#also he’d himself like to keep breathing

[slashedgutz]

bb talk

soldier boy wants to baby-trap you. he gets very close to succeeding.

a/n; tw for soldier boy being dodgy (as usual!), baby-trapping, overstimulation, general smut behaviour. also this gif drives me nuts. likes and reblogs are appreciated; enjoy <3

You're Soldier Boy’s pretty thing. You're the kind of girl that gets stares from everywhere you go, the kind of girl who gets anything and everything. And he's him, the most powerful Supe in the world, and there's nothing to complain about; the most, caring, gentle, kind man you've ever been with. You're also young and naive, and yeah, he's meant ot be with Crimson Countess, but that's not lost on either of you. It's okay, though. You like that he's older, more experienced, as you've told him.

But there’s fear. Fear he shouldn’t have because he’s fucking Soldier Boy. You talk about such insignificant matters, things that he couldn’t care less about, all for you to forget them a month or so later. And therein lies the issue; what if one of those issues is him? He’s so afraid of you growing up or changing or anything because he knows deep down that he's alone at his big age and you've got the whole world wanting you, if only you stopped seeing him, if only you stepped outside to the world he's shielding you from.

It starts that way. It starts with that fear.

It’s why he doesn’t let you take birth control. He doesn’t want you pumped full of chemicals, becoming something that you’re not. Instead, he offers to wear a condom. However, you don’t know they’re all tampered with— poked with holes, so there’s never not a chance that you could get knocked-up when you have sex. And god forbid your taste in men changes (as if it ever will— but there’s always a possibility), and suddenly, you don’t want old men anymore. So he pledges to wear the rubber, wraps it before he taps it, all to keep you in his grasp. You trust him, always, to be honest and faithful and good, and he only wants the best for you. So you agree, and he tells you that he loves you. And he says it back, because he does, the guilt catching in the back of throat.

You’re all over him, practically salivating at his touch, so wet and pliable under him. He knows you’re ovulating, even if he doesn’t track your cycle (because who the fuck has time for that?), so he knows you’re exactly in the right mode— fucking desperate for him.

But part of him can’t help himself; he’s going to break his promise. He has to make you cum as many times as possible, basically until you became a weak puddle of desire and need. Until you became incapable of responsibility. He devours you; his tongue and fingers work tirelessly to bring his plan into fruition. He’s fucking you like there’s no tomorrow— pretty much ready to go all night, courtesy of his Supe abilities. You're begging him to be inside you, fill you up, tugging at his hair and pleading.

He breathes you in, like the drugs he takes, so clean and pure and addictive. Just the way he likes— needs you. His tip ghosts your cunt, and you’re quick to rut your hips against him, wanting him in you in an instant. But, of course, you remember the deal, and you silently motion towards the drawer. Soldier Boy grunts; his patience is dying, and so is his libido. Slowly, but surely. He doesn’t have time for this, and for a moment, he’d hoped you had forgotten.

His fingers are on your clit, and your whines, moans, begs, fill his ears like a song. He shushes you, as if you're a child, placing kisses on your body. Don't worry, I've got you, he coos, before swiftly entering you. It's quick, so you don't have even a chance to change your mind, his ahnds running up and down your body.

Forehead against yours, everything so tender and sweet and fucking beautiful, he begins moving in and out of you, the sensation of your tight cunt is all he can focus on. You open your eyes to look at him-- his brown hair sticking to his forehead, fine wrinkles that seem prominent in the low light. His hands, rough and experienced and large, holding you in place, keeping you pinned down. He won't let you go. Not now, not ever.

"I love you." You tell him, breathless.

And then, the fear he once felt is gone, clearing from his head like a fine fog. It's his fucked-up way of thinking you want this, but it's hard to tell-- you're drunk on sex, drunk on him, clearly inebriated and unable to know what you want. He moves slowly, deep and hard, letting you feel every inch of him.

He looks down at your cunt, a mess, but pretty-- this is what it'll look like, he thinks, when he leaves you and lets his cum drip out. One day, you'll be full of him, all changed and plump. He'll have you, and the baby, and all the people in the world to brag to. He'll introduce you as his wife, all loving and doting and caring. Because that's what he fucking is.

Soldier Boy's hand is pressed between your thighs, fingers rubbing dangerously fast against your clit. It helps when you arch your back, moaning so loud that he's pretty sure your neighbours can hear. He fucks like a god-- because he is one-- and you can only wonder why he gives it all to you.

He's silent as he comes, his profanities turning into confessions of love. He's not entirely sure if he means it, but oh well-- you're too fucking stupid to know. You orgasm not long after him, probably on the edge of passing out. He's still in you, of course, just to make sure that it sticks. He cannot pull out, not until he knows that you're going to get pregnant.

You murmur a thank you-- it's so sweet to him, almost like a prayer. He tells you that there's no need, because as far as he's concerned, this is all a service to him. He just needs one thing from you.

It's not his fault that you're stupid and oblivious.

[0scarp1astr1]

Spoiled Much? (P3)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P1 | P2

ᯓ★ Featuring: Kimi Räikkönen, Daniel Ricciardo, Alex Albon, Pierre Gasly, Liam Lawson, Isack Hadjar

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: This is the official P3 from now on when I make headcanons. I hope you all enjoy, Kimi was put here due to the high voting poll he got on my blog. I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to send in request. Masterlist coming soon.

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Kimi Räikkönen

Being married to Kimi was… well, entertaining in a very calm, “emotionally constipated Finnish man” kind of way. You were opposites. He was stoic, icy, almost allergic to showing feelings—especially in public. You, on the other hand, had a little chaos in your soul. And every now and then, that chaos had to be unleashed… in the form of a TikTok prank.

You’d seen it over and over—wives pretending a stranger paid for their stuff. Reactions ranged from jealousy to full-blown “Where is he?!” meltdowns. But with Kimi? You knew it’d be either a blink... or a shrug. Which made it all the more tempting.

“I’ll be right back,” you said sweetly, pecking him on the lips before hopping out of the car. Your phone was already hidden, camera rolling like a tiny, nosy spy.

Kimi, naturally, just nodded, barely glancing up from his phone. Classic.

You took your time in the store, mostly because you were mentally preparing for the anticlimactic, ice-cold reaction you were probably about to get. Still, you were committed.

When you slid back into the car, you kept your voice casual, like you weren’t trying to stir the pot. “Lovely guy in there paid for everything. Told him my husband was waiting outside.”

Nothing. Just a slow blink and another nod. You could practically hear crickets in the car.

“He also said I was pretty,” you tried.

“Mmm,” Kimi hummed. “You are pretty, muru.”

Not the point, Kimi.

“He even complimented my hair,” you added, fishing for any trace of reaction.

Another hum. You could swear he was actively trying to win a personal game of “How Emotionless Can I Be?”

You took a deep breath, preparing your final blow—the one thing he couldn’t ignore. “He said my eyes really brought out my features.”

And just like that, the glacier cracked.

Kimi paused, phone lowered. His eyes shifted toward you, and for the first time, there was movement behind those cool blue eyes.

“Well,” he said slowly, “your eyes are nice. But shouldn't he be looking into someone else's eyes?”

You tried to say something, but he cut you off, now fully engaged. “To compliment your eyes? Your eyes? He can compliment your shoes, maybe. But not your eyes. Those are mine. I see them every day. And I like looking at them. He doesn’t get to look at them like that.”

He reached for the door handle.

You burst into laughter, grabbing his arm. “Kimi! Relax! It’s a prank! Phone’s recording!”

He looked over, spotted the camera, and sighed like he’d just lost a bet with himself. His hand dropped from the door as he slumped back in the seat.

“Can’t believe it took eyes to finally break the Iceman,” you teased.

“I love all of you,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to his phone. “But your eyes… they’re my weakness. I knew it was a prank, and I still fell for it. I should’ve stayed quiet. Should’ve listened to my gut.”

You giggled, nudging him. “Softie.”

He scoffed. “Don’t push it.”

But then, just before turning his gaze back to the window, he added in a low, dangerous tone.

“Just so you know… I will get you back. And it’ll be worse.”

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Daniel Ricciardo

When it came to pranking Daniel, you were all in. Your marriage was a perfect blend of laughter and mischief, and you loved keeping him on his toes. Plus, with the hours you spent scrolling TikTok, you had a whole arsenal of prank ideas. Today’s plan was simple: stroll into the store, claim some random guy flirted with you and paid for everything, and watch Daniel’s reaction. Harmless, funny… and totally worth it.

You slipped out of the car, leaving your husband scrolling through his phone and casually texting Max, no doubt sharing whatever F1 gossip was fresh that day. You lingered in the store, biting back a smile as you imagined his reaction.

Back at the car, you loaded the bags into the backseat with a satisfied sigh. “Saved some money in there,” you said, handing him the card.

Daniel looked up, humming thoughtfully. “Some kind of deal going on?”

You shook your head, a mischievous grin tugging your lips. “Nope. Some guy—actually flirted with me. Paid for everything. Said I shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “And he didn’t notice the ring?”

You held up your hand with a mock sigh, the glint of your wedding band catching the sun. “Guess he didn’t, baby. Guess he didn’t…”

Daniel groaned, running a hand through his hair. You fought hard to keep from bursting out laughing.

“We’re married. It’s fine. Who cares?” you said, sliding into the passenger seat.

He frowned, phone forgotten in his hand. “I care! I’m your husband! I don’t need some random guy thinking it’s normal to pay for you when you’re taken!”

You tilted your head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re something else.”

He hummed in agreement, then smirked. “So... should I let some lady flirt with me and pay for my stuff?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

He huffed, mock-serious now. “Y/n! I’m being serious!”

You laughed. “Hey! Stop that. Can you at least listen? Baby, I—”

He raised an eyebrow, cutting you off. “I can’t believe I actually fell for this.”

You wiped a tear of laughter from your cheek. “Yeah, payback. For pranking me last week.”

He smiled softly, eyes warm. “You deserved it. Salt in my coffee and told me it was sugar? Classic.”

You shrugged with a playful grin. “And you? Worms in my shoes…”

He grinned back, eyes sparkling. “Touché, baby.”

He leaned over and kissed you gently.

“But man, your face when I told you I was ‘offended’—priceless,” you teased, laughter bubbling up.

Daniel nodded with mock seriousness.

“Laugh all you want. I’m just waiting for my moment to get payback.”

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Alex Albon

The prank on Alex was harmless, even kind of cute. You’d seen it on TikTok—so many fans adored your relationship that when they tagged you in that classic “someone paid for my groceries” prank, you couldn’t resist. Alex was perfect for it: laid-back but cheeky, and you knew just when to strike.

You’d agreed to drive while he took a break during your long road trip. He was nearly wiped out, eyes heavy but smiling softly as you pulled into the gas station.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the lips. He smiled, already holding out his card for you to use.

You took the card without hesitation and made your way inside, paying for gas and grabbing some snacks for the trip. Smooth and easy, just like you’d planned.

Back in the car, you tossed the bags onto the driver’s seat and handed the card back to him.

“Do you want to pump the gas?” you asked, watching as he unbuckled his seatbelt with a nod.

“Yeah, I can,” he said, stretching a little.

Here it came—the moment to drop your prank. You grinned and said casually, “By the way, this guy came in while I was paying. Flirted with me a bit, then paid for the gas, snacks, everything. Pretty cool, huh?”

Alex blinked, staring at you like he’d just heard the weirdest thing.

“He… paid?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a smile.

He stared a little longer, then shrugged with an easy smile. “That’s good. Glad other people think you’re beautiful.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t the reaction you expected.

“You’re not mad?” you pressed, amused.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be? Free gas, snacks, drinks? If a guy’s gonna pay, let him! We’d be rich if you flaunted like that more often.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he said, still smiling. “If some guy’s willing to pay for our food, drinks, and gas, I say ‘thank you!’ Saves us money and time. You’ve always been beautiful, but now you’ve got power.”

You laughed, feeling your prank backfire in the best way possible.

“Not even a little worried?” you teased.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Nope. You love me, I love you. We’re in love. And you’re so beautiful you’re making money fall out of other people’s pockets. That’s true love.”

He leaned over and kissed you softly.

You couldn’t resist pointing at your phone with a giggle. “I was recording a prank, though. I actually paid for everything.”

Alex frowned, genuine. “No, baby, you don’t have to pay for stuff like that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you’re okay with a random guy paying for me but not okay with me paying for myself?”

He nodded seriously.

“Last time I checked, you’re way too beautiful to deal with that kind of stress.”

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Pierre Gasly

The paddock was buzzing with the usual pre-race energy—engines humming, crew members rushing, and the sweet smell of tires and coffee in the air. You and Franco had just arrived, arms loaded with snacks and drinks, ready to pull off a little prank on Pierre.

You’d spotted a classic TikTok prank where someone pretends a stranger paid for their stuff, and you knew Franco was the perfect partner in crime.

“Alright, remember the plan,” you whispered as you approached Pierre, who was leaning back in the chair casually against the garage wall, scrolling on his phone.

Franco nodded eagerly. “I got this. No mess-ups.”

You both strolled over, acting like you were just dropping off snacks.

“Hey, Pierre,” you began with a grin. “We brought snacks.”

Franco smiled wider. “And the best part? Some guy at the coffee stand flirted with her and paid for everything. So! it was free!"

Pierre’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Wait, what?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice like you were sharing state secrets. “Yeah, he said I looked too stunning to be standing alone.”

Pierre turned to Franco, suspicious. “And you? What were you doing?”

Franco shrugged nonchalantly. “Standing right there. I mean, I can’t just go knocking someone out for flirting.”

Pierre’s expression twisted in mock jealousy. “You need to relax, man.” Franco added with a smile.

You laughed and settled into Pierre’s lap, feeling his arms wrap gently around you.

“How am I supposed to relax when some guy’s swooning over my girl?” Pierre asked, pouting dramatically, chin resting onto your shoulder.

You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“Uh, duh! You’re hot! Of course I’m jealous. No way some other guy’s getting close to what’s mine.”

You and Franco shared a glance and burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Pierre demanded, narrowing his eyes.

You smiled, barely able to contain yourself. “Maybe because we’re pranking you.”

Pierre sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You two are going to be the reason I go bald before I’m thirty.”

Franco grinned. “Don’t worry, mate, she’s all yours. Hot and all yours. I mean, you get to have a go at a snack like her, so why does it matter?"

Pierre’s eyes flicked sharply between you and Franco. “You called my girlfriend hot?... and a snack?...what's going on in that mind of yours, Colapinto? In what form do you think of her?"

Franco’s grin widened, and just as Pierre opened his mouth to protest, Franco suddenly glanced at his watch.

“Uh, I gotta go,” Franco said quickly. “Someone’s calling me from the garage.”

Before Pierre could react, Franco was already jogging off.

Pierre jumped to his feet, kissing you deeply before running off, shouting after him with mock fury.

"GET BACK HERE, COLAPINTO! ANSWER MY DAMN QUESTION!"

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Liam Lawson

The restaurant was cozy, dimly lit with flickering candles casting soft shadows over the table. You and Liam were settled in for a relaxed dinner, the clatter of plates and murmur of conversations around you blending into a comfortable background hum.

Tonight, you had a plan, TikTok pranks, you adored them. It was to the point, you decided to prank him; some guy would be paying for you. A little prank on Liam. It was fine, and you were certain his reaction would either be chill or a little dramatic.

Liam had excused himself to the restroom, leaving you alone at the table with your phone discreetly tucked in your lap, recording. You could barely contain your grin.

This was going to be good.

A few moments later, Liam returned, brushing his hands on his jeans, and took a seat opposite you.

“So,” you started casually, picking up your wine glass and swirling the red liquid thoughtfully. “Funny thing happened while you were gone.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “Some guy at the bar came up to me, flirted a little, and—get this—paid for my drink. Said I looked too good to be drinking alone.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed immediately, the easy smile fading as he looked around the restaurant like he was scanning for this mystery rival.

“Wait… what? Some guy just paid for your drink? Who was he? Where is he?” His voice was low but carried that unmistakable edge of irritation. You knew of his jealousy, but this? This stemmed a reaction you didn't entirely expect too much of.

You bit your lip, fighting laughter as he started scanning every face in the room, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Oh come on, Liam, it’s not a big deal,” you teased, swirling your glass again.

“Not a big deal?” he echoed, voice rising a notch as he glanced at a couple seated a few tables away. “That guy over there? No. The bartender? No. What about the waiter? Are you telling me he was flirting with you?”

You shook your head, barely holding back giggles as he continued his quiet but intense investigation, clearly rattled. He looked around, eyes scanning everyone.

"Come on! Babe, you have to tell me what he looked like! I'm dying to know who is trying to steal away my woman on a dinner night!" he stated.

"I'll ask myself!" he stood up, getting ready to go ask every guest and worker around if they paid for you.

“Liam…” you said, trying to keep a straight face, “it was just a prank.”

He froze mid-glance, eyes widening as he realized the truth. His expression melted from suspicious to embarrassed in seconds. He sank back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, cheeks tinged pink.

“You got me,” he muttered, voice sheepish.

You grinned, lowering your phone and sliding it across the table. “Caught you red-handed. Who knew you were the jealous type?"

He groaned dramatically. “I can’t believe you recorded me. I looked like a jealous lunatic. Now, everyone is gonna think that way!"

You reached across the table, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re adorable.”

He looked up at you, eyes softening despite the lingering embarrassment. “Yeah, well, don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“Oh?” you challenged, eyebrow raised. "Another little prank war?" you asked. "Bring it, Lawson."

He smirked, leaning in.

“You just wait. I’m plotting my revenge."

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Isack Hadjar

Isack Hadjar was honestly the sweetest boyfriend in the world. His gentle nature made you feel safe and loved, and while you did love pranking him from time to time, it always left you with a tiny bit of guilt—because his reactions were usually so funny and so unexpected. Which is why the prank about someone paying for you that day was all the more entertaining.

You were at home in your first shared apartment, the cozy space filled with little pieces of both your lives. You set your phone up carefully, hiding it from Isack’s view but capturing everything perfectly.

The sound of the front door opening caught your attention. Isack walked in, dropping his gym bag by the door, a sheen of sweat still on his forehead. You greeted him with a soft kiss.

“How was shopping today?” he asked, flashing his gentle smile.

“Good, actually,” you said with a grin. “I got a lot of new shoes.”

Isack’s smile deepened. “So you had fun?”

You nodded, eyes sparkling. “Fun is an understatement. A guy paid for me today. Said a pretty thing like me should be spoiled to the core.”

The look on Isack’s face shifted immediately—there it was. Jealousy. And a dramatic little gasp escaped his lips.

“You accepted his payment?” he asked, arms crossing defensively.

You hummed in response, a teasing smile on your face. “Come on, Isack. You didn’t have to pay for it.”

