, and Eddie's own grin melts into something all-too pleased at the sound. 

“So, how long was the egg in his car then?” You ask in a hushed voice. 

Eddie matches your tone, leans in like he's revealing some great secret. His cheeks dimple, the freckles on his nose standing out in his proximity. 

“Remember that real hot day we had? Cracked 80 or so?” 

You nod, eyes wide. “That was Friday… Right?” Three days ago, your mind supplies. 

Eddie’s still grinning, “Yep. Stuffed it into the pocket on the back of his driver’s seat Thursday during lunch.” He says it proudly.  

“You broke into his car before the weekend-” Another laugh, but you can't help it, not when Eddie's looking at you like that. “And you just… hid a hard boiled egg?” 

“Well, see, it wasn’t locked, is the thing-” He divulges, “So… The way I see it, anyone could’ve done it. Could’a been one of the guys on the math team, or drama club, maybe a spurned cheerleader-” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” You laugh at the unlikeliness of such a thing. An angry cheerleader, maybe, but the other two suggestions are outright preposterous. “Hell, maybe Mrs. O'Donnell did it.” 

Eddie throws his head back with a cackle, clapping his hands together in excitement. 

“Fucking O'Donnell!” He laughs, “Shit, Yes! Absolutely. You are absolutely right! Yep, O'Donnell’s behind it. Nothing more than a mean old woman's revenge.”  

You try not to get too caught up in the heady fog of approval that rolls over you with every peel of Eddie’s laughter, the joy in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Lucky for you, I happened to witness the whole thing, so-” 

“Oh, so you've got my back, is what you're saying?” Eddie teases, bumping your shoulder with his own. “I can count on you to plead my innocence?” 

“I'll insist on your innocence,” You promise slyly. “Someone comes asking questions and I'll throw O'Donnell right under the bus. And anyone looking for you specifically will be sent straight to the track and field shed with the rest of the Munson manhunt. Obviously.” 

Eddie clutches a hand over his heart, “Damn, sweetheart. I'm not sure I can afford the interest rates on a favor like that.” 

You take a deep breath to steel yourself. “I guess you'll just have to think of another way to pay me back.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie leans back a touch, his eyes assessing, unsure. 

He looks almost… Nervous? 

“Yeah.” You swallow around the lump of anxiety building in your own throat before speaking again. “I, uh, well. I'm not busy Friday night.” You offer over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

“No shit?” Eddie laughs quietly, mostly to himself. “You know what? It looks like I do happen to have plans on Friday.” 

“Oh?” Oh. You try to smile despite your heart plummeting to your stomach. It’s fine. It’s fine, you’re fine- 

“Yeah, uh… Dinner and a movie?” 

Your lips part in confusion, and Eddie seems to mentally replay his own words before shaking his head. His curls whip around wildly with the movement, one hand coming up to press the ice pack to his forehead once more. 

“Jesus, sorry, I- Shit, I'm fucking this up.” Eddie curses. “What I meant was uh, you wanna to go to dinner and a movie? …With me!” He adds after a moment. The embarrassment on his face looks almost pained. “Fuck. Would you like to-” 

“Eddie?” You interrupt.

“I… Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

[ceramini]

loser jake who can’t control himself when he sees his cock bulging in ur tummy 😵‍💫

꒰ WTC ꒱ 심재윤 × afab!reader ♡ ୨୧ non-idol!au · smut + fluff · 0.6k ꔛ 𓂅 bulge kink · himbo!ikeu · he yaps (a lot) but he’s cute for it 🕷️ return ⌇ ꒰ catalogue ꒱ ꔠ

✧ NIA’S NOTE :: this request actually had me gagged and I know we all love loser jake so here it is!! also quick ann: I will be switching my requests from inbox ⇢ google form! pls fill it out for future requests so things stay organized ꒰๑´ ˘ `๑꒱ thank u always for reading fics ♡ mwah!

Jake was talking about logos.

Like, still talking.

“You know how some logos just feel safe? Like, you see ‘em and your brain’s like, yeah. That’s friendly. That’s comfortable. It’s the font, babe. It’s always the font—”

His voice was bouncing off the bedroom walls while his hips lazily rolled against you. The slow drag of his cock, already dripping with your slick, had you breathless under him. And he was up there in some brainless monologue, kissing your jaw and lecturing about the psychology of Helvetica.

“—but, like, imagine if banks used Comic Sans—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Shut the fuck up and look.”

You pressed a shaky hand to your lower belly—right where you could feel the hard line of him, stretching you so deep you were dizzy. His length made a very real, very obscene bulge in your tummy. And when you pushed on it gently, your pussy clenched tight around him.

Jake blinked.

He stopped moving.

He stared like he was watching a religious experience in 4K.

“That’s—wait. That’s me?”

His hips flexed. His cock twitched inside you. He sounded scared to believe it, like he hadn’t just fucked you dumb a hundred times already.

“Holy shit, baby…”

You smiled up at him—sweaty, fucked-out, proud. “Knew you were big, huh? But not this big.”

Jake whined.

Whined.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” he said, voice breathy, a little panicked. “I didn’t—oh my god—babe—babe, you’re shaking—”

“Feels good,” you mumbled, lifting your hips to chase more of that stretch. “Don’t stop.”

But Jake wasn’t listening anymore.

He was staring—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, mouth parted—watching his cock press against your stomach from the inside like he was seeing the beginning of time.

Then, in one sudden thrust, his hips slammed forward and you screamed.

He choked. “I saw it move. Babe, it—fuck—I saw it move.”

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

Whatever yapping, dumbass part of Jake had existed five minutes ago was gone. Killed. Replaced by some frenzied, pussy-drunk version of himself who was now grabbing your hips and driving into you like his life depended on it.

“S-so deep,” he panted, thrusting hard enough to make your tits bounce, “my pretty girl takes me so good, fuck, I’m so deep in there—look, baby—look at that—that’s my dick, holy shit—”

You couldn’t look.

You were writhing, arching, clawing at his arms as he fucked you with wide-eyed, feral focus, like he was obsessed with watching the shape of himself inside you.

“I didn’t know,” he groaned, “I didn’t know I was this big—I thought it was normal, I swear—”

“Jake—!”

“Shit, baby, you feel too good—I can’t—I’m not gonna last—”

He kissed you like a man gone mad, tongue desperate, hand pressed over the bulge like he wanted to feel it break through your skin. Your body was quivering under him, sweet and pliant and gasping, letting him use you however he wanted.

“Gonna cum in you,” he whispered, eyes flickering between your face and your belly, “wanna see it bulge and fill you up, wanna see my cum leak out while I’m still in you, wanna—”

Your orgasm hit like a truck.

And Jake lost it.

He cried out, actually cried out—slamming his cock deep one final time, holding it there as he throbbed and spilled into you. He didn’t even blink. Just moaned into your neck, hips twitching, voice breaking with every pulse of heat he shoved inside.

“Fuck, baby… I made it that deep…?”

You were shaking under him, slick, overstimulated, and full, dripping from where you were still stretched around his thick cock.

He looked down at the bulge again.

“…Can I take a picture?”

permanent taglist ✦ @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist @hoonprksung @eunvyue @kkxheeluv @enhawonnie @ghost-of-minnie @underscorealastor @yazmike @tokkisluv

[kokii-omii]

Flight Fest Race Event Story (part 2)

part 1

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

[Shaftlands - Feather-Fair City]

🪽: Okay so everyone stay close together because the street get REALLY crowded in preparation for the flight fest

🫗: geez you think that even after living here for 6 years I'd get used to the crowds

🍎: so many people...

🍩: guess this event is no joke to the locals, they're all so hyped for it

🐈‍⬛: nyahaha! i can already smell the free food from here!

🦐: Grim don't you dare run off-

🪽: little grimmy you only get free food when we WIN the race

🫗: you mean IF we win the race

🦁: already lowering your expectations huh? i thought you had more guts than that

🫗: oh we're winning this thing, im just making sure we have all our options right, its called thinking ahead

🌼: Sounds more like pessimism to me

🫗: BEE??

🍎: who is she?

🪽: she's peyn's older sister Phoebe, but i didn't know she'd be here

🍩: she's quite the looker if im being honest

🫗: dude! not my sister, thats gross

🌼: you never even had a chance to begin with junior, so keep walking, we've got places to be

🫗: wait Bee why are you here, i thought grams was supposed to pick us up, i even sent her a text n stuff to tell her we'd be coming

🌼: did you really think grams knows how to use her phone?

🫗: fair point, she still thinks a computer mouse is the same thing as the animals

🌼: anyway enough chit chat, im here to take you guys to where you'll be staying for the rest of the week

🍎: how are we gonna get there? this place doesn't exactly look like you could fit a blastcycle in here

🍩: and nobody said we had to bring brooms

🪽: oh yeah no we gotta walk most of the time, but dont worry its not that far

🪽: our place is just up these stairs so it won't be a problem really

🫗: yeah for you....

🐈‍⬛:Mrah! thats a lot of steps...

🦁: im gonna wring your neck like a wet rag

🌼: they actually installed a bunch of escalators next to the steps so you guys dont have to worry your sweaty little heads about that

🍩: well thats a relief.., i was scared that id have to walk up all of that with all these bags

🪽: you guys are being dramatic, the stairs aren't even that bad

🦁&🍎&🍩: thats cuz you live here

[Feather-Fair City - Helio Hotel]

🌼: alright, here's the card to your suite, you all have your own rooms there and you guys can settle down or explore or whatever,

🌼: just be sure to meet me in the lobby by 4:30 so i can take all of you twerps to your fittings for the suits

🌼: there's food in the fridge, table, whatever go eat if you want to

🌼: if you have an emergency, call room service not me, so dont bother getting in touch with me until 4:30, later dorks

🍎: man your sister sure is something

🍩: i definitely see the resemblance

🦁: im out, nobody bother me til we go down the lobby

🐈‍⬛: guess even in a lively event as this Leona still decides he'd rather take a nap

🐈‍⬛: which means more food for me! nyahaha! cmon yuu!

🦐: its snack time!

🪽: i gtg to the lobby for a bit and get some stuff from my dad, he's gonna be dropping off some gear

🪽: you guys can walk around the hotel if you want, this place is pretty big anyway, the garden is pretty nice too,

🪽: i can give you guys a tour around the city if you want, we can go around and see the stalls and maybe eat some of the snacks they're selling, My treat!

🍩: if you're paying then I'm definitely going!

🍎: i wanna see too!

🫗: im calling my grandma first to see where she's at, maybe we can give her some of the snacks we buy if we see her

🪽: Good call, anyway brb I'll come get you guys when i get back, remember- Phoebe said we gotta be back in the lobby by 4:30 so she can take us to our fittings

*door closes*

🫗: should we take Leona-senpai with us?

🍩: nah leave him, he gets mad if you wake him up from his nap, we can bring him some snacks when we get back

🦐: we should probably leave him a note

🍎: i wonder if they have barbecue in one of the stalls...

🐈‍⬛: maybe they have tuna too...mmm

[Feather-Fair City - marketplace]

🍎: Wah! thats a lot of people!

🫗: maybe we should go tomorrow...

🍩: and miss out on the sale today?? are you kidding? im goin over there , see ya later! *fwee!*

🫗: Ruggie-senpai wait- *runs*

🍎: do we go follow them?

🪽: nah they'll be fine, if they get lost then they can go back to the hotel

🍎: *sniff* W-Whats that delicious smell!!

🐈‍⬛: *sniff sniff* Mrah! its coming from over there!

🪽: ah its chicken skewers! cmon guys I'll go buy you some

🪽: excuse me! four skewers please!

👤: coming right up!.......here ya go sonny four skewers hot and ready!

🪽: thank you! dig in guys!

🐈‍⬛&🍎:*nom*.....!!! ITS SO GOOD!

👤: haha! im glad you kids like it, you're here to watch the flight fest right?

🐈‍⬛: how'd ya know?

👤:we got a lot of people coming from all sorts of places just to see it

👤: especially since word got out that the eldest son of the Nikos family will be the one racing instead

👤: and he hasn't made a public appearance in almost three years! can you imagine that?

🍎: yeah.. I wonder why...

🪽: *ahem* maybe its cuz he didn't wanna have others up in his BUSINESS *pinch*

🍎: ow! that hurts!

👤: now that i look at ya more, you kinda look like hi-

🪽: WELL- WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT! its almost 4:30! haha- cmon guys lets go find Peyn and Ruggie and hope Ruggie doesn't mooch off Peyn- See ya mister! thanks for the skewers!

almost forgot to tag @pamist

---------------------------------------------------alright im gonna cut that off right there and save the rest for the next chapter

Part 3 (soon)

[howdidigethereimlost]

@forsakencomicunofficial

Hey I wrote a mini oneshot fanfic for this, it's more comedic than angsty though at this point. There's somewhat light gore, pretty much just blood though.

The sun had almost risen, blood littering the grass and stone of the cave alike. 1x1x1x1 stood there, blood on her sword already cooling and drying to a red crust that he knew he'd have to clean later.

One left. Shedletsky. His father. The man who had raised them, had abandoned them. She hated him. Hated Shedletsky. Unfortunately, he was also the best swordsman in the land, a god among men. Shedletsky had created a world for the sole purpose of swordfighting, and he'd seen him still with his classic sword. This wasn't going to be an easy fight.

He tore his own eye out, looking with the newfound glow to the figure hiding, crouched beside a generator in the cave. Who looked up and saw his own child's gaze, stumbling to his feet and drawing his sword.

1x1x1x1 stalked forwards at first, casting necromancy as she walked, watching in the distance as a minion chased Shedletsky out of the save, right into their field of vision.

She threw her swords, looking up to see... Shedletsky get hit. But this was a one off, right? He wasn't fast enough to dodge. That hadn't ever happened before. Shedletsky always dodged. His father always dodged. He only ever got hit when he was cocky, and he didn't look cocky, he looked terrified as he saw 1x1x1x1 start sprinting, albeit not as quickly as Shedletsky started to run. Turning and barely avoiding the minion. 1x1x1x1 ran to the opposite side of the cave, cutting him off.

Shedletsky raised his sword, pausing in place as he did, like it was too heavy to lift and swing normally. 1x1x1x1 casually took a step back, and the blade missed him.

He stared at his father for a few seconds, then at the sword hanging by his side. He wasn't swinging it. He looked back up at 1x1x1x1, blinking.

"...so. Whaddya say you,"

He paused to take a frantic breath.

"- let your old man go..? Just this once, kiddo? I uh... I don't really have the same uh, spark, that I used to at this kind of thing..."

Shedletsky didn't swing again. 1x1x1x1 paused, before laughing, a laugh that grew manic, like she truly found this funny, funny and pathetic.

1x1x1x1 finally caught their breath,

"So you really-?"

"No."

1x1x1x1 swung again, cleaving across Shedletsky's chest, who stumbled backwards, holding a hand over to try to frantically stem the bleeding.

"So, god."

She hissed, voice dripping with venom.

"You want to play the pity card? I know better than that. I wanted a fair fight. Go on. Swing."

Shedletsky chuckled nervously, lifting the hand that wasn't currently trying to keep him from bleeding out to scratch at the back of his neck dramatically.

"I... Can't."

"...can't..?"

1x1x1x1 paused. Actually looking back at Shedletsky. He looked like shit. He was literally barefoot? He didn't have his cloak, just the one sword, and looked like he'd given up on life entirely.

"Yes you can."

Shedletsky looked back up, swaying a bit from the now severe blood loss that was only starting to finally slow now.

"...heh, nope. Can't. Spectre won't let me."

He tried lifting his sword to demonstrate. It wouldn't budge. Like it were suddenly made of lead. He barely managed to get it back into it's sheath, let alone lift it again.

"How long until you can again."

1x1x1x1 snapped back, impatient, and only now realizing that this really meant nothing to her if he were helpless.

"...thirty seconds?"

"You... You're helpless. Truly, helpless. There isn't a chance that's the only thing you can do."

This couldn't be happening. All these years of being lost, and now, finally given the chance to make his creator suffer, all of the fun in the act was gone. Sapped by the entity she was hoping was on her side for once.

"...uh. They also let me carry two fried chicken drumsticks into the match?"

...

"I mean, I don't get a bucket or anything, or a plate, I just carry them in my pockets, but... Uh, it's something. Right?"

There was no fun in killing Shedletsky anymore, no fun in finally making him suffer. He was weak. This wasn't fair. Where's the pride in defeating a god when the god has been stripped of even the most basic means of self defense?

He looked up at Shedletsky. Noting that the blood had finally stopped. And watched him, intently, as he went for his pocket, pulling out, as he'd claimed to have, a fucking drumstick. And eating it right there. Like it was going to do anything.

"You, just... You really don't have anything else?"

"...no."

FORSAKEN - MINI COMIC 2 - THE PROMISE

After a while, finally a new mini comic! hope you like it! :D

[lemonadary]

choso never really paid much attention to the cheerleaders performing in the field during his games. this is the first time he's actually going to sit on the benches and watch them perform, and it's all because you, his girlfriend of three months, are a part of the cheering squad.

you didn't ask him to watch the performance for you, no. you actually wanted him to focus on getting well-rested and hydrated during the three minutes that your team would be performing in the field during his football game.

but choso wants to watch. he wants to watch you. and now that he's finally looking at the field and not at his phone, he's noticing all these new things. he should really pay more attention to these cheering performances.

first, how effortlessly pretty you are. your team sported a shirt and shorts version of the university's cheering uniform for the game (and also because of the summer heat). he knows they're tailored to fit, but by god, does he think you look absolutely amazing in it.

second, the way you move. choso remembers you filming tiktok dances in his room while he plays games, and you always thought he didn't pay attention. but he's always been stealing glances when you're focused. he knows you're a great dancer, but seeing you perform on the field, it's like you're on a whole other level from when you're doing silly tiktok dances.

and lastly, the way you charm the crowd. you're great at making facial expressions, and your energy just gets the crowd going. it's no wonder the cheering squad values you so much. even choso feels like he's fallen in love all over again.

after the game, choso waits for you in his car, ready to take you home. you come in, put your things in the backseat, and give him a kiss, praising him and his team for their win. choso has always been a bit nervy. he gets all nervous when you kiss him, or hold his hand, but right now, you can feel something's different with him.

