#everyone if you haven’t already read this please go and read it!!

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[ggukivrse]

the art of pretending – jjk | teaser

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs, other chapter specific tags

word count: 1k

notes: right soo... this fic was not apart of the poll i put out BUT i did manage to finally write something so you can't say anything (writer's block has been kicking my ass lately, study break was just a result of my horniness loll). this is j a teaser so if we like this, i’ll prioritise it, if not, it’ll still get written, just a bit slower! enjoy reading my angels <333

ps. kiara is pronounced like tiara, just with a k

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The road stretches out ahead, long and quiet, humming under the tires. You lean into the car door, forehead pressed against the glass, fingers mindlessly tugging at the threads on the hem of your shorts.

Summer air seeps through the half-cracked open window, warm and heavy with the scent of trees and sun-baked asphalt.

You should be excited. Everyone else is.

A full week away — just your group, no classes, no work shifts, no group projects hanging over anyone’s head for the first time in four years. A final trip before the “real world” starts to pull everyone in different directions.

But your stomach’s been tight since the moment you packed your bag. And now, with every mile you put between yourself and home, it just gets worse.

“You’re really quiet,” Kiara says, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. She’s got one hand on the wheel, the other flipping the volume knob down on the music. “Like... unusually quiet. Do I need to be concerned?”

You shake your head without looking at her. “Nah. Just tired.”

Kiara makes a sound like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press, and you're grateful for it.

You glance over at her. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, dark brown hair falling in curls past her shoulders, sunglasses balanced on top of her head instead of over her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in full DJ mode by now,” you say, nodding toward her phone. “Where’s the summer playlist?”

She smirks. “I’m easing you into it. Jimin says my music tastes give him whiplash.”

“He has a point.”

She scoffs. “Please. Hoseok says my music’s amazing.”

“He says that about everything you do," you say with a smile.

She shrugs, casual. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s adorable how hopelessly smitten they are. Even after a year together, Hoseok still looks at Kiara like she hung the stars.

You remember when they finally got together, after years of dancing around it. Everyone in the friend group had seen it coming — everyone except them.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kiara laughs, and you can’t help but join in. For a second, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little.

"Speaking of Hoseok," you start, glancing over at her. “How come he's not coming with you?”

She sighs. “Shift at work. He tried to switch but his manager’s being a dick. He’ll drive up tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “That sucks.”

She hums in agreement, but you’re already half-lost in your thoughts.

As much as you feel bad for Hoseok, you're quietly grateful Kiara asked you to come with her. The idea of doing this drive alone — just you, a quiet car, and way too much time to sit with everything you haven’t let yourself feel — would’ve made the weight in your chest unbearable.

She hasn’t said much, but she’s always had good timing. Maybe she didn’t even realise how much you needed the company. Or maybe she did.

“Lucky me, I got upgraded,” you say lightly.

She grins. “Damn right you did.”

The playlist switches songs, something soft and nostalgic. You stare out the window again, at the lazy sway of trees and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

“I can’t believe we actually pulled this trip off,” Kiara says, after a beat. “Twelve people committing to anything at the same time? Miracle.”

You nod. “Taehyung’s been talking about it since first year.”

“Yeah, and threatening to disown us if anyone bailed.”

You huff out a small laugh.

Back when this trip was just an idea tossed around during late-night study sessions and half-finished group projects, you'd been genuinely excited — borderline giddy, even. The promise of a full week at a fancy resort with your closest friends had felt like the perfect reward after years of deadlines, breakdowns, and pulling all-nighters on cheap coffee and instant noodles.

It was one of those plans that didn’t feel real at first — the kind of thing you talk about just to survive the semester — but then slowly, it started taking shape. Rooms were booked. Deposits paid. Group chats flooded with outfit ideas and packing lists.

You remember counting down the months, then the weeks. You’d imagined bonfires and inside jokes, sunsets by the water, slow mornings in a warm bed.

Back then, this trip had felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Something to look forward to. Something certain.

Now, you can barely keep the dread from crawling up your throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Kiara asks again, gentler this time.

You blink, pulled back to the present. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”

Again, she doesn’t push. Just gives you a side glance and says, “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ve got a whole week of sun, overpriced cocktails, and probably at least one group fight. You’ll be fine.”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be fine.”

But your stomach’s still a mess, and the name you’ve been avoiding thinking about drags itself right back to the front of your mind.

Jungkook.

You haven’t seen him in a month.

Not since it ended.

And in about an hour, you’re going to be standing under the same roof as him — spending an entire week in the same space, breathing the same air, pretending it doesn’t feel like your insides are still bruised from the last time you spoke.

A small, irrational part of you hopes he won’t show. That something will come up. That he’ll decide it’s not worth it.

But you know him. He’ll be there.

Of course he will.

Kiara says something — probably teasing, probably meant to distract you — and you laugh on instinct. Keep the smile on your face, even as dread pools low in your gut.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

You glance out the window again, the road narrowing in the distance.

Now, a part of you can't stop looking for the nearest exit.

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taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme

[seokgyuu]

The Sweetest Thing

All your life you’ve been your sisters’ punching bag. Never good enough. Never fully accepted. When your mother makes one of them choose you as her maid of honor you reluctantly agree. Semi-vacationing in Tuscany with your ‘beloved’ family, you meet two handsome strangers one night and let them do whatever they want with you. Too bad you didn’t ask for their names first.

Pairing: Heeseung x F!Reader x Sunghoon 

Genre: Strangers to ???, Porn with Plot

Warnings: CHEATING!!! reader is hooking up with her sisters’ fiancés, sisters are horrible and suck, mentions of past verbal abuse, reader is somewhat a pervert (she defo is), heeseung & sunghoon definitely are perverts, heeseung & sunghoon are mean, they have nothing good to say about their fiancés, alcohol consumption, adult content MDNI! smut warnings under the cut

Word Count: 9.2k 

a/n: and here it is!! my little box of filth. i wanna give a shoutout to @c-oupsie for hyping this up and telling me to keep going, ilysm!! and also @chwepen for beta-reading!! sending you smooches. <3 now everyone, please enjoy this sausage fest.

Taglist: @skzenhalove, @haelahoops, @deobitifull, @shiningnono, @jakeswifez, @slut4hee, @gyuhanniescarat, @branchrkive, @doublebunv, @capri-cuntz, @jaehyuniewifeu, @whateverhoon, @c-oupsie

Smut Warnings: threesome, dom!heeseung, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, lowkey public sex, p in v sex, throat fucking, unprotected sex (be smarter than this pls!!!), degradation (usage of the words: whore, slut, filthy, stupid (only indirectly?)), praise, tit job, mc is described to have big tits, sunghoon can carry mc, manhandling, cum eating, cum play, shower sex, consensual sex taping, pls tell me if i missed any!!

Pastel colors are slowly but surely becoming your greatest enemy. You can’t count how many different patterns and matches you have seen on this day alone - and the preparations for this wedding have been going on for months. 

In all honesty, you didn’t even want to be here. As pretty as Tuscany is - this is the last place you want to be at right now. You would rather sit at home and play a game, would rather sleep in and not have your mother be all over you, pressuring you to do better in a job you never wanted in the first place. 

It is your sisters’ wedding. Yes, sisters’. They are both getting married at the same time, same place. Just the grooms are two different men (even though you wouldn’t put it past them to share a man for convenience). Men, you haven’t even met yet. Men, that your mother and sisters kept on swooning over. Look, it is no surprise your sisters got lucky in that department; They are extremely conventionally attractive and they love doing fun things like going out and spending money on things they really didn’t need. 

You grew up with them being six and seven years older than you, making them already inseparable when your mum decided to push another one out. Getting along with them sure as hell wasn’t an easy task, in fact it still isn't. It’s pretty clear you only got the job as Linda’s maid of honor because your mother threatened her to do so. There was probably a very heated rock, paper, scissors round going on between your sister dearests to decide who got to have you. 

And now you are here. In warm, beautiful Italy with yet another color scheme to look over and authorize. You surely didn’t sign up to suddenly become the wedding planner as well. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect, thanks,” you say to one of the florists who are just now setting up the arrangements for the rehearsal dinner happening tonight. 

It’s hot, so hot that you have to take shelter every ten minutes because of the fear of burning up. You don’t usually like to spend this much time outside - let alone in the scorching hot sun, so this is rather the change for you. 

When the florists leave to get another load of flowers, you decide to take this as the next round of shade and air conditioning inside the resort your sisters have chosen for their special day. 

It’s insanely beautiful. High ceilings, incredible murals on the wall, a big round table in the center of the entrance hall with a crystal vase on top, filled with flowers that would make the florist outside turn green in envy. 

The air inside immediately cools you down and you take the moment to sit down in one of the arm chairs in the lobby to calm yourself. Only a week. That’s all you need to survive. A week with your sisters and their fiancés, soon to be husbands and your and their families. Guests would arrive the night before the wedding and as soon as the reception was over - you could finally leave and hopefully not see your sisters for another year or so. 

“Ah, there you are.” You close your eyes for a second. 

“Shouldn’t you be outside?” Linda and Liza are standing in the lobby in their designer sun dresses, very obviously judging you for not being where they want you to be. 

“I just came in to escape the heat for a second, that’s all.” You explain as you open your eyes again. The two certainly don’t look happy. In fact, they roll their eyes and flick their perfect hair over their shoulders.

“Okay, well, time is up. If this wedding doesn’t go according to plan, it’s on you.”

“You don’t want us telling mum you don’t care about your big sisters, do you? She’d be so disappointed knowing you aren’t doing your job right.” 

Your fists almost immediately ball into fists. How many times have they been like this over the three days you’ve already been here? You honestly lost count. One week. Just one week.

“I was just about to go back outside, don’t worry.” 

Anger well hidden away, you stand up and present them with a fake smile, moving to go back outside. 

“Oh and, Y/N?” Linda’s voice feels like a ray of ice hitting you, “try to look a little bit more presentable when talking to our staff. We don’t want them to think we can’t actually afford being here.” 

Your sisters giggle happily all while you bite your tongue once more. One week. Stay calm. One. Week. 

Something about the Italian sky seems different. Maybe it’s because you’re not close to a big city, but the stars shine brighter than you’ve ever seen them. It feels like a movie; the stars and moon so visible with no cloud in sight, the small street of Arezzo you’re currently sitting in - a small restaurant with a small menu but a nice older man that speaks decent English. A glass of wine standing on the small table beside you and the first bit of peace you’ve felt in days. 

It’s when you take your next sip of wine you see them. 

Two men straight out of a magazine walking towards one of the free tables next to yours and sitting down. There is nothing you can do but stare. Both of them have dark hair, one of them a bit shorter than the other. They are dressed elegantly, designer shoes and pants, blazers hanging over their chairs. Even if you wanted to - you could not possibly say which one was more attractive. 

What a nice way to end a horrible day, you think. Smiling, you finish your glass and immediately order the next, not entirely used to drinking so much, but not caring since you are miles away from home and no one here knows you anyway. The waiter nods and then proceeds to go over to the newcomers. The one with the slightly lighter hair and the mole on his nose orders in perfect Italian, with just enough of an accent for you to know they aren’t from here. Your choice of table appears to be perfect for watching them, listening to them converse in a language you understand. 

And it all stays innocent like this - they talk about their flight and about friends - until suddenly the conversation sways.

“I honestly- fuck, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this, you know?” The one with shorter hair says and his friend sighs, taking his wine glass and finishing it in one go. Impressive. There was at least half left in yours. 

“I don’t know what to tell you. We committed and now we’re fucked.”

“Just that we aren’t getting actually fucked.”

They look at each other before they laugh, shaking their heads. Meanwhile, your ears perk up. 

“Fuck, I really don’t know the last time she let me hit it, Hoon. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Yeah, same here. Like, yeah, we fucked once the day before her flight. But literally only missionary and she didn’t suck me off.”

“Again? Dude, is she ever even putting her mouth on it?” 

“Nope. Ever since we got engaged she’s like this fucking prude. Is yours like that too?”

“Yeah. I got her flowers and her favorite chocolates and she still wouldn’t even jack me off, like fuck, if it’s gonna be like this forever I can just go cut my dick off.”

Jesus. These two seem to be in very happy relationships. Makes you almost feel better to not be in one. Even if your mother would beg to differ. She’s been desperate for you to find a match for ages. For whatever reason, really, considering her two golden girls were about to get married to rich and handsome heirs. 

“Just one good blowjob, man, that’s all I want, really. I miss getting some good fucking head.”

The way short hair looks at mole - with so much understanding and pity, you can’t help but chuckle. Chuckle loud enough for them to take notice. 

Their gazes burn on your face before you even see them. But when you do your smile dies and instead makes room for horror. They heard you laugh at them. Even worse, they know you’ve been listening. Shit. 

Thankfully, you are three glasses of delicious white wine in and the fourth one is almost empty. Which means you aren’t the sweet little wallflower you’d usually be. Scary, how alcohol can change people.

“Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped.” You apologize, placing your hand over your heart. 

“Agreed.” Short hair says, his eyebrow raised. Now, with both of their eyes on you, it seems like they are even more attractive. Perfect faces with pretty eyes and soft looking hair. Handsome men in unhappy relationships that fail to give them what they need. It’s almost comical how the switch in your head turns over, how the persona you normally never let anyone see until you’re in a secluded space comes out and gives you the courage to speak your next words.

“I just couldn’t believe my ears,” you let your finger glide over the rim of your glass, eyes on the two men with your tongue slipping out to lick over your bottom lip, “how anyone would be opposed to having sex with you.” 

Oh.

Sunghoon and Heeseung’s ears perk up just like yours did earlier. Eyes widen slightly as they understand the innuendo in your words. 

They think about the same thing - the last time they took a girl together. Probably during senior year in college. Back then, they used to do that regularly. Having almost the identical type in women. Instead of having to let her choose, she’d get them both. 

But it’s been years since then. They are in committed relationships now, about to get married. And still - neither of them can deny that you fall right into their usual prey, or well, the prey they’d chosen back in college before their parents had picked out their wives for them. 

It’s the way you look at them, the way your eyes say so much more than your words. It is also the way both of them feel like they are 22 again with nothing but getting their dick wet on their minds. One thing about Heeseung and Sunghoon - they always worked perfectly in a pair. Back in college and now, too. They can almost read each other’s minds at this point, only a short exchange of looks needed to know neither of them gave a single fuck about anything right now.

“Want to sit down with us?” Sunghoon asks and points at the free chair opposite them. You smile. 

“It’d be my pleasure.”

The very small bathroom stall is crowded with three people, but you make it work. 

Sunghoon is holding your head in place, his cock buried so deep down your throat he’s seeing red. You’re perfect. The sweetest thing on the outside, and a filthy little whore behind closed doors. You literally begged him to thrust down your throat without paying you any mind. You wanted, no, needed him to use your throat, to act like you were nothing but his little fuck toy. And, shit, he was more than happy to do exactly as you asked. 

His hips are moving in rapid speed, his groans music to your ears. Drool is running down your chin and dripping onto your knees. He is not holding back, he is just doing whatever he wants with you and you are throbbing. Throbbing around Heeseungs fat cock that is fucking into you with no care in the world. 

Heeseung is sitting on the toilet seat, his hands on your hips, cock rapidly leaving and entering your sopping hole. His head is literally spinning at how fucking good you feel. He bets you’d also sound fucking perfect if only Sunghoon’s cock wasn’t in the way. He can tell by the way you are already squeaking around his best friend’s cock, how your pussy is continuing to spasm around him after you already came on his cock once before.

“Take it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Heeseung breathes out, hips speeding up and your eyes roll back into your head, your body seemingly on fire. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked this good by a strange or, in this case, two strangers. All you know is that you’ve already cum before and that Heeseung surely will get you over the edge another time. He’s thick and veiny and he fills you up so good there was nothing you could do but cum after only a minute of him fucking you like an animal. 

“Shit, look at you,” Sunghoon groans, one hand now wrapping around your throat, his eyes glossy as he stares down at you, still fucking down your abused throat, “you’re a perfect little fucktoy, aren’t you? Enjoy being used by two cocks, huh? Fuuuuuck, you’re gonna make me cum, fucking slut.”

Heesung feels you squeeze around his cock, feels the way you suck him in even deeper. 

“This filthy little thing likes when you talk to her like that, Hoonie. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.” His head tips back and his mouth drops open as he focuses on his pleasure, already fantasizing about stuffing you with his cum. He moves his hands up, squeezing your perfect tits over your dress and you moan around Sunghoon’s cock, tears streaming down your face. Every touch, every thrust, every word is getting you closer to another high. With Heeseung’s hands on your breasts you can freely move your hips now, bouncing up and down on Heeseung’s cock, matching his thrusts perfectly. 

There is no chance Sunghoon will last much longer. Your mouth, your throat - he’s scared he already developed an addiction to them. Maybe it’s the long time he hasn’t experienced anything like this, but right now it feels like no throat has ever taken his cock so well before.

“Where should I cum, huh? Down your throat? On your pretty face?” Sunghoon groans, his cock twitching over and over before he finally pulls out, jerking himself off so you can answer the question. 

“Cum on her tits, look at those fucking perfect tits, bro.” Heeseung decides to answer for you and Sunghoon smirks as he watches Heeseung get your tits out of your dress for which you thankfully don’t need a bra. Your perfect tits bounce free now and Sunghoon nods, eyes glued to them and how they bounce now that Heeseung continues to fuck into you, your back now arched against him. 

“Fucking hell, such fat fucking tits,” Sunghoon is in a trance, mouth dropped as he jerks himself off with the help off your spit and his precum. 