He tilted his head, brow furrowed. “Since when has paying for you ever bothered me? I paid for your birthday dinner, those shoes you wanted last weekend, and you even got a brand new watch you didn’t even ask for.”

You almost felt guilty, wanting to call off the prank, but he just kept going.

“And plus!” he said, voice rising with mock confidence, “I’m great in bed! My sex is way better! Any guy can pay for you, but when it comes to the bigger person here—it’s me.”

You burst out laughing, causing him to raise a suspicious brow.

“Are you gonna take that title from me too—?” he started.

You shook your head, grinning. “No silly, I’m just enjoying your reaction to this prank.”

He stopped mid-step, eyes wide as the realization hit him. “I fell for a prank... again…”

You nodded proudly, unable to hide your grin. “And you are definitely a cute little jealous thing.”

Isack shook his head and walked away, muttering under his breath, “Okay, betrayal... again.”

You heard him pause before adding, “You woman have pranked me so much, I’m gonna start planning my revenge.”

You raised a brow. “You? Getting me back?”

He nodded, a sly smile creeping across his face. “And I have the best person to help me.”

You hummed, excited. “So, the prank war is on?” you asked as he slipped backward, his finger pointed at you as he slowly closed the bathroom door.

“Oh yeah!”

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[moineauz]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

SYNOPSIS: a final conversation with your husband- ANAXAGORAS and the lingering promises that remain.

NOTES: anaxa has one of my fav character designs. also i kept misspelling his name every sentence omg. no wonder people just call him anaxa. might by my fav piece too ngl

extra ノ gn reader . established relationship . angst . spoilers for the latest story quest .

SOMEHOW YOU KNEW YOUR HUSBAND- ANAXAGORAS- would not be coming home tonight.

Call it intuition, a feeling, years worth of careful observation which finally led to this.

Even now- with his body next to you, eye shut in peaceful repose- you know the scene before you is liminal. It is a space of waiting: taut with anticipation, bursting at its seams, ready to unravel the moment your fingertips graze his cold cheek.

Your husband is gradually retracting. His body cold, skin pale, hands inexplicably dry and stiff. He is a corpse experiencing rigor mortis. A dead man exuding the fiery remnants of life.

In Okhema the sun never sets. But your body tells you it’s dawn. Early hours. Quiet awakening. How? Because Anaxa is lying next to you, breathing slowly, as if he is milking each sip of air.

“Anaxa.”

“Mm?” he hums, his one eye still stitched close. His eyelashes quivering slightly.

You curl in, bringing your body closer, attempting to share the warmth he can’t keep, “It’s funny, you know.”

Anaxa shifts, accommodating your body with his, “What is?”

His voice is flat, and you smile; pressing your lips together to suppress a childish giggle.

“How you let me call you Anaxa instead of Anaxagoras”

Now his eye flutter open, dawns reflects in his iris, “Didn’t you say ‘Anaxagoras’ was too long?” sighing, he then rubs his temples. An act you’ve seen him perform more often now.

“Well yes, I did,” you pause, eyes flickering towards his hand, “But—”

Your hand slides up his wrists, interlocking with his fingers and the lines of red you could trace by heart. You shiver slightly, he notices.

“Anaxa is meant for you to say,” his fingers curl inwards, pulling your hand into a tight embrace. He squeezes it. The force is firm enough to reassure, not warm. “There, happy now?”

You retract your hand and smile, “I am fully satisfied.”

Except, you aren’t.

How could be satisfied? How could you be content with your decisions? Could you live on memory and his fleeting cologne? Does it not ache to feel him slip, to see the regret lingering within his iris, the tentative curl of his hands through your hair?

Yet, you allow it. There are no defeated sighs, no objections or hasty pleas. Just you and him, lying together like yesterday. As if tomorrow was just another promise to keep. Another hour spent reading, walking, talking.

Have the Chrysos Heirs ever been a selfish? Do they dream of absconding, of abandoning their divine role?

Anaxa may be a variant, a strange vagabond compared to the rest of Okhema- maybe even all of Amphoreus. A blasphemer. The great performer. A man who refuses to believe in the ancient prophecies.

But golden blood still thrums in his veins. At the core of his wicked being, he’d still fuse himself with the Titans core flame. He’d still take his stand in the limelight. He’d still give it all up.

A voice in the back of your head says it includes you too.

“Stop thinking.”

You blink.

Anaxa reaches for your cheeks, his countenance firm, grave with devotion, "As much as I admire that mind of yours..." he stops, letting his words hang in the air, fermenting, "You make too many assumptions."

"Assumption?" you mutter, incredulous.

Anaxa blinks then sighs. He returns to your face and in knowing, he wraps his hand across the back of your head, pulling you into his chest. Magnetic and swift like the wings of a bird tucking treasure. He shields you from eternal light, bringing you into the sheltered darkness of his chest- the one place where an inkling of warmth remains.

You shiver.

"You're leaving me."

Anaxa does not stir. In fact, he draws you closer, clasping onto his drifting soul through you.

"No," he states, firm and unwavering. Relentless in nature just as he is.

Anaxa, your husband, breathes into your ear, pulling you impossibly closer. He attempts to bridge that gap, to fill the widening chasm that he wedged between the two of you.

"I'm not leaving you," he breathes, releasing the truth from the cavern of his lungs, "I'm merely-"

You don't tilt your head up, you don't pursue that curiosity. You hear it instead: your husband's reverberating voice. The way it skims across each individual vertebrae. It unnerved you when you first met him, somehow it still does- but in different ways. Gentler ways. Ways that rest underneath the skin.

"Anaxa," you call, cutting through his sentence.

That triggers something.

"The Titans, this prophecy," he seethes, "Means nothing to me."

"Anaxa."

"And I know you don't believe me. After all I've done, what I've put you through. My restless pursuit-"

"Anaxa."

"It means nothing. It does- it truly does."

"Just hold me."

"Titans can't you see?" Anaxa pulls back, detaching himself. Now his one eyes locks into your two. He peers into them, ripping past the sheen veil of liquid salt which rest on your bottom eyelid. Past the clear lens of your cornea. Past your optic nerve.

He darts straight into your soul: into the vessel he's studied for decades. Into the only being he tided himself to- that even the prophecy, the Chrysos Heirs, his life's work- fades into the background. Trivial.

Fate and destiny did not tie onto Anaxa- he bluntly refused, even if it is true.

Anaxa chooses his ties.

"You're right, I am leaving you."

You sink, Anaxa gazes deeper.

"But only for the meantime."

Your eyebrows furrow, "The meantime?"

"Yes," he sighs, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He breaks into a smile, utterly brilliant, "A temporary predicament, that is all."

"Besides," he adds, gazing momentarily at his gleaming wedding ring, "What kind of spouse would I be?"

WHEN ANXA RAISED HIS HANDS, SURRENDERING THE COREFLAME OF REASON, his one eye kept sight of his wedding ring.

When his lips curled into a wicked smile, he caught a glimpse of your face. The scrunch of your nose when you’re caught between a difficult passage of text. He saw you by the kitchen counter, your hands busy with food and laughter. Anaxa saw you. No “what ifs” or alternate versions— just you. The you in bed currently, or perhaps the you by the markets. Maybe even the you who leans on the balcony, counting the number of dromas.

Anaxa did not feel peace when his body wilted away; drifting into golden dust.

He felt impatient, slightly vexed.

And somewhere, tucked away from eternal light, you sigh and heave. Knees to chest, wrestling with the wild torrent of brilliancy you called your husband— Anaxagoras.

Because it seems to you- with all of Anaxa’s blunt promises and unsaid devotion- you’d lose him for just a little while. Enough so that when you'd finally have him back, he'd no longer be so cold.

masterlist.

[revelboo]

Ma'am, I keep reading and keep falling in love with all your plots, could we pretty please have some more hangman? m(_ _)m

Also, it really cracks me up when the photos of the decepticon house pop up, they look so silly and cute

Sure! 🔞 🌶️

Hangman Pt 9

Swindle x Reader

• Uploading your latest episode as he sips at his energon, he pulls up his inbox, looking for deals to be made. And stops short seeing a fragging summons from the DJD. Fans kicking on high as he stares at the time stamp, he sees a new notification pop up. A proximity alert. Frag him. Swearing, he knocks over his chair, running into the main hold where you’re sorting through the bins, making a pile of stuff you’re claiming as yours. “We’re fragged,” he groans and you still, holding up a sheer bit of lace to yourself that he might not live long enough to see you wear. That in itself compounding this tragedy.

• “What’s going on?” You ask, but he’s lunging to scoop you into the bin and running for his habsuite with it, peds loud in the hallway. Struggling as you slide in the pile of clothes, you yelp when he stumbles with you and clutches the bin to his chassis. ‘We’re getting raided, so you have to be quiet. Stay hidden,’ he says and the tension in his voice raises goosebumps along your arms, because nothing worries him. He’s always got a plan, an angle to exploit. So whatever this is? It’s bad. ‘Okay,’ you whisper.

• Spark constricting as his servos tremble on the controls, he can’t believe that a translator chip and human stuff was all Tarn wanted. Can’t trust that. Keeps waiting for it. For the DJD to open fire on his ship even though he’d cooperated and given them everything they asked for. Because mechs like them? They hide behind a list and the trappings of official capacity, but they’re just killers. Taking advantage of honest, hard working entrepreneurs like himself. But they’re actually letting him go, their ship leaving as he stares in disbelief. He’s always been lucky, but this? This almost makes him feel like he should be thanking some higher power.

• Hiding in the bin under a thin layer of clothes, your breath catches hearing peds. And you gasp when the bin’s tipped over to spill you out and big hands scoop you up. Relaxing as you realize it’s just him and he’s cupping you against the warm mesh of his neck, servos trembling to drive home that he was actually afraid. “They’re gone, right?” You ask and his mouth brushes against you as he mutters alien nonsense. Big servos stroking over you like he’s reassuring himself that you’re okay and seeing him shaken is worrying you.

• Can’t get it together. His life had flashed before his optics staring up at Tarn. Knowing he was about to cash in his chips one last time. And he’d wished he’d had time to make more shanix and spent more time spike deep rutting in you. Feels your little hand on his servos as he vents to pull your scent into himself. “Maybe you could help me warm up for tonight?” You ask softly, leaning your head against him, the offer breaking through the anxiety. Because you’re fragging amazing. Know just what to say. ‘Anything for you, babe.’

Previous

[inthelow]

AUGUST — jeon jungkook.

Pairing: fem! reader x idol! jeon jungkook

Summary: A fleeting love, hidden truths, and the ache of wanting someone you were never meant to keep. Jungkook should have known better.

Genre/Warning: fluff, summer love, angst / cursing, cheating, homophobia.

Author’s note: you’re probably gonna hate me for changing a little the “story” of the song but in my mind this was a life-changing idea😭🙏🏼.

Los Angeles was the perfect place to create music. Usually when a world-renowned group like BTS thought of a place to draw inspiration from, they thought of LA. Jungkook was no exception. When he was finally able to find the time to start working on his first solo album, the suggestion to go to the States was not overlooked. Besides being able to meet with producers he loved working with and admired, it was also a good excuse to get out of Korea and forget about all the problems that were going on around his personal life. So, the last week of June and just in time for the beginning of summer, Jungkook packed his bags and together with his team decided to travel to the United States.

Working in a music studio is usually very different everywhere. Although he liked working in America, he really appreciated the quietness they had in Korea when making music, especially when it was just him and his producers in the room. The California studio was totally different, he was surrounded by people. Producers, writers, guitarists, drummers, bass players, other singers, even music critics.

The studio was surrounded by people everywhere you looked. Being the first meeting, of course, everyone wanted to know the main idea of the album so they could work on it. He knew that the first few days would be a bit crowded, as they always were when he worked with BTS, so he was anxious for the next week to come so he could start working with fewer people.

It wasn't a bad feeling, he knew. Although he loved working on his music, working with too many people was sometimes too much for him. Ironic, since all his life he had been surrounded by people everywhere he went. That, when he loved being by himself, was one of the drawbacks of his job. But he knew he could not complain, not when he was doing what he loved, not when he had achieved so much more than he had ever dreamed of. Sometimes though, he just needed to go away and breathe, away of all the movement.

He’d been in the main booth for hours, tweaking the vocal of a track that refused to sound right in his ears, trying not to hate it just because he couldn’t fix it. His head buzzed. His ears rang. He needed a break — just five minutes to stretch his legs, splash water on his face, breathe something that didn’t smell like stale foam. Jungkook had only been in California a week, but he already moved like someone who belonged to the walls of the studio — the soft echo of unfinished tracks trailing behind him, the scent of coffee gone cold in corner mugs, the low thrum of bass bleeding from under closed doors. The air here always smelled like dust, citrus cleaner, and potential. A place where songs might happen. A place where he might finally feel like he was doing something worth remembering.

He just started walking around the studio, without any specific location. Honestly, working alone on his music in the U.S. wasn't turning out to be as exciting as he thought it would be. Maybe because he didn't have his six other colleagues who could shamelessly interrupt those people's conversations in order to get ahead of the process of going straight to the music. He didn't, even though he was one of the biggest stars of the moment, he sometimes felt very shy and small with so many people.

He walked down the hallway lined with faded gig posters and one dying plant, and opened the third door on the right, thinking it was the bathroom.

It wasn’t.

It was a storage room, or maybe just a forgotten one. Empty except for a folding chair, a cracked mini fridge humming uselessly in the corner, and — most notably — a girl sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a bag of Doritos in one hand and a phone in the other, laughing silently at whatever TikTok had just played.

You looked up like you’d been caught stealing state secrets.

“Shit,” you cursed in english, tucking your phone into your pocket before standing up and bowing slightly. “Hi, nice to meet you. I was in my break, I'll keep working now.”

He almost looked relieved that you spoke Korean, not really having the strength to think in another language. “I’m sorry, I was looking for the bathroom— This is definitely not it.”

“It’s not,” you said, deadpan. “But it could be, if you’re brave.”

He coughed out a laugh before he could stop himself. You didn’t smile, just crunched your chip and watched him like he was the one sitting illegally in a storage closet.

“Do you know where the real bathroom is?.”

“First door in the next hall.” You informed.

It look like you were trying to find a way to get out of the room. He was in the door, and he realized you were probably not supposed to be in a break.

“Thank you.” he nodded, still not moving. “You can still take your break in here, by the way. I'll go.

“It's okay, I just finished.”

“I'm Jungkook.” He bowed.

“I know, nice to meet you.” You bowed the same as you walked past him to leave the little closet.

Before he could say anything else, you were walking away.

Rude.

The funny thing about meeting someone new — someone you don’t expect — is how quickly they become everywhere.

Jungkook didn’t even know your name, but he started noticing you in the following days with the kind of attention he usually reserved for lyrics or vocals he couldn’t shake. You weren’t loud. You weren’t flashy. You dressed like comfort was your only priority and carried yourself like you’d seen everything already and weren’t particularly impressed. But you were always there. Sitting cross-legged on the front step, answering emails or maybe pretending to. Laughing with the producer’s wife in the hallway. Handing out coffees from a tray without asking names, just knowing. Sometimes you’d pop into the booth to drop off a cable, say something vaguely, and vanish.

He used to see you in the night or some mornings during the week so he started to get curious about your job. He was already two weeks there and knew what everyone did for work, except for you. It wasn't like he was looking for a place or moment to talk with you, he was actually very busy with his work but when he saw you alone at night in the reception of the studio, he nodded to you before talking, ready to get that little curiosity out of his mind.

The studio always looked a little stranger at night — quieter, obviously, but also softer, like the walls were less sure of themselves without the hum of music to hold them up. Jungkook liked it that way. No pressure to produce anything. Just existing between takes and fluorescent light. He was walking toward the front desk, his bag strap slung across his back, more out of muscle memory than purpose, when he saw you again— behind the reception counter, reorganizing a stack of crumpled papers with mechanical disinterest, like the pages had personally offended you.

“Good night,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Or… good luck with the paperwork.”

You didn’t look up. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh.”

He stood there, unsure whether that meant he should keep walking or… talking.

You finally raised your eyes. “I mean, you can say good night if it’s your bedtime. I’m just saying I’m not leaving yet.”

“It’s not my bedtime.”

“Good. That would’ve been tragic,” you said, tossing a paper into a drawer like it owed you money. “You looked like the type to stay up and overthink your day until three in the morning.”

He smirked. “Guilty.”

A silence stretched, comfortable in a weird way. You flipped a few more pages, then pushed the stack aside like you’d just given up on it.

“What are you even doing?” Jungkook asked, leaning a little closer over the counter. “You work reception?”

“Technically,” you said, using your pen to spin a binder around like a lazy roulette wheel. “I’m a ‘clerk.’ That’s what the sign-in sheet says.”

“Clerk?”

“Yeah. Glamorous, right?” You leaned back in the chair, finally making eye contact. “I open. I close. I try to keep the printers alive and help with stupid things the people need around here. Sometimes I find lost AirPods and hoard them like a raccoon. Classic clerk things.”

He laughed. “You’re really selling it.”

“You’d be surprised how many dreams start this way,” you said, completely deadpan. He wasn’t sure if you were joking. That was the thing about you — your tone was always hovering in that delicate no-man’s-land between sincerity and satire.

“How’d you get the gig?”

You shrugged. “Nepotism.”

“Fair.”

“My uncle owns the place. Summer job while I’m here. My third year already.”

“You’re from Korea?”

“Busan.”

That surprised him. “No way. Me too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Small world. Weirdly American sentence, though.”

“What?”

“‘No way, me too.’ It’s like the universal icebreaker here. That, and pretending you like oat milk.”

He blinked. “Okay, I do like oat milk.” You smiled faintly, as if you’d just proven a point. He cleared his throat. “So you live here now?”

“No,” you said, “I’m here for the summer. Just needed to get away from… Busan, I guess. Studying scenic arts. Theater and stuff.”

“You’re an actress?”

“God, no,” you said quickly. “I mean, maybe. Kind of. I’m a bit of a fraud. But mostly I like lighting. How a mood can shift because someone flipped a switch.”

Jungkook liked that. He filed it away. “And when you go back?”

“Back to pretending I have a five-year plan.”

“Must be nice to have the option.”

You rolled your eyes. “I come from a family that thinks failing is a kind of eccentric art form — as long as you’re doing it from the second floor of a condo in Haeundae.”

Ah.

“So you’re rich,” he said, not unkindly.

“Don’t worry,” you replied. “I’m very ashamed of it.” He smiled. You didn’t. “I’m joking,” you said after a beat, though the way your voice dipped made it unclear who the joke was really for. “Kind of.”

You two went quiet for a moment, your fingers tapping idly on the desk.

“You always talk like that?” Jungkook asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to entertain yourself.”

You considered this, then gave a one-shoulder shrug. “No one else seems to be doing it.”