"cho, baby? what's wrong? are you not feeling okay?" you ask, worried that he might have injured himself out on the field. but he doesn't answer. it's not when you're about to ask if he needs to go to the nurse that he cuts you off with a kiss. you're surprised.

he pulls away, looks at you, before he takes his seatbelt off and holds you by the shoulders to go in for a deeper kiss this time. your arms wrap around him, but you're still confused as to why he's suddenly acting like this.

almost as if he heard your thoughts, he pulls away again, breathlessly saying, "you looked gorgeous in that uniform, baby. it's driving me crazy."

so that's what this is about.

you smile, asking him if he really does think that, and he nods against your neck, trailing kisses all over. it's a good thing he's parked in a more shaded spot of the parking lot, or else someone would've caught you two already.

choso brings you to the backseat of his car, letting you straddle him. this isn't the first time you guys have done it, but this is your first look at choso being assertive. he's always been so respectful and sweet, but right now, it's like he hates your fucking guts.

he's got you on his lap, now with your back against his chest, legs held up by his hands as he thrusts up into you, and the feeling has you screaming. well, you would be if you weren't covering your mouth with your hand.

minutes later, he's got you in doggy. one of your hands reaches behind to hold his arm for support, and he lets you, because he's nowhere near done with you yet.

"did such a great job out there, baby. charmed the crowd and all," he says, slurring over his words from how good he feels. "but you're all for me, right?" he pinches at your chest, eliciting a bit more noise from you. you nod frantically, and choso pushes you down to rest your head on the seat as he leans closer to you.

"gotta hear you say it, pretty... you're all mine, right? this cutie's all f'me..." he kisses your neck, and it takes you babbling over and over that you're all his for him to finally let up.

when you two have come down from your highs, choso dresses you back up, driving you to his house so he can make sure you're feeling alright before he sends you back home. gone is that choso who gave you the best however many minutes you spent in that car, and back is the sweet and respectful choso. you'll have to wear that uniform again sometime.

[whatsupsonnyboy]

yoga pants | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: you’ve just walked in from the gym, dreaming of coffee and breakfast… but Joe’s got other plans—especially when you’re rocking those ridiculously tight leggings.

wc: 3.5k

warning: smut, (mdni!!), teasing, dirty talking, fingering, oral (male recieving), fluff…

a/n: So this is pretty much p0rn without plot. Gotta admit I have a pretty dirty mind but i just feel like our golden boy would too. Remember this is not a series, but if you wanna read more of this Joe, you can find it here.

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

It was still early.

The kind of quiet morning that tasted like routine—sunlight in sleepy streaks through the blinds, kettle whistling low, and the comforting voice of your mother spilling from the speaker as you stood barefoot in the kitchen.

You were wearing nothing but tight black yoga pants and a lilac sports bra, still a little dewy from the gym, hair pulled up messily, skin warm.

You weren’t trying to look hot. Which is exactly why you did.

Joe padded into the kitchen half-awake, hair a mess, nothing but boxers. And he stopped. Just—stared. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy chopping strawberries and murmuring polite mmhm’s into the phone. But the view was… criminal.

The leggings clung to your body like second skin, hips hugged, ass perfection, every curve carved like temptation itself. The sports bra lifted your chest in a way that made him feel downright feral. And you? Acting like it was nothing. Like he was just there, a piece of furniture in the morning.

He didn’t say anything. Not at first.

He came up behind you slowly, hands ghosting your waist—light enough to be innocent. Just a greeting. Just “I’m here.” You let out a soft hum but didn’t turn, still balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear.

Then he pressed closer. One hand sliding lower. Over your hip. Around the front. And then—right there. The heel of his palm flush between your thighs, pressing just enough. Still over the leggings, still perfectly “PG,” but it sent a shock up your spine.

Your breath hitched, barely audible. You stammered something into the phone—some lie about needing to check the stove.

But Joe didn’t stop. His mouth dipped to your neck, his breath hot as his hand began to move, slow, dragging over the fabric like he had all the time in the world.

“Didn’t even say good morning,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and mischief. “And you’re standing here dressed like this? What—trying to kill me before breakfast?”

You hissed, trying to nudge him off with your elbow, but he only chuckled. His fingers circled down again, more pressure now. Still clothed, still barely anything—and yet you were already clenching, already melting against him.

“You feel that?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Soaked already. And I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You shivered.

On the phone, your mom was still talking, completely unaware, while Joe pressed into you like a man starved. No removal of clothes. No need. The leggings were too thin, too tight, the friction perfect. He wanted you just like this—drenched and twitching and trying so hard to keep your voice steady for the woman who gave you life while he planned to fuck you like he might take it.

“Hang up the phone,” he whispered, biting back a grin. “Or I’ll make you say goodbye while you come on my hand.”

You hung up the call. Or at least… you tried to.

Your thumb fumbled over the screen, cheeks flushed, words clipped and polite as you told your mom you’d call her back later. Something about eggs. Or laundry. You couldn’t even remember.

The second the line clicked off, Joe hummed behind you, low and smug.

“Didn’t think you’d actually manage to hang up,” he murmured, lips brushing the spot just behind your ear. “You were doing so well. All those sweet little nods and mhms. Wondered if she could hear how your voice changed when I started rubbing you.”

His palm was still there—firm and slow—cupping you through the leggings like he owned the space between your legs. And God, it felt like he did.

You were soaked.

Warm and throbbing and pressed so tight against him it was criminal.

His dick—already hard—fit against the curve of your ass like it was molded to be there. And he rocked, just a little. Just enough to let you feel how completely gone he already was.

But he didn’t rush.

No, Joe was nothing if not intentional when he was in that mood.

His fingers stroked slow circles over the fabric, dragging slick with each pass. He was mapping you—memorizing how the leggings pressed against every shiver, every twitch, how the heat of you seeped through and stuck to his skin.

“You’re so fucking wet already, babe,” he whispered, voice all velvet and sin. “Didn’t even get your clothes off. Just these stupid little leggings and I’ve got you dripping.”

You tried to breathe—failed.

Your hands braced against the counter now, head bowed, heart pounding in your throat.

Joe smirked behind you. 

He saw it. The way your thighs shifted, desperate for friction. The way your back arched, unthinking. The way your breath caught with each lazy grind of his palm.

He bit your shoulder, soft and possessive. Then dragged his tongue over the mark.

“You know I’m not taking them off, right?” he muttered, dragging the words like a slow finger down your spine. “They’re too good. They stay on. Gonna ruin them. Ruin you. Right through them.”

His hand dipped, two fingers finding the pulse point at your core—still outside, still maddeningly not inside, just pressure and rhythm and slow, torturous play. And oh, he knew what he was doing.

He slipped his other hand under your sports bra, palm splaying over your chest, squeezing just enough to make you moan under your breath.

“Christ, look at you,” he groaned. “How am I supposed to behave when you walk around dressed like this? You are lucky I don’t bend you over the damn stove.”

You whimpered something—might have been his name, might have been nonsense—and that was all it took for him to grind forward again, his cock sliding perfectly against the soft seam of your leggings, your body pulsing in time with the movement of his fingers.

Still outside. Still lazy.

But every second a deeper undoing.

“I want you like this,” he growled. “Want you trembling and soaked and begging me to fuck you through them. Want you to feel every inch through the fabric. No skin. Just heat and friction and me.”

You nodded, helplessly, hips pushing back into him.

And Joe, smiling like a devil in love, kissed your shoulder, let his teeth scrape your skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Now hold onto that counter, sweetheart. I am not done playing.”

You clutched the counter.

Not to steady yourself—but to stop yourself from turning around and begging. Because he hadn’t earned that yet. Not after the way he kept touching you like you were a thing to worship and ruin in equal measure.

His hands were everywhere.

One still pressed against your center, stroking slow, sticky circles over the soaked fabric.

The other groping beneath your bra—kneading, teasing, pinching, owning your body like it was something he had earned.

Your back arched again, involuntary, hips pushing back into him, and Joe groaned—really groaned—low in his throat, the sound wrecked and full of teeth.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice fraying. “I can feel you, babe. Through the fabric. You are dripping. Gonna stain these leggings before I am done with you.”

He thrust forward, slow and heavy, grinding his cock into your ass through his boxers. There was a layer of fabric between everything, and still—still—he felt too close. Like he could tear you in half without even trying.

“You feel that?” he growled, rocking his hips again. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

You whimpered. Nodded.

He chuckled, dark and soft.

“Then say it,” he murmured into your ear. “Tell me you want me like this. Fully clothed. Fucked through the fabric. You want to be ruined without even peeling a single layer off, don't you?”

You did. God, you did.

And he didn’t wait for words this time.

His hand slipped between your thighs, palm angled just right, and he started to grind against you in time with his strokes. His cock pressed up behind you, his hand circling your cunt in a maddening rhythm, your leggings soaked and clinging to your heat like a second skin. It was so much, and yet not enough. He wasn’t inside you. Not even skin to skin.

That was what was driving you both mad.

And Joe? Joe was getting sloppy with it now.

His rhythm faltered, his hips jerked harder, breath catching against your neck.

“Fuck—fuck, babe, I am gonna—”

He cut himself off, jaw clenched, hips slamming forward again.

“Jesus, I am gonna come in my pants if I keep grinding against you like this,” he groaned. “You want that? Want me to lose it like a fucking teenager? Just from this—just from rubbing up on your perfect little ass through your leggings?”

You pushed back into him with a soft moan and he lost it. One hand wrapped around your waist, holding you steady, while the other ground deeper between your legs, circling harder now, faster, chasing that high.

He was whispering now—filthy, desperate things.

“So fucking tight, babe… you are twitching, fuck, I can feel it. You are gonna come for me, aren't you? Right here. Right now. Don’t even need to get you naked. Just this. Just me, you, and these goddamn leggings.”

You were trembling now.

Your legs weak, your body boneless against the counter, and Joe was relentless—his hand moving in tight, ruthless circles, palm grinding down against that soaked, pulsing spot until you were gasping, moaning so broken and desperate it echoed off the kitchen tiles.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled behind you. “Come for me, baby. Just like that—fuck, listen to you.”

Your hips twitched forward, seeking more—chasing that release that had been building and building in cruel, unbearable waves.

And when it hit? It wasn’t sweet.

You cried out—loud, filthy, wordless—head dropping forward, ass jerking back into his hips as your cunt clenched so hard around nothing that you felt the pulse of it all the way to your teeth. Your thighs shook. Your knees gave a little. You soaked your leggings, the mess undeniable, audible even in the slick sounds between his hand and your heat.

“Jesus fuck,” Joe breathed.

He watched it happen—watched the way your body seized, the way your voice split the silence, the way you rutted helplessly into his hand like you couldn’t get enough.

He froze for a second.

Then groaned—deep, guttural, like something possessed.

“Look at you,” he hissed, still rocking against your ass. “Fucking dripping. You just came that hard from my hand? Through your clothes? Fuck me—fuck—”

You were still twitching.

Still throbbing under his hand—legs weak, body boneless, brain scattered.

Your breath rasped from your chest in shivers, your soaked leggings stuck to your skin, and Joe… Joe was losing it.

He was still behind you, grinding forward in stuttered little thrusts, his cock a steel heat trapped in his underwear, rutting against your ass like it was instinct.

“Babo, baby—fuck, I’m right there—” he groaned, voice shaking, mouth at your shoulder, hips jerking helplessly. “Need—God, I need—please, just—”

You turned.

Slow, unhurried. Your eyes half-lidded, your lips slick and swollen from breathless moans, your body humming from the high he had dragged out of you.

And you dropped to your knees.

Joe’s breath punched out of him.

“Wait—fuck, are you—”

You tugged the waistband of his boxers down just enough, cock springing free, flushed and leaking, the head red and glistening like he was already halfway there. And he was. God, he was.

“Shit, babe—please. You don’t have to—”

But your mouth was already on him.

No teasing. No preamble.

You took him deep in one smooth stroke, lips wet and eager, tongue working the underside as your hands wrapped around the base and squeezed.

And Joe shattered.

His hips snapped forward, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back against the fridge door.

“Oh my God, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me come—babe, I am gonna come, I am gonna—”

You hummed around him. Muffled a yes.

Your hands moved faster, mouth slick and warm and perfect, and he gripped your hair like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His moans were loud, filthy, unfiltered—all deep-chested and broken, every single one a full-body confession.

And then he lost it.

“Fuck—yesyesyes—babe, I’m coming—”

He spilled into your mouth with a wrecked, guttural moan, hips twitching, cock pulsing hard against your tongue. You took it all. Swallowed around him, soft and slow, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

When you finally pulled off, he was gasping.

Staring down at you like he had just seen a goddamn miracle.

“Holy… fuck.”

You smirked. Wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb and stood back up slowly, letting your body brush against his on the way.

“Next time,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “don’t act so surprised when I decide to be nice.”

He was still breathless, hands sliding to your waist, eyes glazed and reverent.

“That wasn’t nice,” he muttered. “That was life-altering.”

You barely made it three steps before Joe’s hands found your waist again, tugging you back into his chest, his breath warm and soft against your ear.

“That noise you made when you came…” he murmured, voice still gravel-sweet and wrecked, “Jesus, babe—do you have any idea what that did to me?”

You huffed a laugh, wiping your mouth on the corner of a dishtowel like some housewife from a very inappropriate 1950s fantasy.

“You literally came in my mouth, Joseph. I think I have a vague idea.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, and you felt his smile stretch slow and wicked against your skin.

“Yeah, well, I saw you go—felt you—” his hand brushed over the swell of your ass, thumb ghosting low, almost like a memory, “shaking against me, babe. Moaning like you forgot your own name. You thought I’d ever get that sound out of my head?”

You swatted at him, halfhearted and grinning, but he caught your wrist, kissed your fingers like he was worshipping the hand that fed him divine retribution.

“I am serious,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was a softness in them then, but still heat underneath—lingering, low-burning. “You were so fucking sexy. So loud. So messy. You don’t even know what you looked like.”

You rolled your eyes with a small, flustered noise—because he wasn’t letting it go.

And of course, he noticed.

“Aww, what is that?” he teased, following you as you pretended to tidy up the counter. “Don’t get all shy then, sweetheart. Not after moaning so loud I think our neighbors left a Yelp review.”

“Joe—”

“No, no, no,” he grinned, grabbing the towel from your hands and tossing it over his shoulder. “You don’t get to be all innocent now. Not after I had to brace myself against the fridge so I wouldn’t collapse while you sucked the soul out of me.”

You laughed, and he grinned like a menace, already pulling you close again, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder as you finally gave in and leaned into him.

“I wasn’t apologizing,” you murmured, lips brushing his cheek.

He hummed.

“Good,” he whispered, mouth trailing kisses just beneath your ear. “’Cause I am gonna be thinking about that all day.”

There was a beat of quiet. Then:

“…Maybe we should just cancel breakfast.”

You turned, deadpan. “We already did.”

“Okay. Brunch, then.”

You were still laughing when he leaned in again, but that time there was no teasing—just the press of his mouth to your temple, tender and slow. One of his hands stroked gently over the curve of your back, and the other found your cheek, guiding your gaze to his.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice a low hum against your skin. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

There was something quieter then in the space between you—not a drop in the heat, just a shift in its shape. The hunger was sated, for now. What was left was him, and the way he looked at you like you were more than the aftermath of pleasure. Like you were his favorite mess to hold onto.

He took your hand and walked you through the apartment like he was guiding a secret across a tightrope.

The shower hissed to life, steam curling through the small space like it was trying to blur the lines between you—between what you had just done and everything you were about to feel.

Joe was still flushed, still catching his breath even as he helped you step out of your leggings, fingers careful then, reverent almost. He peeled them down slowly, his hands warm on your thighs, lips pressing lazy kisses along your hipbone.

You sighed—soft, content, body heavy in that delicious post-high haze. And he was right there with you, guiding you into the shower like you were something precious, something he wanted to keep safe.

The water hit, hot and comforting, and you both just… breathed for a moment. No words, just skin and steam, the weight of the morning falling away drop by drop.

Then Joe stepped in behind you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back into him. His nose nuzzled into the curve of your neck, and you felt him smile there.

“Hi,” he mumbled.

You laughed. “Hi?”

“Just… felt like saying it. You looked like an angel right then.”

You rolled your eyes, but it was useless—your grin gave you away.

“You were just calling me a menace twenty minutes ago.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Menacing angel, then. Dangerous. Divine.”

You leaned into him, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder, the water washing over both of you. His hands moved slowly then—not with hunger, but with care—running shampoo through your hair, thumbs grazing behind your ears, fingertips massaging your scalp like he wanted to erase every ache, every leftover tremble.

You hummed, nearly melting into him.

Joe chuckled, low and warm. “There she was,” he whispered. “My pretty, perfect girl.”

You turned in his arms, blinking through droplets. He looked down at you with that soft, undone gaze he saved just for moments like that—like you were the only thing in the whole damn universe that mattered.

“Hey,” you murmured. “You okay?”

He nodded. Then leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Better than okay,” he said. “You made me feel… quiet. You knew? Like everything is right there, where it should be.”

And you knew exactly what he meant. Because there was something sacred about that, about the way you could fall apart and rebuild each other in the span of an hour—how he ruined you just to hold you tighter after, how you loved him through every version of himself.

The water kept falling. And so did you—slowly, tenderly—deeper into that thing that might just have been everything.

[jiminsafairy]

hit record - jungkook (roomate!jungkook, OF creator, furure fwb? hit pause prequel)

summary: your roomate asks you for help to film a video for his OF, and you agree

pairing: roomate!Jungkook × reader

wc: ~3.1k

warnings: sex on camera, tit sucking, tit play , unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it !! ), blowjob, yn rides him! he calls her baby and beautiful and that makes her feel funny

a/n: I thoght I could give our hit pause couple a bit of background! what do you think? As always, english isn’t my first language, so please be kind!

The second you open the door, Jungkook’s already calling out from his room.

“Hey, Y/N, you home?”

You kick your shoes off, drop your bag, and yell back, “Yeah! Why?”

His door swings open. He’s shirtless, wearing just some loose shorts, and his messy hair looks like he just woke up.

You’ve been living together for almost a year now. You found out through some friends that Jungkook was renting out a room in his place. You’d just gotten out of a relationship and weren’t looking for anything permanent – just somewhere to crash for a while while you sorted yourself out.

When you met him, he told you right away what he did for a living: he’s a content creator – making videos, streaming, all that stuff - the adult kind of content. But honestly? You didn’t care much. His job wasn’t that important to you, as long as you got along.

Living together just kind of happened, and you actually really like living with him. There’s something about how easy it feels around him, and sometimes, you get this little tingly feeling inside. But you usually push it down, not wanting to read too much into it or complicate things.

He leans on the doorframe. “Are you busy?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

He grins. That one he pulls when he’s about to say something stupid. Or nasty. Usually both.

“So…” He scratches his neck. “I got this custom request. A subscriber wants a full POV of me sucking tits.”

You blink. “Okay… and you’re telling me… because…?”

He shrugs. “Mmmm…I have this silicone doll this brand sent me and… The tits are fine, I guess. But they don’t jiggle like real ones. It’s not gonna look real.”

You’re still waiting for the punchline. He gives you a fake innocent look. “I thought… yours would be way better,” he says, pointing at your tits.

You cross your arms. “You wanna suck my tits for a video?”