“Tell him to cum on your tits, slut, come on, tell him how much you want his cum all over you,” Heeseung whispers into your ear, his cock still continuing to ram into your g-spot like it has never done anything else. 

You moan loudly, eyes flying open and Sunghoon almost doesn’t need you to say anything - your fucked out face could well be enough to make him cum. 

“Pl-please g-give me your cum, want it a-all over my tits, pl-please, need it so bad!” You cry out and Sunghoon feels his orgasm hit him, thick spurts of cum landing on your tits and neck, some even on your lips that you hungrily lick off of them, only making another spurt come out of Sunghoons cock. 

“Holy fucking hell, shit,” he groans, falling against the stall door, his chest heaving. 

Heeseung, meanwhile, grabs your hair and tilts your head back as he does his final thrusts, filling your pussy with his seed, white making you feel warm inside and tipping you over the edge, milking him for all he has with your own orgasm, high pitched moans escaping you as your toes curl and your hands grip the material of your dress. 

Once he’s done fucking both of you through your orgasms, Heeseung helps you up, his cock slipping out of you. You’re a little shaky on your legs and Sunghoon catches you before you can fall, his eyes immediately going to your tits that are covered in his cum. He licks his lips. 

“If we had more time I’d take you to my room and fuck those tits until they are covered in even more layers of my cum, baby.” He mumbles, one finger scooping up some of his release and shoving his finger in your mouth, watching in awe how you eagerly suck it clean. 

“Holy fuck, you’re perfect.” Heeseung has put his cock back into his pants, considering to get it back out just to have you lick it clean of your and his juices. He decides against it mainly because he knows there isn’t much time. He and Sunghoon have to get back to the hotel, their fiancés probably awaiting their return. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sunghoon says, but you shake your head, only putting your tits back into your dress and stepping back into your panties.

“I wanna keep it for a bit, keepsake if you will.” 

Both men are silent. Where the fuck have you been before they got engaged to the sisters from hell? For a second they contemplate just keeping you. Using you for when their soon to be wives were being difficult again. 

Obviously, though, this was just a fantasy not meant for reality. 

Perhaps it’s well deserved. Having the worst morning all week, the day right after you fucked two strangers in a restaurant’s bathroom. Two engaged strangers. It’s not a surprise that you didn’t care about the blurred lines of their… relationship status, considering you’ve had quite a few hook-ups with married men who were out of town and needed someone to fulfill their needs while their perfect trophy wives were sitting at home waiting for them. Not the proudest thing you’ve done, but whatever gets you cumming. 

Today, your sisters seem to have it out for you especially. You blame it on the nerves, after all their perfect fiancées are about to arrive today. Everything needs to be in order, their dresses, their hair, their nails, everything. 

You’ve become their personal stylist, nail artist and hairdresser all for nothing more than a chuckle at the way your shirt rises up and shows your stomach that they love to comment on. It’s a win-win situation, for sure. 

“Can’t you see you’ve made a mistake!” Liza screeches, pointing at her (to your eyes) perfectly drawn eyeliner. You blink at her and take a deep breath. Six days. 

“I apologize.” Quickly, you move to fix your error, but your sister slaps your hand away and rips the pencil out of your hand.

“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself, like everything else, you useless piece of trash.”

Six. Days. 

Since there is no point in responding to her, you only nod and turn to Linda who is currently checking herself out in her hand mirror. 

“Anything I can do for you?” You ask, feeling ridiculous. One could think you’re their personal assistant and not their younger sister. 

“Just get out, Heeseung and Sunghoon are about to arrive and I don’t want them seeing you first thing, imagine their shock.”

Heeseung and Sunghoon. 

Something rings in your head. Had they ever mentioned their fiancés names before? Probably - why else would they be so familiar to you. 

“Alright. I’ll be by the pool then.” 

Neither of them deems it appropriate to even slightly acknowledge you before you leave the room.

A huge sigh leaves you the second you step out of Linda’s room and instead head for your own. Just a quick change into a bikini and down you go. A few hours in the sun, maybe a couple laps in the pool. Another bit of peace while your sisters are occupied. Sounds like the perfect morning to you. 

Just that, when you reach your room and change into said bikini - you notice a bruise right above your hip. Your eyes widen at the sight, moving closer to the mirror to inspect it. There is no other possible reason but what happened last night. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking around your clothes for this one light pink scarf you could easily wrap around your hips as some sort of cover. The last thing you want is for your sisters to see this and ask questions. Bad enough you had the face and figure you had - imagine their outrage if one of these was even further damaged! 

For as long as you can remember your sisters had been your biggest haters. No matter what you did, if you changed your hair or your wardrobe, they’d be mean to you about it. To them, you were nothing but an unwanted addition to a family they had deemed already perfect. Neither of them had ever wanted another sibling, especially not six and seven years apart from them. Suddenly, you were the center of attention, had your mother cradling you and loving you and not giving them the attention they were sure they deserved. 

Even now, at their grown ages, about to get married, they couldn’t seem to get over it. 

From an outsider's perspective their lives were fairly more successful than yours. With great jobs in high positions, a perfect routine that included gym visits four times a week, and of course their perfect soon-to-be husbands. If it weren’t so frustrating it might have been funny how they literally kept them from you - kept everything from you. Blocked you from their socials to not be associated with you, living in their own little bubble, acting like you didn’t exist. 

So, expect your surprise when Linda called and asked you to be her maid of honor. You had only accepted because you know your mother would be devastated if you didn’t. 

That all seems like an okay trade for the view of the hotel pool right by the beach, your body rubbed in sunscreen and your sunglasses on top of your nose listening to music and enjoying your moments without a sister (or mother) around to tell you what to do. 

But your life wouldn’t be yours if your peace weren’t suddenly interrupted by the high pitched laugh of one of your sisters floating through the air and reaching your ears. It hadn’t even been half an hour. Maybe, you think, they won’t even come over. After all, they had hidden you away from them for as long as they had been together. Perhaps they wanted to wait til the day of the wedding next week to finally introduce you. 

Curiosity gets the best of you at last. Who are these men they’ve been gatekeeping from you, who have been nothing but your mother’s pride? Slowly, you turn into the direction of the high pitched laugh, opening your eyes behind your sunglasses. 

And the world around you seems to shake. 

“No fucking way,” you breathe out, moving quickly to get up. Panic arises within you, sheer ugly panic that has your body shaking. This can’t be true. This can’t be happening! You move to throw your phone and headphones onto the lounge chair, your eyes darting back and forth between here and your sister’s location, finally freeing yourself of all the things that can’t get wet to jump into the pool. It seemed like the only way not to get noticed by them. 

There are several other people in the pool and the splash of you jumping in had been drowned out by the sound of a child laughing and screaming. You stay underwater for a good while, thanking your strong lungs, and only come back up when you feel like enough time has passed for them to have left - only to be met by absolute horror. 

They had taken seats right next to your stuff. In their bathing suits from Chanel or Prada or whatever, they looked breathtaking. Not that they would ever get into the pool. It wasn’t them, though, who made your blood turn cold and the insides of your stomach threatening to say hello again - it was their fiancés. 

Short dark hair, beautiful faces. One with a mole on his nose. The other with clear shock in his eyes. 

The men from last night. 

As if to remind you further, you feel the bruise on your hip suddenly starting to throb with pain. You wince and look down, noticing your make-shift cover up being gone. Wonderful. 

Your sisters notice you now, their eyes widening when they see you in the state you’re in. Dripping with water, your hair pushed back out of your face, your body dressed in nothing but a flimsy bikini. They had always envied you for your breasts - not that they would ever admit this. But seeing them right now made them even angrier, after  all Heeseung and Sunghoon were right here and could see those monstrosities! 

And yeah, they see. See your body in that bikini that is leaving nothing to the imagination. See your tits almost falling out of the bikini top - tits that were covered in Sunghoon's cum not even 24 hours ago. They see your pretty face, your long eyelashes, droplets of water sliding down your soft skin. 

Heeseung and Sunghoon don’t realize the gravity of the situation yet, right now all they think about is how they’ve hit the jackpot because you’re in the same hotel as them. Right now, neither of them knows who you are besides the girl they’ve fucked the night before. 

“Y/N!” Liza screeches, “get out of that pool right now, you look ridiculous!” 

Linda gets up and grabs one of the towels next to her, throwing it into the Pool. She wants you to cover up, needs you to cover up. 

It is then that Sunghoon and Heeseung slowly understand. Your name. They have heard that name before. Time and time again. 

“Mum made me pick my ugly little sister as my maid of honor, Hoonie, can you believe her?” 

“Ugh, Y/N, called today. Wanted to congratulate us. Can you believe her? I bet she is so jealous, Hee, she could never get a man to stay. She’s just… too…. ew.”

You’re their sister. Their little sister they have nothing good to say about. 

You. The girl from last night. The girl who potentially could become the best fuck of both of their lives. 

If they had been able to, they would have looked at each other. But they are too mesmerized by you getting out of the pool with the towel wrapped around your body, or at least around your upper half. They can still easily see your legs, your perfect thighs, the little bikini bottom that does almost nothing to cover up your ass, can see the bruise that is a clear indication of what happened last night. It’s safe to say they are both growing harder in their trunks. Relatively bad timing. 

“Sorry, I told you I would be at the pool,” you mumble once you get out, grabbing for your stuff.

“I don’t think so, I would have remembered that!” Liza hisses, her arm sneaking around short hair. So, he must be Heeseung. Heeseung who had his cock buried inside of you mere hours ago and whose cum was most likely still inside of you. 

“Just go back upstairs,” Linda shoos you away with her hand and you let your eyes wander to mole next to her. Sunghoon, then. Sunghoon who had been craving a mouth around his cock, Sunghoon who had his cock in your mouth, who had cum all over your exposed tits. 

Your body heats up and you quickly turn around to leave. 

“It was nice to meet you!” Sunghoon calls after you and you swallow hard, not turning back to them before you leave. 

Dinner that night is horribly awkward, to say the least. The fact you’re even allowed to participate is insane. Your parents are delighted to welcome you once you sit down, your sisters and their fiancés showing up a little while after you. 

As it turns out, the two men had insisted you’d join them for dinner. Judging by the way they look at you, you feel like they’d rather have you be their dinner. 

Nothing could have prepared you for this. For the utter want you see in their faces, the utter want you feel in your bones. It makes all of dinner extremely awkward, makes you press your thighs together, shove around your food on the plate because suddenly your appetite is for something entirely different. 

But you know you can’t. The first time, so you tell yourself, was fine because you didn’t know who they were. You even go as far as to blame your sisters for this, after all they had never bothered to show you what Heeseung and Sunghoon look like. 

Now, it’s different. Now you know who they are. And as much as you despise your sister’s, you don’t think you could do this to them. 

… Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Because the second you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and find yourself pressed against yet another stall door, you know you’ve been lying to yourself.

It’s Heeseung, his hands on your hips, digging into the bruise on your side, having you moan in no time.

“What are the fucking odds, hm?” He whispers, his breath hitting your face. You open your mouth to answer, but Heeseung dips forward, his tongue sliding into your open warmth, his lips pressing down on yours. It doesn’t matter what you thought of before, doesn’t matter who he is. Your body is taking over, melting against the strong man, against his chest and arms. 

Heeseung kisses you hungrily, like he has been starving for days. He had wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked you into the one bathroom stall for men, had claimed you as his for the next few minutes.

“We-we can’t!” You cry out, pushing him away, but Heeseung only grabs you harder, turning you around, your chest hitting the door and a gasp escaping your mouth.

“If we can’t, why are you so fucking wet, baby?” His fingers are inside your cunt the next second and your eyes roll back, hips already chasing his touch. He smirks behind you, shoving your dress up with his free hand. Your backside is a sight to behold and he licks over his lips before landing a slap to your right ass cheek. You squeak. 

“I guess bathroom stalls are just our thing now, aren’t they?”

Just that this one is spacier. You’re pressed against the door that leads right into the open restaurant. You can hear the people outside, can hear the sound of cutlery meeting plates, of glasses clinking. 

“Hee-Heeseung, yo-you’re my sister’s fiancé!” You tried again, even though your hips were already bouncing on his fingers. Heeseung chuckled lowly.

“Don’t tell me now you care about the fact I’m in a relationship. It seemed like yesterday you couldn’t wait to get this taken cock shoved into your pussy.”

He’s not wrong. You bite down on your lip and turn slightly, looking over your shoulder into his dark eyes. God, he’s beautiful.

“Please,” you pout then, and his smirk comes back, his nimble fingers freeing his rock hard cock. You lean back against the door, your cheek pressed against the cold wood, your hands on either side of your head. Your pussy is dripping down his fingers and once he removes them, you’re already impatient to feel his huge cock fill you up.

Wiggling your hips, he lands another slap on your ass before shoving his cock into you, both of you groaning once he bottoms out. 

Then, he doesn’t show you any mercy. One of his hands sneaks around you, pressing down on your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucks you right into the door. He is panting, staring down at the way his cock slides in and out of you over and over again. His other hand fishes for his phone in his pocket, halting his thrusts for only a second to concentrate on opening the camera on the phone and hitting record. 

“Need to bring Hoonie something to jerk off to later,” he grins as he continues to fuck you, your moans getting numbed only by his hand. He just feels too good. Feels like no other cock you’ve had before. He’s big, wide and so god damn veiny. Every vein seems to drag along your walls, seems to push you closer to the edge. Your eyes are rolling back as your ass bounces off his hips, as his thrusts become sloppier with every second. He needs to cum soon and so do you. There isn’t much time for this, no time in fact. But he’s been craving you, and so has Sunghoon. Thank all the luck in the world for him to have won that rock, paper, scissors round. 

“God, you take it so well, you’re such a good little whore, aren’t you? All ready to go when I need to get my cock in you, fuck.” 

Heeseung’s words make your pussy spasm around him, his next groan deeper than before. He changes the angle slightly, fucking into you faster and harder, his orgasm getting closer with every little squeeze of your pussy. 

“Gonna cum so hard into your pussy, gonna have you sit at that table with my cum trickling into your panties.” He breathes into your ear and bites into your earlobe after, causing you to triple over the edge and cum hard around his cock - taking him right with you. 

He curses as he fucks both of you through your orgasms, his cum filling you up, warming you from the inside. 

Planting kisses on the back of your neck, Heeseung pulls out, watching his release drip out of you. 

“I could get used to this,” he says and puts your panties back into its rightful place. 

It doesn’t stop there. And it also doesn’t stop with Heeseung. But while Heeseung is more daring (coming to your hotel room at night, sending you pics of his dick after a shower, telling you to send him a voice note of you cumming), Sunghoon decided to take his time to make his move. You know it’s coming. You just don’t know when. 

Heeseung is like a wild animal - he can’t get enough of you. He wants to have his hands on you, his dick in you and his cum all over you as many times as he can. But the week only has seven days, and you only have four more to go until this whole thing is over and they are married to your sisters. 

Four days until you won’t be around them all the time, four days until Heeseung won’t be knocking on your door at two in the morning asking you to get on your knees. He fucks you like he owns you, like he knows your time is limited. It is, after all. He leaves marks where it is hard to spot them, kisses you in places no one has ever kissed before. 

Yes, the nights with Heeseung are special and steamy and perfect - and yet you wonder where Sunghoon is in all of this. You see the way he looks at you, and you did get a dick pic from him the night you and Heeseung fucked at that first dinner, courtesy to him seeing the video Heeseung took of you. And that is the thing, Heeseung films you. He films you when you’re on top of him, when he’s behind you, when you got his cock down your throat, when you’re bouncing up and down his cock. All of it goes straight to Sunghoon, all of it leads to Sunghoon cumming all over himself in the bathroom and sending you a picture of it. He never leaves his room, though, never does anything about it.

It’s day minus three til the wedding and you’re at the beach with everyone. The other maid of honor has arrived, and so have the two best men. Jake and Jay, they had introduced themselves as and judging by the way they were looking at you… they knew exactly who you were. If you weren’t so busy with Heeseung, you’d gladly have slipped into one of their rooms at night. 

You’re laying on your towel, happy to have everyone around you be busy with something that isn’t you. Your book is in your hands, the words getting more and more raunchy, your thighs pressing together. Perhaps this isn’t the best place to read smut, but it’s not like you have any control over when these scenes happen in the book. You just know every word hits you deep and has you biting down your lip. Even with the soreness still left between your legs from last night's visit, you feel yourself growing wetter with every sentence. 

“In broad daylight, sweetheart, really?” 

The voice makes you flinch, your book flipping closed as you turn around, spotting Sunghoon standing right above you. He is wearing a slight smirk on his lips and you feel your cheeks heat up. Not just because he caught you with your book but because he’s standing there in nothing but his trunks, a cup of iced coffee in his slim hand. His chest is defined, so are his abs. His arms look strong, toned, like they could throw you against a wall and hold you there. You swallow the lust that is daring to come up.

“What do you want?” You hiss, sitting up and looking at him. 

He hasn’t really talked to you much. Too busy giving you looks and pretending like he didn’t when your sister or parents or any other already arrived wedding party approached him. 

“What would I want?” Sunghoon asks back, tilting his head. The view he has from up here, your tits sitting in your bikini top, looking as delicious as they always did. It takes all in him not to drag you up and take you in front of everyone. 

You snort and roll your eyes, turning back to your book.

“Well, if there is nothing you want, you can leave me alone.” 