That was the first thing he really liked about you. Not the hair — always down like you were halfway to giving up. Not the sarcasm, though that helped. But this: the way you said things not to be liked, but because they made you laugh. As if the world was a play, and you weren’t waiting for anyone to catch up to your lines.

You stretched a little in the chair, yawned into the back of your hand.

“Anyway,” you said, “you should go overthink your song. Or whatever musicians do at midnight.”

Jungkook lingered a second longer. “Good night. For real this time.”

“Mm.”

He learned your name the next day. And he noticed you again next week.

—

It happened on a Wednesday. The kind of slow, gold-tinted California afternoon where the sun dipped lazy and arrogant across the pavement, too sure of itself to move quickly. Jungkook was leaving the back entrance of the studio, guitar slung over his shoulder, and for once, he wasn’t in his head. He’d stayed late again — not working, not really — mostly just fiddling around with a loop that wouldn’t cooperate. It was past five, just late enough for the shadows to stretch out across the sidewalk like spilled ink. As he stepped into the soft heat of the evening, he caught sight of something to his right — or rather, someone.

You.

You were wheeling a scratched-up mint-green bike down the front steps of the studio, balancing a canvas tote bag over your shoulder and muttering something to yourself while trying to untangle your headphone wire. You looked like you’d biked through a film set — loose hoodie, hair twisted up with a pen, sunglasses already in place like you knew the sun would bow for you. You didn’t see him, or maybe you did and didn’t care. You swung a leg over, kicked off the curb, and coasted down the street like gravity had been waiting for you all day.

Jungkook stood there for a moment too long, watching. There was something in the way you moved — casual, assured, a little chaotic — like you didn’t ask permission to take up space, and wouldn’t apologize for how you used it. He hadn’t expected to see you outside the studio. And he definitely hadn’t expected that the image of you riding a cheap bike with your bag hitting your hip would stay with him like a stuck chorus line.

He saw you again the next day. This time, you were kneeling on the floor under a desk, fixing a tangled mess of cords. Jungkook walked in, coffee in hand, and leaned casually against the counter.

You didn’t look up when he walked by — just said, flatly, “It’s not the bathroom either, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

He grinned. “I’m starting to think there is no bathroom.”

You popped your head up. “It’s a myth. Like happiness.”

“I’ve heard of that one,” he said. “Sounds fake.”

You shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I’m just here for the air conditioning.”

Jungkook smiled. “You know,” he said, “you really blew past the speed limit yesterday.”

You didn’t look up. “That’s because I don’t believe in laws.”

He grinned. “You ride often?”

“Every day. Unless it rains. Or I forget where I put my keys. Or I’m emotionally unwell.” You finally glanced up at him. “Why?”

“I ride too,” he said, trying to sound chill and not like someone whose heart had skipped at the shared hobby. “Used to ride back in Korea. Still do, sometimes.”

“Huh.” You sounded vaguely suspicious. “What kind of bike?”

“Custom. Matte black frame. Pretty fast.”

You squinted. “So you’re one of those.”

“What does that mean?”

“The serious kind. Probably wears gloves and leather outfits.”

He laughed. “I don’t wear gloves.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, unconvinced. Then: “Wanna race?”

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

“A race. You and me. Around the block. Winner gets bragging rights and maybe a free granola bar from the staff kitchen.”

“That’s your prize structure?”

“I’m not made of money,” you said, solemn. “Despite the rumors.”

He hesitated, still smiling. “Actually… speaking of that.”

“What, granola?”

“No—” He shifted slightly, voice quieter now. “Racing. Hanging out. You know, stuff like that… It’s not always easy for me. Because of… who I am.”

You tilted your head, standing up. “You mean the idol world?”

He nodded. “Yeah. The music. The people. The cameras. Rumours. Fans who love me until they don’t. Strangers who think I owe them something personal. It can get… messy. Very fast.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just blinked at him slowly, like someone trying to make sense of math you didn’t care about. Then, dry as ever:

“Uhm. Yeah, that sounds fucked up.” He let out a laugh, startled. “Seriously,” you added, mouth twitching at the corner. “I’m not emotionally equipped to get involved with your PR disaster. Maybe next summer.”

He laughed harder now, and something about the tension in his chest loosened. He liked your sarcasm. He liked your refusal to tiptoe. There was no awe in your tone, no caution. Just… blunt honesty, soaked in your own amusement.

He sipped his coffee. “You’re mean.”

“Is that bad?.”

“I like it.”

He did. He really, really did.

You straightened up a little, tucking a pen behind your ear. “Anyway, I’m going out with some friends tonight. There’s a street race. Nothing fancy, just a bunch of people who think two wheels makes them cooler. You wanna come?”

He hesitated again. His mind flicked through logistics. Risk. Noise. Photos. Hate. Gossip sites.

But then it settled on you — on how you said things like they weren’t invitations, just facts he could follow if he wanted to.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Your eyes lit up for just a fraction of a second — the smallest smile tucked at the edge of your mouth, like a secret. “Cool.”

“Should I bring anything?”

You leaned forward slightly. “Just don’t wear gloves.”

You were quick with it. He liked you.

—

The parking lot wasn’t a real venue — more like a forgotten slab of concrete tucked behind a shuttered mall. There were cracks in the asphalt where weeds had found their way through, illuminated by the flicker of overhead sodium lights that buzzed like they were trying to whisper secrets. But the energy in the place was magnetic — loud music, low engines purring, clusters of people standing around with plastic cups and too much confidence. The kind of place you didn’t find unless someone texted you a blurry location pin and a “just trust me.”

Jungkook pulled the brim of his cap lower and adjusted the black mask across his face. It wasn’t paranoia — just muscle memory. His bodyguard had offered to come, but Jungkook had said no. Something about this night felt like it needed to be his.

You were already there, leaning against the hood of a car with a bottle of something fizzy in hand. You were laughing — that same dry, sharp laugh that made people look up — with two others. One was a guy Jungkook hadn’t met before, tall with dyed green hair and a Busan accent thicker than his own. The other was a girl with short curls and round glasses, who immediately gave Jungkook the once-over like she was scanning for weak points.

“There he is,” you said, like you’d summoned him. “Right on time.”

“Is there a schedule?” Jungkook asked, walking up with a small wave.

“For cool people,” you replied.

The tall guy nodded. “You’re the singer, right?”

Jungkook tensed slightly. “Maybe.”

The girl snorted. “Don’t worry. We’re not fangirls. We like your earlier group stuff, though.”

Jungkook let out a laugh and shook his head. “Thanks… I think.”

They introduced themselves — Minho, the green-haired guy, apparently someone you had known from high school, and Ara, his cousin, visiting for the summer and unimpressed by most things except the color of the sunset and the physics of drift turns. You all drank something vaguely alcoholic that came in unmarked glass bottles and talked nonsense: favorite summer snacks, how LA drivers were psychopaths, and whether or not aliens would be able to out-sing Jungkook in a karaoke bar.

The race started around ten. It wasn’t official, but everyone moved toward the strip of road like something sacred was about to happen. The two cars lined up, engines snarling, lights low. And when they took off, smoke and sound exploded into the air. Minho whooped loud enough to make heads turn.

You leaned closer to Jungkook, the edge of your arm brushing his. “This is the part where people pretend to know about horsepower.”

He grinned. “So what should I say?”

“Something like: ‘Damn, he really kicked into third gear there.’ Say it low, and nod like you know the pain.”

He tried it. You burst out laughing.

The race was over too fast. Cheers rose, someone passed around more drinks, and a guy with a GoPro insisted on showing everyone the slow-motion replay like it was a World Cup goal.

Eventually, Minho and Ara said goodbye — they had an early morning hike that Ara was determined to do, and Minho was pretending to be excited about.

“Don’t die,” you told them.

“Only emotionally,” Minho called back.

Then it was just Jungkook and you again. The night felt warmer than it was, the pavement still radiating heat, and the stars playing hard to get behind LA’s haze.

“Thanks for letting me crash your plans,” he said, pulling his mask down now that the crowd had thinned.

You stretched your arms over your head. “You weren’t terrible.”

“High praise.”

“You’re welcome.”

You two started walking slowly in the street, trying to leave that place.

“I think,” Jungkook said, glancing sideways, “this is the first time in a long time I’ve been out without my bodyguard.”

You looked at him like he’d said something ridiculous. “Do you feel naked? Or alive?”

He chuckled. “A little of both. Mostly like someone’s gonna notice and yell ‘liar’ at me from a rooftop.”

“That would make this night way more exciting.”

“You say that, but you’d run.”

“I’d film it first.”

He shook his head, laughing. “You’re dangerous.”

You grimaced. “I’m just a bored girl with Wi-Fi.”

You two reached the sidewalk near the edge of the lot, and you paused, nodding in the direction of the studio. “My bike’s still at the studio. Left it there earlier ’cause Minho picked me up in his car.”

“Want me to walk you?”

You considered him for a moment. “Want to do something stupid?”

He raised a brow. “Define stupid.”

“Ara left her bike there too,” you said. “I have a second helmet and an empty city. We could chase dumb decisions for a little while.”

Jungkook stared at you, quiet. The streetlight caught the edge of your face — that half-smirk, those eyes that never asked for anything but always said too much.

“You sure?” he asked.

You shrugged. “You said you ride.”

He thought of the studio, his team, the curfews and image management. And then he thought of you — bike keys in one hand, sarcasm in the other — and decided that maybe tonight wasn’t for being reasonable.

He smiled. “Let’s go.”

And so you did.

—

The helmets clicked into place with a soft finality, and then you were off.

The roads weren’t empty, but they felt like they belonged only to you — the soft, hushed kind of night that pressed its palm against your chest and made you feel alive. The air was warm, laced with ocean salt and gasoline. Jungkook followed you — the soft blur of your hoodie fluttering behind you like a loose flag, your bike slipping between cars and curves with the kind of casual recklessness that made it seem like the city opened itself just for you. You two took the route that traced the coast. It was already past midnight by then, and the Pacific lay beside you, humming under the moonlight — black velvet and sharp silver. The tide crept in slow, licking the sand in long sighs. The wind tugged at his sleeves, and every now and then, you would glance back to check if he was keeping up. He always was.

When you finally pulled over near a low stone wall at the edge of a cliff path, he parked beside you and pulled off his helmet, hair a little wild, breathless in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“Damn,” he said, laughing softly. “You really don’t believe in laws.”

You snorted. “I told you that already.”

You two sat on the wall, letting your feet dangle over the side like kids skipping school. The water below shifted in endless motion, a liquid heartbeat under a sky full of nothing.

“You do this often?” he asked, voice low.

“Sometimes. When I can’t sleep,” you replied. “Or when I want to feel like I’m somewhere else.”

He looked at you. “You don’t like here?”

“I don’t like anywhere when I’m stuck in my head.”

He nodded slowly. “Fair.”

You yawned, a little tired. “So. Singer boy. Why music?”

He exhaled, resting back on his palms. “Because I sucked at math. And I liked the feeling of making noise and having people think it meant something.”

“That’s poetic.”

“I meant it to be pathetic. It didn’t work” he sighed. “I just love singing.” You laughed. “What about you?” he asked. “Why scenic arts?”

“Because I like pretending I’m someone else,” you said easily. Then: “And because no one in my family gets it.”

“Ah,” he said. “The rebellion route.”

“More like the escape hatch.”

He watched you for a moment. You weren’t trying to impress him. Not one bit. There was something almost infuriating about that — how you leaned into the silence without needing to fill it. Like you were just letting the world be what it was.

“Come on,” you said, sliding off the wall. “You want to see something tragic?”

“Always.”

You walked your bike a few blocks and he followed, pushing his beside yours. You didn’t talk much — the silence was easy now, a soft thread between the two of you. He reached an old, sand-colored building with a cracked stairwell and a tiny red mailbox that had probably belonged to someone’s grandmother. You two went upstairs to the fourth and last floor.

You unlocked the door and gestured him in.

Your apartment was small. Not ugly — actually kind of pretty in the way a song demo is pretty before it’s produced to hell. Mismatched furniture, books piled in corners, a record player sitting on top of a suitcase. The window overlooked the beach, and even now the waves could be heard faintly crashing in rhythm. The walls were a little rusty like the door. And it felt like home.

“This is where the rich girl hides from her responsibilities,” you said, tossing your keys onto a chipped ceramic bowl. “My parents pay for it. For the guilty of letting me grow to be a bad daughter.”

He stepped in carefully, like it might vanish if he moved too fast. “It’s… kind of perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You expected something more like a penthouse?”

“No,” he said. “I expected it to smell like incense and bad personality.”

“I ran out of incense.”

You poured some wine in two different mugs — one said World’s Okayest Artist, the other had a faded Hello Kitty sticker on it. You handed him the cat. You two sat on the floor instead of the couch. The lamp beside you gave off the kind of light that looked like it had a filter over it — soft, amber, like everything was set in memory already.

He glanced at the books on your shelf. “You read all of Murakami or just enough to win arguments?”

“Just enough to confuse people and win at Tinder bios.”

He laughed.

You two talked — about Busan, about how American bread was too disgusting, about your best friend back home who you missed but didn’t want to text too often. He told you how being famous didn’t really feel like being known, and how most days he wasn’t sure what version of himself people loved anymore.

And then the bottle of wine was almost empty. And you were drinking from it.

Jungkook took a slow sip, the bottle still warm from your hands. “So… what’s your most dramatic flaw?”

You tilted your head, pretended to think. “I self-sabotage with flair. Like, I’ll destroy something good and then critique my own technique.”

He laughed. “You do it with commentary?”

“I like to give feedback.”

He grinned, that slow, surprised kind of grin like he wasn’t used to someone making him laugh so easily. “Okay, that’s impressive.”

You looked at him. “What about you?”

He looked down, then up again. “I take stupid decision when I start liking someone.”

The words hung in the air longer than necessary.

Something shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. Just one of those quiet tilts in gravity. A breath. A longer glance. The kind of silence that makes everything louder. You blinked. Your expression was unreadable for a beat, then you smirked slightly, like you’d just dared yourself to do something.

“You always say things like that?” you asked. “Or is that a Jungkook special?”

“I don’t always mean them,” he replied.

“Do you mean that one?”

He didn’t answer. Not in words.

You didn’t stop him when he leaned in — slowly, like the ocean pulling in a tide. And you didn’t laugh when his hand brushed the side of your face, hesitant and reverent, like he was touching something fragile, something already slipping between his fingers. Your lips met like they’d been circling the moment all night without admitting it — warm, wine-soft, a little tentative at first. Then deeper. Slower. Your fingers slid into his hair, and he let out a breath against your mouth like he hadn’t realized he was holding it.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was lingering, magnetic, the kind that made time bend a little. He pulled you closer — gently, not demanding, just… asking. You answered moving slowly to be on top of him, putting your legs to the sides of his waist, like gravity had finally won.

When you two broke apart, you rested your forehead against his.

“Are you sure?” You whispered, voice low and sweet.

He nodded before grabbing the sides of your face to kiss you. This time harder and decisive. He wanted you.

Outside, the waves kept reaching for the shore like they always did — over and over, as if that alone made it worth it.

The first day of August, you two slept together.

The evening sunlight spilled through the slatted blinds like melted gold, painting long, uneven stripes across the wooden floor of your apartment. It was the kind of lazy, heavy light that made the world feel suspended — like nothing could reach you two there, not time, not reality, not the rest of your lives waiting somewhere beyond the Pacific.

Jungkook sat on the rug, shirtless, the soft cotton of his sweats rolled low on his hips. A battered acoustic guitar — missing one string and held together by stubbornness — rested against his thigh. He strummed it absently, the same three chords over and over, half-tuned, half-invented. His voice, when it hummed softly into the hollow air, was barely audible. Just enough to fill the room. You lay sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling over the edge, a wine bottle on the floor beside you with a cheap coaster you never used. Your hair was in a lazy braid, your face turned toward the last light of day. For a moment, you looked like a painting he’d once seen in a museum in Madrid — the kind where the eyes followed you even when you walked away.

It had been a week of this.

Of soft mornings with your toes pressed into his calves. Of naked afternoons with tangled sheets and movie soundtracks echoing in the background. Of slow-burning evenings like this one — all tension and ease, like a match held just before striking. He didn’t ask what this was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

His phone buzzed once on the table, and he ignored it. Not wanting to talk with that person right now.

Yours rang next — a cheerful little chime that didn’t suit you at all. He looked up and saw the name on the screen, a girl’s name. He didn’t think anything of it. Probably a friend or family. The kind who sent memes at weird hours or called just to vent about the world.

“Phone,” he said, tossing it gently in your direction.

You caught it without looking.

But something in you stilled.

You sat up fast — not rushed, but different. Like something shifted behind your eyes. You didn’t say anything as you stood, walked toward the bathroom, phone pressed to your ear. The door didn’t shut all the way. Just enough for privacy, just enough to keep him out. Jungkook kept strumming the guitar, but his fingers felt slower now. He played the same loop three times before stopping altogether, leaving it to the side.

You came out about five minutes later. Your face was clean, unreadable. Your braid was now undone, fingers threading through the waves distractedly. You didn’t say anything about the call. Didn’t explain. He didn’t ask. Instead, you stepped around him, barefoot on the rug, and dropped into his lap with a fluid, practiced kind of carelessness that didn’t feel careless at all.

“You want to do something fun?” your asked, your voice low, tight at the edges.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were already doing that.”

“Something stupid fun,” you clarified, voice light but eyes sharper. “Like something you shouldn’t do.”

“Didn’t we do that last week… This Monday, yesterday and minutes ago?” he chuckled.

You didn’t laughed. Just leaned in and kissed his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “I’m serious.”

He studied you for a second. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your hands were fidgeting with the hem of his sweats — not playful, but restless.

“What happened on that call?” he asked quietly.

You looked at him for half a second too long. Then shrugged. “Nothing. Just someone from home.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t know,” you said, and then smiled again. “But I will be. Once we do something fun.”

He wanted to press. Something told him to. But you were already standing, pulling on a hoodie over your bikini, grabbing your keys.

“You coming or what?” you asked, not turning around.

He got up slowly, grabbing his shirt. “Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Outside, the night was beginning to stretch — warm and blue, a summer hush hanging in the air. The kind of night that felt infinite, right until the moment it ended.

—

After some walking around and drinking some wine in a cheap bar in the corner of the neighbourhood that was opened that late at night, you arrived to the place you wanted.

By the time you reached the beach, the sky was bleeding from deep navy into a soft shade of almost-morning — the kind of indigo that makes everything feel a little surreal. The moon still hung like a witness, pale and tired above, watching as you parked your bike at the edge of the boardwalk and kicked off your shoes. The sand was cold at first — a chill that crept up ankles and calves — but it didn’t stop you and Jungkook. You ran ahead, your hoodie flapping behind you, arms stretched like you were daring the sea to catch you. Jungkook followed, slower, letting the weight of his fame, his choices, his fear of being seen by paparazzis, fall away with every step.