“I mean…” He steps closer, eyes on your chest. “You’ve got the most perfect rack I’ve ever seen. Big, round.”He makes a rough circle in the air with his hands. “Would look crazy on camera.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He smirks. “I’ve seen you in your gym stuff enough times. I noticed–” he drags his eyes down, then back up, real slow, and gives a small shrug “Anyway. It’s just for the video. No face, I promise. Just my mouth and your tits. You just lay back and enjoy it while I do all the work.”

You snort. “That 's all?”

He tilts his head. “Unless you wanna do more.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already smirking. “Mmh. Sounds good. I’m down.”

His face lights up. “Seriously? Fuck – thank you. You’re saving my ass. They paid extra for this request and I was starting to get pretty stressed.”

You lean on the wall with your arms crossed under your chest, watching him practically bounce with excitement.

“So… when do you want to do it?” you ask.

He gives you a look. “How about now?”

Your brows shoot up. “Like now, now?”

“Yeah,” he says, already stepping back toward the hallway. “I’ll head to the studio, get the lights and setup going. Just bring that black lace set. You know the one.”

You squint at him.“How do you know I own that?”

He pauses at the door, shoots you a wicked little smirk over his shoulder.

“I’ve seen your laundry. Those panties with the tiny bows? Burned into my brain.”

You head to your room, the door clicking shut behind you. For a second, you just stand there, staring at your dresser like... what are we doing?

Still, you’re already moving. You grab the black lace set he mentioned and toss it on the bed while you reach for your make up bag.

As you lean over the mirror, dusting some bronzer on your cheeks, you pause. “My face isn’t even gonna show,” you mutter. “Why the hell am I doing this?”

You slip on the lingerie, then throw a loose tee over it and then a pair of shorts.

You walk down the hall, heart thumping like crazy even though you’re just about to let Jungkook suck on your tits for his OF. At his door, you knock twice.

The door swings open right away and you see Jungkook. You see the camera set up on a tripod behind him and a few softboxes. You’ve been here before – the spare room turned into a studio. It smells like his cologne. The bed’s made with plain sheets, simple. He steps aside as you walk in.

“Mmm, you look good,” he smirks. “Did you put on makeup for me, pretty?”

You snort, feeling a little blush creep up your cheeks. “Shut up.”

He closes the door behind you. “Alright” he says. “Sit on the bed. Back against the frame.”

You nod and move over, climbing onto the mattress. Your tee rides up as you sit with your legs stretched out and your back against the headboard, hands resting behind you.

You glance up at him. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” he says as he reaches to adjust the camera angle.

Jungkook finishes adjusting the camera, checking the screen once more before turning to you. He runs a hand through his hair, then leans against the edge of the bed.

“Before we start – anything you don’t want me to do?”

You tilt your head, thinking for a second, then shrug. “Not really. I’m good with whatever.”

With that, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion. Now it’s just him and his basketball shorts, with his abs and tattooed sleeve on full display.

Your eyes drop without meaning to, tracing the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband. He catches you looking and smirks again. “Your turn.”

You blink. “Hm?”

“Shirt. Off.”

He watches you almost as if he was waiting for any sign you’ll back out. But you don’t. You grab the hem of your tee and pull it off slow, knowing he’s watching. 

He stares, just for a second  “...fuck.”

You shift a little under his gaze, raising a brow. “What? Something wrong?”

Jungkook snaps out of it, shaking his head slowly. “No! No. That black really suits you.”

You chuckle as your fingers brush along one strap. He clears his throat, and glances back at the camera. “Okay – quick rundown.” You nod, sitting a little straighter.

“So, I’ll hit record,” he says, moving around the bed. “Then I’ll come close, say something to set the mood, get the audience ready.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. Then what?”

“Then I get to work.” He grins.

You nod again, glancing down at your cleavage. “Should I unhook the bra or…?”

He cuts in, shaking his head. “No. Let me pull the cups down. Waaaay hotter. Makes them look even fuller when they spill out like that.”

You laugh. “You sound like you’ve done your research.”

“I jack off to this kind of shit. Of course I have.”

That earns a grin from you, and then he’s climbing up onto the mattress, grabbing the remote for the camera. His knees press into the bed, positioning himself between your legs.

“Alrighty,” he says, looking at you one last time. “Ready?”

You nod, biting your lip. He hits record, then moves forward, kneeling between your thighs as his  face drops toward your chest. The red light on the camera clicks on.

Jungkook’s voice drops an octave. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Bet you’ve imagined this…”

You bite your lip, and your heart skips a beat. “Yeah…”

But then you realize – he’s not looking at you. He’s talking to the camera. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool as he starts kissing your collarbone, just above your bra where the lace meets your skin.

“Damn…” he mutters, pulling back just for a second to look at you. “You’re beautiful.”

Something tightens in your chest at that.

Yes, you’re used to him calling you pretty, yes – but beautiful? You don’t know why, but that just hits differently. You push the thought away before it sticks.

He leans in again. His tongue presses over your nipple through the fabric of your bra.You exhale, shifting slightly under him. He sucks gently, slow and wet, letting the sounds hit just right for the camera.

“Can’t wait to get these pretty tits out,” he whispers. His fingers slip under the bra and eyes never leave yours. Then he tugs the cups down, and your tits spill free.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, quiet. His eyes go wide, as if he forgot the camera was on. “They’re even bigger than I thought.” His hands move up, feeling warm on your skin. He rubs your nipples, then pinches them. You arch your back with a sharp breath.

“Ah. Fuck.”

He groans low, clearly loving the sound. “You like that?” he mutters, tugging again, this time slower, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers.

“Yeah – shit. Keep going,” you breathe.

“So sensitive,” he mutters, giving your nipples a slow tug. You moan, and he smirks. “Just a little touch and you're already making noise.” 

He groans as his mouth moves across your skin. “They’re so big, I bet I could fit them both in my mouth.” He grabs your tits, pulling them to his face. His mouth opens wide, sucking both nipples. You let out a moan.

He stops for a second and looks up at you. His mouth curls into a dirty little smile, then he dives back in.

“Shit, Jungkook…” you pant, thighs tightening around him without even trying, “I–I think I’m close…” you pant.

He pauses for a moment, watching your face as you squirm beneath him.

“Are you serious right now?” he asks. “You feel like you could cum… just from this?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Fuck, I feel like I could.”

That lights something in him. His mouth opens to say something cocky, but he stops. “Damn, baby…” That damn nickname again, making you feel all funny inside.

Jungkook groans, sucking your nipple hard. Your thighs tighten around him and your  fingers clutch the sheets. His other hand grabs your other tit, pressing them together as spit drips down your chest.

“God, yes – fuck! Don’t stop,” you whimper.

“You gonna cum for me?” he growls against your nipple. “Just from this? From me sucking on your perfect fucking tits?”

“Y-Yeah. Jungkook, I –” You come hard, grabbing his hair. Jungkook keeps licking, growling as you shake under him.

“Damn,” he mutters “You really came. All from my mouth on your tits.” He pulls back a bit. “You gonna tell your future hookups some guy made you cum off tit sucking alone?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “’Cause I feel like that’s a flex.”

Still trying to come down from your climax, you let out a shaky breath.

“No – but,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “That wasn’t just some orgasm. That was... the orgasm.”

“Yeah?” He leans in again and his nose brushes your breast. “Damn, baby. You’re gonna give me a god complex or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Mpfh. Like you don’t have one already.”

He smirks against your skin, and gives your tits with one last squeeze before he sits up on his knees. “Alright, I’ll stop the camera,” he says, reaching toward the remote.

But before he gets there, you notice it – the bulge in his shorts. He's hard and you bet he’s been holding back this whole time.  Your eyes move up to his face, and he catches you looking.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna walk around hard like this?”

He freezes for half a second, then chuckles under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean… wasn’t really planning to, but – ” He glances down at himself, then back at you, grinning. “Hard not to be when you’re sitting there moaning like that.”

You sit up a little. “So you’re telling me…” you start, playfull, “you made me cum… and you’re just gonna leave yourself like that?”

He licks his lips slowly, gaze flicking down your body like he’s rethinking everything.

“…didn’t say that,” he mutters. “Was probably just gonna go jerk off in the shower or something.”

You watch him for a second. He’s trying to play it cool, but that bulge says otherwise. Your eyes drag down to it again, and then back up. “Come here.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

You tilt your head, smirking. “I wanna suck you off,” you say.

His breath stutters, eyes darkening. “You wanna – yeah?”

You nod. He shoves his shorts and underwear down in one motion and his cock springs free, hard. His hand wraps around himself, stroking slowly as his thumb smears pre-cum across the head.

He drops back onto the bed and you move between his thighs, fingers curling around the base of his cock. He’s hot, heavy in your hand, and your grip tightens as you start to stroke him, watching his breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.

You lean in, tongue flicking out to taste him, dragging a slow lick from base to tip. His hips jerk. Then your mouth closes over him, lips sliding down his length, tongue working the underside. You take as much as you can, and your hand strokes what your mouth doesn’t cover.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes wide, locked on you. “You’re actually— okay, fuck.”

You hollow your cheeks, pull back, then sink down again. 

His hand drifts up your chest and his fingers brush your skin before he finds your nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, slow at first, then pinches, watching the way your body responds. You moan around him, and his cock twitches in your mouth.

He groans as he keeps playing with your nipple with his fingers. His hips shift, fighting the urge to thrust deeper. Every time you pull back to breathe, you lick at the head, your tongue circling before you take him again. He’s panting.

His thumb wipes a streak of spit from your chin, then lingers at your lip, watching the way you take him. You suck him deeper making your jaw ache, but you don’t stop. He’s close – you can feel it in the way he tightens beneath you, the way his breath breaks.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Because I wanna fuck you so bad right now.”

You let him slip from your mouth to speak. Your lips are swollen, a sheen of spit glistening on your chin. “Yeah.”

He lets out a breath, “Thank fuck,” he mutters, already reaching for you.

He leans in, kissing you hard, and his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer. It stirs something inside you, a mix of wanting and nervousness, but neither of you says a word. One hand slides down to the waistband of your shorts, tugging them and your panties off in one smooth motion. They hit the floor somewhere behind him, forgotten.

His fingers trail slowly up your thigh, pausing just a breath away from where you need him most. Then they slip between your folds. You gasp into his mouth as one finger slides in, then another.

“God,” he mutters against your lips, “you’re soaked.”

His fingers move and his mouth never leaves yours.  “Jungkook” Your hips jerk up, chasing his fingers, trembling around them. 

Jungkook slips his fingers out slowly, and his lips brush against your neck as he pulls back a little. He moves lower, positioning himself at your entrance, feeling how wet and ready you are. 

He pushes forward, his cock stretching you open. You gasp.

“Shit,” you breathe. “You’re … big.”

He groans at that, and his head dips to your shoulder as he sinks deeper. “I’ll go slow,” he mutters. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

You shake your head, panting. “No. Just – mmmh. Don’t stop.”

He stills when he bottoms out your walls clench tight around him.

“You’re so tight,” he growls, grabbing your hips as he drives into you. “Moan for me,” he pants. “I want to hear you”

“Jungkook!” you cry out.

His hands grip your hips tight, then with a quick move, he flips you over so you’re on top. You settle down slowly, riding him, grinding as his hands slide over your waist. Your hands grip his shoulders and Jungkook watches your tits bounce.

“I wish you could see how hot you look right now, riding me like that” he groans. “I love watching your tits bounce” He reaches up, cupping one, squeezing it tight, watching it jiggle under his hand.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he groans. His hips snap up to meet yours.

Skin meets skin as the rhythm quickens. You bounce harder, keeping up with his pace. Jungkook drives deep, each thrust harder than the last. You grip his shoulders. “Jungkook, I’m close,” you gasp.

His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer.  “Cum for me, baby,” he says.

Your body shakes, as you reach your climax, but Jungkook never stops thrusting.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he growls. His hips jerk hard, driving deep as he spills inside you, groaning your name.

You collapse over his chest with shaky breath, and press a quick kiss to one of his pecs.

He asks softly, “You okay?”

You nod.

“Mmm, I like being like this,” he says. He stays still for a moment, then slowly thrusts again. You let out a low moan, feeling he’s still inside you, not soft yet.

“Jungkook!”

He chuckles, brushing his lips over your skin. “What? I like being inside you. Could stay here all day. Watch a movie or something.”

You giggle. “So… you recorded the whole thing? But you’re not going to upload everything, right? Like, the entire thing?”

He smirks against your skin. “Nope. What happened after you came the first time? That’s private content, for my eyes only.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Good. Some things should stay between us.”

He wraps an arm around you tighter. “Exactly. And honestly, we could do this more often – with or without the cameras.”

taglist : @bammbi-jeon127

[nomoredying]

saturdays

sevika x reader

tags: modern au, explicit sexual content (fingering, use of strap-on, oral sex, pegging), dirty talking, bratty reader, hurt/comfort, a little angsty maybe, is it still a slow burn if they have sex on the first day, reader has Issues™, sevika is such a softie, emotional vulnerability  a/n: english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

it started simple.

it’s saturday. you just moved in to place of your dreams — see, mom, working in a film industry is not a total bullshit — and found a bar not that far away. just what you needed after another day around annoying agents and celebrities who think you owe them.

you sit at the bar counter and order your usual whiskey with ice, when you hear laughter coming from one of the tables. you turn just out of curiosity and see a woman, possibly in her early forties, smoking a cigar playing cards with her friends, buddies or whatever they call each other. and winning, seems like it.

“rotten luck, boys,” you hear her deep voice saying, as she leans against her seat. your eyes meet.

you turn away. not surprisingly so, a moment later she appears sitting beside you and ordering whatever you’re drinking.

“please, don’t start with i haven’t seen you here before," you say, eyes up at her now that you can finally get a closer look.

her grey eyes are surprisingly expressive. you like them. in fact, you like everything about her — at least about how she looks — and you don’t hide it. neither does she.

“but i haven’t, have i?” she raises an eyebrow. you introduce yourself, “sevika,” sevika says back.

“sevika. is that hindi?”

she nods, her lips curling up in a slight grin.

“how much did you win today, sevika?” 

“enough for me to pay for you and for them,” the older woman gives you a simple reply, 

that makes you chuckle. “you’re so generous,” you say in a mocking, seductive voice, after taking another sip.

“and you’re a brat,” sevika says, narrowing her eyes, tapping the cigar against an ashtray.

you don’t disagree. “do you know of any hotels nearby, sevika?” 

she smirks. 

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

as soon as the door closes behind you, you find yourself pressed against it.

sevika doesn’t kiss you gently — she kisses as if she’s been starving in a desert and you’re both her first sip of water and first meal. her tongue against yours, rough and wet.

you don’t pull away until you need to grasp for breath. “the bed is not that far,” you tease.

you knew her hands were strong by the way she held your hips but when she lifts you to throw you on the bed, that’s when you know it for sure. 

she has to physically restrain herself from licking her lips like an actual hungry animal when she looks at you spread on the bed underneath her. 

you don’t even have time to say something before she pulls down your trousers and then unbuttons your shirt, tossing them both somewhere aside. at the moment it’s the last thing you care about. 

“enjoying the view?” you ask, when sevika stares at you in your pretty underwear set which you only wore today because you felt like wearing it, but you guess that god works in mysterious ways.

“aren’t i lucky to notice you first,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, and she leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss once more. 

while she does, your fingers deftly help her get rid of her tank top (the jacket was lost somewhere on the way to the bed). she’s not wearing any bra. your hand eagerly reaches to caress one of her bare breasts. she bites your lower lip. 

as soon as her mouth shifts from your lips to the rest of your face and then your neck, you instinctively bite your lips, but sevika doesn’t approve.

“if you stop yourself from making noises, i’ll stop too,” she warns you, and you let out a hoarse chuckle.

“bossy,” 

the older woman’s hand slides down your stomach, “spread your legs,” she says, and when you do, she grins, smug and mocking. “you’re already soaked and all i’ve done is kiss you. is this why you came to that bar? to let someone take care of your greedy cunt?” 

when you don’t answer, her hand applies slight pressure. a warning.

“answer me,”  her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine.

a breathy sigh comes out of your mouth when you admit, “yes,”

you came to relax. you haven’t done it in a while. with the help of a drink, sex or both, doesn’t really matter.

you find your back arching, grinding against her hand. just to feel more. needy. oh, you’re so needy and she knows it.

“sevika,” you say.

“yes?” 

“be a big girl and fuck me already,” you practically demand it now. she can’t help but laugh.

how can she resist such a straightforward, sweet demand? 

her hand finally pulls down your panties and her fingers circulate around your clit, rubbing it hard enough to get a gasp from you. her second hand comes up to play with your nipples.

then, with no hesitation, her two fingers entered you and you almost yelp, your hands griping the sheets. 

at first, sevika doesn’t rush, “feels good?” you mumble something unintelligible and the older woman takes that as a yes. 

her pace quickens, and she adds another finger, stretching you out even more.

“fuck. fuck,” you moan, and she smirks.

“that’s what you asked, isn’t it? no, eyes up,” sevika says when your eyes look somewhere in the void.

her fingers move in a pulsing motion, turning you into nothing but a flustered mess with only one thing in her mind.

when you reach the climax, they’re still deep inside you. she fucks you through your orgasm and then falls beside you on bed. 

you let yourself lie there for five minutes or so before you sit up and move so now she’s the one pressed against the bed. your cunt is not that greedy. 

“what are you doing?”

“returning you the favor, of course,”

she lifts her hips, helping you to take off her trousers. you start by leaving a trail of wet kisses. on her neck, collarbone, chest, — especially chest, biting and kissing it, playing with nipples (you have your favourites) — and stomach. your hands go up to clutch both of her hips. you nip and kiss her inner thighs, teasing her. 

“don’t play with me,” sevika grumbled, clearly unamused.

“if you ask nicely—“ you start, but her hand grips your hair, guiding your head now where she wants it most.

you roll your eyes. your tongue finally meets the throbbing heat of the older woman’s cunt when you rid her of her last article of clothing. sevika presses your face against it even harder.

you eat her whole in the earnest. sucking. nipping. your tongue runs across her pussy. you look up at her through your half-lidded eyes only to see how she looks like when you pleasure her. 

sevika’s trembling. you can feel that she’s close. 

she lets your hair go as she explodes. groaning low, chest rising.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

an exact week later at approximately same time you’re sitting at the bar counter in that very bar and she is gambling on the same place with same guys. or not, their faces are a blur to you. don’t have to be a genius to guess how the night ended?

and the next week after that too. 

on the fourth night that you two spend together, you bothered to ask where she works. 

“zaun corporations,” sevika replies. she exhaled, putting her cigar out.

the company is big enough for you to know about it, so you raise your eyebrows in appraisal.

“well, aren’t you a careerist?” you watch her, still lying on your back, “what do you do?”