He watches you, how you lay back on your stomach, how you open the book and look for the page you just read. Licking over his lips, he roams his eyes over you. At this point, he has lost count of how many times he’s looked at you. How many times he has waited in the bathroom at night for Heeseung to send the videos, the pictures. As much as he was jealous, he enjoyed looking at you as he used his lubed up hand to get himself off. Except… for the last two days. He hasn’t sent you a picture of him with his cum all over his torso or thighs for two days because he simply hadn’t let himself reach climax. He’s been edging himself for all this time, waiting for the right time to unload all of his seed… preferably on you. 

It doesn’t feel like enough. Just getting to watch you through a screen, imagine what you would feel like. Your mouth, he remembers. Vividly. Your pussy… he can only wonder. Only guess when Heeseung sends him those videos or when he tells him before they head down to breakfast. 

Letting his eyes wander over your frame, your neck and back, your hips and ass, your legs… 

“Get up.” He says. You don’t move. 

He growls.

“I said,” his voice is low and warmth gathers at your core, “get up.”

It is when you still don’t move, Sunghoon feels his patience run thin. He places his iced coffee on one of the tables next to the lounge chairs.

Then, he is quick to pull you up, both his hands on your hips, a yelp coming out of you as he skillfully gets you on your feet. You stare at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape. Oh… your mouth. He has to restrain himself - already half hard in his trunks. Sunghoon looks around, sees his fiancé in a conversation with your mother. An idea flashes before him and he smirks slightly, alarm bells ringing in your head. What is he planning?

Not even a second passes when he grabs his iced coffee and spills it all over himself.

“God, watch where you’re going!” He yells, making all of your family members and their friends look at you. This little shit. 

Linda immediately jumps to her feet.

“Look what you’ve done!” She screeches and you press your lips together, acting the part of the guilt ridden sister.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You defend yourself, but your sister just shoots you a deadly gaze. 

“My darling, are you alright?” She is looking at Sunghoon now at his coffee stained self. He shakes his head.

“I really wanted that coffee. And these are my favorite trunks,” he sighs, “come on, Y/N, you’re gonna get me a new coffee.”

“I can get you a new coffee, babe!” Linda tries, her fingers wrapping around Sunghoon’s arm. It fills you with a sense of triumph when he moves out of her grip.

“You didn’t do this, honey. She did. Go back to your lounging.” He says it to her, but looks at you. And, god, you don’t think you’ve ever been more aroused in your life. 

It starts in the elevator up to his room. His hands are on your tits and your tongue is in his mouth. He groans when he feels you grabbing around his cock, hand swiftly inside his swimming trunks. There are no words being exchanged, only moans and sighs and gasps as he presses you against the wall, your kisses getting deeper and heavier by the second. 

Sunghoon has never wanted anyone as much as you right now. His cock is begging to be freed, leaking into his trunks. His thoughts are spiraling, a part of him just wants to push those skimpy bikini bottoms to the side and just fuck you right here, no matter if someone could walk in at any second, the other wants to take his time, bring you to his room and explore every inch of you. 

When the elevator stops at his floor, he drags you out, glad no one is around to see as he pushes you against the wall next to the now closing elevator doors, his hand immediately moving between your legs. He moans at the wetness already there. Well aware you haven’t been in the pool or the ocean today. 

“Fuck, look at you. So fucking wet.” He mumbles against your lips, pulling them into yet another heated kiss just as his fingers slip underneath your swimming suit, making you whimper. Your hips roll against his hand and he bites down on your bottom lip, fingers getting closer to where you want them, need them, the most. 

But he pulls away, grabbing your hand and leading you to his room, getting the keycard out of the small pouch he had in the pockets of his trunks. You watch as he opens the door, watch as impatience and need radiate off him and another feeling of triumph, of confidence overcomes you. He is actively choosing you over your sister. He wants you not her. 

Once you’re inside and the door is closed, you find yourself stuck between him and yet another wall, or in this case, door. His first mission is to get your tits out, his hands losing the strands of your top, the little fabric falling onto the floor a second later. He licks over his lips.

“I’ve been dreaming of these, baby,” he whispers, “come on, get on your knees.”

You do as told instantly. Dropping to your knees, eyes focused on him and only him. On how he now shoves his trunks down slowly, his cock, hard and red at the tip, springing free for you to admire. Your pussy starts throbbing. How badly you want him inside you, how badly you want him to fill you up with his cum, joining Heeseung’s from last night. 

“Open up, slut.” Again, you obey. Your mouth drops open, tongue sticks out and Sunghoon’s cock twitches at the sight. This is what he has been dreaming about. Your mouth around his cock, your perfect heavy tits naked and oh-so ready to be painted like that first night. 

“Good girl, so, so obedient.” He moves closer, right hand around his cock as the left is leaned against the wall, helping him keep his balance. Slowly, he brings the tip of his cock to the tip of your tongue, watching as you lick over it immediately. His eyes don’t leave yours when he begins shoving it in, his chest heaving. There is a good chance he might not last long, but he won’t let you leave this room without his cock having been inside you and if that means going again right after his first or second load. 

You take him like a pro. Feel him slide down your throat, hitting the back of it before going even deeper. You choke just slightly, breathing through your nose. He stops only when he is fully buried, his breath getting heavier with every passing moment.

“You take it so fucking well, what a good little whore.” Sweat is pooling at the top of his forehead, his knees about to give in. He begins to move his hips slowly at first, but when you tap his thigh, he takes it as a sign to go harder. And, shit, does he go harder. Throwing his head back as he brings both his hands to your head, holding it in place as he thrusts down your throat over and over again. His balls hit your chin whenever he moves to bury himself again, his moans and groans nothing but music to your ears. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” He groans in pleasure, pulling his cock out and the next thing you know there is cum all over you. Your tits are full with his seed, your neck, your chin, your face. You gasp slightly, staring at him with your lips swollen from the roughness of his movements. He breathes hard, hand around his cock to hold it steady as waves of his pleasure make more cum land on your tits. 

“That’s right, look at you, fuck,” his eyes are glossy watching your tits covered in his cum, his cock not losing any of it’s hardnes even after the amount of cum he just left on you. It’s not hard to notice. Your fingers scoop up a bit of it, sucking them clean and not letting him out of your sight. Sunghoon feels like he might have reached heaven. 

“You’re so fucking filthy,” he grumbles, pulling you up by your arms and crashing your lips against his again. He pulls you to the bed and pushes you down, watching your cum-covered tits bounce as you fall. You know what he wants and you slightly sit up, your elbows behind you, watching as he moves on top of you. His eyes are still so full of hunger, of need, of pure and hot lust. 

His cock slides between your tits, his hands pushing them together around it. Then, he begins to thrust again. Just like he had wanted back at the restaurant. Fuck your tits covered in his cum, add a little more. 

You feel like the luckiest woman on earth with him like this. Using you to get off, his cock fucking your tits like a madman, whimpers and moans and groans, his head thrown back as he enjoys the feeling. It is even better than his imagination. Every second feels like he’s gonna ascend any moment now. His skin is tingling with desire and he wonders if it’ll ever stop. Right now, he thinks, he could probably go on for hours, for days. Just you and him and your tits and your mouth and your pussy. 

When he looks down again, sees the way you look at him, see the way his cock looks sandwiched between your breasts, Sunghoon can’t help but cum again, less than before but still enough to cover your chest and neck, adding even more paint to the already perfect canvas. 

Exhaustion is starting to spread through his bones, but he’s ignoring it. Instead, he pulls you up with him again, kissing you hard, fingers now finally finding their way into your bottoms again. He shoves them inside you immediately. 

“Sunghoon!” You cry out, fingers gripping his strong shoulders as he places you on his lap, straddling him. He fucks you with his fingers, hard and fast. Your pussy squeezes them, your arousal dripping onto his bare thighs.

“So, so wet. So fucking filthy with my cum all over you. Tell me, baby, are you a whore?”

“Y-Yes!” You squeak. He grins wickedly, adding a third finger to the two. You cry in pleasure, bouncing up and down on his long, perfect fingers.

“So eager to be called a whore. Fucking a taken man, two taken men. Your sister’s men. Aren’t you ashamed?” He breathes into you ear and you moan again, nails digging into his skin.

“N-No!” You answer and he laughs quietly, thumb now pressing down on your clit. You feel the first tears starting to pool in your eyes.

“Oh, but you should be. Such a dirty fucking whore, full of cum, getting her pussy fucked by her sister’s fiancés fingers,” He chuckles, “and soon his cock.”

You reach the edge just then. When he promises you his lengths, when he tells you how ashamed you should be. As if you don’t know. That’s what makes this whole thing so ridiculously hot. 

He fucks you through your orgasm, kissing your mouth again, tongues slashing against each other in a heated fight. You need him to fuck you. Right now. And as if he could read your mind, Sunghoon picks you up, hands underneath your thighs, lips never leaving yours and brings you to the spacious bathroom. 

First, he fucks you in front of the mirror. Makes you watch yourself, getting fucked like a cheap whore by his sister’s soon-to-be husband. He makes you lick his cum off his fingers, thrusts them as deep down your throat as his cock is penetrating you. 

Your pussy might be the best he’s ever had. The second he was buried inside of you, he knew he was done for. Knew this couldn’t be the last time he did this. Every bit of you, he wanted for himself. He even thought about asking Heeseung to back off, which he knew his best friend never would. Not with you. Not when you were this perfect. Fulfilling their every need, letting them do with you whatever they wanted. 

When he gets you in the shower, he washes the drying cum off of you softly. He’s still inside of you, his still not fully satisfied cock. You squeeze around him, throb around him. You need him to do more, he knows it as well as you. But he’s gentle. Uses a sponge to get every bit of his seed off your body, his lips kissing your cheeks, lips, nose, neck and breasts. It’s almost too soft for you. 

This is supposed to be about nothing but sex. He is supposed to fuck you, call you names while you’re at it and then disregard you. Instead, he’s being gentle. 

That is, until the door outside opens and your sister’s voice interrupts the softness. It makes room for yet another wicked grin and Sunghoon’s first thrust inside of you for minutes. Your hand flies to your mouth covering the pathetic whimper that would have come out. Sunghoon’s eyes sparkle.

“Hoonie? Are you in the shower?”

He begins to thrust again, his hands on your hips, staring into your eyes as he gives you his fucking all. Your eyes roll back.

“Yes, darling. Your stupid sister managed to get me all sticky with that coffee!”  

Your pussy fluttered at the words. He grinned wider.

“Oh, like it when I call you stupid?” He whispers into your ear, cock twitching rapidly as he bites into your neck, hips showing you absolutely no mercy.

“Ugh, I am so sorry about her! She’s not just a klutz, she’s also insanely dumb. I can’t wait to never see her again after this is done.”

Perhaps these words would have hurt you, if Sunghoon wasn’t railing you like the god he was. Every thrust was smooth and yet hard enough to make your toes curl. He made quick work to lift you up, your legs now wrapping around his middle as he continued to fuck into you, moaning into your neck to drown out the noise. 

“Yeah, she is a real piece of work,” he finally replied, his eyes staring into yours as he smirked. 

“No wonder she can’t get a boyfriend! Who would ever want to be with that?” 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, pressing his body closer to yours, kissing you again, his tongue licking sensually over your bottom lip. It makes a shiver run down your spine. 

“Anyway, where did she go? I didn’t find her in her room.”

Sunghoon reluctantly parts from you.

“No clue. She got me a new coffee and stormed off like the big baby she is.” 

He grabs your tits again, squeezing and massaging, nipple between forefinger and thumb, leaning down so he can put it in his mouth and suck and bite down, your hand on your mouth pressing down harder. 

You explode around him. Squirt like a fucking porn-star, liquid shooting out of you and down his legs, mixing with the water of the shower. Sunghoon’s knees are once more about to give in. He moans against your lips, hoping Linda didn’t hear and at the same time also hoping she did. Your climax makes him cum for the third time that day, his hot semen filling your spent pussy, painting it white like the clouds. 

“That, she is indeed,” Linda laughs, “anyway, we’re gonna go get dinner in the city, baby. I’ll be at Liza’s room, love you!”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer and Linda just leaves. You feel like no words were even needed to understand. 

Once you’re sure Linda is gone for good, Sunghoon and you step out of the shower. It’s quiet between you, quiet and somewhat heavy. You don’t like it one bit. You’re quick to grab your bikini and put it back on, relieved to know you most likely won’t find your sisters back at the beach where you’re headed now. 

You don’t turn around again when you leave the bathroom. And you also don’t expect Sunghoon to say anything. Still, when you open the door to leave, you feel just a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn’t hold you back. 

How utterly pathetic of you. 

Heeseung doesn’t come for you that night. You wonder if it’s because of Sunghoon and decide it most definitely is because of Sunghoon. 

Yet, the slightly younger male doesn’t come to seek you out either. 

Tonight, it’s just you. 

And perhaps, you think, that’s just how it’s supposed to be. 

to be continued...

header & divider credit to the wonderful @wongyuseokie <3

[see-arcane]

Welcome to Dracula Season 2025!

We're only a few weeks shy of May and our journey with Jonathan into the Carpathians. As we prepare for another helping of paprika hendl and ensuing horror, let's refresh with some of the Dracula-adjacent goodies that have accumulated over the last year...

1. Dracula Daily

The Substack that started it all. Dracula Daily was started by Matt Kirkland in 2021, though it took off in the Tumblr book club in 2022. Since then, we’ve turned Dracula Season, the period between May 3 and November 7, into a months-long undead extravaganza of memes, literary analysis, and overdue love for Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula as the fantastic gothic gift it is. With the simplified format of putting the book’s entries in chronological order, each one emailed out on the same date they were written, we’re forced to live on the same calendar and waiting game as the characters. Whether you’re a new reader or a returning bookworm, welcome to Castle Dracula!

Dracula Daily Substack: Link

2. The Holmwood Foundation

Fresh from crowdfunding and wrapping up production of its first season, The Holmwood Foundation, @theholmwoodfoundation on Tumblr, is an indie podcast coming around the corner with a genuinely unique take on a supernatural sequel to the events of Dracula…which didn’t end quite how Bram Stoker’s in-universe novel depicted. The first episode is out, featuring a pair of unlucky archivists—what horror podcast is complete without them?—the ghosts of Jonathan and Mina Harker, Dracula’s severed head, and a hiking trip across the moors to escape some shambling undead horrors. Give the preview and its miscellaneous teasers a listen if you want a taste of contemporary revenant scares (and to listen to the world’s most irate descendant of the Harkers pop a blood vessel).

The Holmwood Foundation homepage: Link

Podcast episodes and side content: Link

3. Dracula: 2004

Another indie audio drama trying to crowdfund its way out of the coffin! Not only an adaptation of Dracula, but one set just a short step into the 21st century, @starstrider-productions' Dracula: 2004 wants to tell the story of our beloved Victorian vampire targets-turned-slayers in an era of flip phones, Dictaphones, and found footage-tinted horror. To judge by the summary and extremely promising character bios for our refreshed cast, it’s going to be a one-of-a-kind listen. But only if we can get them to their goal! By the time I post this, they’ll have less than 20 days left to cover the production cost.

If you want to drag this beautiful undead carcass into the moonlight, please chip into their campaign if you can and share it with your fellow Dracula lovers and horror podcast enthusiasts! The smallest tier is £10 GBP, ($13 for my fellow ‘murricans), and every bit helps.  

Indiegogo crowdfunding page: Link

4. Re: Dracula, Re: Carmilla, (Coming Soon: Re: Frankenstein!)

Giving an undead rebirth to the original Dracula Daily format, the podcast Re: Dracula turns the same chronological date-by-date read of the novel an audio drama twist. It’s made of professional voice acting, soundscaping, and has its own soundtrack! This thing is also replete with many a meme and interview as the garlic garnish on top. Give it a listen if you haven’t already and check out their Tumblr, @re-dracula.

Likewise, you need to check out their most recent projects. Re: Carmilla, which gives Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla its own supple and sinuous sapphic treatment, and the upcoming Re: Frankenstein, currently on the hunt for voice actors to fill the roles of Mary Shelley’s gothic opus, Frankenstein. Everyone say thank you to this cast and crew for feeding us the overdue classic supernatural theatre feast we’ve been waiting on for actual centuries.

Re: Dracula: Link

Re: Carmilla: Link

Re: Frankenstein (Casting Call!): Link

5. The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk

You want the Drac Attack Pack (plus a surviving Quincey Morris) with the Harkers happily married and questionably human? You want Irene Norton née Adler treated with respect and allowed to actually have her chosen romance with Godfrey Norton that was half the damn point of “A Scandal in Bohemia,” along with appearances from a certain consulting detective and his doctorial companion? You want Dr. Jekyll as an upstanding scientist on the brink of some unsavory new changes? You want Wells’ Invisible Man being cantankerous and developing friendships against his will? You want sundry forces of mortal and supernatural peril roiling up from under the foundations of Victorian era literature like an eerie eldritch smoke? Then The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk is the comic for you!

An ongoing webcomic, fresh from its second story arc—a certain submarine, a bastard of a marksman, and an uncanny gothic villainess are involved—LXGF brings together a huge crossover cast of everyone’s favorite characters from the Classics section. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit that actually understands, acknowledges, and loves the books and their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Tumblr: Link

Comic: Link

Non-Canon Silliness: Link

Fanfiction: Link

6. Blood of My Blood (and Other Gorgeous Gothic Dramas of the Ibrithir-Was-Here Universe)

 I’ve made a lot of amazing friends since Dracula Season became my favorite time of the year (read: most of it). Many of those friends have been brain-meltingly talented and creative in the works they’ve made based in or inspired by Dracula and adjacent works. But one of the best in terms of artful storytelling has to be @ibrithir-was-here.