There was no one else. Just the two of you. The world still asleep or drunk or somewhere in between.

You stopped at the shoreline, toes in the foam, eyes turned to the sky.

“Ever wonder if the ocean’s tired of people talking to it like it’s a therapist?” you asked, without looking back.

Jungkook laughed. “Probably. But it’s free and always available. That’s rare.”

You glanced at him, smiled. “Fair.”

He stepped beside you, your shoulders brushing. The breeze tangled his hair. You peeled off your hoodie without ceremony, revealing the black bikini you wore underneath. Then the shorts followed, tossed carelessly into the sand.

“You coming?” you asked, already wading into the water.

“You’re insane.”

“It’s just water,” you grinned, glancing back. “What else is new?”

He hesitated for a second — then pulled off his shirt, then his sweats, and followed you in.

The Pacific was cold. Not biting, not cruel — just enough to shock the breath out of him. You squealed when the waves met your thighs and dove forward like a seal. He waded deeper, laughing, until you two met somewhere in the middle. You splashed him first. He returned the favor. Soon both of you were half-drowning in laughter, soaked through and breathless, the water catching the moonlight like broken glass.

After a while, you and Jungkook stopped. Just floated. Side by side. your legs barely brushing under the surface.

“You ever think this is the best it’s going to be?” he asked quietly, staring up at the darkening sky. “Right now. This… middle-of-nowhere moment that no one else knows about.”

“Sure,” you said. “But then I get hungry and realize I still haven’t found the best sandwich yet. So, hope lives.”

He turned his head to look at you. “You make everything sound both tragic and stupid.”

“It’s a gift,” you replied. “Yours is wannabe brooding poet with sad-boy abs.”

He groaned and dunked you under briefly, sputtering when you resurfaced, punching him weakly in the shoulder. You kissed him then — half-laughing, half-drenched — and it was soft and open and a little salty from the sea. Your mouth tasted like adrenaline and wine and something he was starting to want more than was smart.

When you two stumbled out of the water, soaked and shivering, you dropped down in the sand like your bones had given up. Jungkook laid beside you, arms tucked behind his head, watching the slow arrival of dawn. Your eyes were closed, hair spread like a halo around you, lips slightly parted. You hummed something low and familiar — a melody he couldn’t name but wanted to steal. Your back, still wet, glistened faintly in the early sun.

He wanted to write his name there. Not in ink or scars, but something softer — something that wouldn’t stay, but would be remembered. Instead, he reached for the sand beside you and traced it there — K O O K— in small, crooked letters, drawn just beneath the curve of your spine.

You didn’t see it.

You just hummed.

And he didn’t need you to look. He just needed to feel like he belonged somewhere, even if it was only in that stretch of sand between your shoulders and the rising sun.

Jungkook wasn’t sure when your number became his favorite name to see on his screen, but by now, he was wired to it — like a reflex. When the phone lit up with your contact, he was already smiling. It was late afternoon, the sun dipping lazily below the studio windows. He was leaning against a mixing console in the back room, sipping something fizzy and half-flat from a paper cup when your name buzzed onto his screen.

Y/N.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said, already softening.

“Hey,” you echoed. Your voice was lighter than usual, almost cautious. “What are you doing tomorrow?.”

He hesitated. “Supposed to meet Jimin since he’s in the city. Why?”

There was a pause, a kind of breath between syllables. “Don’t cancel for me.”

He smirked. “Who said I was?”

“I know that tone, babe. That’s the I’m going to pretend I didn’t have plans if you give me a better offer tone.”

He shrugged, though you couldn’t see him. “Alright, you caught me. I’m tragically available now. What’s the better offer?”

“I was just thinking…” You paused again. “We could hang. Maybe do something fun. You seemed like you needed that.”

He felt his chest warm, stupid and pleased. “I always need that.”

“Okay. I’ll call you later.”

But you didn’t.

Evening slid by — first warm, then cool — and the messages stayed unread, the silence stretched longer than it should’ve. At first, he assumed you were running late. Then busy. Then distracted. But by midnight, the open-ended promise of your voice was just a memory replaying too often. And he had canceled his dinner with Jimin for you. He told himself he didn’t care. He’d known you for what — two weeks? That wasn’t enough time to feel disappointed, right?

The next morning he called you, a casual kind of check-in, but his voice betrayed more curiosity than he wanted.

You picked up after two rings.

“Hey,” you said, like nothing had happened.

“You disappeared yesterday.”

“Ah, shit,” you said, voice low and apologetic. “I’m sorry. My uncle called me into the studio and then I had to go to some gallery thing for a friend. It got messy.” He let the silence speak for a second. “You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah. Just… you said you’d call.”

“I know,” you chuckled. “I suck. Where are you?”

“About to head out.”

“I’m at the mall close to the studio,” you said. “Trying to find a gift for my cousin. Or an excuse to not be here.”

He smiled, something settling into place in his chest.

“Okay, meet me behind the mall.”

You laughed. “You’re such a cliché.”

“I’m serious. Ten minutes.”

You didn’t say yes, but he heard you grab your bag through the receiver.

Ten minutes later you found him standing next to your bike, wearing your helmet — which was slightly too small for him — and leaning on one leg like he belonged in some chaotic coming-of-age movie. He was dressed in jeans and an old tee that clung in all the right places. With the visor down, no one would know who he was — just another guy with a smirk and a stolen helmet.

You stared at him for a beat. “Is that my bike?”

“Is that my rider?” he shot back, voice muffled under the helmet.

“You’re absurd,” you muttered, grinning as you approached.

“Get on,” he said.

“You’re not even going to ask nicely?”

He flipped the visor up and raised an eyebrow. “Please, princess, may I have the honor of driving you through the city on your own bike?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t falter. “God, you’re lucky you’re hot.”

You two rode — weaving through the back streets of LA, the palm trees flashing by in staccato bursts, wind in your faces, anonymity you shared accomplice. It was freeing, how none of it made sense, and yet all of it felt inevitable.

When he stopped for gas at a grimy station off Sunset. He bought some juice, paid for the gas. You leaned against the handlebar and watched him fill the tank.

“You know,” you said, “this is very Grease, but with more depression and better outfits.”

He laughed. “You’re the only person I’ve met who talks like life is one long indie film.”

“That’s because it is,” you replied, stealing a sip of his drink. “You’re just not watching closely enough.”

He looked at you then — hair tangled, cheeks flushed, the edge of mischief curled around your mouth like a secret. And he realized, with a low thrum of dread and excitement, that he was in trouble. Because two weeks shouldn’t feel like this.

And yet, here he was — riding through cities just to hear you make jokes only you found funny.

The air in your apartment was thick — not just with the heat, but with that slow, humming closeness that came after two bodies stopped pretending they weren’t made for each other. The overhead fan spun in lazy circles, stirring nothing but the weight of summer and skin. The curtains danced just slightly in the sea breeze, casting faint shadows across your bodies lay sprawled on your bed, sheets barely clinging to you two.

Jungkook’s bare chest rose and fell in sync with yours, his fingers tracing thoughtless shapes along your waist. Your leg was thrown over his, your lips trailing faint kisses along the side of his jaw, your hair brushing his shoulder. You hadn’t said much in the past few minutes — that kind of silence had started to become normal between you two, not awkward, not heavy. Just quiet. Laced with something more.

“So,” you murmured eventually, your breath warm against his ear, “your new song. The demo you were humming yesterday. Is it going to be about me?”

He knew what you were doing. Making him cringe, trying to embarrass him and pretend you were offended if he said no. always finding your own amusement.

He chuckled. “Too soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, resting your chin on his chest. “Too soon to write a song about a girl you’ve been practically living with for two weeks straight?”

“I haven’t lived here. I’ve… visited.”

“Visited?” you laughed. “Your new guitar’s on my couch and your boxers are in my laundry.”

He grinned, lazily brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “You’re very hospitable.”

“Am I?” Your tilted your head. “You’re the one who keeps buying wine and pretending you’re a guest.”

“I like the illusion.”

“I’ll start charging my hospitality.”

“I’ll pay extra.”

You two laughed. And then kissed — not deeply, not desperately, just a soft brushing of mouths, like punctuation on a sentence too long to finish. When you pulled back, you sat up slowly, hair falling over one shoulder. “Be right back,” you said, disappearing into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you. Jungkook lay still, staring at the ceiling for a beat. The fan creaked slightly overhead. In the background, the low hum of city life drifted through the windows — cars, laughter, waves.

Then your phone buzzed.

It was on the nightstand beside him. He hadn’t been looking for it — he’d been watching the shadows ripple across the ceiling. But the vibration startled him. A message preview lit up the screen. From the same contact he’d seen days ago. A girl’s name. No hearts, no pet names — just plain, and somehow more intriguing because of it.

“Can we talk? I said I was sorry for what happened…”

He didn’t touch it. Just stared. A single message, sitting on the screen like an open door he wasn’t supposed to look into. His stomach tightened. He felt weird, confused. He looked away immediately when he heard the sink stopped. The moment felt like it had shifted slightly, tilted just a few degrees off balance. When you returned and saw your phone, the smile you gave him didn’t quite reach your eyes. You turned off the screen, and slipped it into your bag.

You moved quietly, slipping back into bed beside him, laying your head against his bare shoulder. He looked down at you, something about the silence digging under his skin.

“You okay?”

“Sure,” you said. He waited. You didn’t elaborate. After a moment, you added, “I’m not a good person.”

He blinked. “That’s a weird thing to say after sex.”

You let out a dry laugh, then turned to face him more fully, your head now resting in the crook of his arm. “No, but really. I’ve been thinking about it lately.”

“You didn’t kick a puppy on your way home, did you?”

You smirked, but your eyes were far away. “No, just… I do things without thinking. I take whatever I want, and I don’t really stop to ask if someone else might get hurt because of it.”

“Okay,” he said carefully. “But that’s kind of… human.”

“I think it makes me selfish,” you thought. “Maybe kind of a dick.”

He tilted his head. “You are kind of a dick.”

You let out a soft laugh, your mouth curling. “Thanks.”

“But I’m kind of a dick too,” he added. “I lie all the time. I ghost people. I bail on birthdays. I use my job as an excuse to avoid feelings. I pretend I don’t care about stuff when I do.”

You looked up at him, curious now. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because caring makes you vulnerable. And vulnerability is bad PR.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “That might be the worst reason I’ve ever heard.”

“Doesn’t make it untrue.”

You two were quiet for a moment. The breeze shifted the curtains, the scent of sea salt drifting in.

“Maybe we should try to change that,” Jungkook said suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow. “What, like a personality rebrand?”

“Yeah,” he said. “New us. Better us. Less-dick us.”

“Does that mean I have to stop saying shitty things that no one else laughs at but me?”

He pretended to consider. “Maybe. Or maybe that’s your one charm.”

You poked him in the ribs. “Asshole.”

He caught your hand, gently, pulled it to his chest. “Let’s try,” he said again, more softly this time.

You looked at Jungkook, really looked — the quiet way he was watching you, the hesitation in his voice, like he didn’t want to spook you.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s try.”

That wanting— the wish of trying, the want of it. It was enough for him.

He kissed you then, slow and warm, his hand tangled in your hair. There was no urgency in it. No firestorm of lust. Just a long, drawn-out breath between you two, like you both were carving out something fragile and new. Like you knew you were walking a tightrope but were choosing, together, not to look down.

And outside, the August heat settled deeper into the night.

The city was quiet at 4am, strange in-between hour when night loses its edge but morning hasn’t yet begun. Your friends had found a street vendor tucked between two neon-lit buildings, the smell of sizzling meat and onions hanging thick in the warm air. A table stood crooked on the pavement, plastic chairs wobbled on the uneven sidewalk, and all of you gathered around it like an offbeat family of the night. Jungkook sat beside you, your knees brushing under the table.

Minho, sharp-tongued and a little too observant, was poking fun at Ara’s taste in movies while Jungkook’s friend, Jung, nodded politely, nursing a cheap beer. Laughter fluttered in and out of the conversation like moths to the glow of the barebulb overhead. For a moment, Jungkook let himself enjoy it—this imperfect little corner of the world where no one cared who he was.

Then—

“Have you talked with Betty?”

The question dropped like a stone in water. Jungkook tensed.

He looked up, mid-bite, instinctively. There was a shift in the air. You didn’t flinch. But there was a pause. Measured. It was Minho who asked it, but his voice was casual, unaware of the fracture he’d just made.

Then you answered, brushing a piece of lint from your sleeve with calculated nonchalance.

“Yeah.”

The name… it rang familiar to Jungkook. Betty. He remembered it—flashing on your screen, unanswered. A quiet thread that had woven itself through the last few days.

Minho didn’t seem to catch the edge in your tone. “She seemed weird when I called her last night.”

You set your chopsticks down, slow. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” Minho shrugged. “Just… is everything okay between you two?”

“Yes,” you said simply. But the gaze you sent him said more: mind your own business.

Minho didn’t take the hint. “Are you sure? I mean, I know in Busan it can be kinda—”

“Dude,” you snapped, cutting him off with a forced smile, “we’re eating and having a nice time, okay? Later.”

The conversation stumbled for a moment before Ara filled the silence with a joke about how bad the food was. Everyone laughed, too eager to escape the tension. But Jungkook wasn’t laughing. He sat quiet, processing. So Betty wasn’t just a name on a screen. There was a weight to it. A presence. Both Minho and Ara clearly knew her. And the way you had shut down the conversation… that wasn’t nothing.

He waited until you two were back at your apartment. The night had gotten cooler, the sky outside smeared with dark purple and navy. As the last weeks, you two drank wine barefoot in your kitchen, the overhead light a dim yellow hue. You leaned against the counter, glass in hand, as Jungkook spoke.

“Who’s Betty?” he asked, gently.

You looked down at your wine, turning the glass in slow circles. “She’s…” your lips curled into something like a smile, but it was humorless. “Betty.”

Jungkook tilted his head, patient. “Is she your best friend?”

You let out a breath, a sound between a sigh and a chuckle—dry, self-deprecating. “Something like that.”

He watched you closely. “Are you guys having problems? I mean… having friends leave for a while can be hard.”

There was a long pause. Then, softly, you said, “I love her.” The words clung to the air like smoke. Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t breathe. “It’s just…” you added, your voice thinner now, “sometimes it’s hard.”

“To be far away from each other?”

“Being in Korea.” You said quietly

Jungkook blinked. “She doesn’t live there?”

You smiled, and it was a tired kind of thing. Sad, maybe. “That’s why it’s hard.” You stared past him for a second, toward the window, where a sliver of moon was caught in the glass. “Sometimes I wish we were different people,” you said, almost to yourself. “Everything would be easy.”

He opened his mouth, confused. “What do you mean?”

But you pulled yourself out of whatever thought you were lost in, blinking hard as if shaking yourself awake. “Leave me,” you said, brushing it off. “I’m just drunk and talking shit.”

“It seemed kinda deep, what you were saying.”

“It’s not,” you replied quickly, your voice sharper now. “I’m too young,” you laughed—short, almost bitter. “I don’t know anything.”

He wanted to say something, to push, to ask again what you meant, to tell you that you didn’t sound like someone who didn’t know anything. But before he could speak, you leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t playful or teasing. It was slow, aching, a kind of interruption that asked not to be questioned. His hands found your waist, but even as you two kissed, the name echoed in his mind.

Betty.

Whoever she was, Jungkook didn’t know the whole story. But something told him there was something else he couldn’t understand.

The night air still clung to you as Jungkook pulled the motorcycle to a slow stop in front of your building, the metal of the chain cold against his fingers as he looped it around the wheel. You were already stepping off, brushing the hair from your face as you slipped off the helmet and shook out your long, dark strands. The streetlamp above your flickered once, then steadied, casting a warm halo over your bare shoulders.

“Half of September?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but there was a hesitation there—like he was still doing the math in his head, still hoping he’d misheard you seconds ago.

You nodded, adjusting your jacket as you hopped lightly onto the sidewalk.

“Yep. I’m traveling the second week of that month. Flying back just before classes start.”

He stilled, one hand still on the lock, the other trailing behind you in the air.

“That’s… soon,” he said, finally. It came out softer than he meant it to, almost unsure.

“I know,” you answered, tossing the keys from one hand to the other. “It’s stressing me out, actually. I haven’t opened a textbook in months. The idea of lectures makes me want to dissolve.”

Jungkook laughed a little, then jogged the last few steps to catch up with you. You two started up the narrow concrete staircase toward your apartment, but halfway up, he stopped.

“Hey,” he said, gently pulling your arm so you’d turn to face him. The light from the stairwell window hit his face at an angle, and for a second he looked so earnest it made your chest ache.

“Hum?”

“Will you call?” he asked. He shrugged as if trying to make the question seem smaller than it was. “When you’re back at school. Just to talk or… I don’t know. I’ll be in Seoul by the end of October anyway. But my family’s still there in Busan, and I might visit, so… yeah.”

You paused. Smiled. And then, instead of answering, you leaned forward and kissed him.

It was slow at first, then deeper, a little desperate in the way that summer kisses get when you start counting days backwards instead of forwards. Your mouth tasted like the mint tea you two had earlier, sweet and cold. He smiled against your lips. This was how you were. That kiss that made him forget he had even asked a question in the first place.

“I won’t call,” you said, pulling away just enough to say it with a grin that made it sound like a dare.

Jungkook blinked. “Mean.”

You laughed, your eyes lighting up for a moment, then grabbed his hand and tugged him up the last few stairs. The hallway was dim and smelled faintly of sea salt and rust, your sandals echoing against the tile as you led him toward your apartment door. You didn’t say anything else—just turned and kissed him again, this time harder, your back against the doorframe. It was the kind of kiss that made promises in silence. And broke you in the same breath.

Jungkook didn’t ask anything more. He didn’t press. Not when you were kissing him like that. Not when your fingers curled around the hem of his shirt like you needed to hold onto something. Later, he would realize that was the way you said goodbye—never answering questions, never looking back.

But in that moment, he still lived for the hope of it all.

The lock clicked as you pushed the key into the door, still half-laughing, still kissing him by pecks. Your cheeks pink with heat or the weight of wanting.

The door creaked open.

And then, all at once, your smile fell.

“Mom?”

The hallway light spilled into the apartment, and there she was—your mother, standing by the small kitchen counter, a cup of tea in hand, startled and halfway through tying her hair up. Jungkook froze. He was still holding your hand. You blinked, then took a quick step back, releasing him like you had just remembered gravity. Your mother looked between the two of you— Your flushed face, Jungkook’s shirt halfway untucked, the late hour.

It was awkward, and quiet, and very, very real.