“stuff that gives you a headache. coo,” she shrugged carelessly, turning to you, “what about you?”

you smile lazily, “i work in a film industry,” 

most of the time people start chuckling, — that’s nice, sweetie! — in that condescending voice, asking what type of movies do you do or where they could have seen you. 

“what, an actress?” 

you look at her with feigned offense, “what, aren’t i pretty enough?” 

“you’re pretty alright. you know that. what i meant was that you don’t seem the type—,” sevika paused, choosing her words.

“to ham it up in front of the camera?” she nods, “well, that’s because i’m not. i’m a creative producer,” although you would like to add that actors don’t just ham it up in front of the camera, as you just said, you don’t. it would turn into you yapping about creativity, ideas. and you don’t need to bore your sex partner into death.

sex partner? is that what you are? you’re not so sure. you decide that there is no need for any labels because it doesn’t matter.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

at some point you get tired of going into the bar every time when they don’t have anything you actually want in their menu. you exchange your contacts so that you can meet in the hotel room itself. 

[sevika] are you coming? she texts you in the evening of a saturday.

i’m already at the hotel. they have a great driving range. come. [you] you reply. she rolls her eyes, but you don’t know that.

sevika asks a worker about the golf course. walks. sees you, standing on the line with a golf club in her hands. approaches.

“do you find this entertaining?” 

you squint your eyes, watching the ball fly. 

“i like hitting things. i play tennis too,” you turn and hand her the golf club, “your turn,”

sevika takes it reluctantly and hits the ball. hard.

“you’ve got a great hands,” you take the turn, and your fingers brush against hers as she passes you the club. deliberate, lingering.

“you would know,” she says, her tone casual. but sevika’s already pulling the club back, and you stumble forward a half-step, laughter catching in your throat. the distance between them collapses.  

your lips meet not quite by accident. the taste of tobacco from her smoking, something sweet beneath. the club drops into the grass, forgotten.

sevika’s hands finally settle, fingers curling into the fabric of your polo shirt, pulling you even closer.

you finally part. sevika’s thumb swipes at the smudge of light lipstick now staining the corner of the your mouth. you’re a mess.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

you close your eyes. hot steam of water falls down your bare body. you can’t stand warm or cold showers — you need it to be boiling hot. which is unhealthy and you know it, but it’s so addicting you can’t stop. or maybe you can’t stop because you intentionally cause yourself harm, but you wouldn’t go that far with digging into it.

it’s saturday and you’re in hotel room again.

this particular day of the week became your favourite soon enough. before it was tuesday you waited for due to the fact that it was the day the new episodes of your favourite show came out, but now that it’s over you had to find something new to feel good about, right?

sevika makes breathing — which is something humans do automatically — easier. being alive easier. you find something about her presence, raspy voice and smug grin calming. probably the sex part.

of course, it’s the sex. she’s good in bed. if that were her allegations and you would have to be the lawyer defending her, you wouldn’t even bother yourself. 

finally, you came out of the shower in a velvety bathrobe (one of many reasons you stayed loyal to this hotel).

she’s standing with her back to you.

“sevika, did you know that—“ you’re sure you wanted to tell her something, but now that you’ve seen itit doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

it is a strap-on that she wore on her thighs, adjustable by harnesses. you knew the older woman liked wearing belts, but this is your first time seeing this one. it’s not that you never saw dildos before, you have. this one is just.. slightly bigger. 

“wanna try it?” she looked like a little preteen, showing you their new toy. well, it is a toy. fair enough.

yes.

instead of answering, you let your robe fall on the floor. sevika grinned, amused.

“lay down,” she said, gesturing at the bed. you did, but she shook her head. meaning — on your stomach, not your back. you narrow your eyes, but obey. 

soon enough sevika looms behind you.the lube is already in her hands, and she lavishes it all over your hole with her thick fingers. 

“you’re already dripping just at the thought of me pegging you, aren’t you?”

“do you want me to say yes, mommy?” you mock her, and her free hand pulls your hair back. you lips part.

“such a brat,” sevika sighs, as if she’s not enjoying this, “say it. what do you want, hm-m?” 

“sevika,” you start, but she doesn’t let you finish, stopping you with another tug. 

“do you want me to fuck you in the ass?” sevika helps you with your answer.

you murmur something unintelligible. that’s not what she’s looking for. you know it.

“say it,” she insists. strap-on becomes more tangible.

“i want you to fuck me in the ass,” you finally say it. no reason to be ashamed, the only thing stopping you was her arrogant smirk her lips curled in. 

you can’t see it, but you can feel it in her voice as she speaks, “good girl,” 

letting go of your hair, her calloused hands slide possessively over the curve of your bare ass, fingertips tracing the flushed skin before pressing just enough to make you shiver. the cold, slick silicone of the strap nudged against your hole, glistening with the lube, teasing before she pushed in with one brutal, delicious slide — stretching you open, forcing a ragged gasp from your lips as your spine arched off the mattress. 

"fuck—,” sevika growled, her voice rough with want, her hips snapping forward to bury the dildo to the hilt in one smooth stroke. your fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white, as she didn’t give you a second to adjust, already pulling back only to slam in again, the thick ridge of the toy dragging against your walls in a way that made your thighs tremble.

you groaned, your ass jiggling with each thrust, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. sevika’s free hand fisted in your hair once again, wrenching your head back so you could feel her breath hot against your ear. "you’re so good. taking everything i’m giving you," she punctuated the words with a sharp grind. you whined, your hips canting back desperately.

her chuckle was hoarse, filled with lust as her fingers dug into your thighs, controlling your movements as she fucked into you harder, faster — the pace relentless, the bedframe rattling with every brutal snap of her pelvis.

then she pulled out, flipping you onto your back, your legs hooked over her shoulders before you could say anything. the head of the dildo pressed against your soaked cunt this time, her smirk wild as she watched your face. 

“i want to know how loud you can really scream when I fill this tight little pussy instead."

you didn’t bother yourself with trying to give an answer. she slammed into you, your slick walls clamping around the intrusion as a broken cry tore from your throat. her hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles, grinding the strap deep inside you, the stretch burning in the sweetest way.

"fuck, look at you," she snarled, her metal hand tracing the outline of the dildo pushing up against your stomach, her other hand pinching your nipple hard enough to make you jerk. "all stuffed full, twitching around me like a desperate slut."

“sevika,” your orgasm crashing hard, your walls fluttering around the strap as you came with a shuddering whimper.

she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a maddening kiss.

“let’s see if we can make you come again before I’m done with you,”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

it’s raining.

you sit on the floor of your bathroom, in some tank top and shorts, damp hair sticking to your cheeks, your back against cold tiles. you don’t remember how you ended up here — you were brushing your teeth, maybe? maybe not. who cares.

something happened. nothing serious, not to the outside world at least. a passive-aggressive email, someone raising their voice during your sixth meeting this morning, an overdue call from your mother with one of those phrases that always leave a scar no matter how many times you’ve heard them.

it happens, it always happened and it will happen. never bothered you before. you thought you were fine. then you weren’t.

you tried breathing. drinking water. pacing around the apartment, opening windows, shutting them. screaming into a pillow. didn’t help.

you need to talk. you need someone to talk to. not someone who’ll coo into the phone and tell you you’re strong. not someone who’ll pity you or try to fix it. you just need to not be alone in your head for one fucking second.

you open your phone, scroll through contacts. you hesitate at a few names. delete one. almost call another.

then, without thinking, you click call.

“…hello?”

her voice is husky from sleep, low and raspy. you glance at the time. 2:41 AM. of course it is. you’re surprised she answered.

you don’t say anything at first. your throat is tight, aching from trying not to cry, but sevika hears your breath. 

“why are you calling me?”

not what’s wrong, not are you okay — just why are you calling me? blunt and steady. exactly what you need.

“i didn’t know who else to call,” you whisper, your voice cracking like cheap glass.

you hear the rustle of bedsheets on her end. “you don’t have to explain,” she says. she’s more awake now. “you want me to come? just send the address,” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, tears slipping out anyway. “no. no, just— just stay on the line, okay?”

“i’m here.”

you don’t say anything for a moment. your breathing is shallow, hiccupy.

“i’m losing it,” you admit. “i’m losing it and i don’t even know why. nothing happened. or maybe everything happened. i just— i don’t know how to be anymore. i’m tired all the time and when i’m not tired i’m angry and when i’m not angry i’m empty and i feel like i’m screaming underwater and no one can hear me and—”

“breathe.”

you do. slowly. shakily.

“again.”

you obey.

“good.”

you let your head fall back against the tile. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” sevika replies immediately. “you don’t have to make sense right now.”

it’s quiet for a beat. just the sound of rain hitting your window and her steady breath in your ear.

“you know, when i was twenty-six,” she starts, and her tone is calm like smoke curling in a cold room, “i broke a guy’s nose just because he called me a disappointment. i mean, he was my father, but still.”

you let out a breath — half-sob, half-laugh.

“i didn’t even feel better after that,” she continues. “just sat on the curb after and smoked. my hand was shaking so bad i dropped the lighter three times.”

“you’re telling me this to make me feel better?”

“no. i’m telling you this so you know you’re not the only one who falls apart sometimes. we all do. some of us just pretend better.”

you pull your knees to your chest. your voice is small when you say, “i don’t think i’m pretending well anymore.”

“then don’t,” Sevika says. “take the night off,”

the silence that follows feels different now. not so crushing. not so alone.

you sniff. “are you always this good at late-night phone therapy?”

“i’m usually better with my hands,” she mutters, dry. you hear the faint clink of a lighter. “but i manage.”

“thank you.”

“don’t mention it.”

“no, i mean— really. i didn’t want someone to coddle me. i just needed someone who… wouldn’t freak out. and you didn’t.”

“i’m not the freaking out type,” sevika says, taking a drag. 

“i know,” you lean your forehead to your knees. exhale. the tile isn’t so cold now. maybe your body’s just going numb. “can we just… stay like this? for a while?”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

you don’t talk for a long time. sometimes you hear her smoke. sometimes she hears you breathe. once, she says something about needing to clean her balcony. you tell her you bought overpriced grapes that don’t even taste good. you argue over whether they’re red or purple.

your chest still hurts. but less.

you talk until the sky starts turning blue.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

you didn’t mean for it to turn into this.

it was supposed to be simple. one night — well, maybe two, three, four — just sex. good sex. sure, really good sex. and then you started talking. really talking. not the lazy banter between orgasms, but the type of talking that leaves your chest all too soft. raw.

she could’ve ignored the call. just blocked your number after. she didn’t. instead, she chose to be on the other end of the line when you were a mess on your bathroom floor. why? you don’t know.

but you know that something’s changed.

you feel it in the silence between her sentences. in the way your fingers hover too long over the screen before typing something stupid like what kind of coffee do you drink anyway. in the way you catch yourself replaying her laugh — the real one, not the sarcastic snort — in your head, like a favorite scene from a film you don’t want to end.

you text her.

are you busy tonight? [you]

[sevika] tonight’s not saturday.

you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see your brain. shame she can’t witness it.

thanks, calendar app. i’m cooking. come by if you want [you]

a beat. then another.

or don’t. i’ll just eat my culinary masterpiece alone [you]

the typing bubble appears. vanishes. appears again.

[sevika] text me the address

you do.

and just like that, you’re setting the table in your penthouse. the one you dreamed of when you were a broke, wide-eyed assistant fetching oat milk lattes for directors who didn’t know your name. now your place looks like a walking moodboard. framed movie posters lining the walls, warm lighting, tall windows. a kitchen you barely use but pretend to know your way around.

you did cook. sort of. technically. with help. fine, you ordered from a semi-obscure place and transferred the food to your own plates and pans. your hands did something.

when the doorbell rings, your stomach flips. you curse yourself for that quietly before answering.

sevika’s there, wearing what they call an effortless outfit — leather jacket, plain tee, that smug little expression she always brings like a plus-one.

“so,” she says, stepping inside, surveying the apartment, “you really leaned into the whole ‘i work in film’ thing, huh? what’s next, an oscar in the bathroom?”

“shut up,” you grin, “those are tasteful posters.”

she smirks and shrugs her jacket off, hanging it on the back of a chair. “sure, sure. very tasteful. and the table setting? what’s this, a date?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you motion for her to sit.

“i cooked,” you lie, serving with flair.

sevika raises an eyebrow. “really?” she picks up a fork, inspects the dish. “this smells suspiciously professional. no offense.”

“i’ll take none, because you’re right. i ordered it. but i plated it myself.”

“you shouldn’t have,” she deadpans. “i love lies with my dinner.”

you both laugh, and suddenly it’s easier.

you eat. you talk.

not just what do you do or what’s your star sign or how do you like your eggs in the morning. it’s more real. more layered. like the parts of her that don’t come out during sex. the parts she keeps close to her chest. although you do like your eggs in a oddly specific way, but you decide you’re not that close for that level of deep talk.

you learn she has a niece. doesn’t see her often. “family stuff,” she says, and you don’t push.

you learn she listens to old records when she’s stressed. mostly rock. sometimes jazz.

you learn she used to fight a lot when she was younger. “i still do,” sevika admits, “just more metaphorically now,”

and you’re asking these things because… you want to know. not because you’re trying to get close — whatever that means — but because you already feel like you are.

you’re not friends. not lovers. not a one-night thing. not a thing at all. and yet, here she is, sipping your wine, making fun of your poster of the incredible shrinking man, telling you about the scar on her wrist from a kitchen accident no one ever asks about.

and you listen. all of it.

something warm blooms in your chest, unsettling in the best way.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

“and then he just— died. mid-scene. the actor didn’t know what to do, he just kept monologuing like a lunatic. it was kind of beautiful, though. tragic, but beautiful,”

you’re perched on the kitchen island, legs swinging, a glass of wine in one hand, fork in the other. sevika’s standing near the open window, smoke curling from her lips.

“so what’s the title?” she asks.

you pause. “the ashtray fell first. working title. you don’t like it?”

“bit pretentious,” she smirks.

“bit accurate,”

sevika steps closer. “you really think death mid-monologue’s a metaphor no one’s used yet?”

“says the woman who quotes bukowski unironically,”

that earns you a curl of her lip. then a long inhale. she walks up, and as she exhales, she deliberately blows the smoke into your face. you hate that. she knows it.

you recoil. “you’re a dick,”

“yeah,” she says, already leaning in, lips brushing against yours, “so what?”

you kiss her back. it’s hot and lazy and perfect, her hands spreading over your hips, sliding under your shirt. you drown in this heat until a vibration on the counter buzzes right through your spine.

your phone. you don’t even get a chance to check it. sevika’s hand reaches out and flips the screen down, silencing it.

“rude,” you murmur between kisses.

“not really,” she replies, kissing down your neck, “just considerate,”

what follows is the usual. sharp breaths, gasps, tangled limbs. she fucks you with her hand again, and your thighs are still trembling when she finally falls beside you on the bed.

your phone buzzes. again. you groan. sevika turns her head lazily to glance at the screen. her face unreadable.

“that same number tried calling before,” she mutters, voice low.

you freeze for a moment. sigh. reach for the phone. “it’s— whatever,” you wave it off.

sevika raises an eyebrow.

you answer, when it doesn’t stop buzzing, “hey,” your voice drops into a slightly strained politeness.

you roll onto your side, back to sevika, as the voice on the other end starts talking. she can’t hear all the words, just enough to get the tone: familiarity. a kind of old, strange closeness.

“no. yeah, i got your message, i just didn’t have time— no, i’m not ignoring you, i’ve been working. some of us do that full-time.” you force a laugh. fake. “what do you want?”

sevika watches. silent. her metal fingers curled slightly, the light from your bedside lamp catching the dull sheen of steel.

you finally hang up and sigh, tossing the phone aside. “ex,” you say, sitting up a little. “she’s directing some indie mess and wants me to help with post. she’s out of budget and out of her mind,” 

sevika’s voice is flat. “and you’re thinking about it.”

you shrug. “i could. it’s not the worst offer.”

she scoffs, reaches for her cigar pack “sure. sounds great. help out the woman who once said your ideas were ‘too commercial to matter.’”

you look at her. “you remember that?” the older woman doesn’t answer. you pull your shirt back over your head, irritation growing like static in your jaw. “it’s just business,”

“is it?”

you snap. “yes, sevika, it is. not everything’s about feelings, or grudges, or— whatever it is you’re doing right now.”

she leans forward, lighting the cigar. doesn’t meet your eyes. “i’m not doing anything,”

“oh really? so this isn’t about the fact that my ex just called me and asked for a professional favor, and i didn’t immediately throw my phone out the window like it’s a plague?”

sevika finally looks at you, sharp. “you think i’m jealous?”

“aren’t you?”

her silence says everything.

“well,” you huff, crossing your arms. “you don’t get to be,”

her jaw clenches. “and why the fuck not?”

“because i told you. i don’t want any labels and everything that comes with them,”

it’s quiet. then sevika stands. pulls her jacket off the chair.

your chest tightens. “seriously?”

she doesn’t answer. just slips her arms into the sleeves.

you stand too. “you’re leaving?”

“you said it yourself. this isn’t about feelings. so what’s the point of staying?”

“don’t twist my words,”

“i’m not,” she says, walking to the door. “you made yourself clear,”

“i didn’t mean it like that,”

sevika pauses with her hand on the doorknob.

“then figure out what you do mean. because right now it sounds like you want to keep me at arm’s length until it’s convenient to let me in.”

she doesn’t slam the door. doesn’t yell. just leaves.

and you’re left in your too-big penthouse, with the flickering silence and the leftover scent of smoke and sex and something else, something you can’t name — something that had the chance to become real, and slipped right out your door.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

it’s been three weeks. twenty days, technically, if you count like a lunatic. which, at this point, you do.

you haven’t seen her. haven’t texted. haven’t gone to the bar. but you’ve thought. obsessively. rewrote the last night in your head, again and again. your words and your pride. 

and still, you didn’t move. until tonight.

you don’t know what snapped. maybe it was the silence, maybe the half-drunk glass of wine, maybe the storm outside your window. but suddenly you’re putting on shoes with shaking hands and grabbing a jacket and searching for the address you swore you deleted but didn’t. of course you didn’t.

the drive is messy. you get lost once. the rain smears across your windshield like a cliché. your hair sticks to your forehead. you ring the bell. once. twice.

the door opens.

sevika’s standing there in sweatpants and a faded shirt, no bra, cigar still lit between two fingers. her hair’s tied back, damp at the ends. eyes dark.

she stares at you. you stare back. soaked. “i—” you start.

“get in,” she says quietly. not kindly. not unkindly either. just… inevitably.

you step inside. warm air hits your face. the place smells like ash and tea. she disappears into another room, returns with a towel and hands it to you without a word.

you wipe your face. your shoulders. she sets a mug on the coffee table. sits across from you. the tea smells like chamomile. you take a sip, warming your hands as you hold the cup.

“i’ve been thinking,”

sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt.