Me and other scribblers and spit-ballers tripped and fell into what began as a dark Dracula Bad Ending improv, everyone chasing after each other with ‘Yes, and—,’ additions to a vampiric domestic horror story. That’s turned into a full 100+ chapter tale with its concluding climax just now about to hit its zenith. That story is Blood of My Blood, an incredibly fun and fiendish gothic what-if? One in which we answer the questions:

What if things took a grim turn in the climax at Transylvania? What if half our heroes died and Mina turned, with a child already growing in her undead womb? What if Jonathan threw himself on the twisted ‘mercy’ of Dracula to protect his family, trading his servitude, sanity, blood, and participation in an intimately worrying series of mind games with his new master? What if young Quincey Harker was raised in this warped castle and then, at the cusp of manhood, was sent out into the world to learn the buried truths of his family? What if Dracula was none too thrilled about his adopted heir leaving the nest, and took grisly measures to bring him back..?

The answers have been written and lushly illustrated for the past year and change, ripe with romances, revenges, bloodshed, and one of the most gloriously fucked up family dynamics you’ve ever seen in a gothic drama.

…And if you’re in the mood for another flavor of the latter, Ibrithir has also cooked up a pile of sinister samples to indulge in.

(n)Ever Loved, a take on the origins of the ‘Weird Sisters’ before they were munching kids meals.

The Wretched Family, an AU in which Frankenstein’s Creature saved the little girl from the river a moment too late, and coerces Victor into reviving her drowned body as a Creature like himself.

A Cruel Love, giving a spotlight to a possible history of Countess Mircalla and how love played a part in her undeath and the demise of her first smitten paramour.

Second Stanza, a certain Opera Ghost returns to haunt Christine and Raoul’s son, supposedly as a guardian—whether the boy likes it or not.

Rosemary is for Remembrance, in which a young artist grapples with the bloody shadow of a man who shares her face. A long dead hedonist by the name of Dorian Gray…

Go give them all a read!

Blood of My Blood: Link

(n)Ever Loved: Link

The Wretched Family: Link 1, Link 2

A Cruel Love: Link 1, Link 2

Second Stanza: Link

Rosemary is for Remembrance: Link

7. Dracula’s Guest the Comic

Want a glimpse of what Jonathan Harker may have gotten up to prior to reaching Castle Dracula? Well, take a look at the comic adaptation of Stoker’s, “Dracula Guest,” by @isablooo! It features our good friend Mr. Harker, some sightseeing, and more than the usual bloodsuckers out for his neck.

Comic: Link

8. Dracula Beyond Stoker Press

Have you ever thought to yourself, “I wish I had an anthology dedicated entirely to stories about one or more specific characters of Dracula?” Me too! And Dracula Beyond Stoker Press is here to deliver. Their most recent issue coming out is about our good friend Jonathan Harker—already preordered my copy!—with Mina Harker’s issue accepting story and cover art submissions starting May 1, 2025. DBS Press already has an amazing store full of paperback zines and merch to go through for other characters and general Dracula-flavored goodies. Go give them and the submission guidelines a gander.   

Dracula Beyond Stoker Press: Link

9. Harker (and Other Arcane Horrors)

Harker is my work-in-progress, a novel expanding on the experiences of Jonathan Harker which we never get to see between his and the others’ journal entries in Dracula. It also adds some creative and menacing fleshing out for just how and why Jonathan Harker changed on October 3rd—and perhaps explains what exactly he changed into.

As of now, I am well over twenty chapters in, with over 750 pages written. In the draft, Mina is only just now about to read Jonathan’s journal for the first time. This thing is massive. And I’ve been releasing preview chapters since last Dracula Season! The latest of which is due to drop very soon.

Until then, there’s also an abundance of other horrors I’ve scribbled up in the interim. Some serial, some self-contained, and one in the form of a published novella, The Vampyres, which concerns some undead bastards of classic lit caught under the blade of a very practiced psychopomp. There are a couple preview chapters up to skim too!

Hope you enjoy the read.

Harker (Tumblr): Link

Harker (Substack): Link

Substack (General): Link

The Vampyres: eBook Paperback

[REDACTED – Surprise en route April 18th]

10. What Manner of Man (and Another Gothic Queer Nightmare)

@stjohnstarling has completed one tale of queer horror, romance, and erotica, and is hard at work on the next story. The first was What Manner of Man, a novel with some borrowed blood from Dracula and a wonderful twist on an intense relationship that forms between a priest and a vampire. This book is now completed on the Substack and as an eBook! His next work in progress: A Companion in Vice, building off the patchwork anatomy of Frankenstein.

What Manner of Man (Substack): Link

What Manner of Man (eBook): Link

A Companion in Vice (Summary): Link

11. Project Gutenberg

An online library of countless classic public domain works. Get on it, bookworms!

Dracula - Link

Carmilla - Link

Sheridan le Fanu collection - Link

12. The Internet Archive

As the name says, it’s an archive. It preserves damn near everything, including my favorite ballet…

Dracula Ballet by Michael Pink – Link

13. Romancing the Gothic - My Wild Heart Bleeds

Carmilla fans, storytellers, and scholars, this one is for you. My Wild Heart Bleeds is set to be an anthology dedicated entirely to Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla, including commentaries, original works, international and historic perspectives, discussions of adaptations and works inspired by the story… And you have the chance to contribute to it! Regarding submissions, the page says:

Abstracts of 3-400 words and a bio of 2-250 words should be sent to the editors Dr. Sam Hirst and Simon Bacon by June 30th 2025. Chapter of between 5-6000 words will be required by July 2026. We also welcome original creative pieces (artwork, short stories [up to 1,500 words], flash-fiction, poetry, etc) that are inspired by and/or critically engage with ‘Carmilla’ or themes mentioned above. Abstracts or queries should be set to: mywildheartbleeds@gmail.com

My Wild Heart Bleeds: Link

BONUS

@cry-ptidd – Blessed us with getting to see the Dracula cast in Hellsing style and showing us why Kohta Hirano didn’t dare to have them in the manga: The Harkers are simply too badass when canonical. (And the Suitors would be too stylish.)

@bluecatwriter – Expanding from Dracula fic to Carmilla fic. Smut abounds.

Poetry – For bonus gothic vampire reference material:

“Lenore” by Gottfried August Bürger, translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Link

“Christabel” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Link

Libby the Library App (Sign Up! Support Your Libraries!) - Link

Dracula Season 2024

All the Dracula Season goodies compiled last year: Link

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Happy Tuesday🐵.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

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“Marta still insists she isn’t responsible for ordering the toner...” you shrug and sigh. You shake your head at the petty office argument. 

Before you can laugh, the guard calls time up. You blink, brought back to the present. Your account of the printer tirade seems even more silly now. 

Your eyes come into focus and you find Steve’s entirely on you. He might not admit it, but you suspect he is lonely. In some way. He’s all but confirmed that he doesn’t get any other visitors. It makes you think of Vaughn. How he must look forward to those days. They might not be the same but they both drew the same lot. 

You go to get up as the guard signals with a tap on his watch. 

“Wait,” he pulls away defiantly, keeping hold of the receiver. You keep yours by your ear. “Will you come back, sweetheart?” 

Your lips part. You’re surprised by the question. The man knows how to keep people off-balance. “What?” 

“You already gotta come all the way here for your brother so why not? I mean, if you really wanna thank me for saving his neck. I’m sure he’ll find a dozen other ways to get himself in a bind,” he shrugs. 

“Rogers,” the guard warns. 

You weigh the hint of a threat in his tone. You don’t think he’s serious but he’ll never say aloud the truth. He’s all by himself in there, even if he moves the rest of them like chess pieces. The urgency of the guard makes you sputter. 

“Sure, uh okay, I’ll try,” you say. 

“Alright,” he surrenders, a glimmer of disappointment, as if he expected more. “See ya next time, then.” 

He hangs up and the guard unhooks his cuffs from the loop. He stands, dwarfing his keeper easily, and follows him away. You’re grateful for the barrier for the first time. 

You get up and you’re led out yourself. What did you just do? You don’t have to see him again. Now you do. You made a promise and a man like that won’t take kindly to breaking it. Shoot. Why did you do this? He’s a criminal and you still have no idea what kind. 

Your heart clenches as you get to the counter and fill out your form. 

“If you really wanna thank me...” his words echo. 

You ask for another form. You don’t want to take the chance that you made things worse for Vaughn. The novelty will wear off. He’ll lose interest and hopefully, he also forgets about your brother. 

You sign the forms and pass them over. It’s a different guard. They don’t react as they read it over. They merely dismiss you as the pit deepens in your stomach. 

⛓️‍💥

You don’t tell Vaughn. If you do, he might be mad. Not just at you, but Steve. If he lashes out at someone like that, you might never see him again. That’s your worst fear. 

The thing about your brother is he might know exactly how things go, what to expect, but it doesn’t keep him from messing up. Even if Steve is watching him back, it wouldn’t stop him from feeling slighted and turning around and breaking his own spine.  

You can only imagine his reaction to your chatting with his fellow inmates. Vaughn only listens to what fits his own narrative. He wouldn’t hear you out, he’d just go off and get himself hurt. 

You attend your usual sibling commiseration. He’s looking better. You’re mostly quiet. You wait for any mention of Steve. Dread it even. He only tells you how the other guys are scared of him. You’re not so sure it’s him making them stay away. 

You say your usual good byes and love yous and you stay put. You wait. Steve appears sooner than the last time. He takes his seat and lifts the receiver. He’s just as stony as before. 

The glimmer in his eye has you reaching for the phone on your side. You gulp. You don’t know anything about him. Only the one thing that should’ve kept you away. He’s a criminal. 

“Hey,” you eke out. 

“Sweetheart,” he greets evenly. 

“It’s... your turn." You state shakily. He lifts a brow and he chuckles. You clear your throat. “I told you about me, now I wanna know about you.” 

“Oh?” He tweaks his head. 

“Look, I’m not going to keep talking to you if--” 

“You’re threatening me?” He challenges. 

“N-no, I just--” 

He laughs again, “oh, sweetheart, you’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you? You miss me already?” 

You frown, “don’t call me that. I didn’t come to be laughed at.” 

“Uh huh, so why did you come?” 

You don’t know how to answer. He knows. He wants to hear you say it. 

“We both know why. That brother of yours is reckless. I can barely keep him on a leash.” He looks you up and down, “does he know you’re here, huh? I don’t think so. Think if he did, he’s be at my cell door getting his neck broke.” 

“Hey, don’t--” 

“No, you don’t, sweetheart. Don’t tell me what to do. And calm down.” He waves away your distress. He glances over towards the guard then back to you. “You’re funny when you get all worked up but don’t go ruining this. For baby brother’s sake and yours.” 

“Please, don’t hurt him,” you murmur softly. “Please.” 

He snickers and rests a hand on the desk, the other on the receiver. He pushes and leans back, his chest puffing out. “Fine, what do you wanna know? I have mess at eight with all the other bums in here and I do about two hundred pushups after dinner.” 

You rub your lips together. His gaze follows the movement. “How long have you been here?” You stare at him, gripping the phone for courage. 

He rolls his tongue against the inside of his lip and shifts the receiver in his hand. He crosses his other arm over his chest, gripping his large bicep. 

“Six years.” 

“How long do you have left?” You follow-up quickly. 

“Ah, is that it? You’re anxious to get rid of all this,” he eyes the glass. “That’s sweet--” 

“I just want to know,” you blurt out. Six years isn’t too much but fifteen or more says it all. 

“A long time. The rest of my life unless the board has a change of heart.” 

You watch him, waiting. For a crack, for a tell. He didn’t flinch at all as he tells you he’s stuck there forever. Whatever he did must be bad. 

“For what?” You breath, running your fingers up and down your throat. He watches the nervous gesture before he meets your eye.  

He prickles and sets his shoulders, “You really wanna know? You gotta do something for me first.” 

You blink, “just tell me.” 

“No, that’s not how it works. You do me a favour and I’ll tell you,” he retorts. 

“What? What could I possibly do for you?” 

“You add your number to my roll on your way out.” 

“My... number?” You echo. 

“Lot of time between visits. I get antsy. When I get antsy, I do stupid things. Start fights... so?” He leans forward. He knows he’s won. 

“Fine, you tell me and I’ll do it.” 

“Deal,” he points at you, his elbow on the table. “And don’t test me. I don’t like people who go back on their word. Not even sweet things like you.” 

“I said yes,” you sniff. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he smirks. “But what they say I did...” he shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “murder. Court’s a joke, you know? Lawyers only steal your money. They’ll make more on the appeal. So they let me go down when the other guys say I killed my wife. The interviews for TV pay them better.” He snorts. “Far be it from me to go against the verdict. Especially in here. Better to let people thing I’m a stone-cold killer.” 

You chew on the answer, mulling it with his expression. You can’t tell if he’s lying. Does it matter? He’s still in this place and according to Vaughn, dangerous regardless. If he wasn’t before, he is now. 

“You believe me?” He asks. You don’t answer. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter either way. We got lots of time for you to figure it out.” 

A frown tugs at your lips, “yeah...” you rub your neck and once more he stares at the movement of your hand. He’s so stoic, you can’t read whether he’s bored or annoyed. 

“I’ve banked lots of phone time,” he swirls his fingers on the desk. “I look forward to our little chats. Be a nice after dinner treat, won’t it?” 

You bit down and twist the phone cord, “why do you want to talk to me?” 

“I’ve been in here six years with stinky men. A nice little bird like you singing to me, that’s something to wake up for. It'll make the time pass,” he says. “See, I’m being honest.” 

You nod and inhale slowly. You drag your hand off the desk and wipe your sweaty palm on your jeans. You’re too far in now. There’s not going back. 

⛓️‍💥

“...so this guy tells me it’s his turn at the bench but I just got on. He didn’t appreciate me testing his strength when I dropped the weight on his jaw,” Steve laughs as you chop celery, his voice crackling from the speaker of your phone. The prison lines are fuzzy at times. He stops and silence rises. You almost think the call cut off. “Why’re you so quiet, sweetheart?” 

“I’m just making dinner,” you answer. “Listening.” 

You don’t like his stories. They’re always violent and you can’t always tell when he’s telling the truth or just trying to scare you. Vaughn said he has other guys do his dirty work. 

“Oh? What are we having?” Steve asks. 

“Stuffed chicken breast with rice,” you reply as you pour the celery off the cutting board. 

“What’s wrong?” He intones. 

“Nothing,” you lie.” 

“What? You don’t seem impressed.” 

“Well, Steve, I’m not a very violent person. I guess I don’t see much to laugh at.” 

He scoffs, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was a bad boy.” 

“Steve,” you say. “I just... I don’t like to hear that stuff.” 

“Oh, you worried about me? I can take care of myself.” 

“It’s just not very nice,” you mutter. 

“Not nice? That’s how the yard works. I can’t help that. I don’t like it either but you gotta do that stuff. To survive.” He explains, “but Vaughn, well, we both know he’s no good with change. That’s why he needs someone like me--” 

“I asked you nicely not to mention him,” you say. “How much time do you have left?” 

“Couple minutes,” he drones. “Didn’t mean to get you worked up.” 

“I’m not worked up. I just... I worry.” 

“I know you do, sweetheart. Look, I’ve been here a while. Don’t you worry about me or the baby boy,” he drawls; you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Mm,” you hum. 

He mimics the noise, “you’re not amused? Sweetheart, tell me what you want to hear. How can I make you happy?” 

You cluck, “it’s just... I don’t like it... when you put on a front like that. I’m not an inmate. I... I’d rather you just be honest. I never liked men who can only talk about violence.” 

“Oh, and what kinda man do you like?” 

You look at the phone, “I don’t have a type. Not that it matters.” 

“I can be your type,” he purrs. 

You pause as you reach into the bag of bread. You’re taken aback by his statement. You shake your head. 

“Steve, I should get this in the oven.” 

“Right, time’s running out,” he exhales. “Well, good night sweetheart.” 

“Good night, Steve,” you say pointedly and reach to hang up with your knuckle. 

You sigh and tear up the bread. You can’t believe how far this has gone. He calls every night and you dread it every night. No matter what you do, he doesn’t let up. When you’re quiet, he makes you speak. When you’re curt, he makes you gentle. He demands it and you have no way to deny him. 

It’s hard at times to stomach. He can be patronizing when he wants to. When you don’t perform for him. He always mentions your brother at exactly the right time. To remind you of his power over you or to remind you of your own guilt for lying to your own family. 

Well, he has a whole life sentence ahead of him. He has to get bored eventually. Besides, Vaughn will be out in another two years on good behaviour. 

[berryhobii]

Baby Mama Drama(jjk x reader)

Pairing: BabyDaddy!Jeon Jungkook x BabyMama!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.2K+

Warnings: reader and Jungkook coparent, they have a daughter who is mentioned but doesn’t appear in the story, reader and Jungkook technically aren’t together but they still love each other and fool around🥴, reader irritates the hell out of JK but he can’t stay mad at them, reader is definitely a little toxic, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), oral(m and f receiving), 69 position, the sloppiest of top, face riding, fingering, reverse cowgirl, reader rides like a pro, missionary, reader has a tattoo🤭, reader is also dragging that wagon, reader also also has that certified WAP, reader is flexible, squirting, unprotected s*x(don’t do this and then turn into this couple), creampie, dirty talk, one face slap, multiple ass slaps like seriously JK is obsessed with reader’s badonk a donk, a little degradation and a dash of dumbification

A/N: I’M BACK EVERYONE!🥳for anyone who didn’t read my last post, my tumblr was suspended for a little while so that’s why I wasn’t posting. Anyway, it’s over so I’m back to work. This is a piece inspired by @joonberriess and their Sleazy!JK storyline. Shoutout to them. I love everything about the way they write JK and reader so definitely check them out if you haven’t already! Their stories make me want a sleazy baby daddy who can’t leave me the hell alone but I know I’ll never be able to handle that in real life so fictional is good enough for me!🤣this fic is just kind of a reverse of theirs where I made reader a sleazy and jealous baby mama. I know this kind of behavior is a stereotype among the black community but I am in no way condoning it. It’s just fiction and meant to be entertaining. Anyway, please let me know what you guys think as I am always open to criticism and please look forward to my upcoming posts! Much love and thanks for reading 🤎🤎🤎

~

“So, do you have any kids?”