Your mother—dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, every inch the commanding presence. Your eyes flickered with an unmistakable tension, a shadow passing over your usually composed face. Jungkook felt the shift instantly, the air thickening with unspoken expectations. Even as a pop star used to stages and spotlights, this woman intimidated him. He bowed his head slightly, an awkward but sincere gesture of respect. And then, the flicker of your stolen kiss before the door opened—a moment he instantly regretted. Fuck, he thought bitterly. Bad first impression.

“I made dinner,” your mother announced with a sharpness that brooked no argument.

Jungkook glanced at you, who looked caught between surprise and apprehension.

“What are you—?” you started.

“I had some free time. Let’s sit so we can talk,” she said, eyes settling on him. Then, softer, “You can stay.”

Jungkook shifted uneasily under your gaze. “Jungkook,” you said, as if to remind him he was a guest, “you probably have a lot of work. You can go—

But he knew better. If he wanted any hope of a future with you, of anything beyond these stolen moments, he needed to stay and try. Swallowing his nerves, he straightened and said, “Sorry for the bad impression. My name is Jeon Jungkook, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and of course I’ll stay. I’ll help serve the plates.”

Your eyes shot him that look—the one he’d seen before: get the fuck out and mind your own business. He ignored it, the sinking feeling in his stomach replaced by stubborn resolve.

The three of you gathered around the small table, the clinking of cutlery filling the heavy silence. Your mother, ever poised, spoke of work with practiced ease, her voice occasionally drifting into sharper tones. Jungkook spoke of his music, his touring, the strange world he inhabited—she nodded at one point, “That’s why you look familiar.” He smiled politely, but caught your subtle frown, the flicker of unease that he couldn’t quite read. To him, he was making a good impression, but clearly, not everyone agreed.

Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “When are you coming home?” she asked casually, but the undercurrent was clear, the challenge laid bare. The atmosphere shifted suddenly, like a storm breaking. “Is this the apartment we’re paying for?” your mother’s voice was cold, biting. “All rusted and badly cared for.”

You bristled. “I like it that way.”

The older didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t think you actually do. You need to take care of things.”

“I do.”

“Are you two dating?”

Your cheeks flamed red. “Mom, not now, okay? Let’s talk—”

She cut you off with a sharp scoff. “Well, at least he’s better than the one before.” The disgust in her voice was palpable. Jungkook sat up straighter, curious and alarmed. What was so bad about the guy before? The woman’s eyes flicked with disdain. “What a bad experience.”

A faint smile hovered on Jungkook’s lips, but it died when he caught your haunted look. You stared at the floor, trembling between breaking and burning with rage. Your eyes darted to your mother, full of silent fury.

“Any man I date would be better for you.”

“And with reason.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, the doorbell rang, slicing through the tension. She stood up to open the door, you rubbed your face with frustration.

As your mother swung open the door, Jungkook kissed your lips in an attempt to soothe the mounting storm within you. But you froze, the shock of seeing Minho—your friend from Busan and, he guessed, a link to another world you kept tightly shut—made you stiffen. Your mother’s expression darkened, disapproval obvious.

“I knew something was happening,” Minho said bluntly.

“It’s not what you think,” you hurried to explain.

“It is,” your mom said, eyes hard. “She’s finally dating someone good. Now go tell your little friend to stop bothering my daughter.”

“Mom, shut up!” you snapped, rushing to Minho’s side. “Please, let me explain.”

“You don’t need to. Believe me,” he said, disgust thick in his voice. “I already knew this was going to happen. I just needed to confirm it.”

Minho turned and left, and you wanted to follow him, but your mother’s iron hand closed the door before you could move. Frustration clenched your chest. Jungkook frowned, confusion blooming into concern. It was happening… what he thought it was happening?.

“Stop that. You knew it was for the best,” your mother said sharply.

“You don’t know what’s best for me!”

“I’m giving you the best!” she snapped back, voice rising. “You know it’s best to get far away from that weird…”

“Stop talking shit about her! If she’s that bad, I’m so much worse…”

“No, you’re not. You’re not…”

“I am! I’m fucking am, Mom!”

“You can’t date someone like that! Do you know what would happen? It’s a disgrace—I can’t have a daughter that…”

“It’s my life.”

“And you’re living it wrong. You don’t like her…”

“I love her!”

Jungkook’s world slowed, heart shattering with every word. Watching the tears streak down your face as you screamed at your mother, the raw pain in your voice—he finally understood. You were in love with her. You were in love with a woman. You were in love with someone else.

“You don’t know what you want! You’re too young,” the older woman said, shaking her head with finality. “Don’t make me regret paying for those shitty art studies and this apartment.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked to you, softening despite the harsh words around them. The truth was undeniable—your mother was a fortress of cruelty, a gatekeeper of judgment. But none of it mattered to him. What mattered was the girl in front of him, breaking apart but still standing. He stood up. You wiped the tears from your cheeks and looked at him, awareness blooming in your gaze. Like you finally realized he was still there.

“Jungkook…”

He took a slow breath, stepping back toward the door. “I should go.”

“Please, let me explain…”

He shook his head, smiling sadly. “You don’t have to. I understand now.” Bowing politely to your mother, he said, “Thank you for the food. It was nice.”

You followed him, voice trembling. “Kook, I didn’t mean—”

He chuckled, dryly. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just feel really stupid. I should have known.” He paused, voice breaking. “Good luck with Betty.”

That last word hung between the two of you, heavy and sharp. You seemed to realized your bigger problem— that the real problem wasn’t dealing with Jungkook. It was dealing with her. The one whose name haunted the space between you two.

Jungkook close the door behind him before walking out of the building. His eyes started to get wet as he waited for a moment. Ten seconds. You didn't followed him. And he knew the reason. You weren’t in love with him. You were never his.

In the end of August. Trying to call your girlfriend, you realized you had lost her. Her and Jungkook. You should've know better.

In the end of August, Jungkook walked home with a broken heart and a bottle of wine.

happy pride month to all my bisexuals out there fr

standing by the real values of bisexuals and making her cheat her girl with a man🤚🏻

(i hate that stereotype but i wanted to do this plot so bad)

hope you like it, i know i change the story of the song so much but i had this idea and i had to write it 😭 idc what u have to say i ATE with this one so stfu

i only accept criticism if you say this plot is perfect first thank u

[hansungie01]

Perv!Jisung Part 2

Something about dominating buff men, hmm

Contains: Perv!Jisung, Fem!Reader uses some pet names (Mostly baby, puppy once, etc), Sub!Jisung (Jisung takes a little bit more control near the end), bondage, domination, oral sex, hand jobs, making out, Jisung gets caught masturbating to you and you decide to confront him 👀

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: This is the first fic I've written in the last couple years, also the longest. I have no idea if I'm rusty or if this fic is good, so feedback is appreciated!! I hope you all enjoy <3

Read part 1 here <333

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He couldn’t believe his eyes. It felt surreal to have you right there in front of him. With your lips pressed firmly against his, your hands gripping the collar of his shirt. Neither of your lips moved, just simply basking in the feeling of skin on skin.

Jisung didn’t know where to put his hands, so they hovered loosely over your hips, not quite touching them. Even now, he felt it was wrong to touch you. Jisung could tell you had noticed, feeling the heat of his hands on your skin.

You smirked against his lips before pulling away. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re shy now after the show you just put on for me.”

Jisung’s mouth fell open slightly, taking a deep breath and looking like he was trying to catch his breath. “No.. I didn’t..you weren’t meant to hear-”

“Yeah, but I did”, you cut in. Finally, Jisung’s mouth closed. He felt embarrassed, more than he had ever felt before. More than that time his voice cracked in the recording booth in front of his whole group. More than the time he tripped on stage. No. This was personal. You had heard him in one of his most vulnerable moments, listened to the raw moans coming from his throat as he touched himself shamelessly.

And worse, that it was you he was fantasizing about.

“That was a really fucked up thing to do”, you squinted your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked at him. “Your best friend?” 

He swallowed, doing his best to block the noise from coming up his throat. He couldn’t take any more embarrassment; he already felt like his cheeks were so hot he’d melt, and not knowing what to do with his hands, he slipped them behind his back.

After Jisung hadn’t responded for some time, you took a small step closer to him, chuckling quietly when his eyes widened and his body went stiff. “You always act tough, talking about how strong you’re getting with the boys and wearing those tank tops you know show off your muscles. But emotionally, you seem to break pretty easily, huh?”

He shook his head, finally deciding to defend himself. “I’m still tough.”

“I never said you weren’t. But when it came to watching me, you seemed to give up pretty quickly”, you responded. You know he’d get defensive; he always bragged about how strong he was getting, you’d be a liar if you said it never turned you on, even a little bit. You loved confident men, but even more so, you loved watching the typically tough, built men crumble – watching their expressions change once they realize they’d have to beg, to earn their rights to touch you.

“You couldn’t even see me, who says I was doing it for you?”

“Do you want me or not?”, you bluntly cut him off before he could continue. You were waiting for him to ask, to beg for you, but you were starting to think this was going to take longer than anticipated. 

He didn’t respond, not with words. But you could see his bottom lip ever so slightly slide in between his teeth, and his breath hitched. He was obviously trying to keep his composure, realizing he had almost lost it the moment you stepped inside.

You rolled your eyes. “Sungie, you need to say it.”

His head lowered halfway, his hands still behind his back. Even with his muscles on display, he still looked adorable to you.

“..yes, please”

“There we go. Now, can you show me what you keep in the drawer of your bedroom?”

“Huh?”

“You think this is the first time I’m finding out who you really are? You might think you’re subtle, but you’re not.. Now, show me”

He couldn’t possibly be more embarrassed in this moment. But he was in too deep – there was no point trying to defend himself anymore. So, he nodded swiftly, and with not another moment’s delay, he turned to head to his bedroom. He grabbed a few things from the left drawer, not really sure what you were asking for.

You turned your head to look at him again as he returned, smiling, once your eyes dropped to the palms of his hands. 

Handcuffs, a blind fold, and a small vibrator - about the size of his palm.

“Good boy.”

“W-what?”. God, he couldn’t even recognize you right now. The things you were telling him, the language you were using, he’d never imagined you’d say these things. 

He handed everything to you, looking at you with wide puppy eyes, carefully watching your every moment, unsure of what you were planning. Was this all one big joke?

“You heard me”, you replied as you took the items from him. His hands went behind his back again, indicating shyness but preparedness. You set the vibrator aside, opting to save that for another time. You looked down at the blindfold. Silk, black, and with a few crinkles in the fabric. He’d used these before. 

Your gaze shifted to his. He wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he was looking off to the side, focusing on a spot on the wall that didn’t exist.

“Jisung.” In one motion, his head snapped to face you, his eyes crawling up from your lips, to your nose, finally locking with your eyes.

“Down”, his brows furrowed in confusion, until you spoke again. “Slowly.”

After a moment of processing, he understood. Oh. You were really going through with this.

His knees buckled. Slowly, he lowered his body, eyes locked on yours and his head titling upwards slightly in order to keep his focus on you. He placed one knee on the ground before shifting to place the other, and soon, he had fulfilled your order. 

You bent down to place your hand on his chin, grazing the skin ever so delicately and watching the way his shoulders lifted as he flinched with the contact. You brought the blindfold into his lower view, signalling for him to look. 

He didn’t. He only nodded once. 

You took the blindfold into your two hands, bringing them around his head. You saw his eyes close just before slipping the blindfold around his head and tying it tightly, but not too tight, at the back of his head. You could feel his breath against your forearm.

Jisung couldn’t see a thing. With heightened senses, he heard your footsteps walking to his back, and the sound of metal clanging together. He knew what that meant, and it only made him more excited. 

You took his hands, placing each in the handcuffs and locking them shut. You weren’t even sure it was necessary; his hands had already been placed together behind his back, but you weren’t taking any chances. You wanted to do this right.

He was at your mercy even without the blindfold and cuffs on. You knew that. And he knew that. 

Jisung heard you walking back, and suddenly he could feel your presence in front of him. 

“Tell me you want it”, you asked, your voice suddenly soft. 

Jisung could feel his heart melting. With his eyes now covered, he felt more confident in responding, no longer needing to force eye contact. He shook his head, “Yes, I want it. I want it so bad.”

He heard you laugh, likely at the way he sounded so desperate on his knees. 

“Then work for it”. Somehow, he knew what you had done. He could feel you shuffling to take your pants off, and he could feel the warmth of your panties as you tossed them at his face. It took everything in him not to grab them and shove them back against his face, but he knew better than to do things you hadn’t told him. 

“What do you want me to do?”, he asked, still looking up at you as if he could see you through the blindfold. 

You hummed. “Get creative, I’m sure that dirty little mind of yours can come up with something”. You were testing him. He knew what you wanted. But how he was going to execute it was the important thing. 

He shuffled closer to you, enough for him to feel confident he could touch you. He sat back on his heels, bending his upper body down. It was only when he was fully down that his eyes, although covered, moved to face the ground. He couldn’t feel around due to his hands being handcuffed, so he felt around instead. His cheek made contact with your ankle, and he exhaled. 

His turned his head so that his lips pressed against your ankle. God, your skin felt so nice. Soft and sweet, like you had just put on lotion. He began to leave kisses on your skin, slowly making his way up your leg. He was marking your body, finding a pathway to where he really needed to be. 

Although, if you had wanted him to stay there, on the ground with his lips leaving kisses on your ankle the whole night, he wouldn’t hesitate. Fuck, he’d do anything for you. 

His lips travelled upwards, his breaths becoming more shallow as his kisses got closer to your pussy. He needed you like he needed air, which was already running thin. He needed you so bad so that he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his tongue on your skin, eager to taste you. 

A strained whine left his lips at the contact. He couldn’t believe the effect you had on him, how pathetic he must’ve looked in front of you. Were you really going to let him keep going? Surely you’d tell him to stop, that this was too far, that you were only friends.

But you didn’t. Soon enough, his lips reached the top of your inner thighs. He couldn’t see your pussy, but there were signs. He felt the fabric of your shirt brushing his forehead, and felt the heat of your pussy on his face. He paused, unsure if he should continue. 

“Cat got your tongue?”, you asked, teasing him. 

No, but it will, he thought. In actuality, he shook his head.

“No, no, I’m ok-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence before he felt the warm contact of your pussy against his lips. He moaned, almost falling backwards. You hadn’t even pushed that hard, but the shock of finally getting a taste of your pussy made him weak. 

He felt dizzy immediately, like your pussy was soaked in alcohol, making him drunk with the feeling of you. His lips parted, and his tongue slid to push against whatever he could make contact with. He moved around, to the left and then the right, down and then up. He moaned in satisfaction as his chin titled up. His lips wrapped around what he had figured out was your clit. 

The breathy moan that now left your lips confirmed he was right. And he wasn’t going anywhere from here.

It didn’t take you long to realize, he was learning you. He wasn’t trying to make you cum. That wasn’t the goal. The goal was to learn, learn how your body responded and where he needed to be. 

He started to suck lightly, testing the waters. Seeing how much pressure he needed.

“Harder”, you ordered. You weren’t begging, you knew he’d comply if he wanted more of you.

And he complied, pulling his head away for a moment to catch his breath before pressing his lips against you again, this time sucking harder. His tongue moved to lick your clit while he sucked.

He hadn’t even paid attention to how tight his pants were becoming until he felt one side of your body shift to lean against the wall you had been standing by, and then the feeling of the top of your foot pressing against his bulge. He jerked back a bit but quickly moved to chase your pussy again. 

Now he really felt like he was losing his mind. Not only were you letting him taste you, but you were touching him. Through his pants, of course, but it still felt like bliss. He was grateful for any form of contact he got. You moved your foot up and down, just enough to tease him into further submission. 

“How does that feel, baby?”, you asked. That goddamn pet name. Jisung moaned, which was enough of an answer for you given his state. His forehead had already begun to sweat, and you could hear the clanging of the handcuffs behind his back - he was trying to remain composed, but doing a shitty job at it. 

The way he looked in this moment - with his face red, a third of his face practically buried in your pussy and another third covered by the blindfold. His head tilted to get the best angle, leaning forward to get as much of you as possible but his body slouched, trying to get away from the feeling of your foot pressing his bulge had you growing more and more turned on. 

Your juices dripping down his chin and down his neck, his uncontrollable moaning as if it were you sucking him off, it was all too much for him.

“Fuck”, you finally gave in, lifting your leg to push him away from your pussy. He whined, falling back on his heels and lifting his chin to give the impression he was looking at you.

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Tell me you want more.”

With no hesitation, he pleaded. “Please, baby. Please let me have more. I need it, I crave it. I don’t even care anymore. Just use me.”

You smiled, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him up. He stumbled up, and before he could thank you, he felt your lips pressing against his. Wet, sloppy, and passionate.

“You taste so good”, he said as soon as you pulled away. 

You didn’t reply, only pulling him toward the bedroom. He followed as best he could. He knew the layout of his house, so he should’ve known where he was heading, but with his head cloudy and his senses blocked, his mind was no longer making sense. 

He heard you open the door to his room, and in one swift motion, you spun him around to face him. You moved your hands up to his hair, gripping tight as you moved his head to the side. 

You began kissing his neck, now a bit rougher than before. The sensation caught him off guard. 

“Fuck”, he gasped. 

“Hm”, you moaned in his neck, acknowledging his reaction. After a couple of minutes, you let go of his hair, dragging your hands down his neck and onto his chest before pushing him down on the bed. 

“Get on your back, head on the pillow”, even though you were taking control, that didn’t mean you didn’t want him to be comfortable.

“Yes ma’am”, he replied, shuffling up to where you wanted him. He felt the pillow beneath his head and knew he was where he needed to be. 

He heard you shuffling in some drawers, probably looking for condoms. He didn’t think he’d need that when he grabbed his stuff - didn’t think you’d get that far. “I’m going to ride you now, okay?”

He nodded, forgetting for a moment that you might not be looking at him. “Okay”

He paused. “There are condoms in the back of the drawer-”

“I’m not looking for condoms.”

He gulped. Maybe he was right after all. Maybe you’d just touch him, and you wouldn’t need protection. 

He could hear your footsteps approach the bed, and the mattress deflating as you climbed on top. 

“How are you doing, puppy?”

“Uh, I’m-”, Jisung couldn’t even respond. No one had called him puppy before. He’d never thought of using that name, never thought he’d like being called that. But he did. 

More specifically, he liked that you called him that. He knew you were looking down at him from above, probably smiling at the state of him, like putty in your hands. He bet you looked gorgeous from that angle too. He knew it. 

“I’m good. So good.”, he finally choked out. You smiled as you reached down behind his back. You worked swiftly to remove the handcuffs he had on. Finally, he was free to move his hands. 

That was until you moved his hands up to the headboard, locking the handcuffs in place once more. 

“No, please”, he whined.

“Tsk. Too bad. You need to learn your lesson”

He couldn’t believe you. Not only were you depriving him of the chance to touch you, you were clearly enjoying it. All he wanted was to touch you. He didnt even care if he never got to fuck you, he just needed the fullfilment of being able to put his hands on your body.