“about us. if that’s even a word i get to use.” you take a breath. your heart’s pounding. “look. i’m a rational person. i overthink everything. i dissect my own feelings before i even feel them. and i told myself that what we had was sex. and then it became something else. and i didn’t know what to do with that,”

the older woman says nothing. just smokes. watching you.

“i thought you didn’t want anything serious. you don’t act like someone who wants it. you keep people away,”

“and you don’t?” sevika mutters, low.

you smile, bitter. “i do it differently. i make sure everyone thinks i’m too busy, too cool, too whatever to need anyone. i play the part,”

you swallow.

“i had this girlfriend. years ago. the director. you remember,” a dry laugh slips out. “she told me i was too much. said i made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. like i was always waiting for something she couldn’t give,”

her eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“after that, i stopped trying. i just— worked. stayed impressive. impressive people don’t get left behind, right?” you meet her gaze. “and then you walked in. blowing smoke in my face. laughing like you didn’t care about anything. and i thought, finally. someone who doesn’t want anything from me. someone safe,”

the irony twists in your throat.

“but you’re not safe,” you whisper. “you’re so not safe. you make me feel like—” your voice catches. “—like a shaken bottle. like someone just lit a match in my chest and left it there. sevika, you are addictive. and i have a very bad self-control,”

she doesn’t move. but something in her eyes shifts. flickers. you sit up straighter.

“i want you,” you say, and this time your voice is steady. “not casually. not on weekends. i want all of it. the mess. the silence. the ‘don’t text me during work hours’ bullshit. the cigars, even,” and there it is. the pause.

sevika stubs out the cigar. slowly. deliberately. then crosses the space between you in three quiet steps. her hand brushes your cheek, thumb catching a drop of water still clinging to your jaw. your eyes flutter shut.

“you’re still wet,” she mutters, voice rougher now. “you’re gonna catch a cold.”

“i’ve had worse.”

she sighs. low. tired. fond. and then pulls you into her arms. you fold into her like you’ve been trying to do since the first fucking night. 

she smells like shampoo. her breath warms your temple. her metal hand presses against your back.

you’re shaking. not from the cold. from relief.

“you’re a pain in the ass,” sevika murmurs.

“i know,”

“but you’re mine now,”

“i know,” you repeat, nose brushing her collarbone.

tags: @riotstemple29

[kireilien]

hi gorgeous postmaster, i am offering a request of parcel; naked maki wet dryhumping on your perfect pretty panties on untill its soaaakingggggggg

anon. be a priority recipient. now.

him already cumming twice on your panties— my eyes are rolling thinking about this being very early on in the relationship AND both of yours first relationship. oh fuck him saying you guys can’t fuck yet and it’s so early on and both of your first relationship and are virgins and so him only hitting his fat tip against your pretty clit WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK I THIS IS TOTALLY NOT SAFE FOR WORK BUT I DONT CARE SHIT THIS IS TAKING OVER MY BRAIN HIM RUTTING AGAINST YOUR CLIT SO WHINY AND SO SENSITIVE AS YOU CLING ONTO YOUR SHOULDERS WITH YOUR FIFTH ORGASM COMING UP HIS GRIP ON HIS COCK IS SO STIFF AND HIS OTHER HAND GRIPPING YOUR HIP TRYING BE AS CLEAR BRAINED HE CAN “fuck— you feel s’good—!” “m—maki shit—! ‘m gonna— gonna cum again— we should stop— so sensitive—!” and maki is groaning into your neck, “c’mon— princess please— feels s’good— look at your pretty pussy— so messy f’me.” your panties are just a mess! so much so the entire surrounding area is just stained with his cum and your juices. what a sight to see. just two virgins rutting their most sensitive parts against each other because they’re scared of actually doing intercourse and putting it in. god imagine maki coming up to kei asking in a whisper, “hey… hyung… do you have any condoms?” and kei freaking out— either maki steals the condoms in someone else’s room or you take it in the ass or more messy wet dryhumping over your panties ♡︎ this’ll be the closest you’ll get for sub!maki is nervous virgin maki sorry guys yk how i am

[foreignfingers]

Trivial Pursuits - Chapter 8

Pairing: OT7 X Fem. Reader

Summary:  College life is not what you expected and befriending your peers is a challenge, at least until your coworkers invite you to join their weekly trivia night. Sexual tension skyrockets as you befriend this curious group of handsome young men.

An OT7, non-idol AU.

Genre: Smut, a little angst, with some slice-of-life fluff

Content Warnings: Semi-public sex, oral sex (f. receiving), mutual masturbation, edging, laundry kink

Word Count: 7.3K

Normally, Monday nights were quiet. The café was closed, so you had the day off work. With winter break still in full swing, there were no classes to rush between, and no coursework to keep you busy. But this Monday wasn’t your normal Monday. This particular Monday featured you pacing nervously outside of an unfamiliar building on the other side of the city. The sky was already dark, and a deep chill seeped into your coat from how long you lingered on the sidewalk. That was ultimately what pushed you inside.

The dance studio was smaller than you had imagined. You had expected to find it more like a club, or at least like the clubs you had seen in movies: dim lights, sultry atmosphere, blaring music. Instead, there was a brightly lit room with polished wood floors, and walls lined with mirrors. A sound system was perched on a table in the corner of the room, and a small area was set aside with folding chairs and a table with basic refreshments. Otherwise, the space was spartan.

A small group had already formed in the studio, all unfamiliar faces. You ducked your head, slipping towards an empty row of chairs to change into the shoes Jimin had recommended. Nervously, your eyes drifted towards the door. Where were your friends? What if, somehow, this was the completely wrong place, and nobody you knew showed up? Anxiety crept through your veins, tense and on edge. Your phone remained an ever-present crutch in your palm, under constant surveillance for a text from Jimin, or any of your elder friends. Maybe one in particular…

Namjoon had checked in on you after hearing about your follies following the snowball fight. It was a simple text, but it had your heart racing to know that he thought about you. Half dazed, you wondered if you had imagined the tension building between you both. There was no mention of what had or had not happened that night. Had his eyes ever truly dropped to your lips, tilting ever closer? Did his hot breath ghost across your cheek, or had you merely dreamt it? Everything blurred in your mind, the more you dared to remember.

In an uncommon surge of confidence, you began to type in the group chat: "Are you guys still coming?" Mockingly, it seemed, the door opened the moment you hit send, revealing Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon. You could hear the vibration of their phones from across the room and watched with eager interest as Namjoon pulled his phone from his pocket to check the message. You cursed your fluttering heart as he spun his head around in search of you, dimples creeping into his cheeks with his warm smile.

"I didn't know you were coming," Namjoon said, and you tried not to read into his bright tone or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Yeah," Hoseok chimed in. "Pretty sure that winners didn't need to come."

Crossing your arms around your middle, you shrugged. "I promised Jimin a few weeks ago that I would come. He seemed really excited about the class."

"That makes one of us," Yoongi mumbled, turning to Hoseok. "She can take my place, right? That counts."

"Not how this works," Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. He dropped to the chair beside you with an air of relaxed familiarity, pulling a change of shoes from his duffel bag.

"That's sweet of you," Namjoon said. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're a good friend, I mean. Jimin’s been asking us to come for a while, and it took losing a bet for us to actually show up…” A pang of guilt flashed across his face.

“Pretty sure you did him a favor by not coming,” Yoongi interjected, sinking into a chair and tugging his hoodie lower over his forehead.

Hoseok clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, full of optimism. “You don’t get better without trying. You could be Jimin’s greatest success story!”

“Or his greatest liability,” Yoongi added, and you feigned a cough to hide the snort of laughter which you failed to suppress.

“Oh come on, he can’t be that bad,” you laughed. Rather than reassurance, you were met with silence. “Right?” Your eyes darted nervously between the trio, but no one dared to counter.

“Oh good, you came!” A voice exclaimed, and you peered around your seated friends to spot Jimin, with Jin trailing behind.

“Hey Chim,” Hoseok waved. “Late to your own class?”

“I’m not late. It just took a while to coax Jin into coming,” Jimin explained, an edge of impatience sneaking into his tone. The tension between the two men was palpable. Jin stood a few steps back, his expression lost somewhere between glum and disinterested, but most certainly lacking in presence.

Quickly, Jimin changed his shoes and began what was left of setting up the room and collecting class fees. He was stopped by a few people, making small talk. Somehow it felt bizarre. Your every interaction with your friends had been within the group. Watching conversations bloom on the periphery felt as though a bubble had burst. It was a reminder that they all had lives and friendships that extended beyond you, but you…you had built a reliance upon them.

It hit a bit like tunnel vision, the way your anxiety shut you off from the rest of the room. Suddenly, you were on the outskirts looking in at a whole room that was bustling with life: a casual observer. Then came the thoughts, creeping in like an eerie mist. Why is it that everyone around you seemed to make easy friendships, but you could never seem to break through? Was your friendship with the group a burden, borne of pity? You closed your eyes and counted your breaths – one, two in – three, four out – repeat.

You pushed yourself through your brief history, shutting out the doubts as best as possible to focus on the highs. You remembered the excitement of your teammates and their insistence that you join in as a trivia night regular. You remembered Team Cuddle Sluts and the pile of comfort you had built with your newfound friends. You remembered running into Namjoon at the library and bonding over books. You remembered Jungkook’s utter glee at seeing the inside of a dorm for the first time. And as you thought through these moments, however brief, you recognized that you are not just a social leech, taking and taking. For as many moments as these men had welcomed you into their lives, you had been able to offer them the tiniest of experiences and moments of joy in return. Though it will take some time – ages, really – for you to fully grasp and accept, you reached an epiphany, and it urged you onward with a respectable surge of confidence.

A series of sharp claps drew you from your thoughts as Jimin called the class to attention. Your eyes shot to the center of the room where he stood, and you joined in the circle of students surrounding him.

"Ok everyone. Thank you for coming out tonight," Jimin started, his tone both gentle and deliberate as he began his lesson. "For those who are new: welcome! This will be the first lesson of our four-week rotation for beginner's rumba. Now," he cleared his throat, "Rumba is a Latin dance with origins in Cuba. Danced with a four-four signature, we'll follow a pattern of slow-quick-quick. Two beats on slow, one beat each for quick. We are going to start off with a basic sidestep. We'll make a broader sidestep on our slow beat, followed by two quick side steps. But let's not think of these quick steps as steps, so much as shifting weight. What we are really getting here is motion in the lower body driven through our ankles and footwork, creating some nice movement in our hips. Like this," Jimin said demonstrating the movements.

It was hard not to gawk at the fluidity in his motion, the way his hips seemed to sway effortlessly, duplicated by the wall of mirrors. Your own reflection stared back at you awkwardly before you redirected your attention. He counted aloud as he repeated the steps: slow, quick, quick - slow, quick, quick - slow...

"Alright, let's spread out a little and give this a shot."

Cautiously, you shuffled into place, following Jimin's cue as he led the count for the group. The whole room seemed to move in unison, dancers of varying skill all doing their best to mimic Jimin's steps. He wove throughout the studio, observing and offering advice as he went along. Reaching you, he patted your shoulder encouragingly.

“You’re doing great on your timing. Try this with me, OK?” You nodded, eager for his advice. “I want you to carry your weight towards your toes, not your heels.” He placed a hand on your back, and you straightened your posture with his guidance. “You’re focused on your feet, but you don’t want to look down or you’ll break frame. Try watching in the mirror instead.” He winked, and your cheeks burned at the implication. Steeling yourself, you let your eyes drift to the mirror and tried to incorporate his suggestions while he moved on to his next pupil.

As your confidence grew, your eyes drifted to observe others in the mirrors. It was interesting to see the array of skills, bizarre how you could easily decipher the more experienced dancers from the way they carried themselves, though you could not possibly list what they were doing correctly that set them apart from the rest.

Jimin’s clapping again drew you from your thoughts as he directed the room to split into leads and follows. You were uncertain of the distinction but inferred that “following” may better suit your confidence level. Staring across the room, you realized you were alone amongst strangers, with all of your friends sorted into leads.

You listened intently as Jimin explained the movements for a box step, pulling a volunteer from your side of the room to demonstrate. They moved together in unison, hips swaying like figure eights as they rotated. It was so captivating that you forgot to focus on what exactly they were showcasing, beyond perfection.

“Ok, let’s partner up!” Jimin eyeballed the two groups quickly. “It looks like we have a pretty even mix today, but we’ll rotate partners to make sure everyone gets a chance to dance.”

Your head turned, surveying the way people gravitated towards one another, and worrying over who to join. You nearly jumped when you noticed a figure slip beside you.

“You look nervous,” Hoseok said, nudging your side. His bright smile was hypnotically reassuring, and you released tension you had not realized you were holding in your shoulders.

“I’m shy,” you explained with a shrug. “This seems like an extrovert’s playground.”

Hoseok shook his head at you. “Dancing has room for everyone. Sometimes you just have to take the first step.”

“Alright, very punny,” you said, tone drier than usual, despite trying to sound upbeat. “So, do you have a partner already?”

“Yeah, you,” he said, beaming. Cupping a hand around his mouth, he leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “I’ll count that as your first step.”

Your cheeks heated. You barely knew Hoseok. You’ve enjoyed his occasional quips during trivia nights and knew him just enough to recognize that your mutual friends call him Hobi, but not well enough to use the endearment on your own.

“Thank you,” you said softly, relief turning the corners of your mouth upwards.

Hoseok pulled you into frame as Jimin queued the music, counting the beat aloud for the class. His body radiated heat as he held you close. You worried over your hand, the clamminess from nerves, and fumbling over how to meet his grip. Before you could truly embarrass yourself, he took control. His arm curled around your back confidently, guiding your movements so naturally that you barely had to think. The tips of his open fingers hooked over yours, forming a silent tether of communication. His confidence transferred to you, allowing you to feel confident in your own movements. Dancing with Hoseok, even in this basic step, felt like second nature. You relished it.

You were lost in your own world, hardly noticing the way Jimin swerved through the room and offered guidance to those in need. If it were not for the loud gasp and apology that stole even Hoseok’s attention, you would have remained oblivious to the sudden commotion. Stalling mid-step, you followed his gaze across the room to Namjoon and his partner.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Namjoon kept repeating frantically, unsure of what to do. His partner had sunk to the floor, clutching her foot in pain. You could see red through her open shoes from a distance, and your heart dropped to your stomach in concern.

Jimin quickly approached, crouching beside her. You couldn’t hear their conversation over the music, but could deduce two things: she was hurt, and Namjoon was as dangerous on the dance floor as all your friends had implied. Jin approached quickly, joining Jimin in helping her upright. Words were exchanged, and Jin led her away from the dance floor and out of sight, brow furrowed with concern. You wondered, then, if this is what he looked like every time he came to your aid too.

Namjoon moved awkwardly to the side of the room, taking a seat away from the dancers. It may have been the first time you had seen him in this state. You were so accustomed to his confidence and intellect that it had never occurred to you that he even had flaws. You realized that was a foolish impression – nobody is perfect – and yet it still disarmed you. All at once you were endeared by his shame, this very human element you had just witnessed for the first time, and terrified to ever fall victim to his clumsiness.

From across the room, Namjoon met your gaze. He offered an apologetic smile, as though he had trampled your feet and not those of a stranger. You returned what you hoped was a reassuring smile of your own, but he glanced down at his shoes shortly after, too abrupt for you to gauge how the gesture was received.

 Jimin called the room back to attention, trying his best to refocus on dancing rather than imminent doom. Hoseok’s hand landed in the center of your back, pulling you back into frame, and your attention back to him.

As you rotated around the room of strangers, changing partners at Jimin’s whim amidst new steps in the lesson, you realized just how much Hoseok’s guidance carried you along. The skill level and inherent communication varied with each partner. In some cases, you felt the need to reinforce your own steps, ignoring their guidance, and in others it felt more balanced, but none felt quite like dancing with Hoseok. With him you could let go, knowing that his touch would cast your body into place.

When you reached Yoongi in the rotation, a new awkwardness arose. Perhaps it was his blatant discontent, or maybe it was the fact that despite spending so much time in his presence you barely knew him. It was, in a sense, worse than dancing with a stranger, knowing that you would see him again on Friday even if this turned out to be an uncomfortable mess. Funny how you could lay yourself bare and dripping with Jimin and Taehyung, and yet the fear of embarrassing yourself with poor footwork with Yoongi seemed far more daunting.

“Um…how’ve your dances been so far?” You asked, unsure of what else to say but too uncomfortable with silence to say nothing at all. There was barely enough time between changing partners to make conversation, but you felt the need to try.

Yoongi shrugged. “Not my thing,” he said, “But at least I haven’t hurt anyone.” You felt the secondhand embarrassment as he spoke but offered no response. Namjoon was still on the sidelines, head cradled shamefully in his hands as he waited for the class to end. When you started to move together, you felt sluggishness in his stride. His movements were minute, subtle but dragging. It was clear that he did not want to be here, but you picked up more than that, an exhaustion that permeated his being.

You wanted to ask him. You wanted to ask him why you see him so often on campus. The question was on the tip of your tongue, but you faltered. With Yoongi, you felt uneasiness. You doubted yourself, felt a fool before words even left your mouth. Yoongi didn’t hold his punches, and maybe you just weren’t ready for raw honesty in the way he delivered it. So, you stayed quiet for the rest of your dance, and maybe you were better off for doing so.

When the lesson was over, Namjoon had already left. Jimin and Hoseok were deep in conversation with strangers, and Yoongi had disappeared so suddenly that you would have doubted that he had ever been present.  You changed your shoes, and with a final glance around the studio, ventured out into the cold winter night.

Not dissimilar to your unusual Monday, your Friday routine was equally disrupted. The group opted to meet for Trivia night at Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok’s apartment so that Jungkook could get an early night of rest before his boxing tournament the next morning. He was off work for the night for a final practice, leaving you and Jin to run the café on yet another quiet evening.

You stood outside the door of the café as Jin locked up for the night, clutching your coat tight against the cold. Your hands were still wet from washing up dishes, and they burned where they met the winter air.

 “So,” you started as Jin turned away from the door. “Is the apartment far?” It was awkward small talk. You could just as easily look it up on your phone, but you were scrambling to make any conversation with Jin lately.

“It’s not too far,” he said. “I can walk with you, if you want.”

You raised a brow. “Are you not going?”

Jin shook his head. “No, I have other plans.”

“Oh…Ok.” He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t push for details. “Um, I have the address from the group chat. I should be ok getting there.” You waited for Jin’s standard rebuttal, his insistence that you needed a chaperone to navigate the city at night alone, but he didn’t protest. Typing the address into your phone for directions, you weren’t sure if you felt more relief or concern. With a quick wave goodbye, you parted ways.

Jin was right, the apartment wasn’t far off the beaten path, but you could feel unease in your gut as you stood outside the unfamiliar building. Wringing your hands, you fought hard against the anxious paralysis that halted you on the sidewalk, and reminded yourself that you were invited here. You were wanted.