Taking a sip of his drink, Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, one. A daughter. You?”

“Two. Their father is an absolute nightmare though. Thank goodness we have a court order. I can’t even be in the same room as him without wanting to pull all my hair out.” She bitterly laughed with a shake off her head, tossing the rest of her drink back. “What about you? Is your child’s mother a monster?”

Jungkook titled his head, a strained chuckle leaving him. “Um, well she’s…..something.”

The woman hummed. “I get it. A real bitch, huh? I hate women like that. Ones who can’t let their baby daddy’s go and are somehow always around. So annoying. Like don’t you have something better to do?”

“Yeah and I do it 4 times a week in my Queen sized bed.”

Jungkook stiffened at the sound of that familiar voice. There was only one person he knew that spoke that crassly to strangers.

The scent of your perfume and the smell of the mousse you used on your braids invaded his space and solidified that shit was about to go downhill.

The woman, who’s name he don’t think he ever caught, made a noise of surprise once you appeared before her. Your body stood right between her and Jungkook, forcing her to step back a little. Arms crossed over your chest and hip cocked out to the side, your eyes roamed up and down this woman’s body in a scrutinizing manner.

“And who are you?”

Leaning back a little, you plopped yourself right on Jungkook’s lap.

Looking her up and down once more, you answered simply with a big smile, “I’m unimpressed. Nice to meet you.”

Ignoring you for a moment, the woman looked around you to make eye contact with Jungkook who was shooting her a look that screamed, “please walk away!” She didn’t really understand what was going on. Who were you and why did you walk into their conversation on 10 like that? It was one thing to interrupt a conversation but to be that disrespectful to someone you didn’t even know? That didn’t go down well in her book.

Copying your previous stance, the woman replied, “Well I’m unimpressed with your attitude. Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”

“No but she taught me to how to wrap a bitch’s hair around my wrist and keep swinging until my arm gets tired.” Your smile was sugary sweet but your words cut deep like knives. The woman was stunned. No one has ever spoken to her this way and it was a rude awakening. She didn’t even know how to respond.

Not wanting to see you demonstrate your mother’s teachings, Jungkook quickly stood to his feet. “Well, we should really be going. It was nice meeting you. Let’s go.” He grabbed your arms to start pushing you away from the woman.

“No it wasn’t!” You called out, both of you leaving the shocked woman by herself.

Once you two had made it outside, Jungkook’s frustration boiled over.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why is it everytime I meet someone, you show up and scare them off? We aren’t together anymore. Is it not getting through your head? Like what the hell-“

His rant was flying right over your head because all you could focus on was how unbelievably sexy he looked today. How dare he walk outside like that? And he was going to waste all of that on some random stranger in a bar? Yeah right. Not as long as you had a say about it.

Your greedy eyes trailed from the top of his head to those bulging veins in his neck and down to his soft cock that was pressing against his jeans. Whew, just imaging that monster had your panties sticking to you. It was so big and warm and when he was giving you back shots…..

“Are you listening to me?”

You blinked a few times, your eyes slowing raising until they met the searing glare of your baby daddy.

“Uh yeah. Something about airline prices. So what are you doing tonight?”

Jungkook couldn’t fucking believe you. God you pissed him off to no end but he always had a way of letting off some steam.

“Let’s go. Now.”

“Yes sir.” You purred with that mischievous glint in your eye. Jungkook’s own eye twitched at the implications behind your tone but he decided to ignore it in favor of turning around to begin walking to his car, you hot on his heels and a Cheshire like grin on your face because you were getting what you wanted.

The drive back to his place was quiet, as was the ride up the elevator and the living room as he moved to sit down. He didn’t even raise his eyes to look at you once since you got in the car. Although you could see right through his petty act.

Flopping down on the couch next to him, your head leaning against your hand, you said, “come on, baby. You’re not still mad at me, are you? I said I’m sorry.”

No answer.

Moving closer to him, your hand trailed over his chest and up to his face to turn his head to face you, lips just centimeters apart. This wouldn’t be the first time you were on the receiving end of his heated glare and it certainly wouldn’t be the last but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.

“What do I have to say for you to forgive me? I hate when you’re mad at me, baby.”

“Then stop doing shit that pisses me off and I won’t be.” He fired back, that low tone of his sending shocks down your spine.

“I’m sorry. Now let me make it up to you.” He could pick up on that sultry voice anywhere and those bedroom eyes you were currently shooting him was a dead giveaway as well.

He rolled his eyes. “You need to stop expecting dick everytime you come over here. It’s not gonna fix anything.”

Gasping dramatically, you moved back a little to hold a hand to your chest in faux offense. “You wound me, tater tot. I came here with pure intentions to apologize to you. Can a woman not apologize to her baby daddy without him thinking she has an ulterior motive?”

An unimpressed look crossed Jungkook’s face from your dramatics and from that stupid pet name you gave him all those years ago.

“Whatever.” He mumbled. “Fine. I accept your apology. Just don’t do it again.” A warning that fell on deaf ears because yeah, you’d definitely do it again if needed but for now, you’d bask in his forgiveness.

“Thank you, baby. You know I only want to make you happy.”

“You do,” he whispered, those doe eyes lifting to connect with yours.

Your lips met, your hands pushing Jungkook back against the arm of the couch to climb into his lap. He went willingly, melting into your touch and the feeling of your plump lips. His own hands traveled up your thighs to squeeze at the plushness of your ass, his grip forcing your covered cunt to rub against his growing erection.

His grunts mixed with your low hum of pleasure as you grinded against one another but Jungkook could only tolerate about a minute of that before he started getting impatient.

Groaning against your lips, he struggled out a, “fuck. Sit it on already.”

The sounds of your giggles made him pause, eyes cracking open and his eyebrow raising because what the hell was so funny?

“Oh nothing.” You said as if reading his mind. “I just remember a very certain someone saying not to expect dick everytime I come here yet that same person is telling me to sit on his dick. How the tables have turned.”

Rolling his eyes yet again, Jungkook suddenly heaved himself up, forcing you backwards. Your giggles increased, the contagion of your amusement finally breaking him and stretching a full blown smile across his face.

“You’re so goofy.”

“Then do something about it, Mickey.”

In a show of strength that turned your panties from a pool into a water park, Jungkook heaved you over his shoulder, hand coming down on the fat of your ass.

“I’ll do something about it alright.”

Once you made it to the bedroom, Jungkook tossed you down onto the bed and was about to climb on top of you but you were a little quicker. Grabbing his arm, you pulled him down until he was flat on his back with you straddling his waist—his hard cock pressed right against your clothed cunt, just waiting to be released.

Leaning down, you captured him in another kiss while he captured your ass in his grip.

“Damn I love this ass….” He murmured into your lip lock which made you giggle.

After deeming him throughly kissed, you sat up to take in his flushed face and reddened lips. Perfect.

“Forgive me yet?”

He hummed, fingers playing with the hem of your top. “Maybe after you take this off.”

Ever so compliant, you gripped both sides of your shirt and pulled it over your head to reveal your bare breasts to Jungkook. His eyes could have popped out of his head, the groan he let out a mixture of arousal and slight irritation.

“You’re not wearing a bra?”

Shrugging one shoulder, you simply answered, “I knew I was coming here. What’s the point? Do you want to know if I’m wearing underwear?” That cheeky smile answered the question for him and it only sunk him further into the already unhealthy infatuation he had with you.

Gripping your ass, he roughly grinded your cunt down on his erection. The friction made both of you gasp, the air starting to feel electric as desperation began eating at both of you.

It didn’t take long for both of you to undress each other. Jungkook helped you wiggle out of those tiny shorts you wore, letting out a curse as a little drip of sticky arousal snapped back against your inner thigh. Sitting up, he grabbed the back of his shirt to pull it over his head and toss it somewhere in the room. Now you could feast your eyes on the hard planes of his body and trace your fingers those intricate tattoos that marked up his skin.

Leaning down once again, you trailed kisses from that sweet spot on his neck, down his chest and over his abs until you reached your destination. Your eyes never left his as you began your descent, hands tugging at the waistband of his jeans to pull them down and Jungkook helped kick them off. You licked your lips at the sight of Jungkook’s hard cock slapping against his abs once you freed it from the confines of his pants . He could see that hungry look in your eye, smirking as he took hold of his erection and began lightly pumping it; a motion that drove you fucking crazy was watching him stroke himself. It just did something to you.

“You want it, bug?” He teased to which you nodded frantically.

“Yes, baby. Give it to me.” Opening your mouth, you held your tongue out to lick at it, Jungkook hissing at the contact. He slapped it against your wet muscle a few times before letting the tip slip in your mouth. You immediately wrapped your lips around it, suckling at it like a desperate whore. Which you were but only for him. No one else could make you act like this.

You replaced his hand with your own, licking and spitting all over his cock to lubricate it. Taking him down your throat, you began bobbing your head up and down, making sure to twist your wrist just the way he liked it.

Jungkook let out a series of low moans, curses, and the tiniest of whines everytime you went down. One hand gripped at the ponytail you put your braids up in and one hand behind his head, he let you take the lead. You knew just how he liked it, just the way to flick your wrist and tighten your throat to throw him over the edge in minutes.

Coming off him with a wet cough, you continued to stroke his cock, your spit soaking your own hand but that only helped the glide. Your hazy and hungry eyes stared right into his, your chin and mouth soaked in saliva. “I love this cock so fucking much.” You gasped before taking it back down your throat and bobbing your head.

Tossing his head back, Jungkook let out a strangled moan, forcing your head down. You let him, of course, relaxing your throat so he could fuck up into your mouth.

“Come sit on my face, baby. Right fucking now.” He demanded.

Pulling off him a little, you maneuvered your body until your pussy was right over his face—69 style. He gripped both of your ass cheeks in his palms, pulling you down until he could suck your neglected clit into his mouth.

You let out a sharp gasp around his cock, finally getting some type of relief. Sucking his cock made you a different type of horny and he could see that with the way your cunt was dripping.

His mouth and tongue started going crazy, ravenous as he alternated between sucking and licking, making sure to dip his tongue in your opening every once in a while. His hands continued to slap and grip at your ass, one wandering sometimes to pull your slippery lips apart so he could really get in there.

His hand trailed down from your ass to your tight opening, squeezing a finger into your spasming walls. He located that sweet spot with practiced ease, slipping in another finger in beside it and stretching your snug cunt open. The squelching of your walls was like music to his ears, adding to the salacious ‘gluck gluck’ noises your throat was making as you swallowed his cock.

Since you were horny on your way here, it didn’t take long for that feeling to start burning hot in your belly.

You pulled off his cock but continued to stroke him, your cheek resting against his thigh as high pitched moans left your lips.

Jungkook flattened his tongue, his grip on your ass guiding you to rut against his face. The fat of your ass almost suffocated him but Jungkook couldn’t imagine going out any other way. He hooked his fingers right into your gspot, your eyes rolling back and head hanging low as you used him for your pleasure.

“Oh yes! Oh yes, daddy! You’re gonna make me cum!” Lifting your head, you took his cock back into your mouth, burying it all the way to the hilt in your throat. Jungkook’s hips jumped, him groaning against your clit, the vibrations sending shocks right through you.

A few swallows around his cock and a few more jabs to that spot inside of you and both of you were cumming. Your body tensed, hips rutting faster against his face to ride it out. He thrusted his hips up once, twice, three times before letting out a drawn out moan as he pumped his release down your waiting throat. Your body shivered as buzzing pleasure raced down your back and to your toes. You don’t think you’ve had an orgasm like that since…….three days ago when Jungkook ate you out in his car after he had to pick you up because you forgot to get gas.

Amazing car head aside, the party wasn’t over yet.

“Sit on it, bug. Hurry.” Jungkook rushed you, tapping your ass a few times, his breath labored and tone dripping with desperation.

Good thing you were just as eager because you crawled forward on your weak knees until he was lined up with your entrance. Reaching between your legs, you held his wet cock steady as you slid down on it. Jungkook’s hands held your ass cheeks apart to watch, eyes blurring slightly as your hot, tight, and gushing walls wrapped around him. You weren’t faring much better, your head knocking back as his thick cock stretched you to your limits. It didn’t matter how many times you had taken his cock, the pure g i r t h always knocked the breath out of you. This is why you couldn’t leave him alone, his cock was just too fucking good. You’d be damned if you ever let someone else take it from you.

Once you were settled to the hilt, your body leaned all the way forward to rest between his legs and you began bouncing your ass on his cock.

Jungkook was mesmerized by how your fat ass rippled and moved against his pelvis. At this moment, he didn’t give a damn how many women you threatened or how much you pissed him off; just the sight of your ass and the feeling of your juicy cunt wrapped around him was enough to make him remember another reason why he couldn’t let you the hell go. He loved your pussy too much. And if that wasn’t enough, the sight of that tiny ‘♡JK’ tatted on your left ass cheek certainly let him know.

Jungkook’s hands came down to slap repeatedly on your bouncing ass. “Faster baby. Fuck, this ass is so good!” The seat of your ass was wet from a combination of spit and cum, the wet slapping noises filling the space. Your moans were in competition with the clapping of your ass, your cheek pressed against the sheets and your nails digging into his calves.

“Ahhh! This cock is so b-big,” you whine, “love it so much…..right there….! Oohhhh-ohhhh fuck!”

Lifting up a little and adjusting your knees to a better position, you began throwing yourself down on his cock, the head brushing against every spot you had and sending you reeling. You’d come all the way up until just the tip was inside before slamming back down, the bed shaking underneath the force. Jungkook’s toes curled, your cunt gripping him tighter than a vice.

He was about 98% sure his soul left his body, eyes rolling and head knocking back against the pillows as his lungs struggled for air.

Not able to hold it anymore, Jungkook was quickly flipping your positions. Now it was your turn to be on your back, your legs spread in a wide V shape, his cologne invading your senses and his lips covering yours. He was everywhere, all over you. Your skin was on fire from his touch, sweat soaking your back and air becoming sparse as he kissed away what little oxygen you had left. You were obsessed with him. He was yours as you were his. Nothing would ever change that.

His cock buried itself back into your walls, a deep moan of pleasure getting caught in your throat once he began jackhammering into you. Your hands gripped the bottom of your feet, keeping them apart so he could continue to plow into your soft spot. His hips moved like a well oiled machine, making noisy contact with your ass with every thrust.

Your mouth dropped open, “oh my…..fffucking g-god…!” Tears welled up in your eyes as blinding pleasure spread over every nerve in your body.

Jungkook grunted, his own pleasure peaking at the sight of your fucked out face.

“Yeah? You about to cum? Are you gonna what the fuck I say and stop acting so fucking jealous? Huh?” Drool dripped down the sides of your mouth as you tried to form sentences but hurried ‘yes yes yes’ were the only words you could manage. “How many times do I have to fuck you before you get that through your thick head? I only want you. Fuck you push my fucking buttons but I know it’s just because you want me to fill up this tight cunt, isn’t that right?” A slap came across your cheek, orgasm crashing into your body without warning from the sudden strike.

Jungkook could feel wetness soaking his pelvis and cock, jaw tightening as he began moving even harder—the headboard knocking into the wall so hard that he doesn’t think he’ll get his security deposit back for this place.

“Juicy fucking cunt squirting all over me. Mhmmmm….I’m gonna fill this pussy up. You want that? Want me to send you home with my cum running down your legs?”

Your ears were ringing, his dirty talk propelling you right into another endless orgasm, your toes curling in the air as blissful overstimulation began to take over.

Jungkook wasn’t far behind, a few more thrusts and he was burying himself deep in your sopping cunt. His cock throbbed inside you, the thickness pressing right into your abused gspot. Your hands released your feet to scramble against his back, sharp acrylics digging into his skin and making him hiss in slight pain.

“Ohhhhhh shittttttt….fuck baby,” He groaned out as he pumped creamy ropes inside your clenching pussy, your spasming walls sucking him in and milking him for everything he was worth.

Both of you collapsed from exhaustion, Jungkook’s face planting itself in your breasts and your legs falling weakly to the bed with a light thump. Only the sounds of your heavy breathing filled the room, both of your hearts beating wildly as you two came down.

~

“So am I forgiven?” You asked as you two soaked in the tub, the scent of an apple scented bath bomb wafting around the room.

Jungkook was behind you, head leaned back against the wall as he tried not to fall asleep. “I guess so. Just stop doing that, okay? It’s so embarrassing.”

“Deal.”

A beat of silence washed over the room, just the sound of water lapping against the sides of the tub filling the space.

“One more time.” You suddenly said.

“Huh?”

“You asked me how many times do you have to fuck me before I get it through my thick head to stop being jealous. I think one more will do the trick.”

Jungkook let out a chuckle, opening his eyes only to find your beautiful irises staring back at him with that playful and lustful glint.

“You’re impossible.” He scoffed with an endearing shake of his head.

“But you love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

[donat-senpai]

I enjoy ur Moamao x reader x jinshi series! I would love a part 3!