“I’m good, I’ll be good. I promise”, he shifted his hips, trying to relieve some of the discomfort in his pants, but to no avail.

“Then you’ll have to prove it.”

Prove it? What could you possibly mean by that? His hands were tied, his movements restricted, what could he-

His thoughts were cut short with the feeling of your hands unzipping his pants, pulling them down enough to reach into his boxers and pull his cock out. You left him no time to think as your tongue pressed against the base of his cock.. 

“Oh fuck me”, he exclaimed, throwing his head back and bucking his hips up. You used one of your hands to push his hip back down. He obeyed. 

Your tongue dragged up the side of his cock, and back down a few more times before you took his tip in your mouth. Jisung couldn’t control his hips, he was worried that you’d stop if he kept moving, but he couldn’t help it. Your mouth was so warm, so wet, it felt like heaven. You were sucking on his tip with your hand now wrapped around the base, moving slowly up and down. 

He tugged at the handcuffs; he wanted out. He wasn’t sure why, he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch you. But the fact that he couldn’t move at all was driving him crazy. He needed to grip onto something that wasn’t air; the sheets, your hair, anything.

You removed your hand from his cock, moving down to cup his balls. 

“Baby”, he moaned. “Please don’t tease.”

You removed your mouth from his tip just long enough to speak. “Don’t tell me what to do. You decided to jerk yourself off to my body without telling me, now I get to do whatever I want to you”. 

He groaned, rolling his head to the side and bucking his hips up in frustration. “Stop fucking teasing me and just fuck me already, god.”

He felt your lips leaving his cock, and he felt like his life was over. This was it, he’d done it. He’d gone too far, now you were pissed.

He felt a dip in the mattress, and soon enough, felt the sides of your thighs on the outsides of his legs. 

“You wanna be a fucking dick, then I’ll treat you like that’s all your good for”, he felt the warm sensation of your hand wrapping around his cock, and Jisung took a deep breath. He wasn’t exactly sure what was about to happen, but he had a good enough guess.

“No, no baby, please, give me a second-”, Jisung was cut off by his own choked gasp. His cock, red and throbbing, suddenly felt relief in the walls of your pussy. 

“Fuckk, oh my god”, his mouth fell agape, and remained that way. A wave rushed over him, and he turned his head to try to muffle his moans. He was inside of you, completely. Your pussy had swallowed him whole, he could feel your pussy lips making contact with his pelvis. He had taken all of you, and yet here he was, completely at your mercy. 

Jisung, still fully clothed, could only imagine the sight in front of him. Were you completely naked? The thought had him wanting to cum inside of you in that very moment. Did you still have your shirt on? He’d just love to run his hands up your shirt and grab right onto your breasts. 

If your mouth felt like heaven, then your pussy felt like sin. You began to move your hips up and down at a regular pace. He couldn’t see it, but you had your eyes on him. Your eyes watched his chest rise and fall. You wanted more, so you reached down to drag his shirt up his chest, enough to see his abs with more visibility. Your best friend was fucking hot, you couldn’t deny it. The way his abs became more defined with each breath, his arms locked up from the cuffs looked delicious from this view. This full-grown man, your best friend, falling apart underneath you? It was a dream.

“How does my pussy feel, baby?”, you asked, not slowing down. He grunted every time your hips made contact with his.  

“So good baby, keep going. Don’t stop, just like that. Oh my god you’re a fucking dream”. It was as if he were rambling to himself. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t touch you, he could only imagine how you looked. “Your pussy is a fucking dream. Don’t you dare fucking pull out, oh my god.”

And you loved it. 

“Yeah, you like it?”, you teased. “Bet you’ve wanted this for a lot longer than just tonight.”

“Yes, oh my god yes”, he begged. “Baby, please let me see you. Let me watch you, I just need to see your body, even for a moment.”

You never stopped riding him while you answered, causing your responses to come out in moans. “Beg more, Sungie.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. “God, baby, please take the blindfold off. I just need to watch you, need to see your pussy. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so well, please.”

You reached a hand down to rip off the blindfold, tossing it to the side. 

Instantly, Jisung’s eyes opened. His gaze met yours as he finally took in the sight before him. There you were, your hands now on his chest to steady yourself as you rode his cock. Even though it killed him to look away from your face, his gaze fell for a moment and onto your pussy, wrapped tightly around your cock. Your hips swaying as you grinded down on him, it was a sight only the most worthy deserved. 

And he definitely wasn’t worthy. Not of this sight, not of this feeling. He didn’t deserve you, and somehow, he was still here. 

And somewhere in that mess, you had taken your shirt off. Jisung was definitely a boob man. And an ass man. But definitely a boob man. It made him want to reach out and grab your chest, but his hands were still confined to the hand cuffs.

“Fuck. You’re so,” he slurred. “You’re so beautiful. Thank you, god, thank you so much.”

The room was becoming foggy. You were both sweaty, sticky with pre cum, but neither of you cared. All you could focus on was the feeling of each other’s bodies. 

His eyes were gorgeous, you thought. Somehow, the eyes you had always looked into before today were now different. The once sweet, doe eyes you always knew had shifted into a dark, hazy gaze that had you wanting him more. 

Jisung had gotten a taste of you, literally and metaphorically, and it had him going crazy. 

You looked at his wrists; red and desperately pulling against the handcuffs, preventing him from touching you. With his eyesight now open, he caught you looking. 

“Please”, he begged, pulling once more. You thought about it.

Your hands dragged up his chest, wrapping firmly around his throat. “Please, what?”

No hesitation. “Please take the handcuffs off. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve been good, please.”

“Yeah, you’ve been a good boy”, you praised, earning another whine from him. He looked adorable with his cheeks flushed like this. You took your thumb, pressing it against his lips. As if it were instinct, his lips parted, allowing your thumb to enter. You placed it on his tongue. 

“Suck”, and he did. Moaning, his lips squeezed your thumb, sucking the flesh just as he had sucked on your clit moments before. 

After a few moments, you pulled your thumb away, rubbing his saliva on his lips and down his chin. The pace of your hips slowed down, enough to still feel something but not enough to gain satisfaction from it.

You brought your hands from his throat up to his hair, and then to his wrists. His breath hitched in anticipation, awaiting your next move.

“What have you learned?”, you asked, not looking at him but instead his wrists, taking your time with the metal.

“God, please don’t make me wait any longer”, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. “I just need you.”

“I said”, you brought your hands back down to his throat, causing him to whimper. “What have you learned?”

He knew he’d have to answer if he was going to get what he wanted. 

“I’ve learned not to lie to you”, his gaze stuck to yours, like daggers piercing your eyes. He was losing patience.

“And?”, you pressed.

He sighed. “And, I’ve learned to tell you when I touch myself to you”

“And?”

Jisung’s head fell backwards into the pillow. “Fuck! Just let me touch you already, I’ve been so patient all this time!”

This time, your hips stopped completely. “Why’d you do that?”

“Answer me.”, you said coldly. As much as you wanted to keep going, your pride was too strong. You needed to hear him say it. “What have you learned?”

 “You have the best pussy in the entire fucking world. Is that what you want?” 

“Good enough”, you smiled, taking your hands off his throat.”You wanna please me now, baby?”

He nodded. Quickly and frantically. He had been waiting for this for what felt like an eternity.

“Okay. You can fuck me this time. Make sure you fuck me good, okay?”

He nodded again. 

“Yes ma’am, I promise”, he didn’t know what to say, so he just agreed with you. He wanted you so freely, he wanted to be able to touch you, to kiss you, to drown in your pleasure. 

You brought your hands up to take the handcuffs off. The moment he heard the click, Jisung pounced. 

He placed his hand on your chest, pushing your body forward so you’d fall on your back behind you. 

He wasted no time in crawling up your body, leaving kisses on your stomach and up your chest. He felt feral. Like he hadn’t eaten in days. He kept muttering curses to himself while he felt up your skin. 

You had already fucked him, already sucked him off, and yet, this was the first time he could touch you freely. He had earned it. He worked for it, all the begging and pleading and torture he went through, all led up to this. 

“Fuck these fucking clothes”, he grunted, feeling contrained. He lifted his body up, now sitting on his knees. He pushed his pants down, throwing them to the side. You watched his cock as it came into your view completely. Jisung’s hands reached down to pull his shirt over his head. He was gorgeous, and no longer ashamed of his actions. You had let him in, and he was going to take advantage of it. 

He immediately went back down to your body. His mind was no longer in control; his body was. His traced his tongue on your chest and up to your neck, occasionally biting down on your skin. 

You shivered at the feeling once his tongue met your ear. He took your ear lobe in his mouth, sucking lightly. His right hand was pressed firmly on the mattress next to your other ear while his left hand slide down to your clit. All the time you had spent turning him on, and now he was touching you like his life depended on it. 

His fingers rubbed fast circles on your clit. The sound of your juices mixed with his pre cum caused him to moan, eliciting a reaction from you as well. 

“Jisung..”

“Yeah?”, he replied, not really paying attention.

“I’m so glad you decided to jerk off to me”, he chuckled in response, letting go of your ear and dragging your lips across your cheek until they made contact with your lips.

He hummed in satisfaction. You tasted so, so good. 

“Tell me how you like it”, he asked against your lips. “I want to do this right”

Your lips parted so you could respond. “Faster. Make me feel good, Jisung.”

“Mhm”, he said in almost a moan. He sped up his fingers before slipping two inside of you. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me”, he sighed. “And you call me the perv”

You knocked your knee against his hip, silently punishing him for his words. You didn’t care to argue back, he was right. He was a perv, but you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you weren’t enjoying this too. 

Jisung moved his hand from your clit. You looked down to see Jisung’s hand now around his cock, positioning himself at your entrance. 

He looked up into your eyes, like he realized something. 

“Can I?”, he asked. He was breathing heavy, and his cheeks were red. You nodded, and that was all it took. Jisung pushed inside, dangerously slow, as if he didn’t want this feeling to end. It felt amazing for you to ride him, but something about him taking control – having you locked underneath him – made it feel like the first time again. 

You gasped as your hands flew up to his chest, back arching once his cock was all the way inside. 

He moved his hips back, pulling his cock almost fully out. He paused, breathing deeply as he looked down at your body. 

You brought your leg up to wrap around his waist, pulling him into you again. He cursed as his hips twitched and his eyes squeezed shut, bottoming out inside you.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge”, you told him. He looked down at you again, biting his lip and nodding. 

“Yes ma’am, you’re in charge”. 

“Good boy”, you praised. With that, Jisung moaned. His hips picked up the pace, now slamming into you with enough force to knock your body back.

Jisung didn’t know what to look at; the way your tits were bouncing with each thrust, or your completely fucked out expression, or your pussy, which was sucking in his cock with such ease. He opted to look at all of you, his eyes never staying in one place for very long.

“You’re so fucking big, Jisung”, you moaned. “Don’t stop fucking me”

You didn’t even need to tell him. There was no way in hell he was stopping now. His cock, deep inside of you, wouldn’t allow him. His hips snap against yours quick, desperate for more. He wanted to be even closer to you, he wanted to drown in your body. 

But he also wanted to fill you up, metaphorically and literally. The idea of fucking you into your orgasm and then fucking you through it, made his cock twitch. His arms felt weak, his head felt dizzy thinking about filling you up with his cum. The fact that you two were nothing more than friends before, and now he’s balls deep inside of you, on the edge, close to something like euphoria. 

“Baby”, he said with a shaky voice. “I can’t hold back, I need to cum”

You hummed, too, emersed in pleasure. You wanted to cum too. You needed it. “Give it to me, Sungie”

He knew what that meant. His hips quickened for a moment, chasing his high. His hand flew to grip your breast, and his head ducked into the crook of your neck. His moans were desperate, whiny, almost in sync with his thrusts. He looked pathetic from this angle. 

Your hands wrapped around his back, bracing yourself for your climax. 

And soon it came. Yours first, and once Jisung felt your pussy tighten around his cock, he couldn’t control himself any longer. With one last slam into your pussy, his hips stilled, his cum spilling into you. His head remained in the crook of your neck, his hand, which was gripping your breast, moved down to your hip, holding you still while he worked through your orgasms. You felt his cum spill out of you, dripping down your thigh

He rolled over to the side, collapsing on the bed beside him. He reached out to grab your wrist, pulling you close to him. 

“Jisung? You okay?”, you gasped, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Mhm. Just come here. Lay with me”, he asked. You didn’t need to answer; you simply shifted your naked body against his, accepting his embrace. 

You hadn’t noticed his hands slipping around your waist and down in between your legs until you felt the warm touch of his fingers spreading your pussy. 

You gasped, and Jisung was quick to leave a kiss on your shoulder. “Shh baby it’s okay. I just wanted to feel what’s mine.”

You grinned, relaxing into his arms once more. The mood of your relationship had totally shifted, and yet, it felt natural. Like it was always meant to be this way. You could lay here forever, in Jisung’s embrace. 

Maybe you’d talk about it tomorrow. Maybe you’d have a discussion about what you both want, and solidify what you've both said without words tonight. But for now, all that mattered was Jisung. 

[kellykadesperate]

#13 from your prompt list

“You look better than I remembered.”

Aaron does not believe in reincarnation. He remembers his year eight RE teacher asking him what he’d want to come back as if he could and he said a dog. Everyone in the class laughed and he was called doggy for a whole week until he tripped a boy up and caused him to get a nose bleed. It stopped people taking the piss out of him. He remembers his teacher saying it all had something to do with karma. 

There’s good karma and bad karma and it all translates into what your next life will be like. 

He’s never thought about it as much as now. 

He must have been an absolute bastard in a previous life to have to watch what he is and not react at all.

For some absolutely ridiculous reason, Robert is at Moira’s and he’s in overalls. He’s steering a wheelbarrow of hay towards one of the barns and he’s flexing his arm muscles something stupid. 

“Here.” 

Aaron turns to his left and remembers John is alive and breathing and his husband. John hands Aaron the coffee he’s gone into Moira’s to make for him. Aaron sips and then pulls a face without John noticing. John always puts in half a spoon of sugar when Aaron has always told him he likes two sugars and plenty of milk. John says it’s healthier. 

The whole trust me I’m a doctor thing is absolutely not endearing or flirty anymore. It’s a pain in the neck.

“God he’s awful.” John says and Aaron hates the fact that he knows exactly who John is talking about. Robert is so deeply under John’s skin it’s mad. Aaron gets it, he feels it too but John shouldn’t. He shouldn’t feel the way he does because Aaron has been trying his absolute best to make out Robert is a complete non-entity in their life now. 

Fat lot of good that’s doing.

Aaron ignores John completely and takes a sip of his coffee. They’re meant to be here helping. He honestly didn’t think Robert would be bothered to come and be a consistent farm hand. 

He remembers quiet talks with the covers pulled over their heads whispering quietly about Jack and the farm and how Robert always felt so far removed from it all.

“He’s going to injure himself if he keeps lifting like that.” John says and he actually tuts.

Robert laughs at something Moira says and she slaps his arm in this tender motherly way. Aaron watches and feels this ache of jealousy hit him out of nowhere.

“You know he’s doing this to make Vic think he can keep a job. He just won’t get the hint.”

“Neither can you.” Aaron snaps. 

John stands taller. “What?” He asks. He turns right towards Aaron and his shadow blocks out the sun slightly. It also blocks out Aaron’s view of Robert. It feels a little poetic.

Aaron shrugs with one shoulder. “I’m not replying to any of your little digs and yet you’re still making them.” He says. “It’s boring.”

John looks ready to snap. Aaron’s seen this before. “If you can’t understand why I’m not his biggest fan then maybe you don’t know me at all.”

It sounds like something Aaron would say himself. It almost makes him laugh. It’s weird, being on the receiving end of it and realising it’s so dramatic and daft. 

“What’s so funny?” John seethes and Aaron realises he needs to readjust his face. He doesn’t in time. “You know what, I’ve got filing to do. Have fun shovelling hay all afternoon.” He says and then he’s off. 

Aaron feels a bout of guilt and then it goes as soon as Robert appears back in view. The overalls really are something. Aaron feels stupid for being so mesmerised. 

“Oi! Are you helping or staring?” Mack shouts right across to Aaron. It makes Aaron jump up a little and his coffee goes flying. He didn’t want it anyway. He tips the rest of it away and walks over to where Mack, Matty and Robert are standing. 

They’re near a barn that’s way too familiar for Aaron. He thinks and thinks and thinks until he’s back lying against the hay hearing Robert moan below him and then tell him he’s got to go back to his wife.

Aaron drags the overalls Mack’s given him on as quickly as he can and starts to get to work and it’s fine until Moira wants them to fix a tractor engine and Matty stares between Aaron and Robert. He points out that they’re the most qualified.

It’s not exactly wrong. It’s just frustrating.

Aaron sighs and sticks a hand in his pocket. “Where’s the tractor then?” He asks.

Robert walks ahead. Aaron watches him quietly. He takes a step whenever Robert does. He can see a small scar on the back of Robert’s neck and he stares at it the whole way there. The tractor is right in the middle of the field and there’s tools sitting right beside it. 

“I’ll have a look.” Aaron decides.

Robert just sort of stares down and lets Aaron get to work.

“No John then?” Robert asks after a few minutes have gone by. Aaron’s still staring down at the engine but he’s pretty sure that Robert has a faint smirk on his face at the fact that John didn’t stick around.

“He was busy.” Aaron lies.

“What a shame.” Robert says. Aaron pulls his eyes away and stares at Robert. “What? Moira needs all the help she can get.”

“Yeah and you’re helping.” Aaron says. It’s stating the obvious but there’s a question in there too. He looks up and down at Robert. “In farm gear and all.”

“Isn’t the first time.” Robert points out. He tilts his head and Aaron’s in danger here. “Remember when –”

“Yes.” Aaron says. 

“I wasn’t sure you would.” Robert says and it riles Aaron up a little. 

“You look better than I remembered.” Aaron blurts out. “In the – in the overalls.” He might as well just completely ruin all his hard work.

Robert arches an eyebrow. “So you do remember.”

“I just said, didn't I?” Aaron scowls but he doesn’t commit enough and Robert clearly picks up on it.

“Remember what happened when we were alone.” Robert says it like it’s just any other sentence, like it hasn’t shifted everything completely. 

Aaron looks up and then Robert is directly in front of him. Aaron bites his lip hard and then his hand is coming up towards Robert’s chest to push him back but he can’t bring himself to do it.

One second, Robert is staring at him and the next Aaron is kissing him. They stand there for what feels like hours. Robert’s hands are everywhere and Aaron allows himself to be a little manhandled as Robert pushes him against the side of the tractor and licks into his mouth.

Aaron can hear someone moan. He’s not sure if it’s him or Robert.

Eventually, Aaron has to come up for air and come to his senses.

“That – uh – that –” Aaron pants against Robert’s mouth. 