You held your breath as you rang the doorbell, not releasing until you could hear familiar voices approaching from within. Hoseok greeted you with a broad grin, draping his arm around your shoulders to pull you inside with a hug more familiar than you had anticipated.

“Hey!” You could hear your name cheered from within the apartment, growing louder as Hoseok led you through. As you entered the living room, it was clear that you were the last to arrive, and half empty drinks were already scattered around the room.

Channeling confidence that was still unfamiliar to you, you bowed dramatically. “I’m so glad I could grace you all with my presence. I apologize for the wait.”  

“You gotta catch up!” Jimin bellowed from his seat on the floor, filling several shot glasses on the table before him with soju. He handed one to you swiftly, and hands from around the room reclaimed their own glasses in tandem. Clinking in cheers, you took a gentle sip and relaxed. It was easy to drink, sweet. Grape, maybe? You tilted your head back and finished your drink. Jimin was quick to pour you another.

“Fill me in! What did I miss?” You sank onto the carpet on the opposite side of the table, lifting your glass to your lips once more. Second by second, the tight cord of anxiety that had been pulled taught through your chest began to slacken.

“To be honest, I lost track,” Taehyung said, shuffling behind you and resting his head on your shoulder. He held his glass out to Jimin for another refill.

“We were debating whether Jimin would still be allowed to teach after Namjoon maimed that girl’s foot,” Yoongi called across the room.

“See, this is why I drink,” Jimin rolled his eyes dramatically, swallowing another shot.

Your eyes turned to Namjoon, sitting quietly in the corner. His cheeks flushed, and you could see the embarrassment creeping into his features. You crawled across the floor to join him while the others continued to joke.

“Hey,” you said softly, poking Namjoon’s knee. “Are you okay?”

He smiled halfheartedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You surveyed his features, skeptical. “Yeah, but how do you actually feel?”

Namjoon sighed, replying softly so only you could hear. “I don’t think I’ll ever live this down, and I feel terrible for thinking more about my own embarrassment than the pain I caused someone else.”

“You know, it’s ok to focus on your own emotions. You’re always trying to do the right thing and help other people, and I admire that about you. That doesn’t mean you have to be selfless all the time, though.”

Your eyes flitted up to meet his, only to find his gaze fixed elsewhere. You followed it to where your hand rested on his knee, thumb absentmindedly tracing soothing lines over the soft fabric of his trousers.

“Sorry,” you said, pulling away.

Namjoon’s eyes lingered on his knee. His lips parted with a moment’s hesitation. “The things I want…I’m more selfish than you realize.”

“Oh cheer up!” Hoseok called across the room, pulling you both back into their conversation with a jolt. “It wasn’t all bad. Jin at least got a date out of it.”

Your eyes shifted around the room, trying to determine if you were the last to know, and why. “Oh, is that where he’s at tonight?”

“Mhm,” Taehyung nodded.

“About damn time,” Jimin said. “He’s needed to blow off steam for a while. I think this will be good for him.” But you heard what went unspoken: good for Jimin, too. It would explain the tension between the two the other night. You wondered why Jin hadn’t mention it earlier.

“You’re telling me,” Yoongi grumbled, followed with a chorus of agreement.

“See? Sounds you like set up the ultimate meet cute,” you insisted, determined to lift Namjoon’s mood. “Who knows? One day Jin could be settled down and telling his kids ‘I owe this all to Namjoon!’”

Namjoon’s dimples creased as you finally drew a smile from him.

“Yes!” You cheered, punching the air victoriously. “Yes, more smiles!”

“More drinks!” Jimin cheered, mocking you playfully.

“More drinks!” You mirrored, raising your empty glass in a toast. Jimin opened a fresh bottle and filled glasses around the room.

“Okay, okay, okay. Hear me out,” Hoseok insisted as he addressed the group, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled from his broad smile. “Since Jin’s not here, we don’t have even teams tonight. So, I vote we play something else instead of trivia.”

“What, are you afraid of losing?” Taehyung raised a brow in challenge. “It never seemed to be an issue before, when your team had an extra player.” Jimin and Jungkook whooped dramatically in the background, and you could have sworn you heard one of them cawk like a chicken.

“What if we just flipped a coin or something, and the winning team gets the extra player?” Yoongi suggested, uninterested in the drama.

“Nah, rock-paper-scissors. I at least want to feel like it was earned,” Namjoon said. Nods of agreement and mumblings of “fine” and “I guess” resounded through the room. “So, who is up for trades?”

“How about me, since I’m newest?” You volunteered with a shrug.

“Deal,” Hoseok and Yoongi said in unison.

“But you’re our secret weapon. We need you…” Jungkook frowned. You had never seen a person look so much like a sad puppy in your life, and a pang of guilt twisted your gut.

“I mean, it’s no guarantee they’ll win…I might not even be on their team,” you reassured him. Or were you reassuring yourself? But as Hoseok and Taehyun faced off, hands ready to throw on the count of three, your eyes drifted to Namjoon and you knew which outcome you wanted. Your heart thundered in anticipation and leapt into your throat as Hoseok’s rock crushed Taehyung’s scissors. Maybe you were a traitor after all.

“No, there’s no way that’s right,” Yoongi said.

“I swear on it. A group of flamingos is called a flamboyance,” you insisted.

“Well, I know it’s not a murder,” Hoseok said. “But this feels a little on the nose, even for me.”

“What do you think?” You asked, turning to Namjoon.

“I’m not sure, but I trust your intuition.”

Yoongi and Hoseok exchanged a silent look and shrugged before submitting your team’s answer.

“Huh,” Yoongi remarked with surprise a moment later when the results flashed across the screen. “Guess you were right.”

“Yes! Game point!” Hoseok cheered, clapping you on the back.

“Traitor!” Taehyung shouted across the room, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.

“Yeah, traitor!” Jimin joined in, while Jungkook booed.

You startled as Namjoon’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you close. “If you guys keep this up, we’ll steal her for good and make you take Jin.” Heat rose to your cheeks at the proximity. You hadn’t been this close since you had huddled together for warmth during the snowball fight…the night you had nearly kissed. It replayed in your mind constantly, the moment so fleeting you worried that you had imagined it.

Surely, he must feel it: the heat of your body and hummingbird pulse. His large hand gently squeezed your shoulder while his thumb rubbed soothing circles. Was this deliberate? Retribution for your absent-minded touches earlier that evening? A shiver rolled down your spine as he brushed over the hem of your collar, tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. And just like that he withdrew, recoiling as though your body shook him off. 

You should be desensitized to this. Over the course of winter break you had been taking full advantage of the empty dorm to act out your fantasies with Jimin and Taehyung. And yet you still felt timid around Namjoon, wound just a little too tight. You needed to release that pressure, and soon.

Jungkook left shortly after trivia ended so he could get an early night’s rest, but not without sheepishly asking for you to come to his tournament in the morning.

“Of course I’ll be there!” You scoffed. “Like I could see you working this hard and NOT cheer you on.” With a chaste hug goodbye, you mumbled into his chest. “You’re going to crush it tomorrow. I can already tell.”

“Fingers crossed,” he said, and disappeared into the night.

Light from the TV flashed from scene to scene, illuminating the dark living room and casting silhouettes across the walls. You couldn’t focus on the movie, though. Your imagination was running more than wild enough to keep you entertained.

It’s not a big deal. You opted to sit on the floor, which was nothing new. But with all the space available to sprawl, Namjoon was planted firmly at your side. The solid muscle of his thigh pressed flush against your own, so close you could feel the warmth of his body through your clothes.

It had to be deliberate, right?

You couldn’t think of anything else beyond this simple touch. Every subtle shift of his body felt amplified by his proximity. If you were on edge before, now you were on the brink of madness, mainly because that was the full extent of your contact. It was at once incredibly subtle and impossible to ignore. You needed the tension to break, needed him to do something – anything – to help you understand what he wanted.

The golden light posts that lined the pathways around campus shone through the tilted blinds of your dorm window, casting pale stripes across the ceiling. You lost track of how long your eyes lingered there, mind adrift. All evening, you were on edge trying to decipher Namjoon’s half-there signals. Was he trying to be close because he was interested in you? Was that romantic or sexual, or was it all a mere coincidence? But more importantly, what did you want it to be?

For months, you had been hellbent on keeping purely casual relationships. You had an understanding with Jimin and Taehyung, and that was working out well. Emotions weren’t muddled into the mix, and jealousy was left at the door. It was easy. The temptation for “more” didn’t really exist in your mind. Differences were great enough that you could focus on sexual chemistry without craving something deeper.

But with Namjoon… You couldn’t envision a casual relationship. The sexual attraction was there, without a doubt, but there was more to it than that. You’d be a fool to deny it.  You wanted to learn more about him, share your thoughts and hear his too. You wanted to absorb all of his wisdom and support him even in his clumsiness. That’s friendship, you reasoned, and yet it somehow felt like more.

What would “more” even look like? Every relationship you’d had in the past had been smothering and self-sacrificing in a way that made you resentful. Would that be the same with Namjoon? How much of your time could you devote to another person on top of work and studies without neglecting your own needs?

What if Namjoon got bored of you? You were at different places in your life. Sure, you had similar interests, but you lacked life experience in comparison – you were sure of it. And if it ended, would you be alienated from all of your other friends since he had known them first?

And what about Jin? His only request when he learned you had slept with Jimin was that you not flaunt your sex life and relationships in front of him. Despite his mercurial mood, he was still your friend and you didn’t want to hurt him.

All signs pointed to a relationship with Namjoon being a bad idea, if he even wanted that in the first place.

Your head began to ache from your racing thoughts. You turned onto your side, hugging your blankets tight to your chest until you drifted off to sleep.

With a sigh, you stood from the nearly empty bleachers. You weren’t sure who all was coming to Jungkook’s tournament, but you expected at least a few friends would be here by now in support. When you went to check the group chat, though, you realized you had no signal.

Phone in hand, you wandered out of the gymnasium and down a brightly lit hall. Still nothing. Your eyes lingered on the top of the screen, monitoring for any change when you heard a frustrated groan from around the bend. Curious, you poked your head around the corner.

Jungkook paced the hallway, one hand waving his phone while the other made anxious passes through his hair.

“No service here, either?” You asked, and Jungkook spun in surprise.

“Fuck. No.” He groaned, falling back against the wall with a soft thud. “I’m losing my mind.”

“Nervous about your match?” You assumed, hoping you could find a way to cheer him up.

“Yes. No. It’s…” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair once more. “I have a…ritual…before every match. I just need to get online.”

“What’s your ritual? Do you have a song that gets you pumped, or something?” Jungkook’s stress was tangible, and you just wished there was something you could do to help.

“It’s nothing…” Jungkook muttered, avoiding your gaze and piquing your curiosity even more.

“Hey,” you prodded. “Kookie, you can tell me,” you said, squatting low to the ground and gazing up in an attempt to meet his eye. Staring up through your lashes, you insisted, “I won’t judge.”

“Please stand up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Not until you tell me,” you teased, poking his thigh.

Jungkook sucked in a breath, and you swore you saw a subtle movement before you. “Please…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Kookie, I doubt you could make me uncomfortable. You’re like the world’s buffest bunny.” He cracked a brief smile, and you stored it away to celebrate later.

“It’s just…it’s sexual.” He rubbed the back of his flushing neck awkwardly, glancing away once more. The pieces of the puzzle started to align, and you noticed a twitch before your eyes again, barely disguised by Jungkook’s blue gym shorts.

A beat of silence passed between you. After a moment’s consideration, you broached an offer. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

“It’s ok if you change your mind,” Jungkook said, sitting on the wooden bench of the deserted women’s locker room.

“It’s ok, Kookie. I want to help. I just need you to tell me how.”

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” he said, massaging his temples. “So, before every match, just to um…well, it’s just…hormones, and…”

“Hey,” you said, squatting down and rubbing a soothing hand over his thigh. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to judge you. We all have our thing.” Your mind drifted, momentarily, to all of the times you had almost gotten caught: touching yourself on the sofa, Taehyung’s fingers slipping into your pants during the movie, burying your moans while you rode Jimin in the dead of night in the shared apartment… The thrill of the risk was part of the turn on.

“Edging.” Jungkook sighed. “Before every match, I… watch some porn, just enough to get turned on. But I can’t let myself finish. It helps me feel more…I dunno…aggressive, when I go into a match. Like I have this adrenaline rush that I need to fight out. I always do better. But my imagination is shit right now, and I can’t get online to find any material…”

“Ok,” you said with a shrug. “That’s not that weird, Kookie.”

“No?” he said with a shy smile, relief passing over his boyish features. “That’s not too weird for you?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Just, um, tell me what you’re comfortable with and what’s off limits.”

“Same goes for you,” he agreed, and shared everything you needed to know.

“I should be nervous,” you thought as you straddled Jungkook’s lap on the bench, but instead his shyness drew out an almost protective calm in you. His fingers hovered over your thighs, as if he needed explicit permission to touch you. You rolled your hips suggestively, aiming to encourage him.

Tentative hands gripped your waist, pressing you down harder. The thin fabric of his gym shorts did little to disguise the growing bulge grinding against your core. Your palms steadied against his chest. You couldn’t ignore the solid wall of muscle that slowly engulfed your body, below your thighs, beneath your fingers, encircling your waist...

Knowing your time was limited, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head. As if a switch was flipped, Jungkook’s large hands travelled with abandon across your bare skin. All shreds of nervousness were gone, replaced with nothing short of hunger. His lips roamed your neck, grazing sensitive spots that caused your breath to quicken.

Impatiently, Jungkook tugged down the cups of your bra, freeing your breasts to spill over the useless fabric. His lips moved to your chest, quickly latching around one nipple while his thumb swiped over the other. Your fingers found purchase in his tousled black hair, holding him close while you squirmed in his lap.

His cock grew harder still, sprung enough to poke through the gap in your bodies. You rolled your hips forward, grinding against what must have been the head, though you couldn’t see it. Jungkook’s soft moans peppered your chest, and you repeated the motion.

“Fuck,” he said, gripping your hips to hold you back. “I can’t…if you keep that up, I’m…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand. You shimmied off of his lap, stepping away until your back pressed against the cold wall of lockers.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked, cautiously. This was harder than you imagined. Teasing Jungkook meant teasing yourself too, and you could already feel how wet you were during those few steps back.

Jungkook shook his head, closing his eyes and taking a centering breath. “No, I just need a minute.”

After a moment, his hand creeped towards his crotch, fingers rubbing over the strained fabric. His eyes flicked upwards, glazed gaze dragging over your body. “You’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, gripping himself through his shorts. “Your tits are even better than I imagined.”

“You imagined my tits?” You taunted with a smirk, reaching up to cup your breast. You had little right to tease, knowing your imagination had run wild more than once as well.

Jungkook’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts. “Don’t act so surprised,” he said. His eyes squeezed shut as he gripped himself. “You know we’ve all thought about it…thought about fucking you. Can’t…help it…” His breaths grew shorter, staccato rhythm. He paused again to steady himself.

“I want to see you, too,” you said, pinching your nipple and sending a shiver down your spine. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

“I will if you will,” he said, searching your eyes for agreement. You nodded, dying to feel relief from the tension wrecking your body.

As Jungkook pushed down his gym shorts, you fumbled with the button of your jeans and shimmied them down your hips. Tendrils of your arousal strung between your soaked panties and aching sex, dissipating as you shoved them mid-thigh. His cock sprung free, already glistening at the tip.

You watched each other, aroused and curious, as you explored your own bodies. Your fingers drifted down to circle your clit while Jungkook’s fist wrapped around his cock, thumb swiping over the flushed tip with every upward stoke. His hooded eyes fixed on the motion of your fingers as he sped and slowed his movements, constantly holding himself back as he narrowed in on the climax he denied himself again and again.

Stretching your fingers, you slipped inside, craving a deeper sensation. But that spot you needed was just out of reach, no matter how hard you tried. Your brow furrowed in frustration, resigning to your former tactics.

“Do you want a hand?” Jungkook asked between panting breaths, slowing his motions once more.

“This is supposed to be about you,” you said, dismissing his offer with a shake of your head.

“This is already better than what I usually do,” he insisted. “Can I?”

You hesitated a moment before nodding. It would be a lie to say you didn’t want it.

Jungkook stood from the bench, towering as he caged you against the locker. You were so accustomed to his shyness that his sudden assertion made you dizzy. His warm palm rested on your bare hip, and he searched your eyes for permission once more before drifting lower.

Strong digits slid through your folds, tentative as they explored. Cautiously, he slipped one finger inside, then added another. It didn’t take Jungkook long to find a rhythm, pulsing and curling inside of you. You buried your face in his shirt, gripping the loose fabric as you rapidly came undone. He found your weak spot so easily, pressing into it with firm vibrations that made your legs shake. It felt too fucking good. You gasped, crying into his chest as you came.

Jungkook slowed his movements, running soothing passes over your back with his free hand. As your breathing slowed, you became consciously aware of his erection pressed against your hip. “Can you hold out just a little bit longer?” He asked, and you nodded into his chest.

He pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before sinking down to his knees. You watched in awe as his tongue swiped over your clit, observed every subtle motion of his jaw as he devoured you. Already half-gone, it didn’t take much for you to return to your former high.

“Kook,” you panted, fingers snaking through his hair. “You’re really fucking good at this.” He groaned in response, refusing to pull away. Through tear-dusted lashes you spotted his hand wrapping around his cock once more, pumping slowly as his lips suctioned around your clit. You let out a cry as the flat of his tongue swiped across. Your legs shook with pleasure and hips bucked as you came a second time, but he kept going, thrusting his fingers back into your core.

It was overwhelming, the pleasure that consumed you. Pressure bloomed deep in your abdomen as his fingers hammered against your weak spot, and a cord seemed to tighten up your spine, ready to snap as he sucked on your clit. Your breath came in gasps, cries of ecstasy bouncing around the room. One orgasm crashed into another, and another, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, you heard Jungkook swear under his breath and stop abruptly.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could see the flutter in your chest. Jungkook sat back on his heels, gripping the base of his cock firmly. “Too close,” he mumbled, wincing as he tried to stifle any last dregs of pleasure from his body. “Way too close.”

Jungkook swiped the back of his hand over his chin, wiping away your juices as he stood. He tucked himself back into his shorts and sat back on the bench.

Your legs were jelly. It took a moment for you to collect yourself before you could pull your clothing back into place. Your mouth felt too dry and the air too warm. “How long do you have until your fight?” You asked, trying to buy yourself some time while you recovered.

Jungkook checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Perfect.”

“Ok, good. Glad we didn’t overshoot it.” Fixing your bra, you glanced around for a restroom to clean up. In silence, you both wandered to the sinks, washing up and righting your appearance in the mirror.