Hi, sunshine. Thank you! Appreciate the feedback 💙 (I haven’t replied to requests this fast in a while lmao). Part 3 is ready :3

Yandere!Maomao X Reader X Yandere!Jinshi Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! tw: Jealousy (nothing special anymore) I think this time, more attention was given to Jenshi. I'll try to write about Maomao next time. She's a sunshine and also deserves her happy time with the reader! (ﾉ･ω･)ﾉ

Part one, Part two, Part three

Minute of glory

— You want me to take part in the play? — you ask Jinshi in complete confusion. A thought creeps into your mind: has he lost his mind? As if agreeing with your thoughts, he gives you a confirming nod.

— You know I was assigned to organize the play. This performance is extremely important because the order comes almost directly from the Emperor. Everything has to be perfect. After all, it's a gift from the Emperor to the entire harem. There are only a couple of days left before the performance, but something happened that we weren’t prepared for. A few actors fell ill. Their roles are minor, but still crucial. We can't just remove them from the script, — Jinshi patiently explains the situation while your brain struggles to process it. He looks truly exhausted and tense. Organizing the event must have drained him. You start to feel a bit sorry for him, yet you still can't understand why he came to you with such a request.

— Just replace them with other actors.

— That’s impossible. All the actors are already involved, — Jinshi glanced at Gaoshun, who immediately joined the conversation.

— We also considered casting one of the concubines for the role, but one of the Emperor’s requirements was to keep the play’s storyline a secret until the main performance. We’re not sure whether the chosen concubine would be able to maintain that secrecy.

After Gaoshun’s words, things became a little clearer. You exchanged glances with Maomao. She had been quietly listening the whole time, stirring a mixture with a wooden spoon.

Jinshi took your hand in his and pressed it against his chest. The spoon in Maomao’s hand let out a desperate crack.

— Please, don’t refuse. I don’t know anyone else suited for this role whom I trust as much as you. I promise, everything will go smoothly. I’ll be right there with you. All we need to do is step onto the stage and perform a short dialogue. There’s still time before the performance. We can rehearse, — with each sentence, Jinshi moved closer. You barely noticed, too distracted by your own anxiety.

Performing in such an important play, in front of everyone—it was nerve-wracking. Oh, Emperor! What if you forgot your lines? But Jinshi was so serious, so certain that he would be by your side. Surely, he would help if anything went wrong. Your heart slowly softened. You wanted to help him.

— What’s the role?

— Lovers.

His answer struck like thunder in a clear sky. A loud crack echoed in the room. The poor spoon — it seems to have broken. You cursed internally. You should have suggested Maomao for the role instead. Such a golden opportunity, wasted.

---

You stand on an improvised stage set up in one of the large halls. A couple of eunuchs are busy checking the props. The main cast has gone on a lunch break. Jinshi said that the two of you should practice a few times on your own before joining the final rehearsal with everyone else later today.

Tense, you try to discreetly wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. You can’t even imagine how you’re supposed to act. You’ve never experienced anything like this before. Unfortunately, no one thought to teach you acting skills between rounds of physical labor. The harem really should reconsider its system.

Right now, you’d gladly trade places with Maomao — not just for the sake of her and Jinshi’s bright future, but for your own peace of mind. You cast a helpless glance at the makeshift audience area. Maomao gives you an encouraging smile, trying to cheer you up. Gaoshun nods approvingly and gives you a thumbs-up. Your attention shifts back to Jinshi, who is patiently waiting. He’s too kind to pressure you, letting you take your time. You promised to help. There’s no turning back now.

Blushing slightly and taking a deep breath, you finally begin to say your lines.

— Ah, my beloved! Is fate not cruel? We come from different worlds! — you sigh dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest.

— Fate? I won’t let destiny decide for us! — With a sly smile, the man takes your hand and leans in, his lips almost brushing against your fingers.

To your surprise, Jinshi slips into his role effortlessly, as if he’s been acting his whole life. Watching his confident performance, you start to relax, feeling a little bolder.

— But what will people say?! What will my father say?! — You pull your hand away, turning your back to him, clenching your fists. Jinshi gently turns you back toward him, reaching for your chin and tilting your face up.

— Let them say what they will… You are all I need.

Maomao, watching the rehearsal, takes a hurried sip of tea, trying to hide the nervous twitch on her face. Was this cursed scene supposed to be this intense?

She knew. She felt it. No actor had actually fallen ill. That wretched eunuch had planned everything from the very start.

— Then… then kiss me, if your feelings are true! — you said, your lips trembling.

Jinshi smiles broadly and slowly leans in closer, enjoying the way Maomao grips her cup tighter. Gaoshun nervously swallows. It seemed like, any moment now, the apothecary might start killing. At the last second, you place your palm on Jinshi's face and suddenly pull back.

— No! I can't! — you cry out dramatically.

Maomao exhales in relief. Jinshi laughs, throwing a brief glance at her. With feigned regret, he delivers the final line.

— What a pity… I really tried so hard.

The eunuchs, who had abandoned their work somewhere during your rehearsal, suddenly clap. They enthusiastically mention that the passion between the lovers was played out so convincingly. Encouraged by their praise, you bow to them gratefully. As you finish, Jinshi places his hand on your shoulder.

— You did wonderfully… So, shall we do it again?

You mentally apologize to Maomao, feeling regret. How did it happen that you stole her shining moment? A crack of glass is heard. The poor cup… It seems to have broken.

[sinofwriting]

Satiated - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic)

Words: 1,748 Summary: Charles wins Monza for the second time. (part of Claiming A Wife - Charles verse) Note(s): NSFW, DARK fic, the first part is dark, so inherently this part is as well. And if you haven’t read that part, please go read it. Context is somewhat needed.

Part One | Masterlist | Support Me! 

She clutches at Arthur’s arm as the final ten laps begin, Oscar Piastri gaining time, and the murmurs in the garage are loud. “C’mon Charles.” Arthur murmurs, his eyes glued to the timing screen unable to pull them away to watch the actual race.

She presses a little closer to him, giving her brother-in-law what little comfort she can. “He’s got this. This is his race to win now.”

He nods, but he still looks at the timing, unable to even blink and she can’t blame him. Her own eyes go between the race, the timing, and Charles’ onboard unable to blink as well.

The garage erupts into cheers as Charles crosses the line for the final lap, people starting to move around and out of the garage and Arthur is wrapping an arm around her urging her out of the garage and to parc fermé and she easily goes.

She had thought Charles otherworldly when he won Monaco, despite her fears overpowering it. But as she watches him get out of the car standing on it, and hearing all the Italian fans going crazy, seeing the flares, the fans starting to spill out, feeling the absolute joy radiating from Ferrari, she can’t help but liken Charles to a god.

The team grows louder when Charles throws himself into them. They all make sure to touch him and he does so back. He comes over to where her and Arthur are, pressing close to them, gripping her hand for a second as his other ruffles Arthur’s hair before continuing to touch the team members around him.

She watches with shiny eyes as he takes off his helmet and everything, setting it down before wandering over to the car. Sitting on it as a photo of him and a few other Ferrari members are taken. And then he’s walking back over to her.

Team members clap his back, reaching for him, touching him, Arthur is beaming at his brother, but Charles is only looking at her. It’s still a new feeling to not feel uneasy when he looks at her and she basks in it.

His hands come up to frame her face and he presses kisses to her face. “I won, mon ange.” He murmurs when his lips catch the corner of her mouth.

She smiles, head tipped back to look at him easily. “You won, Charles. You did so well. Now, hurry so we can celebrate.”

He presses a last kiss to the corner of her mouth before leaving.

—

They are supposed to be home, in Monaco. Charles had been firm with the team about it despite the unexpected win. He had gone to the celebratory dinner and they should already be in the car to leave, but if there is one thing she learned quickly after Charles claimed her, it is that he is unable to say no to her.

It had been easy when they came back to the hotel, the Italian fans cheering and screaming, Charles taking photos and signing things for them, to get Charles to agree to stay for just the night and that they could leave early in the morning.

All it had taken, and really she didn’t have to do so, was her sitting at the edge of the bed, a pout on her lips. And when Charles gently cooed, asking her what was wrong as his thumb rubbed at the soft skin under her eye, all she had to say was that she wanted to stay for the night and Charles was calling the front desk and messaging his team to let them know and his family that they wouldn’t be leaving with them.

Unsurprisingly everyone is more than okay with it, the hotel even offering to send up a bottle of champagne which Charles easily declines.

“You alright, mon ange?” He asks, thumbing moving to trace over her cheekbone. “You always like to leave soon.”

She nods, turning her face to press a kiss to the bare inside skin of Charles’ wrist. “I’m okay.”

His eyes are wide as he looks down at her, his chest still, and then he’s sinking down to his knees, pressing himself between her legs, his hand dropping and leaving a burning trail down her arm. “Mon ange.” His voice sounds pained.

Her hands cup his face, fingers gentle as they dance over it and his eyes flutter shut, breath hitching. “You did so well, Charles. So amazing.”

Nerves are gripping her, she feels shaky but isn’t, her breathing a little fast and before she can talk herself out of it, she bends and presses their lips together for the first time.

He’s still underneath her hands and lips and all she can hear is her own heartbeat, her confidence begins to flatter and Charles comes alive under her. A broken sound leaving his lips before he’s fervently kissing her back. Where her kiss had been a mixture of nerves and passion, his is nothing but passion. His hands grabbing at her waist, his tongue easily slipping its way into her mouth when she moans.

They continue to kiss but soon her neck and back ache from being bent over and she tries to urge him upwards. She wants to continue to kiss him. To lay back and feel his lips on hers, his body on top of hers, his body between her legs pressing them together, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Charles,” She breathes, when he finally stops kissing her though, their lips still brushing however when she speaks.

“Lay back, mon ange.” He lightly squeezes her waist and then his hands are moving downwards to her thighs. “I want to kiss you somewhere else now.”

Her fingers grip at the duvet, something just short of a whimper escaping from her. Her body follows his wants, sinking down into the bed.

“That’s it, <i>mon ange</i>.”

A shaky breath leaves her and she can feel his lips against her skin, following the path of new exposed skin that her dress shows him as he pulls it up.

She’s about to remind him that it zips when she feels his breath against the waistband of her panties and then his lips. It makes her gasp, blood rushing to her face. “Charles.”

“Shh,” he pets her thigh.

She sucks in a breath as she feels his fingers curl around her underwear, her hips lifting as he takes them off of her. It releases into a moan when he presses his mouth against her with a moan of his own.

One of his hands grips her hip while the other pulls at her left thigh, spreading her more open for him. His tongue swirls around her clit and her fingers ache as they pull at the duvet. His name, as a protest or an ask for more, is on her tongue but unable to push past her lips. She feels like she can barely breathe as he plays with her clit, trying to figure out what she likes best, and when he does, he doesn’t relent.

One of her hands leaves the bed, fingers tangling in his hair, trying to pull him away as her thighs try to press together, but it just encourages him, makes him groan, the vibrations in turn making her cry out. He continues to pleasure her until finally she falls apart for him.

“Such a good girl for me.” He murmurs, lips leaving a slight wet kiss to her thigh as she catches her breath.

“Charles, please.”

“I know.” He soothes. “I just need,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead dipping his head and her eyes roll back as she feels the press of his tongue against her hole. He moans against her and her thighs clench. “So good, mon ange.” And she whines feeling sensitive but ready for him to start again if he decides to.

His right hand leaves her thigh, moving upward and his left follows it. She doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until the heat of him is hovering over her, his lips dancing across the length of her neck until finally he’s kissing her again.

It’s slow and sweet, but now that she doesn’t have the distraction of his face between her thighs, she remembers what exactly she wanted. “Charles,” she breathes when he pulls away, letting them both catch their breath.

His green eyes are wide, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. He looks both starved and satiated.

“I want something.”

“Anything.”

Her eyes fall downward at the quick response, still somewhat unused to getting anything and everything she wanted. Her fingers tug at the shirt he’s wearing, a frown forming as she realizes he’s still wearing it. Her lips part, ready to ask for it off, but he’s already standing and pulling it over his head.

He goes to stand in between her legs, ready, eager, to kiss her again, hear what she wants, but she stops him, foot pressing against his toned stomach. “Pants and underwear too, please.” His mouth shuts with a quiet click, eyes widening, but he nods, stepping back.

His eyes stay glued to her as he begins to unbuckle his belt and she takes advantage of it. The nice lace panties are gone, but the matching bra isn’t.

Finding the zipper of the dress, she takes the small thing carefully between her two fingers and pulls, sitting up on her knees as she does so. She debates getting up and wiggling out of it standing before saying fuck it, either way she’d have to wiggle out of it, she might as well stay on the bed to do so. She’s pleasantly surprised when the dress comes off easily over her head, only a slight pause due to Charles having bunched it up so much.

She’s so pleased with how easy it came off, she nearly misses the sound of a belt dropping to the floor and then the quick follow up of clothes as well.

“Mon ange.” Charles breathes.

Her heart beats a little faster, watching as his fist clench, feet shuffling, obviously wanting closer. She pokes her bottom lip, Charles’ eyes dropping it to, his tongue darting out to swipe over his own. “I never said what I wanted.”

“Anything.” He repeats.

The pout is replaced by a smile as she lays back down and spreads her legs wide enough for him to go between and he doesn’t need her to tell him what to do next.

[formulaonecrumbs]

thirteen days and my thirteenth reason ✍️

Lando Norris x depressed!reader

summary: she’s drowning under exam pressure, but lando stays beside her through it all.

warnings: established relationship, depression, burnout, academic pressure, comfort

A/N: this is the most self-indulgent fic i have EVER written. it’s based off my exact situation so if it seems specific uhhh that’s why. i literally only have 12 days till these exams start (most imp of my life i think) and i haven’t began studying for a single subject KILL ME. ADHD paralysis is real asf 😔😔 i originally wrote this only so i’d feel motivated to actually study but it didn’t work so now i’m posting it so it doesn’t go to waste ☺️ embarrassing to say but i will be coming back to read my own fic. i need it rn 😕 anyways enjoy lovies!! ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the curtains hadn’t been opened in three days.

the floor was a mess—scattered notebooks, a few balled-up tissues, a hoodie half-hanging off the edge of the bed. her laptop sat untouched on the desk, still open to a study schedule she’d typed up with shaky hands three weeks ago. color-coded. hopeful. delusional.

it was thirteen days until her final exams. the most important ones of her life. everyone kept saying that. like she didn’t already know. like the weight of it wasn’t the reason she could barely lift her head off the pillow.

she’d meant to start studying two weeks ago. then one week ago. then yesterday. then this morning.

and now the sun was setting again, and she’d done nothing. absolutely nothing. just stared at the ceiling and tried not to cry. or did cry. she honestly couldn’t remember. it all blurred together now—hours and hours of feeling like she was stuck underwater while the world kept going on without her.

the front door opened.

she didn’t move.

“baby?”

lando’s voice was gentle. careful. like he already knew what kind of day it had been.

he was home earlier than she expected. that or her time perception was fairly off (it was. she thought it was sunday, it was tuesday). she heard the shuffle of his sneakers being kicked off, the clink of his keys on the counter, and then quiet footsteps down the hallway. the bedroom door creaked open slowly.

there was a pause.

then the bed dipped beside her.

she didn’t look at him.

lando didn’t say anything at first. he just lay there beside her, head propped up on his hand, eyes studying her profile in the dim light. she looked so small. in a pathetic i-can-barely-hold-myself-up kind of way. like the duvet was the only thing keeping her together.

finally, he spoke. “have you eaten?”

she shook her head. barely.

“studied?”

another shake.

lando sighed softly, but not in a disappointed way. more like it physically hurt him to see her like this. like the girl he loved—his girl, the one who once made him laugh so hard he spilled water out his nose—had been replaced by this quiet, heavy version of herself who barely spoke anymore.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. his fingers lingered against her cheek.

“talk to me,” he whispered. “please.”

her throat tightened.

“i can’t,” she said hoarsely. “i don’t know what to say.”

“say anything.”

“i feel like a failure.”

lando’s chest ached.

she blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy. “i have thirteen days. and i’ve done nothing. nothing. i’m so behind. i’m going to fail. and i don’t even care. that’s the worst part. i don’t care. i should care, but i just… don’t. and then i hate myself for not caring. and then i just lie here and do nothing again.”

her voice cracked on the last word.

lando didn’t try to fix it. not yet. he didn’t offer solutions or motivation or some inspirational quote he found online.

he just reached for her hand under the covers and held it tightly.

“you’re not a failure,” he said quietly.

she shook her head, tears slipping down her temples.

“you’re not,” he said again. “you’re burnt out. you’re exhausted. you’re scared. you’re human.”

she didn’t respond. just squeezed his hand tighter.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured. “you don’t have to be okay.”

“i’m not.”

“i know.”

they lay there for a long time. eventually, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest. she didn’t resist. just let herself fall into him, cheek pressed against his hoodie, fingers gripping the fabric like it might anchor her back to the world.

“i’ll help you,” he said into her hair. “we’ll figure it out. we’ll make a plan. we’ll break it into little pieces. you don’t have to do it all at once.”

she shook her head weakly. “i don’t think i can.”

“then we’ll start with something small. just one thing.”

she didn’t say anything.

“we’ll do it together,” he promised. “and if all you can do today is brush your teeth or drink some water, that’s enough. you’re enough.”

she exhaled a shaky breath.

“i’m so tired,” she whispered.