Robert shuts him up by taking the opportunity to kiss Aaron again, harder than before, somehow deeper too. Aaron’s heart pounds hard in his chest as Robert leans back and smiles this sweet genuine little smile that used to absolutely ruin Aaron.

“This can’t happen.” Aaron manages to say after a few seconds.

Robert takes a step back and nods like he agrees or understands or something. 

“It already is happening Aaron.” Robert shrugs, and then he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s me and you.” He adds, maybe to be mean to to be romantic. Aaron can’t decide.

Then Robert walks back towards the farm and Aaron’s forced to watch him walk away. 

Again.

[brights-place]

Ooh! Open requests? Just watched Kpop demon hunters again for the 2nd time and im ngl, if they were real id be dead real quick. Jinu and Abby are fine asf, absolutely am feral for them in the demon form.

So can I have some general headcannons of the reader just doing some body worship on these two in their demon form? Cuz let's be honest here, theyd both love it and they both are touch starved as fuck. Would be pretty great if the the reader quoted the Idol song to them as they just worshipped them ngl <3

[KPDH] ．°˖✧ Ａｂｂｙ ˚₊ ⊹ & ．°˖✧ Ｊｉｎｕ ˚₊ ⊹ x GN! Reader

Contains: Suggestive, Body Worship, Praise

A/N: NO THIS ISN'T FULL ON SMUT! ALSO LOVED THIS REQUEST CAUSE I GOT TO WRITE THIS WITHOUT HESITATION!

Summary: FEEL THE WAY MY VOICE GETS UNDERNEATH YOUR SKIN, where your hand touches every single curve, line, and narrow edge of their purple patterns littered around their body, and praising their entire being with a soft smile but with eyes that would match their own gold slitted ones

━━━ ．°˖✧ Ａｂｂ ｙ ˚₊ ⊹

Ａｂｂ ｙ had never been fond of his human form. The longer he lived, the more it felt like a borrowed shell tight, artificial, and uncomfortable. Human flesh didn't feel like home anymore but he wore it anyway for the mission, hiding the truth beneath his skin, because he knew that revealing his demonic self wasn’t always safe.

Still, that changed the day he showed you. He hadn’t expected much. Maybe fear. Maybe silence. Instead, you looked at him like nothing had changed. Like he was still just Abby and when you smiled calm, soft, unafraid something inside him relaxed.

He started noticing how your eyes lingered on his demon markings. The deep purple patterns etched into his skin would glow faintly whenever he was triggered or overwhelmed silent reminders of the pact he’d made with Gwi-man. Abby hated them they made him feel exposed, cursed like a living consequence but you never looked at them with judgment only curiosity.

One night, your voice was quiet as you asked “Can I touch your patterns?” He’d tried to play it off with a casual wave of his hand, acting like it didn’t matter but it did more than he’d admit.

Now here he was leaned back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded as you nestled beside him, carefully tracing each line of glowing violet with gentle fingers. "I can be your sanctuary" Your touch was slow, focused. Not in fear, not in pity just pure, grounding care and for the first time in a long, long while… Abby let himself breathe.

Your hands glided over Abby is skin, attention zeroing onto Abby's face. The so called idol was biting into his lips, fangs digging into the protective layer of his skin chest rising and falling.

Your fingers trailed onto the patterns around his chest enjoying how he shuddered at your touch. Hands gliding around the patterns that reached down to his abs and his V-line. A smug look reached your face as you slowly dipped your head down as you allowed your lips to lightly graze his skin as Abby's clawed nails digged into your thighs. "Watch yourself"

he muttered, as you smiled softly at him sitting up a little straighter and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. Abby let out a soft sigh as you cupped his face, your voice calm and warm.

"Relax, and I'm doing this to keep you in check" You slowly pulled away, and under your touch, his demonic purple patterns began to glow faintly responding to the softness in your hands, the care in your voice.

You smiled, healing him in more ways than one. Your lips pampered traced each mark around his lilac based skin. Abby huffed your voice muttering various praises towards him as he relaxed in your touch slightly your voice playing repeat in his head.

As you murmured praise, Abby’s eyes flickered with recognition. The words… Wait...

"Are you... are you repeating my lines?"

You paused, glancing up with a mischievous look before pressing a kiss to his abs. He chuckled, chest rumbling with laughter, and smiled for real this time. Maybe… just maybe, he didn’t mind having a partner who could love all of him even the parts he once hid i from you in shame.

━━━ ．°˖✧ Ｊｉｎｕ ˚₊ ⊹

Ｊｉｎｕ was awkward with affection especially the kind that exposed the parts of him he tried to hide.

He never expected you to ask if you could kiss his demonic markings. The moment you did, memories surged through him like a storm flashes of pain, guilt, the weight of things long buried. The glowing violet patterns that shimmered across his skin weren’t just decorations; they were the remnants of everything he regretted. His shame made visible and yet... he let you.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his neck, leaving soft kisses not out of desire, but devotion. Gentle little reminders that he was loved, even here, even now. Jinu rested still, uncertain, but letting himself feel it.

"Ｊｉｎｕ"

You spoke his name softly, your hand rising to gently cradle his chin eyes that had seen too much, and still expected rejection. He exhaled slowly, voice low and uncertain.

"I don't want you to look at these patterns, and to see this part of me.." His gaze dropped "The one I regret deeply one of my biggest regrets and sin.. my shame that now litters my body in markings"

You said nothing at first. Instead, your fingers traced along his jaw, grounding him. Your presence was warm, unwavering. "Even after everything?" he whispered, barely audible. You leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear as you smiled softly, affection laced in every word. "Even after everything," you murmured, "I’m the only one who’ll love your sin and every part of you that came with it."

Jinu relaxed as your hands softly traced the lines of his skin, your nails gliding smoothly over the demonic patterns that marked his body. A shiver ran through him, and he tensed for a moment, but instead of pulling away, he allowed you to follow the glowing marks with gentle precision as they pulsed. His gaze stayed on you, filled with quiet uncertainty, yet there was a soft flicker of trust behind those golden eyes.

You whispered praises to him, your voice warm and unwavering, urging him to stay in place. The way your words wrapped around him, steadying him, gave him a deep sense of reassurance. The more you spoke, the more he realized you weren’t just touching him you were caring for him. It wasn’t about his demons or the shame he carried it was about him, about who he was now, with you.

Your hands never strayed far from his body, and as you held him gently in place, the patterns on his skin seemed to pulse in response to your affection with every kiss you pressed to his collarbone and every touch you bestowed upon him, Jinu felt the warmth of your devotion sink deep into his heart. The tension in his body began to melt as he allowed himself to be pampered, the sense of vulnerability slowly being replaced by something soft, something like relief.

When your nails dug into his arms, he blushed a light, awkward flush creeping onto his cheeks. It wasn’t easy for him to fully accept such tenderness, but with each careful kiss, with each whisper of praise, he let himself fall into the rhythm of your affection. He didn’t have to be afraid.

As you kissed his temple, a deep sense of calm washed over him. His guard lowered, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to just be to be loved. Then, he paused, a soft chuckle escaping him as he caught the mischievous grin on your face. His golden eyes softened, a playful glint returning to them as he realized something "Did you just repeat my lines before? to comfort.. Me? like be so for real right now.. [Name]" he murmured, his lips curling into a smile. The tenderness in his voice was unmistakable, a mixture of affection and light teasing.

Jinu stared at you as you shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes. “What? The song was addicting.” He couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. With a quiet laugh, he leaned in and pressed a quick, smug kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly golden eyes still on you, full of warmth.

You giggled, gently pushing his shoulder as you returned to pampering him, your touches soft but affectionate. Every now and then, you left light bite marks along his lilac skin, kisses trailing over the glowing flush of his demonic patterns. The violet shimmer beneath your lips pulsed gently, responding to your presence like it recognized your care.

Jinu watched you quietly, the tension long gone from his body. His gaze softened, his forehead gently pressing against yours. There, in the quiet closeness between you, he felt something unfamiliar, but comforting peace. For the first time, it felt good to show you those patterns. The ones that once symbolized only shame and regret now met with nothing but love.

۶ৎ ⌗ 𝐊-𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝

[only-lonely-star]

hi there, i hope you’re having a good day! i love your work and you seem like the sweetest! i was wondering if i could request something? all good if not, but i was wondering if you would do headcannons with the greasers (the main 7, seperate tho if that makes sense 🫨) with reader that has a stutter/speech issues (like sometimes doesn’t pronounce stuff correctly, might get stuck on words/stutter and repeat words etc) (definitely not self projecting here)…it could either be platonic or romantic, i don’t mind!! thank you and have a good day 💌💌💌

Curtis Gang x speech difficulty!reader

Curtis gang x gn!reader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any :)

Author’s Note: Hi!! This was a very fun post to make. I hope you enjoy, my lovesss 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁠♡ ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ponyboy

Pony would take his time with you. Without a doubt. I can see him raising his eyebrows a bit and staring right at you until you’re able to finish what you wanted to say.

I don’t think he’d ever tease you. Playfully or not, I just don’t see him as the type. He’s too emotionally intelligent to the point he assumes teasing in any way could come off as hurtful.

Honestly, he might avoid bringing it up at all costs to prevent unwanted tension.

If you’re struggling to finish a word, he’d lock in and try to figure out what that word is before you can. He’d rather help you find the word you’re looking for rather than allowing you to struggle and feet a bit embarrassed afterwards. Also, it’s probably a little fun on his part because he gets to flex his vocabulary . He’ll purposefully say a big word nobody even KNOWS besides himself, and then pull a 🤔 face when you shake your head. “Idiosyncratic-?! No…? Oh, um… IDIOM?!”

I don’t see him ever getting really frustrated with you. Even if you’re arguing or ‘having a disagreement’, he’d be patient and let you finish. He just knows better.

Remember when Ponyboy snapped at Johnny and said, “An’ you can shut your trap, Johnny Cade, ‘cause we all know you ain’t wanted at home, either.” I think he’d have the same reaction if anyone tried to belittle you for your speech impediment. It doesn’t matter if that person was a total stranger or someone he cared for; he’d snap on them for it.

Johnny

He would be the most patient of all. I think he’s naturally be more quiet than most, so there’s no rush when you’re with him.

If you’re trying to tell a joke and end up stuttering a bunch, he’d probably giggle just a bit. Not in a mean way, of course.

He would probably never even address your speech impediment. It literally has no affect on your conversations since you carry majority of them.

Johnny actually likes talking with you the most. You’re like a breath of fresh air compared to the people that ramble and ramble. You take the time to say what’s important instead of talking his poor ears off.

He remembers certain ‘struggle words’ that are harder for you to say than other words. He’d intentionally use a substitute word to make it easier for you if possible.

Dallas

He’s a little hot-headed. Most of the time he’s chill about it, your speech impediment doesn’t really bother him. But if he’s asking you a pressing question or arguing with you, he’d get frustrated very fast.

If you’re in a situation where you keep repeating the same word again and again, I think he might say it and nod his head, urging you to continue. Is it a bit rude? Yes, but this is Dally we’re talking about. He’s a jerk either way.

When he’s not being a jerk (for once), Dally would keep quiet until you finished. He’d blink a lot as if it would help him hear you better.

I can picture him in that one scene from the movie where he’s like “What? 🧏” when Johnny says he’s going to turn himself in. He’d do that leaning in thing with his finger to his ear if you’re really struggling with a word. When you finally get it out, he’d pull away and think for a moment before replying.

If ANYONE teased you about the way you speak, he’d be after them in no time. I don’t think he would, but in his mind, he’s the only one with ‘rights to tease you’. Again, I don’t think he’d actually joke about your speech like that, but if he were, it would be in a playful way only. Anyone else… helllll to the no.

This is more of a romantic one, but I can totally see him trying to give you a little reassuring touch if you’re trying to speak to someone else and you’re struggling. Any little nudge or pat on your shoulder to let you know he’s there and won’t let anyone interrupt you. He’ll be on their ass if they try.

Sodapop

He’s really understanding. I can see him whispering a little “You’re fine, no rush,” if you’re stammering a lot.

Similar to Pony, he might try to help you find the word you’re struggling to say. Does he usually find it before you do? No. But that’s okay by you, at least he’s trying.

He doesn’t find you to be a burden at all. In fact, he thinks the way you speak is sort of cute/unique. It’s like a special way to remember you by. If he ever catches himself stuttering, he smiles and thinks of you.

Again with the reassuring touch, I think Soda would 100% do something similar. He’d nod along and smile softly as a way of showing he’s present and paying attention.

If you’re ever apologizing for it and feeling like a burden he’ll immediately snap you out of it. “No, no, no, YOU don’t apologize, you ain’t did nothing wrong.”

He disregards it mid-conversation. (As he should.) Especially if there’s a third party listening, he wouldn’t mention your impediment in case they have something smart to say about it. Ignoring = bringing no attention to possible teasing.

Steve

He teases you in the most playful way ever. You know it too, but it grates on your nerves at times. ESPECIALLY if you’re trying to have a serious conversation and he’s over here laughing at you. “St-st-,” “Steve-? Yes, right here. Present. In the flesh, 🤓”

If anyone else tries to tease you he’ll call them out for being rude. To him, they all have evil intent behind it.

If he sees you’re genuinely getting frustrated with yourself he’ll downplay your impediment as a way of comforting you. (That sounds so mean, but I have no idea how to word it better 😭) “So? Everyone stutters, it don’t matter.”

By reminding you that everyone has their moments, it’s like his way to show you that you’re not different or annoying for something everyone has done before.

If you mix two words together trying to spit everything out so fast, he’ll make that word a new one. It’s an inside joke, if you will. No one else understands the context behind the ‘new slang’.

The teasing doesn’t happen around anyone else. He doesn’t want to give the impression that others are allowed to do so.

Darrel

He’s super patient with you, and never dismisses you. No matter how busy he is, or how much of a time crunch he’s on, he’s never going to shut your conversation down.

Nicknames you “Speedy” for trying to say everything so quickly. Since you’re trying to get it out ASAP, you sometimes slur your words altogether. He’ll simply smile, stick his hand out and say, “Slow down, Speedy. The words ain’t going anywhere. I’ve got time.” He MAKES time for you, even if he’s got only seconds to spare☹️🫶🏼

He’s too mature for the teasing. “He’s still young! He’s only 20!!” I know, but he’s more mature than the other boys. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t find it funny. If anyone tries to point out your stutter or make a joke about it at your expense, he’d shut that down real fast. Big, scary Darry is someone you don’t want to tick off like that.

He also does the cute ‘lean in’ thing to hear you better.

He’ll close his eyes and nod along, acting 10x more attentive then he would for anyone else. It makes him think he’s doing a good job of making you feel heard.

Darry never tries to finish your thoughts for you. While it isn’t necessarily rude, or bad to try and help, he just doesn’t like it. He’d rather you take your time to express your OWN feelings rather him force you to align with what he thinks you’re on about.

Two-Bit

Actually, I think Two might have a little stutter of his own too. It’s not very frequent, but he’ll get a little disoriented and repeat himself a few times just in case.

I can see him forcing a little stutter to make you feel better about it at times. If you’re specifically struggling to finish a word, he’ll let you finish and reply with one of his own. No hard feelings, he makes sure you know he’s only teasing.

Sometimes he’ll interject and try to finish your thoughts. BUT- he straight up puts words in your mouth. He can’t resist it. “You said you’re buyin’ me a case of beer? Well, hell, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

If he sees you getting visibly tense or nervous he’ll reach a hand out towards your side or your neck to tickle you. It gets rid of the stress and breaks that tension so that you can speak clearer. Lightened mood = easier speech.

When he’s tipsy, his cheeks get all red from smiling so much. Similar to what I said for Soda, Two-Bit loves how you speak. He’s used to it, too; it shocks him every time someone mentions your impediment.

Honestly, I can see him absolutely locking tf in when someone cuts you off. He’ll say something witty, but it’s clear he’s warning them to leave you alone about your speech. This man will defend you with his life.

THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!! 💋💋

-Sophia 🫶🏼

[ghostlightdiva1111]

🌪 | Sanemi Shinazugawa as your boyfriend headcanons | 🌪

Warnings: | Cursing | fem!reader | slight simp!Sanemi | Modern AU | Fluff + Spicy/NSFW + Crack |

For the girlies who simp for this electrocuted possum lookin ass-

💞 | Fluff headcanons:

1. HE'S SO BAD AT LOVE BUT TRIES SO HARD IT'S CUTE. He grumbles through every romantic gesture.

Like he’ll give you flowers but go, “I picked these so you'd shut up.”

You: “Aww—”

Him: “Ngh, don’t make it weird.”

2. He secretly memorized your entire skincare routine.

You were sick one night, and he followed your 12-step process with war general precision.

“Don’t worry, I used the toner after double-cleansing. I ain’t a moron.”

3. His hugs are RARE but feel like a weighted blanket with a side of “touch me and die.”

Full body, one-arm around your back, chin on your head, soft growl type beat. 💀🐺

4. Sanemi gets flustered when you compliment him.

“You’re so handsome, Nemi.”

“Shut up.” Covers his red-ass face and kicks a rock like a middle school boy.

5. He watches you sleep like you’re the last peaceful thing left on Earth.

But if you catch him he’s like “I thought you were dead for a sec.”

🔥 | SPICY HEADCANONS:

1. He’s rough and possessive—but so attentive it’s scary.

“Say it again. Who do you belong to?”

You barely breathe out his name and he’s already smirking like Satan himself.

2. Neck kisses?? Oh bestie. That’s his addiction.

He starts there and just doesn’t stop. You’re a shivering mess in 2 minutes flat.

3. He likes it when you try to take control.

Keyword: try. He’ll let you think you’re running things… until he flips the script so fast you forget your own name 💀

4. Aftercare is so gentle it makes your heart hurt.

“You good? Need anything? Water? Cuddle? A f*cking IV drip?”

He’ll carry you to bed like a princess after turning you into scrambled eggs.

5. He keeps a tally of how many times you moan his name.

“That’s five. Tryna break a record, love?”

💀 | CRACK HEADCANONS:

1. Threatens your stuffed animals if they get more cuddles than him.

“Why does does that tiny me plush get your attention more then me? He’s STUFFED. I got abs, dammit!”

2. Screams when you pour cold water on him mid-shower, but then starts a full-on water war.

House flooded. Naked chaos. No regrets.

3. “We’re not a soft couple.” — also Sanemi when you call him “baby” and he short-circuits.

“I’m not a baby… I’m a man. A god. A beast—okay fine call me that again.”

4. Tried to send you a d*ck pic once, accidentally AirDropped it to Genya.

Genya blocked him for 48 hours and is traumatized for life. Sanemi still hasn’t recovered emotionally.

5. He 100% punched a demon mid-confession.

“[Name], I love—” demon jumps out of no where “BITCH CAN YOU NOT— STRAIGHT UP DIVA SLAPS EM okay anyway I love you.”