“Hey…um, I just wanted to say…This doesn’t have to be a whole thing.” You said awkwardly. “Just friends helping friends?” You met his eye in the mirror as he splashed water on his face.

“Friends helping friends.” He nodded in agreement, shoulders relaxing. Drying his hands, he shot you a sly smile “Well, friend, I have to will away a boner or this match is going to get real awkward real fast. Do you mind leaving ahead of me?”

“Sure thing,” you chirped, walking towards the door. “Think about grandmas.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

“Avocados?”

Jungkook grunted again.

“Fabric softener?” You added, hand on the door.

“Uh…go back to grandmas.”

“Really, Kook?” You snorted in disbelief. “Wait a minute…did you want to lose at trivia so you would have to do everyone’s laundry?”

“Hey, you said you wouldn’t judge!”

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read! I think it's been about 3 years since the last update, so I'm guessing I'm just posting smut into the void at this point. Reblogging and comments are always appreciated. :)

[maybanksbaby]

warnings .ᐟ puppy being her clingy, bitey, body-worshipping little self while he’s just amused and soft about it. cause he's not all skinny and noodle-arms like she remembered, yay!!!

warnings .ᐟ puppy!reader x drew starkey — uhh, big yummy biceps maybe???

a/n i missed my big, tall baby so much. i live for his arms, i mean it. made this with puppy!reader cause that's a really valid reaction and how i would react. bunny or deer wouldn't pass the vibe 😮‍💨.

PART 1

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Drew’s halfway through changing his shirt when you pounce.

“Mmf! Hey—what’re you—” He laughs as you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, fingers already pressing into the hard ridges of his abs like you’re trying to memorize the way they shift under your touch.

You let out a dramatic little whimper, cheek smooshed against his back. “You’re getting so biiig,” you say, voice all muffled and dreamy. “Like—buff-buff. Grr-buff.”

He snorts, reaching down to gently pat your hands. “'Grr-buff'? Is that a scientific term, baby?”

You nod against his skin. “Mhm. I studied. I’m a professional muscle inspector. Thank God, i missed them.”

“Is that why you’re squeezing me like a stress ball?”

You hum, now trailing your fingers along his V-line like it personally offended you. “Not my fault you keep getting bigger,” you pout. “It’s like—I have to bite you. There’s no other choice. It’s primal, Joseph. Like a puppy instinct.”

He laughs so hard his stomach shakes under your palms. “You did not just say primal. Or called me Joseph.”

But you’re already sinking your teeth gently into the swell of his shoulder, lips curling into a giddy little grin as he flinches and swats at you with a faux glare.

“Ow! You actually bit me, you maniac.”

“Just a nibble!” you defend, peeking up at him with wide, unrepentant eyes and your cheek squished against his newly massive bicep now. “You’re just so—mmf! You’re like… one of those big strong dogs that lets a tiny puppy climb all over him—i'm the tiny one, by the way. I had to!”

He stares down at you like he wants to both laugh and kiss you until you melt.

“You know you could’ve just said you’re proud of me, right?”

You blink up at him, confused. “I did! With my teeth!”

He just shakes his head, chuckling again as he lifts you up effortlessly, arms flexing as he settles you on the edge of the counter. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You blink innocently. “You’re lucky you’re edible.”

He leans in close, nose brushing yours. “Careful, pup. Keep biting, and I might start biting back.”

You squeak, instantly hiding your face in his neck with a giggle. “Okay. That’s fair.”

Of course it doesn't stop there.

Later? You're all tangled up on the couch, warm and full of sleepy sighs. Drew's shirtless—because obviously, you insisted—and you're tucked right against him like you belong there (you do), your cheek squished against his chest while one of your legs drapes over his thick thigh.

Your hands keep wandering. Not in a dirty way. Just… puppy touchy way.

You had every right, okay?

'Queer' days were rough.

You squeeze his arm again. Like the tenth time.

“Still big,” you murmur with a sleepy pout.

Drew huffs a little laugh, hand stroking up and down your back, his voice low and soft. “You just said that, baby.”

“But you are,” you insist, hugging him tighter. “You’re, like… so much. You feel like a whole warm boulder. A pretty one. A—like—a human heater with abs.”

That makes him snort. “A boulder?”

“My boulder,” you mumble possessively, nuzzling into the crook of his neck now, letting out a tiny, satisfied whimper. “Mhm. Mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine.”

“You really are like a puppy,” he grins, kissing your hair as his fingers scratch gently at your scalp. “Clingy. Bitey. Weirdly obsessed with my arms.”

“I’m not weird,” you pout.

“You literally licked my shoulder earlier.”

“…a little.”

He chuckles, tucking you even closer with one big arm, like he’d never dream of letting you go. “You're lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” you mumble, voice going all wobbly and quiet and sweet now that the teasing faded into cuddles.

That shuts him up for a second.

Then—so soft you barely catch it—he murmurs:

“Yeah. I really, really am.”

You smile against his skin, and in a minute or two, your breathing evens out. You're still wrapped around him like a vine, your hand on his chest, right over his heart. And Drew? He doesn’t move an inch. Just holds you there.

His puppy.

His whole world.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Please could you write something about possessive and a little bit awkward best friend Gavi (friends to lovers) 🙏

closer than close.

masterlist requests word count: 960

a/n: possessivegavi4life genre: fluff warnings: none.

summary: pablo’s your best friend, but lately he’s been acting weird - clingy, jealous, and way too interested in who’s texting you. when you finally call him out, he confesses that he likes you and hates the thought of anyone else getting close. turns out, you feel the same.

You’ve known Pablo since before he had money and fame. Since he was a wiry kid with too-big front teeth and bruises on his knees from falling over trying to impress you with football skills.

He’s been your best friend forever. Always there, always loud, always acting like the center of the world and dragging you with him like gravity. But lately he’s been acting… off.

Like how he practically growled at that guy from your uni who asked if you were single last weekend.

Or how he started sitting closer. Not in a “hey, I’m comfy around you” kind of way. In a “if our arms brush one more time I might explode” kind of way.

Or how he stares at your phone screen now when you’re texting. And not subtly. He leans in. Neck craning. Eyebrows twitching. Mouth pressed tight.

You’d call him out if he weren’t so obvious about it already.

Tonight, you’re at his place, flopped on the couch, half-watching some dumb movie you’ve both seen a hundred times. His hoodie swallows you whole, sleeves covering your hands. You’re scrolling through your texts when you feel him shift beside you.

“Who’s that?” he asks, voice flat.

You glance up, confused. “Huh?”

“On your phone.” He nods toward the screen. “You smiled.”

You blink. “I smiled?”

He nods again, eyes pinned to your phone like it insulted his whole bloodline.

“It’s Nico,” you say slowly, watching his jaw tighten. “The guy from lecture. I just asked for the notes.”

Pablo makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a scoff, but more annoyed. He slumps deeper into the couch, crossing his arms. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex under the fabric.

“Oh,” he mutters, clearly not meaning it.

You turn your body to face him, raising your eyebrows. “What’s your deal?”

“No deal,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “I just think that guy’s a loser.”

“He’s nice.”

“He’s boring.”

You snort. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. He looks like he does magic tricks for fun.”

You burst out laughing, which only seems to frustrate him more. He sits up straighter, eyes blazing now, and you swear there’s actual panic bubbling behind the sarcasm.

“Why are you even talking to him?” he asks, quieter this time.

“Because I needed the notes.”

“There’s like five million other people in your class.”

You narrow your eyes. “Are you seriously mad that I asked someone else for help?”

“No,” he says. “I’m mad because you could’ve asked me.”

You blink. “You’re not even in uni.”

“Still would’ve figured it out.”

His voice is soft now, but there’s an edge to it. Something raw. You stop laughing.

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it a little, then lets out a sigh. His whole chest rises and falls like he’s just come back from a sprint.

“I don’t like it,” he admits. “When you talk to other guys.”

The room goes quiet. You’re not breathing. He’s not looking at you.

You swallow. “Why not?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, finally, he mutters, “Because they don’t know you like I do.”

You shift, curling one leg up underneath you. “So?”

“So they don’t know how you hate mushrooms, or how you fake-laugh when you’re nervous, or that you always sleep facing the wall.”

He finally looks at you, and something in his expression makes your throat tighten.

“They don’t know how you hum when you’re focused. Or that you rewatch the same sad part of that one movie every month just to cry. They don’t know the sound of your laugh when you’re actually happy.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. You’re pretty sure your heart is somewhere in your throat.

“I know all of that,” he says, voice cracking just a little. “And it pisses me off that someone else might get to learn it, too.”

You blink fast, your chest fluttering.

“Are you… being jealous right now?”

He groans and covers his face with his hands. “Yes. Obviously. Jesus.”

You stare at him, heat crawling up your neck.

“You’re literally blushing,” you point out, voice half a whisper.

He groans louder, dragging his hands down his face. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m aware.”

“Pablo.”

He peeks at you through his fingers.

“You could’ve just told me.”

“I didn’t want to make it weird.”

You snort. “You’ve been making it weird.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m just saying… maybe you shouldn’t talk to Nico.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I like you. And he’s not even funny. And also he smells weird.”

You burst out laughing again, and Pablo just watches you like he’s trying not to smile.

He doesn’t succeed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

“But you like me,” he says softly, almost like a question.

You meet his eyes. “I really like you.”

He exhales so deeply it’s like he’s been holding his breath since last year.

And then he scoots closer. Just a little. But enough that your knees brush.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a whisper now.

You nod. “Finally.”

And when he does, it’s everything you hoped it would be.

A little clumsy, a little desperate. But warm. Familiar. Like coming home.

After, you’re curled into his chest, and he’s running his fingers through your hair, smug and soft all at once.

“You’re not actually gonna talk to Nico again, right?”

You look up at him. “You’re seriously still stuck on that?”

He shrugs. “What if he tries something?”

“Then he’ll have to deal with my possessive best friend who kisses me like he means it.”

He grins. “Damn right.”

You shake your head and laugh into his hoodie.

He holds you closer anyway.

[urf4vsc0rpio]

Voice Of A Siren

Rumi x Fem ! Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Strap ons, overstimulation, edging, something something about Rumi's voice being damn hot if you squint just hard enough. Biting, a bit of blood, a teeny tiny bit of degradation, went so hard at it, almost made the honmoon golden!? RUMI'S MARKS R SENSITIVE AND I WILL STAND ON THIS HILL.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Clubbing turned into never clubbing ever again cuz u think u lost the ability to walk

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Does this count as monsterfucking actually???? A bit ooc but I'm just gonna say it's bcs of Rumi going feral and letting her demon half go wild. A lot...and I mean a lot of stupid jokes. But I locked in, in the end. 20k WORDS IS INSANE AND THIS TOOK ME LIKE IDK...3 DAYS TO FINISH??? Or is it 4... My phone is currently lagging rlly hard as I type this out cuz I think I made it too long, couldn't handle it when I pasted the ff into tumblr. Not beta read, we die like Jinu and the rest of the Saja boys 🤭 Oh and recently I've been experimenting w whatever tf this "—" is called sooo yea, idk how to feel abt it but so far it's nice I think

Don't like? Then scroll ^^

Everything was a blur.

One moment, you were at the club, dancing against Rumi with absolutely no room for Jesus.

Then you were in her car, your hand gripping her thigh and praying for your life as she sped through the red lights like they were just suggestions.

Eager, that much was obvious.

And now...you were home? What the hell just happened?

You didn't even remember unlocking the door, didn't even have the chance to ask how you got here. She was already all over you.

Her lips were on yours. Rough. Desperate. Like she'd been starved for you. Like she'd gone days without a taste. One hand wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head as she held you against the wall, her body eagerly pressed to yours.

You didn't even get the chance to process it. All you knew was that her free hand was already under your shirt, mapping out your body like she had it memorized. Like scripture.

She pulled away and you whimpered, only to break into a moan when her mouth descended on your neck. Slow but claiming. Possessive.

Her knee slid between your thighs, pressing against your aching core, already desperate for her since the club. Your breath hitched. Your fingers flexed, aching to hold her. But her grip only tightened around your wrists, keeping you pinned in place. "Stay."

You felt that in your bones. Her voice, much lower than usual. Husky. Dangerous. You only managed a needy whine, your back arching into her until her nails dug sharply into your hips, holding you still. A gasp escaped your lips. "Rumi..."

"Let me have you, pretty girl."

She pressed her knee harder against you, dragging a moan from your throat as her hand guided your hips to grind against her. The hand that held you pinned soon left your wrist, trailing along your thigh before guiding your leg to wrap around her hips.

Freed, your hands flew to her. Desperate, fingers clutching at her jacket like she was the only thing keeping you standing.

You bit your lip, trying to muffle your sounds. But she was quicker. Her hand left your thigh, brushing over your breasts as her thumb pressed gently to your lips. "None of that, sweet girl" She purred, an amused glint in her eyes as your mouth parted almost instinctively, your tongue swirling around her thumb with a soft whimper.

"Good girl…let me hear you" She her voice dropped to a low growl as her patterns began to glow. Bright and hungry. For you.

“You have no idea how badly I need you” She whispered, her voice no longer fully her own. Low, distorted, aching. Her breath ghosted against your ear, and something inside you quivered. If you weren't wet before, you're definitely a waterfall now.

Suddenly, she picked you up with surprising strength. "I want you." She breathed and your legs wrapped around her hips on instincts, just to keep steady. In the blink of an eye, her lips were back on your neck, nipping and sucking, making sure that you were marked properly. She wasn't gonna let you leave untouched.

She walked to her bedroom with relative ease like you weighed nothing to her, paying no mind to your nails dragging down her back.

She entered her room and kicked the door shut, tossing you onto the bed. You didn't even get the chance to sit up, she was already straddling your hips, hands pressing your shoulders down. "Don't move." A simple command, but god did it make you moan.

"Rumi—" You cut yourself off with a choked whine when she ground her hips slowly, painfully slow. "Tell me what you want, baby." She purred, slipping her jacket off with ease.

You were ready to beg...until she slipped her jacket off, tossing it to god knows where. That’d be a problem for tomorrow. The second you saw her glowing markings, you forgot what you were even trying to say.

"Use your words, princess."

"Please..."

"Please what?"

"Rumi, you know what I want—"

"Hm...Ah, I don't. You might just have to tell me." She teased, her lips curling into a smug little smile. Oh this devil...

"I need you, Rumi. Touch me, bite me" You breathed out shakily "anything." You said, eyes locked onto hers. The desire in her gaze matched your own, wild and unspoken.

"There's my good girl..." She cooed, slipping your shirt off with practiced ease then tugging her own sleeveless turtleneck over her head, letting it fall to the floor.

Your breath hitched as you gazed shamelessly at her still-covered breasts. "Fuck..." You murmured, eyes snapping back to hers. "I want you so bad, Rumi" You confessed, your hands finding purchase on her hips as you bucked your hips up gently into her, dragging a low moan from her.

"Mm...yeah?" She said breathlessly, her fingers reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, letting it slip off her shoulders, landing carelessly on the bed. You swallowed hard, breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight of her, bare and straddling you like a goddess.

Fuck.

“C’mere” You breathed, flipping her onto her back with ease, pulling a surprised gasp from her. “Eager, huh?” She cooed, one hand tangling in your hair. The other slipped behind your back, unclasping your bra in one swift motion before cupping your breast and pulling a gasp from your lips.

You crashed your lips to hers, biting down on her bottom lip and tugging it gently as she moaned into your mouth, and you? You eagerly swallowed every sound as her tongue slipped past your lips. Your hands explored her, tracing every curve and dip that you've grown to memorize.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding down against her, the friction enough to leave you both breathless. "You feel so fucking good" Rumi groaned, her markings pulsing a bright purple glow.

"I need to feel you" She growled, her voice lowering an octave and distorting once again. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't throbbing her name in morse code.

Suddenly, she flipped you onto your back. Her fingers slipped beneath your jeans, tugging them down in one smooth motion.

You could’ve sworn you were wearing panties…man, she’s quick with it.

Insanely quick. What do you mean she's already between your legs? "Keep up, baby. I'm not slowing down." You barely had time to process what she just said. Because god, you melted the moment her tongue pressed flat against your clit.

"Rumi—" A low groan tore from your throat as your head fell back into the pillows, hips buckling up into her mouth,  desperate to chase that pleasure. “More, please” You whimpered, fingers tangling in her braids and tugging gently, earning a low pleased growl as her markings flared to life once again.

Your mouth fell open the moment her lips closed around your clit, sucking. Hard, relentless. You think you saw stars when 2 fingers started tracing your entrance. You definitely did when she pushed them in with one smooth motion. Your walls clamped down around her fingers, a loud moan tearing from your throat. “R–right there—! Oh god—don’t stop, don’t stop—” You gasped, fingers tangled in her braids, tugging until they fell loose around her shoulders. Framing her like a painting, even as she made a mess of you.

Just as your moans turned breathless and high-pitched, your back arching and hips bucking for more...

She stopped, her fingers stilling inside you.

"W–what...?" You whimpered, lifting your head to look down at her. She was already staring up at you, smirking. Her lips parted just enough to show her fangs.

Wait...when did those get sharper?

"You look so beautiful like this, falling apart just for me."

"But not yet, sweet girl."

"Rumi, please—" Your plea was cut short by a choked moan as her fangs pierced the soft skin of your inner thigh. She groaned in delight, her tongue sinfully lapping up the sweet crimson. Her nails, now sharper, dug into your hips, holding you still as her glowing eyes locked onto yours.

Her patterns pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Quick, erratic, wild. But her eyes...they glowed a softer purple. Even through the untameable hunger.

She moved upward. Slowly. Painfully slow. Until she stopped, just near your ear. “I’m trying so hard to be gentle, right now…”

Her voice was distorted.

Husky.

Otherworldly.

"Then don't."

Rumi sucked in a sharp breath, her hand trailed up from your hips to palm your breast. "You don't know what you're asking for, do you?" She growled, threatening but oh so hot. Her head dipped to trail kisses down your neck, stopping just above your free breast "Maybe I don't" You responded "But maybe I do" You continued. Challenging her.

"Bold" That’s all she said, before her lips closed around your nipple, and her hand cupped the other. "Just a bi—" You were cut off by a sharp jolt of pain as her fangs pierced your areola. A loud, helpless whine broke from your throat. She chuckled softly against your chest before pulling away. Smiling like she'd just claim what's hers.

“You’re already breaking…” She purred,

Her fingers resumed their rhythm. Harder, rougher. “And I’m not even done with you. Not even close.” She growled the words like a promise. She watched as you throw your head back, gasping, moaning, cursing her name like it was the only language you knew.

Like a prayer.

A dark, sinful, unholy prayer.