“then rest,” he said. “you’re allowed to rest.”

he didn’t leave her side. not for the rest of the night. he ordered takeout—her favorite. he brought her a glass of water and sat beside her while she drank it slowly, like every sip was a mountain climbed. he helped her brush her hair when she couldn’t lift her arms without trembling. and when she finally crawled out from under the covers to shower, he waited outside the bathroom just in case.

the next morning, he woke her with a soft kiss to her forehead and a sticky note stuck to the lamp that said:

baby steps.

she sat up.

she opened her laptop.

and for the first time in weeks, she tried.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

four days in, she was already starting to fray at the edges.

it wasn’t that she wasn’t trying. for the first time in a while she was. she’d stuck to the plan—lando’s plan, the one he’d helped her make with gentle hands and sleepy morning kisses and a color-coded spreadsheet that didn’t feel like it was out to kill her. one subject per day. built-in breaks. kind reminders written on sticky notes in his handwriting like: you’re doing amazing and five minutes of dancing > five minutes of crying.

but trying didn’t mean it was easy.

especially not tonight.

she’d been sitting at the kitchen table for two hours now, blinking at the same paragraph in her textbook without actually reading a word. her brain was buzzing, her back ached, and the weight of everything—every page she hadn’t read, every topic she didn’t understand, every second slipping by too fast—was pressing against her chest like a vice.

her eyes burned.

her fingers curled into fists in her lap.

and then, just like that, it snapped.

a single sob cracked out of her like a warning shot, and then the floodgates opened.

she pushed the textbook away with trembling hands and dropped her head onto the table, tears slipping fast and hot down her cheeks, shoulders shaking. she didn’t even try to stop it. she couldn’t. all the pressure she’d been holding in for days, weeks—it came pouring out like it had been waiting for this exact moment to break her.

“fuck,” she whispered. “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“hey—hey, hey.”

lando’s voice was soft but immediate.

she hadn’t even heard him come in.

he crossed the room in two seconds, dropping to his knees beside her chair and cupping her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears even as more fell.

“what happened?” he whispered.

she tried to talk, but it came out in a choked sob.

“breathe,” he said, gently. “deep breath. c’mon, baby. with me.”

he inhaled slow and deep. she tried to follow. couldn’t quite get there. tried again.

“that’s it. good girl. again.”

a few breaths later, her chest started to ease—just a little.

“i can’t do it,” she whispered, voice shaking. “i can’t—i don’t know anything, i’m so behind—“

“hey,” he interrupted, rubbing her arm. “no. don’t say that. you’ve been doing so well. i’ve seen you.”

“but it’s not enough—there’s too much—and i’m so tired, lando. i can’t think straight. i feel like my brain is broken—”

“it’s not,” he said immediately. “you’re not broken. you’re overwhelmed. you’re exhausted. and you’ve been pushing through it like a fucking warrior.”

she sniffled.

“you don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he added. “not to me. not to anyone else. not even to yourself. you’re already enough, just like this.”

“but the exams—”

“will come. and we’ll face them. one question at a time. one hour at a time. but not like this. not when you’re this close to burning out.”

he pulled her into a hug—tight, grounding, real. she clung to him like a lifeline.

“you’re not alone, okay?” he murmured into her hair. “you’ve got me. always.”

they stayed like that for a while, her tears slowly soaking into the shoulder of his hoodie.

eventually, she pulled back just enough to whisper, “i’m sorry.”

he frowned. “for what?”

“for falling apart.”

“baby,” he said, brushing his nose against hers. “falling apart doesn’t scare me. not when it’s you. not when i love you.”

her lip trembled.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “sometimes being strong is letting yourself break and asking someone else to help you pick up the pieces.”

she nodded, barely.

“come on,” he said softly, standing and tugging her up with him. “no more tonight. you need rest.”

“but—”

“i’ll quiz you in the morning,” he promised. “i’ll make flashcards and everything. but right now, you need to lie down. cuddle quota’s running low.”

she cracked the tiniest smile through the tears. “that’s not a real thing.”

“sure it is,” he said, leading her to the couch and pulling a blanket over the both of them. “mandatory. doctor’s orders.”

she curled into his chest, still aching, still overwhelmed—but held. safe.

and for the first time in hours, her breathing slowed.

lando pressed a kiss to her temple. “we’ll get through it, baby. together.”

THE END :>

[elisabeth-maddison-piastri]

Everyone Loves Her

Oscar adjusted the collar of his team shirt as he walked through the bustling paddock, the hot sun gleaming on the freshly polished cars lined up in the garages. His mind was already halfway into race prep mode, strategies and lap times buzzing in the back of his head. But beside him, walking in heels that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe combined, was his twin sister—Yn.

Yn wasn’t just visiting. No, she was making an entrance.

Oscar had barely announced her arrival before the entire paddock seemed to stop functioning for a moment. Engineers paused mid-briefing. Team members subtly elbowed each other. Cameras that were supposed to be focused on the drivers were now subtly tracking Yn as she gracefully strode through the area in a chic, flowy jumpsuit in a soft champagne tone, hair curled to perfection, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose.

Mark, trailing just behind them, leaned in toward Oscar and muttered under his breath, “Well. This’ll be fun.”

Oscar glanced at him, frowning. “Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?”

Mark just clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically.

The moment they stepped fully into the McLaren hospitality area, the drivers descended like bees to honey.

“Is that her?” Lando was the first to spot her, nearly choking on his smoothie.

“Yn?” Charles looked up from his phone, eyes going wide. “Oscar’s sister? That Yn?”

“The Vogue one?” Pierre added, already adjusting his shirt and casually tousling his hair.

Oscar blinked, watching the group of grown men suddenly abandon whatever they were doing to make a beeline for them. Yn, of course, noticed immediately.

“Oh no,” he mumbled.

Yn took off her sunglasses slowly, revealing big, sparkling eyes framed by long lashes and perfectly done makeup. She smiled. “Hey boys.”

And that was it. Game over.

Lando nearly tripped over his own feet. “Wow. I mean—hi. Hello. Yn, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Lando, right? I read about you in that GQ spread last month. Nice suit. Didn’t love the shoes, though.”

Lando flushed pink, half-embarrassed and half-thrilled. “Noted. You can help me pick next time?”

“Oh absolutely not,” Oscar muttered.

Max appeared next, as smooth as ever. “Yn, I’m surprised you didn’t come earlier. Oscar’s been hiding you.”

“Protecting,” Oscar corrected grumpily.

Yn ignored her brother and extended a perfectly manicured hand to Max. “Well, I’ve been very busy. Fashion week in Milan, meetings in Paris, you know the drill.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Max said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. “But you make it look effortless.”

“Ugh,” Oscar groaned.

Charles was next, stepping up with that soft Monaco-boy charm of his. “Bonjour, Yn. You are even more beautiful than I imagined. Do you speak French?”

“Un peu,” she said, grinning. “But I prefer the way you say my name in that accent.”

Pierre nearly tripped beside him.

Lewis arrived with all the grace of a king. “Darling, you are absolutely glowing,” he said smoothly, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Welcome to the chaos.”

“Oh, finally. A gentleman,” Yn teased, sending the others a smug little look.

“Excuse me?” Carlos said, raising his eyebrows. “I haven’t even had a chance yet.”

He stepped forward, took her hand, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “You must be the most stylish person here.”

“Obviously,” Yn quipped, winking.

“Yn!” Alex waved, already grinning. “Oscar’s told me literally nothing about you. Which is honestly suspicious, because I feel like we would get along.”

“We might,” Yn replied, giving him a once-over. “You're charming. Dangerous combination.”

George arrived, tall and proper, but clearly flustered. “Hello, Yn. Very pleased to meet you. You look… well, breathtaking.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Yn said. “I like your watch. Vintage?”

“Gift from Carmen,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

“A man who wears sentimental accessories. Cute,” she said with a little nod.

And then Fernando, smooth as ever, took both of her hands and kissed each one. “Yn. Welcome to Formula 1. You have completely changed the mood of the entire paddock. For the better.”

Yn laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. “I didn’t realize I’d be this popular.”

Meanwhile, Oscar stood rooted to the spot, mouth half-open. “What is happening.”

Mark handed him a bottle of water like he was a war veteran returning from the front. “They’re all in love with your sister.”

“This is a nightmare,” Oscar said.

“It’s your fault. You never told them she was this stunning,” Mark said, amused.

Just then, Oscar spotted Yuki—Yuki, the man who never flirted with anyone—sitting with Yn on a bench and… feeding her sushi.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Yn beamed as Yuki held out a piece of salmon nigiri with his chopsticks. “Open,” he said, eyes wide and adoring.

“Oh my god,” Oscar muttered, watching as Yn happily accepted the bite, touching Yuki’s hand with a soft smile.

Around them, the rest of the drivers were hovering like adoring fans at a concert. Lewis was leaning in to fix a strand of her hair. Charles and Max were bickering in the background over who spotted her first. Pierre was whispering something that made her laugh, and George was awkwardly trying to get a selfie.

Yn turned to Oscar and said brightly, “I love it here. Can we do this every weekend?”

Oscar opened his mouth to say something—probably a firm “no”—but Lando interrupted him.

“Yn, want to come check out the McLaren motorhome? I’ve got a playlist I think you’ll like.”

Charles jumped in. “But first, Yn, let me show you the new Ferrari livery. I swear it matches your vibe perfectly.”

Lewis added, “You could give us fashion tips for our next campaign shoot.”

Pierre dramatically clutched his heart. “Or just stay here and bless us with your presence.”

“She’s not staying!” Oscar finally burst out. “She’s not your fairy godmother!”

“Actually,” Yn mused, sipping the iced tea someone (probably George) had handed her, “I might be.”

Mark nearly choked laughing.

Yuki popped another sushi roll into her mouth. “I think she should stay.”

Oscar just groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I should’ve left her in Paris.”

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere Jock wants Nerdy You... Badly

🦦: Hi, it's my first time requesting without anon, so please excuse any awkwardness.

Can I request maybe yandere jock/bully x  extremely anxious male reader with an oral fixation? Only if you want, though.

A/N: I decided to go with jock since I haven’t written that yet. Hope you like it!

[Yandere! Jock x Anxious! GN! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Chase is the captain of the baseball team, and he’s helped lead the team to several victories. He’s an all-star athlete and has scores of girls (and some guys) throwing themselves at his feet. As if his position at the top of the school sports hierarchy wasn’t enough, the young man was also blessed with a pretty impressive body too— muscles for days and coming in well over six feet tall.

And he loves you so much!

But you don’t pay too much attention to Chase because you’re too busy hiding away from everyone due to your extreme social anxiety.

It feels like a curse, really. The mere thought of being trapped in a building (a.k.a. school, *shudder) with a whole bunch of other people who all stare at you and talk about you behind your back is torture!

Hence, you try your best to blend into the crowd and not stand out.

After reading a tip in a mental health article, you resulted to sucking on hard candy when you get stressed out. Your nerves start to climb? You pop a little mint into your mouth and suck on it.

It helps.

And it also garnered the attention of a certain jock.

The mere millisecond that Chase had first seen you popping a piece of candy into your mouth and sucking on it as if your life depended on it, he swore his heart had skipped a beat.

“So cute,” he’d whispered to himself as his eyes honed in on you— focusing on his cute little darling.

He has something else for you to suck on.

And from that moment on, Chase knew you are his.

You just didn’t know it yet. He just had to court you.

Unfortunately, with your social anxiety, that proved to be a little challenge to the lovesick jock.

Chase would frequently wait by your locker for you, trying to strike up a simple conversation that would lead to him asking you out. However, every time you’d see the big guy, you would turn bright red and pop a candy into your mouth, turning around and heading straight for your class instead.

Chase tried to offer you a ride home so that you wouldn’t have to ride the bus— but the idea of one-on-one time in a cramped car with a guy sent shivers down you spine, and you’d barely had time to blurt out, “No thanks!” before sprinting to the bus.

Chase even “surprisingly” transferred into some of your classes. And with one glare at the students sitting next to you, they’d fled, allowing him to take any seat that was closest to yours… but you would refuse to look up from your textbooks, your jaw clenched as you sucked on some hard candy.

But Chase is persistent.

One day, as you’re leaving English class, Chase utilizes his impressive bulk to block the classroom exit from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said in his deep voice, trying to act all nonchalant, yet his Adam’s apple quivered when he noticed you sucking on something.

“Oh,” you muttered, your face already growing cherry red, “h-hi Chase.” The exaggerated size difference between you and the jock was striking. He completely towered over you and was at least twice as wide with solid muscle. It really made your heart beat faster, both from fear and a little because you thought it was hot.

You sucked on your candy even harder.

Chase casually leaned against the door jam, crossing his big arms in front of his beefy chest. “So, I was wonderin’ if you’d come see me play tonight?” he asked, playfully flexing his massive biceps, the muscle curling out of his short sleeves with the action.

Your eyes widened, but still, the idea of being in the crowded bleachers with a bunch of screaming, rowdy people wasn’t something you looked forward to.

“Um…” you began, trying to think up an excuse to turn Chase down.

Chase could sense your hesitation, and before you could put two and two together, the large jock reached out and snatched you up. He easily tossed you over his broad shoulder, as if you weighed absolutely nothing.

Chase felt on top of the world carrying you, like this was where you belonged: in his arms.

You were stunned silent, unable to move a muscle while in the strong grip of the large jock, who carried you off towards where you assumed would be the gym…

But Chase passed the gym, and even exited the school, heading towards the parking lot.

“Um, wh-where are we going?” you asked. “I thought you had a game?”

Chase puffed out his chest with pride.

He has you! He finally has you! And he’s not going to let go.

Chase stopped in front of his car, practically tossing you inside.

He quickly ran to the driver’s side, starting up the car and speeding off, taking you, his Darling, home with him so that he can really see your sucking skills in action!

[ggukivrse]

the art of pretending – jjk | 01

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.9k

notes: the first chapter is here!!! i ended up cutting this into two parts so everything that’s going to be in chapter two was originally planned to be in this chapter loll. tysm to my bae @page-isa for beta reading and putting up with me :> as always, feedback, likes, comments, reblogs and asks are so so appreciated, like i love yapping on here loll. enjoy reading my angels <3

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⤷ chapter one — the way things go

and there’s too much on my mind that i don’t even want to try / guess it’s not far from the ordinary, they do say love is blind

The road stretches out ahead, long and quiet, humming under the tires. You lean into the car door, forehead pressed against the glass, fingers mindlessly tugging at the threads on the hem of your shorts.

Summer air seeps through the half-cracked open window, warm and heavy with the scent of trees and sun-baked asphalt.

You should be excited. Everyone else is.

A full week away — just your group, no classes, no work shifts, no group projects hanging over anyone’s head for the first time in four years. A final trip before the “real world” starts to pull everyone in different directions.

But your stomach’s been tight since the moment you packed your bag. And now, with every mile you put between yourself and home, it just gets worse.

“You’re really quiet,” Kiara says, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. She’s got one hand on the wheel, the other flipping the volume knob down on the music. “Like... unusually quiet. Do I need to be concerned?”

You shake your head without looking at her. “Nah. Just tired.”

Kiara makes a sound like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press, and you're grateful for it.

You glance over at her. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, dark brown hair falling in curls past her shoulders, sunglasses balanced on top of her head instead of over her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in full DJ mode by now,” you say, nodding toward her phone. “Where’s the summer playlist?”

She smirks. “I’m easing you into it. Jimin says my music tastes give him whiplash.”

“He has a point.”

She scoffs. “Please. Hoseok says my music’s amazing.”

“He says that about everything you do," you say with a smile.

She shrugs, casual. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s adorable how hopelessly smitten they are. Even after a year together, Hoseok still looks at Kiara like she hung the stars.

You remember when they finally got together, after years of dancing around it. Everyone in the friend group had seen it coming — everyone except them.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kiara laughs, and you can’t help but join in. For a second, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little.

"Speaking of Hoseok," you start, glancing over at her. “How come he's not coming with you?”

She sighs. “Shift at work. He tried to switch but his manager’s being a dick. He’ll drive up tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “That sucks.”

She hums in agreement, but you’re already half-lost in your thoughts.

As much as you feel bad for Hoseok, you're quietly grateful Kiara asked you to come with her. The idea of doing this drive alone — just you, a quiet car, and way too much time to sit with everything you haven’t let yourself feel — would’ve made the weight in your chest unbearable.

She hasn’t said much, but she’s always had good timing. Maybe she didn’t even realise how much you needed the company. Or maybe she did.

“Lucky me, I got upgraded,” you say lightly.

She grins. “Damn right you did.”

The playlist switches songs, something soft and nostalgic. You stare out the window again, at the lazy sway of trees and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

“I can’t believe we actually pulled this trip off,” Kiara says, after a beat. “Twelve people committing to anything at the same time? Miracle.”

You nod. “Taehyung’s been talking about it since first year.”

“Yeah, and threatening to disown us if anyone bailed.”

You huff out a small laugh.

Back when this trip was just an idea tossed around during late-night study sessions and half-finished group projects, you'd been genuinely excited — borderline giddy, even. The promise of a full week at a fancy resort with your closest friends had felt like the perfect reward after years of deadlines, breakdowns, and pulling all-nighters on cheap coffee and instant noodles.

It was one of those plans that didn’t feel real at first — the kind of thing you talk about just to survive the semester — but then slowly, it started taking shape. Rooms were booked. Deposits paid. Group chats flooded with outfit ideas and packing lists.

You remember counting down the months, then the weeks. You’d imagined bonfires and inside jokes, sunsets by the water, slow mornings in a warm bed.

Back then, this trip had felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Something to look forward to. Something certain.

Now, you can barely keep the dread from crawling up your throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Kiara asks again, gentler this time.