🌸 | BONUS

1. He saw you wear his uniform jacket once and refused to take it back.

“No. That’s yours now. You stretched it out with your hot body anyway.”

2. He talks mad sh*t during sparring.

“You gonna fight me or make out with me? Cuz you’re look pretty submissive right now.”

3. You stub your toe? He’s threatening God himself.

“WHO MADE TOES?? WHO INVENTED THESE USELESS LITTLE SH*TSTICKS?? I’LL KILL ‘EM.”

4. He once said “I’d die for you” and meant it. But when you asked if he’d go to couples therapy, he said “That’s too far.”

He still went, sat there all angry with crossed arms, and ended up crying 40 minutes in.

[dulcecherub]

Sunshine & Rain

S5! Rafe x Sofia

Author’s note: based on the bts we’ve seen and what I potentially see could happen. Don’t hate me yall… this is angst.

When will I forgive my heart for getting me in trouble

Sofia bite her lip, she could feel a rise of anxiety filling her stomach. Settling in the worse way. She continued to stand behind the bar in the island club. Her new job. Since quitting the pelican yacht club. She was too embarrassed to even step foot back there. Despite the fact that the same kooks who frequent the pelican yacht club. Also frequented the island club. She avoided direct eye contact but sometimes she’ll catch snippets of what they were saying. Things she tried to pretend she didn’t hear.

Her stomach turned, her eyes staring at the brown counter. She poured another customer a drink. And pretended to act like this feeling wasn’t weighing on her. The customer was slumped against the bar, not really paying attention to her. Nor her him. Her mind was elsewhere.

She was too busy in thought. To realize someone was standing to her right.

“The island club, huh?” She nearly jumped and swiveled to see… him. Rafe. Oh her stomach hurt now.

He ran his finger on the counter of the bar. She didn’t speak at first, her eyes she presumed were probably wide.

“Rafe.”

He continued to stare at her. Now his turn not speaking. He shook his head, rubbed at his brow. “That’s all you have to say to me? Rafe. That’s all? No, hey we should talk. I practically ruined your life. Humiliated you to the whole island over a scam. But no, you just—”

“So you’re just here to argue?” She can even hear in her own ears how defensive she got. His eyes narrowed at her. She shook her head, turning around.

“Hi! I’m talking to you!” She narrowed her own eyes and whipped her head back to him.

“And who said I wanted to talk?” She snapped back.

“Sofia.”

Fuck. It was her manager.

“If you two are going to argue. Please take it outside.” He said, not really regarding either of them further. Sofia finally looked around to notice other patrons staring at her. Her cheeks felt hot, she rubbed against them gently.

“That sounds like a great idea.” His tone is condescending and all she can do is glare at him. “Sofia.” He motions to the door and she… follows.

Wish I didn’t let my emotions run the way they run me

And I've always been a hopeless romantic/No matter how many times it went and did me damage

Sofia tapped against her leg as she sat on the park picnic table. Rafe strolled back and forth in front of her. His eyes not leaving hers. He was so infuriating, here he comes, wanting to talk and this is what he decided to do. God, he was—

“400k. You know how hard that was to make. Me. By myself. No help from anyone. My dad is six feet under.”

“I know that.” She whispered.

“400k! Sofia!”

“Okay! I understand that!”

She closed her eyes, she wasn’t the type of person to yell. Unless she was really angry and now she was really angry. Yes, she knows she messed up astronomically. Caused a huge dent that put a wedge between them. She knew, there was no need to keep throwing it back in her face.

“If you understood that! Why did you do that to me?! Huh?! After every— after everything I’ve ever done for you!”

Sofia sat back, her arm against the picnic table. Her eyes narrowed, she shook her head. He acted as if he hadn’t done things to hurt her too. As if he’d done the most grandest of gestures. She took a deep breath. He stood there, rigid. His arms crossed, his jaw set. He didn’t look like the Rafe before. Shiny eyed, gentle, and soft. He was this Rafe. Maybe the truest version of himself he’d ever been.

“Putting a ring on my finger and letting me stay at your house. Isn’t doing everything for me. You can’t pretend like our relationship was perfect Rafe. It was far from it.” She scoffs and his eyes widen with exasperation. “You act as if you didn’t hurt m—”

“Oh wow, really? Hurt you, that’s rich. I didn’t do anything to—”

“I was talking Rafe.” He scoffs, then extends his arm for her to continue.

“I heard what you said about me.”

His brows furrow. He opens his mouth but closes it again, his eyes narrow. “What’re you even talking about?” Then it seems like it dawns on him. His cheeks turn pink.

“You weren’t meant to hear that.”

It’s Sofias turn for her eyes to widen in disbelief. Her hands going to her mouth, as if she was in a prayer. Her eyes closing, she exhaled a sharp breath.

“Thank you for showing me exactly who you are Rafe.”

“Wha—”

Sofia stood up quickly, turning on her heels, she wasn’t really in the mood to hear what he had to say. And she didn’t want to hear what he wanted to say.

“Sofia, don’t leave.” She couldn’t distinguish his tone, her hands balled into fist. Her body whipping around to stare at him. She bet if she could see herself, there would be balls of fire where her eyes should be.

“For what? So you can continue to yell at me? That I’m a bad person who hurt you? You hurt me too! But god, no matter what. You make everything about yourself! And I’m tired of it, Rafe!” Her nails were now digging into her palm, she bet she’d see the crescent shapes of her nails on her palms, if she had a look. He continued to glare at her.

“It’s your fault I lost all that damn money!” His own hands now balling into fists. “Your petty act took 400k from me! If you’d just talked to—”

“I tried to! When you were trying to propose to me! I tried to tell you. But you said that you didn’t care. And I-I believed you.”

He just scoffed, his arms crossing against his chest. He looked away from her a second, pacing around the picnic table. “You still could have told me. I was blindsided Sofia. How was that fair?”

For a moment, Sofia didn’t speak. He had her there. She knew she had reacted irrationally. She wasn’t proud of what she did. She’d been remorseful after. Trying her very best to undo what she’d done. But she was sick of him justifying everything he did too. She was too busy looking away to realize he had stopped pacing. He was staring at her, mapping out her face. When she finally faced to look at him, his eyes were soft. His eyes were filled over, his bottom lip quivering as he spoke once again.

“I love you Sofia.” Her face scrunched up. She was confused how he went from feeling betrayed by her. To this. He never made sense that way. She looked away once more unable to face him head on. “But you have to agree. Understand that what you did was irreparable.”

She felt her throat tighten up. Was he ending things with her for good? She blinked rapidly, scratching her face. She knew this would be a conversation. She knew he would eventually finally make her face what she’d done.

“But if you just apologies for what you did. Then I could look past this. You and I can be together again. Okay.” He croaked, she looked up again, seeing tears sliding down his cheek.

“What?”

“You know how hard it was. To be so far away from you. Worried you found someone else. Worried you were forgetting me.”

It wasn’t Rafe Cameron, if he wasn’t throwing you a curveball every once in a while. She tilted her head to the side, still confused.

“I—” What annoyed her was, he was acting like he hadn’t completely destroyed her. Completely hurt her and made it seem like she was the only one at fault. “Just because we hook up doesn’t mean we’re together.”

“What?”

“I’m not living with a Pogue.” His face flashes with recognition, his cheeks turning a brighter pink.

“Okay stop it.” He whispered.

“I have standards.”

“Sofia, come on. I’m willing to look—”

“I don’t want you too. I don’t want you to look past it. Because if you do. You’re expecting me to look past what you said about me.” She paused, “and that’s a load of bullshit.”

“I didn’t mean those things! They were prying in shit that had nothing to do with them! I didn’t want them to ruin us!”

“You ruined us! You know what,”— He attempts to interrupt but she puts her hand out to stop him— “I’ll take accountability too. I ruined us too. No one else did that. But you and I. You can’t live in a fantasy world forever Rafe. It’s time you wake up.”

“I don’t care! Okay! I don’t care if I have to live in a fantasy world. As long as I’m with you! I love you!”

“Wake up Rafe!”

“No!”

She shook her head, stepping away from him. But he was quicker, he yanked her back towards him. She let out a yelp, shocked he’d done so. “Rafe!”

“You’re not leaving—”

“Mhmm.” Her manager. He had cleared his throat. “Mr. Cameron. I think highly of you and your late father. Please do not make me have to escort you out of the premises.”

Rafe gave sofia one last look before he let her go. He put his hands up and walked away. “Wasn’t necessary.” He continued to walk away, throwing another glance at her before he was out of sight.

“Miss. Jimenez. If any further issues come up.”

“I know, I know I’ll be fired.”

“No.”

She looked up in surprise.

“Let me know. Okay.” Her manager didn’t say anything more before making his way back into the bar. Sofia didn’t stand there for long. She followed him back inside. Trying to forget the sad eyed boy she loved.

[kings-highway]

Ushiten #51 (slow dancing) pls!!! Also Asanoya #14 (sharing drinks) if u have the time too pls

Ahhhhhh two excellent ships and two excellent prompts and I had a lot of fun writing these cuties :) I hope this is ~somewhat~ close to what you were hoping for!!!

--- #1 -UshiTen 51

Ushijima being able to dance did not, actually, surprise him, even if Tendou had not guessed it. It makes sense, he supposed, that his precise and stoic best friend would have, at some point, made sure to learn the steps of a waltz for when a formal occasion called for it. Or maybe he just learned how to fake it well. Or maybe, Tendou thinks, as Ushijima’s hand slides down to hold his waist, pulling him back a step, turning through the music and into the dazzling crowd of beauties and suits, maybe Ushijima had never thought about it before, and was merely talented at whatever he tried. That seemed fitting as well.

Tendou, by comparison, feels clumsy. While he can keep his steps in time to the music around them, his hands don’t quite find the right place, he thinks he’s at risk of tripping.

But his eyes lock on Ushijima’s and soft pressure from his hand turns him, leading him into the next step. He doesn’t mind that, allowing himself to just follow along. He’d trust Ushijima to not make a fool of them. Their steps slow together, until they find their little corner of space. No longer stepping fully, Tendou isn’t quite at risk of slipping up, and instead, slowly, shifts his arms to loop around Ushijima’s shoulders, pulling them both in closer, chest to chest. It’s hard to breath like this, arms linked behind his neck, just an inch between them.

And Ushijima doesn’t shy away. His hands move down, pulling Tendou in, wanting him closer. It makes his skin flush hot, and he feels a blush burn across his cheeks, so he lowers his head.

He starts to realize that dancing is more than just footsteps and music. And that there’s a reason that people use “dance” when referring to complicated social interactions in general. It’s so much this and that, back and forth. They’re so close, it’s so much touching, and yet Tendou couldn’t be sure than all of it wasn’t just the social contract of a slow dance.

And when the music stops, will this be over.

He lets his breath out, trying to clear his head.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” he says, after a minute, because he has to say something, otherwise he’ll go crazy. He feels Ushijima’s hand lift up his back.

“Unfortunately I can,” is the response, which gets Tendou’s attention, and he looks up again. They’re so close, and Tendou wants to play into it, he wants to lay into him and hold him and sway with the music like this, his heart beating wildly in his chest. But he holds off. He resists. That’s not what friends do.

“Unfortunately?”

“My mother placed me into classes for a short while while I was young,” is the reply. “I hated them. I don’t much like dancing, it’s far too… much.”

Tendou frowns slightly, reflexively beginning to pull away, but as he does, Ushijima’s hand on his back holds him firm, and pulls him back in.

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Ushijima replies, and now his voice is softer. “I apologize for insinuating otherwise. I don’t like dancing, but I do like you. And I’d like the opportunity to dance with you a little longer.”

Tendou laughs, though it’s more of a nervous sort of chuckle that he’s greatly afraid borders on a giggle, and steps back in to be a little closer.

Not at all like friends do.

“I want to dance with you a little bit longer too.”

--- #2 -Asanoya 14

They’re the only ones who don’t notice. Ever since they got back from their travels, they’ve been in sync like never before. The fact that they haven’t announced any kind of official status is starting to confuse people.

Kageyama and Hinata notice it, when they’re out with some of the old team, and Noya comes out of a shop they’d stopped at. Kageyama is opening his own water when Noya whistles and tosses the bottle he’d bought for Asahi, and despite hardly looking up, Asahi catches it in one hand and calls a thank you. Kageyama is impressed, purely from a mechanical point of view, of such a precise interaction. The toss and the receive. Quick attacks don’t come easy, and for Asahi to know where Noya would throw without paying attention must mean it was practiced, right?

Tsukishima notices it when they’re getting together before a big MSBY v. Adlers match, and everyone’s amped for the game of the year. He’s busy checking his bag and making sure he doesn’t drop his card as he gets onto the train. Yamaguchi is on his phone behind him, and Tsukki isn’t even sure he notices Noya ask where the water was.

Tsukki is about to ask why Asahi would know that at all, where his water was, but Asahi drops his bag from his shoulder and unzips the pocket for them, and Tsukki quickly realizes that they’d packed and come in together, very much in a ‘what’s mine is yours’ circumstance. He figures that’s a side effect of their travels, they must be used to packing for a day and helping each other out.

Suga notices it when they get lunch with the rest of their old classmates, and Asahi asks to bring Noya along, since he’d slept over. Noya hadn’t quite yet found an apartment. Kiyoko and Daichi are pretending they’re not fighting about a memory they both remember differently, and Suga’s attention is taken away. Asahi has a sweet pink drink that, apparently, Noya thinks is his as well.

Noya reaches up, one hand covering Asahi’s on the plastic cup as he pulls it down to his level to take a sip from the straw. Asahi lets his hand be pulled away, not even looking over to Noya as this happens. Actually, he tries to interrupt and correct Kiyoko and Daichi on what had happened - Suga’s pretty sure he’s right - but he just gets yelled at by both of them.

Noya lets go of Asahi’s hand, and Asahi looks back at him, giving him a smile. There’s a soft question - do you like it? - and when Noya mumbles a response, a soft, almost nonverbal communication style that Suga thinks is painfully intimate, with the way they’ve now shut off the world, Asahi just hands it back to him and tells him to finish it, he was done anyway.

Noya grins as he puts the straw to his lips, taking the cup from him. Suga does not miss the way his other hand replaces the cup in Asahi’s hold, dropping down to rest on his knee with their fingers linked.

[kyokeiii]

good things come in small packages. hawks / gn!reader. smut. small dick worship.

the first time keigo takami strips in front of you, he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

it’s not shame that makes his chest tighten when his boxers drop to the floor. not exactly. rather, it’s a sour, lingering disappointment in himself on the tip of his tongue, burning behind his slanted eyelids—if only he could be better for you, be perfect for you, because god knows he doesn’t give a shit about what other people think about his size except for you.

he’s about two and a half inches hard, three on a good day. he’s uncircumcised, too, and his pink cockhead just barely peeks out over his foreskin, though his balls are heavy and fat. when he masturbates, he can’t get his full fist around his shaft; he has to use his thumb, middle, and index finger to rub one off. he’s never minded before. but now?

“i know it’s small,” he says flatly.

there’s a quiet moment, but when you speak, your voice is almost reverent: “it’s perfect.”

this gets keigo’s head to snap up, hardly daring to believe it, and meet your eyes, which are full of warmth and something else that is, at first, difficult for him to place: desire. you’re turned on by him? he feels dizzy. this isn’t happening, right?

you rise from the edge of the bed and grab his hand, and before keigo can even manage a word, you nudge him down onto the mattress, your fingers sliding across his chest and down to his hips. you hold him, gazing between his legs, and for maybe the first time in his life, keigo feels flustered, thrown off-balance. there was a script he had expected you to follow, and just like that, you’d tossed it aside.

“how do you touch yourself?” you ask, and there’s some curiosity there, but also excitement. you circle your thumb over his cockhead, and keigo gasps as his head spins. “like this?”

“n-no—” it feels so good, he can hardly think. “not, ah, not like that, i’ve never—”

“show me,” you say, and your hand retracts.

keigo nearly sobs from the loss of stimulation, then registers your words. “show you?” he repeats dumbly.

“let me see how you play with your cock. i want to do it right.”

oh, those words just about end him then and there. but you’re giving him an out, and he gladly takes it.

he watches your face as he jerks himself off, fingers working in place of where the glide of a spit-slicked palm would suffice for just about any other man, and he feels drunk off the expression on your face.

it makes his balls tighten, and he finds himself gritting his teeth to keep from cumming too fast even as his ministrations quicken. “mmph—’m too sensitive, shit...”

at the last second, you knock his hand away, and keigo doesn’t have a chance to recover before you’re touching him, mirroring his motions. even this makes him whine, squeezing his eyes shut as his legs twitch and jerk, his oversensitive cock aching.

“ngh—baby, baby—”

when you rub his slit again, he cums without warning, the flood of pleasure rising so quickly in him that he doesn’t have time to choke out a word before he spurts. his back hits the mattress as he pants for breath.

but you’re not done with him yet. pushing his legs apart, your lips wrap around his chubby dick, sinfully wet against his oversensitive flesh.

“christ—holy fuck, baby, s-shit, gentle, be gentle!”

keigo just about loses his mind, gripping your hair automatically as he keens, hips bucking as if to force himself deeper, though, of course, he can’t. the way you swirl your tongue makes stars dance in front of his eyes, and the slight twinge of pain that sparks through him from his overstimulated cock has his teeth on edge, writhing underneath you.

“sweetheart,” he moans, half-delirious with pleasure. “such a pretty fuckin’ mouth, makin’ me feel so good...”

he hisses when he gets close, thigh muscles bunching, and forces out a “c-cumming!” before he finishes, and you swallow dutifully with your eyes on his—if he weren’t shaking like a leaf, he’d probably get hard again, but in his current state, the most he can do is reach for you weakly and kiss the faint sheen of his cum off your lower lip.

keigo returns the favor, because of course he does. with his face between your thighs, tongue lapping at your core, he cups his tiny dick in his palm and ruts against the curve of his own fingers as he makes you cum. for you, it’s all in a day’s work. for keigo, it’s heaven on earth.

tags: @coydog1228

[phoenixmetaphor]

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october november 29 (lol) - page 6 - crack

heeeeeeeey everyone, i am not dead and neither is this comic!

i got a little stuck trying to figure out how to handle chris draining the aqua ring. i definitely do not want to just… draw a panel by panel recreation of an re puzzle. no thanks 🤣. but it felt like maybe skipping a little too much to not mention it at all.

we shoooooould be timeskipping next time tho. chris has made his intentions clear so hopefully it will be less jarring when i just… go there.

i am going to be so happy once these sharks are dealt with you guys don’t even know.

also I am so relieved to get something posted this month.

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

Fanon Leo gives off a certain Vibe and I don’t like it.

[wildsaltair]

I have the most inappropriate things to say about this photo