"Moan for me, let everyone know who's fucking you this good." She growled, her voice once again sounding inhumane just as her thrusts grew rougher, crueler, deeper. "Rumi–pleasepleaseplease—" You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

Not when her fingers curled just right. Hitting that goddamn spot that had you seeing heaven. Or maybe it was hell...whatever it was, it was perfect.

You needed more.

More of her fingers.

More of her touch.

More of her.

Harder. Deeper. Faster. Rougher.

More.

Mo—

...Why did she stop?

"No!" You gasped, trying to sit up, but she was faster. One finger. That’s all it took.

She pressed you down like it was nothing. “Ah ah ah…none of that,” She cooed sweetly. “You’re gonna stay there… and take whatever I give you.”

A pause. A smirk.

"Like a good little slut."

You were close.

So close.

Just a little more—

Fuck!

She pulled her fingers out, painfully slow. Leaving you achingly empty, dragging a desperate whine out of you as your hips lifted, chasing after the ghost of her touch. You needed her, badly. Carnally.

"So...wet." She mused, bringing her wet fingers up to her face before locking eyes with you. She smirked, just enough for her fangs to peek out and your throat went dry. Her eyes watched you like a predator, glowing a dark purple. Hunger. Desire.

The patterns adorning her body were brighter, she wanted you too and she wasn't gonna shy away from that.

Shamelessly, her lips parted. Her tongue lolling out, longer than usual. No wonder they felt so good. It's not always that you see her embrace her demon side like this, but fuck...it made you hot. It made the ache between your thighs burn.

Your breath hitched, watching as her lips wrapped around her wet fingers. Your core clenched around nothing when she moaned at the taste of you. Her fingers left her lips with a wet pop before she spoke.

"You taste like sin"

"And god, is it heavenly."

Without wasting a second, she dove back between your legs. Lapping at you like she's been starved for years, decades. Her hands slipped under you to greedily knead your ass but also to hold you in place.

Your hands tangled back into her purple locks, moaning loudly as her ministrations got rougher. Shamelessly grinding against her tongue, using her for your own pleasure.

Close.

You were so close.

Just a little more—

"Fuck, Rumi!" You gasped, desperation evident in your voice when she pulled away again, a sob tearing from your throat. She sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand with a stupidly smug grin.

Oh she was definitely proud herself.

"Whoops."

"Rumi!" You growled, dragging a palm over your flushed face. You sat up on your elbows, still panting, your thighs aching. "You're so mean when you wanna be..."

She just smirked, wiping her mouth like she hadn’t just ruined you. "Didn't know you were close." Bullshit.

She knew.

She always knew.

She knew your body all too well.

"Stay put." She ordered, already sliding off the bed and vanishing into her walk-in closet like she didn’t just ruin you. You flopped backwards into the mattress with a whimper of betrayal. Staring up at the ceiling like it was its fault.

"I can’t believe I just got blue-balled by a fucking demon...I swear I'm gonna call a priest."

"Mad?"

That voice.

You knew it too well.

Velvet and venom.

And so damn hot.

You turned your head and there she was, leaning lazily against the frame of her walk-in closet. And fuck. You swallowed thickly, shamelessly eyeing the strap she wore that always makes your eyes roll back without fail.

Purple. Marked in glowing patterns that mirrored the ones that adorned her skin. Oh you needed her badly. But your attention? It wasn't even on the strap, well it was for a moment. But it was the fact that her jeans were finally off.

About time.

You were this close to thinking they were permanently fused to her damn legs.

"Like what you see, pretty girl?"

“Rumi, you fucking devil…” You muttered, glaring up at her. Or at least...you tried to. It was hard to look mad when your voice was that breathless. God dammit.

She grinned, making her way over and god.

It took every scrap of control you had not to pounce on her right then and there. Not that you had much left. You were hanging by a thread. A very thin one that is...and it was just about to snap.

She crawled onto the bed, never once breaking eye contact. Her eyes gleamed with purple and so did her markings, you could've sworn you saw the ones on the strap glow too...or maybe you're just stupidly aroused it's making you hallucinate. Only god knows.

She moved like a predator, a wolf closing in on a deer. And your legs instinctively parted like divorced parents, making space for her to slot perfectly between them.

Hovering over you, her elbows planted beside your head, she looked down at you with a gaze that swallowed you whole. Her loose hair fell like a curtain around you, soft and wild.

Until she was all you could see.

"You don't sound too mad" She pointed out, her voice was the only thing you could hear. She was like a siren, luring you into the ocean, waiting for the right moment to indulge in her hunger.

You failed to notice the moment her hand slipped between your bodies, her fingers gliding from your entrance and up to your clit, gathering your slick.

"Rumi—" A gasp, followed by a chuckle from your lover "Absolutely dripping" She mused "Guess we won't be needing any lube" Then she brought those fingers up to your lips.

"Suck."

Your breath hitched but your lips parted on instinct, wrapping around her fingers with a soft whimper. "Good girl..." She purred into your ear, earning a shudder from you.

Her smirk was unmistakable. She loved the way her voice wrecked you.

Her free hand guided her tip to your entrance, circling it...but never quite giving you what you needed. Instead, she ground the strap against your folds. Desperate whines poured from your lips when she pulled her fingers out. Your hips bucked against her strap. Aching, begging.

"Please just—"

She gave it to you. One smooth thrust, all the way to the hilt. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat...too loud.

Shit, what if someone heard?

Breaking news!

HUNTR/X’s Rumi caught melting her girlfriend’s brain with just her voice!

Fuck. She moved again, and your thoughts went blank. All your fears and worries had melted into pleasure, mind breaking pleasure. "You worry too much." She murmured.

Of course she'd notice.

“I don’t want someone hearing—” Your words dissolved into a gasp the moment her thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles that made your back arch. “Oh god—”

“Then be quiet” She growled, tone laced with amusement. “But we both know you won’t.”

“And I don’t want you to either.” She murmured, her voice low, possessive. “Let them hear what they’ll never have.”

That was all you needed.

Everything you needed.

Her name left your lips like a prayer, your nails clawed into her soft skin like she was your savior and your eyes closed like her beauty was too blinding, even while she ravaged you like the devil.

But then she stilled suddenly, your nails digging into her patterns. They glowed, brighter than before. Wilder than ever.

She feels your fingers on her skin, on her patterns. But she feels it deep. Her stomach contracted so hard that it's visible, and her chest tightens. You hear her suck in a breath. Your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head and saw the grip she had on the bedsheets, so tight that you can actually hear it start tearing.

You looked back at her and saw how her face contorted in pleasure, eyes snapped shut, brows furrowed and jaws clenched. She bit down on her bottom lip, she didn't even notice it started to bleed. A drop landing on the corner of your lips and your tongue slowly darted out to lick it up.

You tentatively traced your fingers down the patterns on her back, experimenting. She gasped, her hips bucking into you— hard. A choked groan left your own lips.

You watched as her body shivered, then you felt like the wind was knocked out of you. Her eyes opened, looking back at you with unrestrained hunger, pupils thinned into slits, her breathing coming out in pants. Short and laboured.

"Keep that up and I might just get you pregnant."

There it was again. Growly, husky...distorted.

Was this still Rumi? You weren’t sure anymore. It felt like you just dragged something out of her. Something she’d tried to keep buried.

You gulped.

But something inside you, something reckless whispered: Do it again.

So you did. This time, pressing your nails harder into her glowing patterns before dragging them down, slow and deliberate. You didn’t expect the reaction.

In an instant, she grabbed your leg and slung it over her shoulder before both hands clamped down on your hips, harder than before. You winced slightly as her sharp nails bit into your skin.

Oh shit.

A nervous chuckle left your lips, you knew you had messed up, big time. "Nervous?" She asked, she didn't even wait for an answer. "Good."

"Rumi—waitwaitwaitwait—!" Your protest barely had time to leave your lips. She was already ravaging you. Her thrusts harder, faster, rougher. Deeper.

In seconds, her lips were back on your neck, growling softly as she nipped at your skin, leaving hickeys and bites in her wake. She wanted...needed everyone to know you were hers.

God, you felt so good, she was going to lose her mind. But she couldn’t. Not when she was at risk of accidentally hurting you.

She needed control. She had to keep her demon at bay. She couldn't hurt you.

She just couldn't.

She couldn't lose you because of her own careless mistake.

She—

Everything went silent in her head. No more fears. No more doubts. No more worries. She couldn’t hear the voices telling her she’d hurt you. There was...nothing.

The way your hand raked softly down her back grounded her. Your skin against hers quieted the noise. Until nothing clouded her mind. She felt…free. For once in her life.

She released a shaky breath. Her grip on your hip eased, her thrusts growing more gentle. “I love you…” She murmured against your neck. Her voice sounded softer now.

"I love you too, Rumi." You didn't question why she zoned out. You just stayed. Letting go of the pressure where your nails dug into her glowing patterns, and gently traced down her back to ground her.

"Did I hurt you?" She asked, hesitant. Like she was scared of the answer. Yes, you did. And it made me notice that you're a fucking monster and I never should've been with you in the first place—

"Of course not, love" You answered, silencing the voice inside her head. "I...quite enjoyed it, actually" you added, a faint smile on your lips.

"Right...okay. Okay okay. Good..." She mumbled, exhaling a shaky breath. Her hands trembled and her thrusts grew hesitant. She still couldn't shake the fear that she might hurt you.

"Rumi, you can go harder." You said firmly, meeting her eyes. Her markings pulsed erratically, you didn’t miss how nervous she was. "I'll tell you if it gets too much" You said, softer now. "Promise." You sealed that promise with a gentle kiss, your hands exploring her back, legs locking around her hips, urging her to go harder.

She sighed into the kiss and tentatively picked up the pace, testing the waters to see if you were okay. A moan left your lips and she eagerly swallowed it, her patterns pulsing with renewed hunger, much more confident to go rougher now that she knew you could take it. That you wanted it.

That you wanted her.

She nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a soft whine from you. Then she pulled away, leaving you breathless, moaning her name beneath her.

"Beautiful…" She whispered, lowering her head to press soft kisses against your neck. Her kisses were gentle. Soft. But her thrusts told a different story.

You were coming apart for her. Floating. Drunk on her. With one particularly deep thrust, your nails sank into the glowing patterns on her back. A choked moan tore from her lips as they pulsed brightly beneath your touch. She felt it deep in her core. Her hips stuttered, movements growing messy, desperate.

She was close too.

It didn't take long. Not for either of you. Your mouth dropped in a breathless moan as Rumi buried her face in your neck, growling low and inhuman. She bit down on your neck. Hard. And that sent your climax crashing harder than before.

She thrusted once. Then twice. Then one last time. She stilled, the tip of the strap pressed snugly against that spot inside you that made your whole body shake. She moaned into your neck as she came, her legs trembling. Slick dripped down her thighs while your nails raked harsh red lines down her back.

"I need you...so...fucking...bad." She breathed. Like the words physically hurt to say. She sounded distorted again, husky and she barely sounded human.

Everything blurred again. One moment, you were on your back. The next? Face down, ass up.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, holding you down as she ravaged you with absolutely no mercy. She knew you could take it. You said so yourself.

Your moans were swallowed by the soft pillows. Your hands scrambled for something, anything to ground yourself. The sheets. That’s all you could reach. You fisted them tightly as your legs kicked and squirmed behind her, desperate and overstimulated.

"I can't take it—Rumi please—oh fuck!" You screamed into the pillows. But Rumi? She didn't waver. She's seen you like this, over and over again. She knew you could take more. "It's too much, it's too much—"

"Liar."

She whispered and her fingers slipped between your legs, swiping at your clit from side to side. Your eyes rolled back. A loud moan tore from your lips, muffled by the pillows. “Please please please!”

You didn’t even know what you were begging for.

Did you want her to stop?

Or did you want more?

God...you didn’t even know anymore.

You didn’t even know how many orgasms you'd had. All you knew was somehow...you were on top of her now.

When did that even happen?

Her strap was buried deep inside you, your body slumped over hers, head resting weakly on her chest. You were too spent to move.

But she wasn’t.

Her sharp nails dug into your ass as she guided you to bounce on her strap, hard and punishing. Her hips thrust up to meet you every time she forced you back down, and each time it had you whining. Loud and helpless.

You sobbed into her chest, nails digging into her glowing patterns every time her thrusts went too deep, earning a low, pleasured grunt from her. "So damn tight" She panted, tilting her head back.

"Rumi, please...I-I'm so close" You gasped between broken sobs and moans, hips grinding weakly against her strap. "Let go, baby" she said, voice gentle. But her grip on you was tight, bruising. And the way she was splitting you apart said otherwise.

"I got you" She purred. Her thrusts grew more erratic and you knew she was just on the brink too. Just a little push, that was all she needed.

Her hips stuttered, the tip of her strap pressing deliciously into your sweet spot. A broken moan tore from your lips as your nails dragged down her glowing patterns. Wild, hungry, desperate. That was all she needed.

A gasp, then a loud, guttural moan tore through her throat. Her real voice layered with that distorted one, the one you only heard when she lost control.

It felt too good to be real. She didn’t know she was capable of this level of pleasure.

When you both climaxed, she could’ve sworn she saw the Honmoon glow.

She didn’t even realize she could squirt.

Not until she felt the soaked bedsheets beneath her.

Or maybe that was you.

Maybe both.

She panted, releasing her painful grip on your ass before pulling you into a gentle hug.

"Sorry—"

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Don't be." You murmured, breathless but certain. Still trembling, you gathered the last of your strength to wrap your arms around her. "I enjoyed it."

[misandrymced]

pt 1

nerd!armin, always in the front of the class hand raised after every questions.

failing!reader, who's failing said chem class and needs/ask Armin for help.

Armin is sooo sweet and he's an RA, he feels like its his job to help all of his peers, even the 'troubled ones' and your really attractive but that's not the point.

-

"youre lucky you get a room to yourself Armin" they're voice has a low growl. Following armin to his desk, he gets his notes and books out.

"h-how can gas be a-a liquid if its so hard~" he struggles to ask the question, they way y/n eyes is drinking him down undressing him makes him think they're here for another kind of chemistry.

I act like I don't know the answer to the question for a second before I blow my cover. " hmm.. cause glass can be melted into a liquid?" wow she actually got it right..I may be easy but this makes me want them more.

"good job y/n!, lets move o-" before Armin could even flip the page y/n hand was gliding up his thigh. Armin grabs y/ns hand, blushing "what are you doing?" he's not stuttering anymore.. I hope I didn't make him uncomfy.

"oh I'm sorry I'll leave n-"

"NO" armin shouts "p-please keep going"

y/n wastes no time kissing his soft lips and getting him on they're lap, already feeling a bulge holding his neck to deepen the kiss. Armin holds her wrist adding more force onto his neck.

armin lays himself down his bed desperately gripping y/n moving them into his legs."take everything off".

armin moves in a huff to get his shirt and pants off. y/n spits in they're hand rubbing armins cock to get it ready for they're hole, moving armins legs above their head kissing his pale ankle placing their wet hole above his length and sinking down onto it slowly as armin whimpers begging for more trying to hide his face and the tears from you. but you couldnt let that happen.

even tho he was pretty big you move his hands away from his face pinning them above his head, moving faster up and down his cock.

you were getting so wet, armins moans were so..pornographic, the whole dorm probably knew your name by now. you were getting close now.

pulling armins hair to expose his neck, kissing and sucking until a faint mark appears. that's sends you over the edge, all of your cum leaking down his shaft. "mmh~ p-please cum"

he's so pathetic, you pull him out of you rubbing your cum on his lips (he looks prettier that way)

"I'm afraid not, armin"

please please please tell me if I should even do a pt 2 cause I lk think I can make this a 3 pt series (mb even 4) check out my masterlist!! and send askkk TYYSMMMM<33333 XOXO

p.s THIS IS FOR THAT ONE ANONNNNN

[novasintheroom]

I sniffed an opportunity and came running ehehe *rubbing my hands like a fly*

🎀 with Caldarus

Wanna brush his gorgeous long hair. I find it therapeutic. He mentioned one time in the game having trouble with brushing his hair and said he started using a branch instead of his claws (gift this man a proper brush pls :') )

Shh. Shh. The brush is gentle with your ministering. 

It is a hot August day. Perfect for sitting in the shade and not moving. Caldarus had planned to do exactly that, but then you came, as you always do, with something new for the Guardian of Mistria to experience. Today, that was a hairbrush and the demand that you let him “play with” his hair. You bribed him with sugared berry scones. And how could he say no to that?

Caldarus expected more pain, to be honest. Brushing his hair is always the bane of his day, but he does it, too proud to leave himself rumpled or ungroomed. The branch he found always catches on the snarls and leaves and other things that happen in his mane. Dragging his fingers through does not help. But you are gentle. And have an actual brush.

A grasshopper clicks somewhere to the side. There are plenty of other bugs humming and singing in the heat. Birds, too. Caldarus feels himself growing heavier with each brush. His eyes close.

Shh. Shh. “So unfair,” you murmur.

His ear flicks, eyes opening groggily. “Hm?”

You continue to brush. “You have so much hair. And it’s such a pretty color.” Shh. Shh. Caldarus closes his eyes again, the gentle pulling on his scalp a balm to his sleepy soul. “I wish my hair was this thick.”

He can’t help but snort at this. “You would not enjoy it in the heat.” The amount of times he’s peeled his hair from his neck with sweat is both astonishing and unpleasant. 

“Probably.” Shh. Shh. Shh. “But I still love it.”

Caldarus’ tail curls pleasantly at the compliment. You set the brush down and begin running your fingers through the strands, separating them. He assumes you will braid it. With more tugging and gentle nudging, he does not realize he has fallen asleep until he snores awake.

“Tired?” You say, a laugh caught in your voice.

His lips tug upward. “It is very easy to fall asleep in this weather.”

“Bet it also feels good to have someone play with your hair. I always did when my friends played with mine.”

He hums in agreement. His head is already tilting toward his chest again, ready to fall back into sleep.

You nudge him awake. “Here. Lie down on my lap.” Gold eyes widen and look at you. Your smile is friendly, and you pat your thighs. “C’mon. I can still play with your hair while you sleep.”

He hesitates. Dragons, by nature, are solitary and often do not touch others. But he is also mortal now, and feels a tug of want when he looks at your legs. They do look soft…and you mentioned that friends often do these sorts of things with each other.

Throwing caution out, Caldarus settles down and gently places his chin on your lap, careful of his horns. His arm wraps around your midsection, the other folding under his stomach. You shift a bit to get more comfortable — “So my legs don’t fall asleep,” you say — and then you’re right back to playing with his hair. Even humming as you create multiple braids within.

Caldarus falls asleep quickly after that. The warmth in the air, the pull on his scalp, the softness of your lap…

You ask him a question, and he snores softly in response. Smiling, you decide that means “yes” and start placing pink and white bows in his hair.

You’ll leave the brush for him when he wakes.

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A/N: Didn't really know how to end this, so here ya go lmao <3 Thanks for playing!