You blink, pulled back to the present. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”

Again, she doesn’t push. Just gives you a side glance and says, “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ve got a whole week of sun, overpriced cocktails, and probably at least one group fight. You’ll be fine.”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be fine.”

But your stomach’s still a mess, and the name you’ve been avoiding thinking about drags itself right back to the front of your mind.

Jungkook.

You haven’t seen him in a month.

Not since it ended.

And in about an hour, you’re going to be standing under the same roof as him — spending an entire week in the same space, breathing the same air, pretending it doesn’t feel like your insides are still bruised from the last time you spoke.

A small, irrational part of you hopes he won’t show. That something will come up. That he’ll decide it’s not worth it.

But you know him. He’ll be there.

Of course he will.

Kiara says something — probably teasing, probably meant to distract you — and you laugh on instinct. Keep the smile on your face, even as dread pools low in your gut.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

You glance out the window again, the road narrowing in the distance.

Now, a part of you can't stop looking for the nearest exit.

You and Kiara are the first ones to arrive.

She pulls into the sandy lot just off the coastal road, the tires crunching softly over sunbaked gravel before the car settles into park. The air smells like salt and sunscreen, and the soft hiss of waves reaches you even before you open the door.

You step out slowly, blinking against the late afternoon sun. It’s warm but breezy, the kind of weather that clings just right to your skin.

The place looks exactly like the photos Namjoon sent in the group chat months ago — quiet, tropical, and beautiful.

Curved thatched-roof villas nestle into thick palm trees, wrapped around a smooth wooden deck that opens to a private pool. Soft lights glow under the railings, giving the whole place a warm, cosy feel. White umbrellas shade loungers facing the ocean, just a few steps off the deck and onto clean, untouched sand.

Seokjin had pulled a few strings to make it happen — his aunt owns the place, a family-run beachside resort tucked just far enough from the touristy areas that it still feels private. He managed to get the whole property reserved just for the twelve of you for the week. No strangers. No noise from other guests. Just your group, the ocean, and time that doesn’t need filling.

It's quiet. Calm.

You breathe in, hoping the calm will seep into you too. It doesn’t.

Kiara rounds the back of the car and stretches with a loud groan, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. “This is so cute,” she says, scanning the view. “God, I’m so glad we actually made it.”

You nod, eyes skimming the road. She leans against the car beside you, and for a while, neither of you say much.

The parking lot doesn’t stay quiet for long.

Taehyung and Yasmine roll in first, their white SUV kicking up dust as it slides into the spot next to Kiara’s. The engine barely cuts before Taehyung pushes open the door and steps out.

You’re already walking over but he gets to you first, greeting you with a wide boxy smile and outstretched arms. You let him pull you into a warm hug that's just dramatic enough to be on-brand.

Yasmine climbs out slower, adjusting her sunglasses with one hand while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She beams at you, dimples on display.

"God, I haven't seen you in forever," Taehyung sighs as he steps back. "Thought I'd catch you at Ari's birthday but you weren't there."

"I've just been busy."

It's not quite a lie, but not the complete truth either.

"Quite being such a workaholic, yeah? You have all the time to do that once summer ends

Yasmine laughs softly under her breath. “You cannot be talking right now, babe."

You snort as he playfully rolls his eyes.

Yasmine steps forward and pulls you into a hug of her own — tighter, less showy than Taehyung’s, but no less sincere. “We did miss you though. Go MIA on us again and we will track you down,” she says simply.

“I missed you guys too,” you murmur. The smile on your face has started to hurt your cheeks, but you can't stop grinning. It's been too long since you've genuinely felt so content, and the trip hasn't even properly started yet.

A familiar hatchback glides into the lot just as Yasmine and Taehyung pull Kiara into matching hugs, loud and overlapping. You squint into the sunlight, shielding your eyes until you catch the unmistakable sight of Ari behind the wheel — one arm slung casually over the open window.

The sun glints off the gold hoops in her ears, the fine chain around her neck, the chipped red polish on her fingers tapping the side of the door. She parks smoothly with one hand, and a wide smile curls across her features the moment she spots you.

Namjoon climbs out of the passenger seat with a long, slow stretch, like he’s waking up from a nap.

“Finally,” you call out, grinning, arms already out.

Ari steps out and shuts the door with her hip. “Bro, we passed the same creepy fruit stand three times. I was ready to fight the GPS.”

She strides over, pulls you into a hug that’s tight and real. She smells like grapefruit body spray and road trip exhaustion. “God, you’re alive,” she mutters into your shoulder. “I was convinced you bailed.”

You laugh. “I thought you would. You hate driving longer than thirty minutes.”

“Don’t remind me. Namjoon promised vibes and delivered car sickness.”

“I heard that,” Namjoon says, pulling you into a side hug of his own. He’s warm and solid, and his smile is small but real. “Still made it before sunset. That’s what counts.”

“Barely,” you mutter. “Kiara drove.”

“I heard that,” Kiara calls from behind the SUV, dragging her bag out with one hand and an iced tea in the other. “And we didn’t even get lost.”

You’re about to fire back a reply when the loud, familiar hum of a motorbike engine reaches your ears.

The sound hits like muscle memory — instant recognition, not even a second of doubt.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

And still, your body goes tense. You keep your gaze low, focused on the faded scuff mark near the toe of your shoe, but your ears are tuned in with brutal clarity.

The engine cuts.

Then boots hit dirt.

“Hey,” a voice calls out — easy, warm, annoyingly smooth. “Sorry I’m late.”

You finally look up.

Jungkook pulls off his helmet, a lazy sort of grin spreading across his face as he scans the group. His hair’s slightly flattened from the helmet, but it somehow works — messy, effortless, and still irritatingly pretty. He adjusts his shirt with one hand, and the fabric clings to the lines of his chest like it has a personal vendetta against your peace of mind.

He looks… fine.

Normal.

Like nothing’s weird. Like there’s no history. Like he didn’t once hold your heart like it was breakable and then drop it like he didn’t even notice.

“Look who’s finally here,” Namjoon calls, smiling like Jungkook isn’t at all late. “Took you long enough.”

“My bad,” Jungkook says, laughing a little as he walks toward the group. “GPS had me driving everywhere but the correct place.”

He makes the rounds casually — daps up Taehyung, hugs Yasmine and Ari in turn, nods at Kiara with that friendly chin-tilt he always does. When he reaches Namjoon, they exchange one of those quiet, guy-coded, half-shoulder embraces.

And then his eyes flick to you.

For half a second, his smile doesn’t change. It just softens at the edges — subtle, like a reflex.

Your stomach tightens.

“Hey,” he says.

You manage something that feels like a nod. “Hey.”

That’s all. No hug. No small talk. Not even eye contact that lasts longer than it needs to.

He doesn’t push it.

You try to focus on the group again, on Ari saying something about which rooms have outlets, but the back of your neck is hot. You’re not sure if it’s the sun or him or both.

You think that’s it — that maybe you’ll be able to forget he’s even here for a bit — when suddenly, from just across you, his voice cuts in again.

“Oh— I brought that thing you left at my place, by the way.”

You blink. For a moment, you’re sure he’s talking to someone else — but when you look up, he’s already looking at you.

“What?”

“That thing,” he says again, like it should be obvious. “You left it last weekend. I figured you’d want it back.”

Your brain stutters.

Last weekend?

You haven’t been to his place in weeks. You’ve barely even texted since the breakup. You definitely didn’t leave anything there last weekend because you were nowhere near there.

He says it so casually. So matter-of-fact.

You look at him — really look — and for the first time since he arrived, you see something behind the relaxed exterior. It’s quick. Too fast to name. But it’s not nothing.

“What… what are you talking about?” you ask, quietly.

He just jerks his head toward the bike. “C’mere for a sec. I’ll show you.”

And just like that, he’s already turning, walking back toward the motorbike like this is completely normal.

You don’t move at first. You just stand there, frowning, trying to make sense of what he said.

You didn’t leave anything. You know you didn’t.

So what the hell is he doing?

You glance back at the others — still busy, still loud, still completely out of earshot. No one even seems to notice that Jungkook is beckoning you away like it’s just another part of the day.

You hesitate.

Then, against your better judgment, your feet move anyway.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you follow him, the group's voices turning to background noise — laughter, zippers, the thunk of a cooler hitting the ground. Faint but fading.

He stops near the bike, facing away, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You take the bait.

“What the fuck are you on about?” you say, sharp, not bothering to soften it.

He turns then. Slowly. His face is tighter now — still calm, but the easy smile from earlier is long gone. There’s something clipped in the way he exhales.

“You didn’t tell them?”

You blink. “Tell who what?”

“The group,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You didn’t tell them we broke up.”

You stare at him.

A breeze cuts through the clearing, rustling the edge of your shirt. You feel it but don’t move. Your brain is still catching up.

“I thought you told them,” you say finally, frowning.

He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. I didn’t. Clearly.”

Your stomach sinks.

You shift your weight, eyes flicking toward the group — still too far to hear, but not far enough to not feel it.

“So,” you say slowly, “you’re telling me… they all still think we’re together?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. He just gives you a look. A quiet, restrained yes.

You blink again, the weight of that landing hard and uneven in your chest. Your thoughts start tripping over each other.

“That’s fine,” you say quickly, stubborn. “I’ll just tell them. I’ll— we’ll clear it up.”

“No,” he says, almost before the words leave your mouth. His tone is firmer now, more certain.

You narrow your eyes. “Why not?”

He looks at you, and for a second, he seems like he’s debating whether to say anything at all.

Then he sighs and leans back slightly, arms crossed.

“Because I’m like eighty percent sure Seokjin’s planning to propose to Haeun at the end of this trip.”

You blink.

“What?”

“He asked me about ring sizes a month ago. And he’s been weirdly nervous in the group chat. You didn’t notice?”

You hadn’t. Or maybe you had and just didn’t register it. You're mind has been hazy for the past few weeks, and the person to blame is standing opposite you.

Jungkook shakes his head like it’s obvious, then gestures vaguely toward the resort. “He’s gonna do it. Probably by the beach. Probably with fireworks or some corny shit. It’s gonna be a big thing.”

You stare at him, arms crossed now too, trying to piece it all together.

“And if we drop this whole breakup bomb now,” he continues, “that’s all anyone’s gonna talk about. Not the proposal. Not the memories. Just… us. Ending.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because he’s not wrong. You know he’s not wrong.

You can already picture it — the weird silences, the whispered side conversations, the heavy tension whenever someone says “remember when—” and then catches themselves. All of it looping back to you two. To what used to be you two.

And Seokjin — the guy who makes toast like it’s a grand gesture, who once cried at a dog food commercial — he doesn’t deserve that. Not on his big moment.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

You look at him again.

And there’s a flicker of something you can’t name on his face. Not smugness, not satisfaction. Just… tired honesty.

Neither of you wanted this.

But here it is.

And now you have to deal with it.

You cross your arms tighter, trying to ground yourself with the weight of them. The sun’s lower now, casting long shadows behind the bike, and you can hear the faint sound of Kiara yelling something, probably about food or wine.

But none of it matters.

Not when your very existence here suddenly feels like a live wire.

You glance at Jungkook again, brows drawn. “Okay… so what are you planning to do?”

He hesitates — just a breath, but you catch it.

Then he gives you a look. One you know too well.

That don’t be mad look.

“...You’re gonna hate me for this,” he says, almost like he’s bracing for impact, “but I think we should just… pretend. For the week.”

Your head jerks back a little, eyebrows raised. “Pretend?”

“Yeah,” he says, quickly, like speeding through it might make it sound less insane. “Just for now. Just until the trip’s over.”

You stare at him like he’s grown another head.

“Jungkook.”

“You already said it — you were gonna tell them anyway, right?” he shrugs. “So you’re not lying, technically. You’re just… delaying.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “We broke up one month ago.”

“Yeah. I know. I was there.”

“And now you want us to pretend that we’re still dating.”

“For one week,” he says, holding up a finger like that somehow makes it reasonable. “We dated for four years. What’s one more week gonna do?”

You blink at him.

Hard.

A part of you still doesn't want to believe that you spent four years in a relationship that ended up leading to nothing. All of your college years spent focusing on you and Jungkook, just for everything to just end so abruptly.

“This is not the same as being together for four years.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You’re actually being serious.”

“I am serious,” he says, voice exasperated. “Look, the rooms are already organised. All the couples are paired up. If we tell them now, we'll have to crash someone else’s setup and that'll just ruin the trip more.”

You hate that he’s thought this through.

You hate even more that he’s not totally wrong.

You groan under your breath, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “God. This is so dumb.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Yeah, well… you did.”

You drop your hands, exhaling hard. Your eyes meet his again. His face is calm, but there is a flicker of tension behind his eyes. Like he’s holding something in. Like this is costing him, too, but he’s choosing not to show it.

You want to fight it. You should fight it.

But then you think of Seokjin’s dumb soft smile, the way he talks about Haeun like she built the stars, and how excited everyone is to be here together.

You can’t ruin that. You won’t be the reason this trip turns into a bad memory.

So you sigh. Heavily. Like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the ground.

“Fine,” you mutter.

You don’t meet his eyes when you say it. You just brush past the stubborn knot in your chest and take a step forward.

Jungkook shifts his weight, then holds out his hand toward you like it’s nothing. Like this is casual. Normal.

“Okay,” he says, almost too breezy. “Hold my hand.”

You blink. “What?”

“C’mon,” he says, like you’re the one being weird. “We’re walking back. We’re gonna act like a couple, or someone’s gonna know something’s up.”

You stare at him.

Because it’s not that he’s wrong. It’s that he said it so simply. It annoys you how easy this seems to be for him — to just pretend to be in love with you again.

It makes you wonder if he had been putting up an act for the entirety of your relationship.

You open your mouth to argue, but then close it again. You guys were never lowkey when you were together. You didn’t do subtle. If you suddenly walk back ten feet apart and barely acknowledging each other, someone will notice. Probably Ari first. She always knows when something is up.

You exhale, slow and resigned.

“God, we were so annoying with the PDA,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jungkook snorts. “Yeah. That’s kinda on us.”

You eye his outstretched hand, hesitate for another second. And then — with every ounce of reluctance you can physically manifest — you slide your hand into his, fingers fitting between his like muscle memory.

He curls his fingers around yours automatically, warm and easy.

Too easy.

You stare at your joined hands for a second longer than you mean to.

It’s ridiculous how fast your body remembers this. How natural it feels — the shape of his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers, the way his thumb always rests along the side of yours without even thinking.

You look away quickly.

Your chest does something strange and quiet, and you shut the door on it before it can speak.

It’s not real. Not anymore.

The sound of tires on gravel cuts through your thoughts.

You glance up just as a car eases around the bend, pulling into the last open spot in the lot. It's Seokjin’s car — you recognise it immediately — and the moment it comes to a stop, the passenger doors swing open in near perfect unison.

Jimin hops out first, stretching like he’s just stepped off a ten-hour flight instead of a two-hour drive. He runs a hand through his blonde locks, a smile enveloping is features the moment he spots you all.

He’s dressed like he put thought into looking effortless — loose tee, chain glinting at his collar, a wrist stacked with bracelets that clink faintly when he moves to grab his bag from the seat.

Yoongi follows behind him, slower, more deliberate. He slings a canvas duffel over one shoulder and shuts the car door loudly.

You watch as they start walking toward the group — Jimin already waving, Yoongi just nodding at someone — and then the driver’s door creaks open.

Seokjin steps out with one hand braced on the roof, blinking against the sun. His shirt’s a little wrinkled from the drive, but his hair is neat, like he smoothed it down at the last gas station stop. He circles the car, pulls open the back door, and starts hauling out bags with a quiet sort of efficiency.

Haeun steps out more carefully, eyes scanning the scenery, one hand smoothing the back of her hair. She adjusts her sleeves, then quietly shuts the door behind her. No big entrance — just a soft, polite smile as she approaches the group a few steps behind Seokjin.

"This isn't bad," Yoongi says, giving the area a once-over as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder.

Jimin grins, throwing a look back at him. “You sound almost impressed.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Just expected more bugs.”

“There will be bugs,” Kiara calls from the trunk of her car, holding up a bottle of bug spray like a threat. “But I brought protection.”

“Of course you did,” Jimin laughs.

Jungkook steps in, releasing your hand briefly to clap Jimin on the back before pulling him into a hug. “Good to see you, dude. You took your sweet time getting here,” he says.

Jimin just grins. “Fashionably late.”

Without looking, Jungkook reaches back for your hand and finds it on instinct, fingers sliding back between yours like he never let go in the first place.

Taehyung slings his hands around Yoongi dramatically, even to his standards. Yoongi lets it happen for about three seconds before grumbling, “You’re clinging.”

“You love it,” Taehyung says, squeezing tighter.

“I tolerate it,” Yoongi corrects, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

Taehyung lets go with a satisfied grin, already reaching for his bag, and Yoongi just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he adjusts his duffel.

Jimin’s halfway through complimenting Haeun — something about how her top matches the sky, or the sea, or maybe both — and she just smiles, quiet and a little bashful, before mumbling a thank you and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Seokjin glances over at the exchange with a faint smile but doesn’t say anything, just lifts something from the trunk with a grunt.

It’s starting to annoy you how in love all your friends are. It feels like the universe mocking you — like every laugh, every shared glance, every easy touch is some private joke you’ve been left out of.

Yasmine resting her head on Taehyung’s shoulder, Namjoon glancing over at Ari every time he makes a joke just to watch her eyes crinkle into crescent moons, Jimin and Yoongi refusing to admit that they like each other despite the constant glances and smiles that everyone notices.

None of it is loud or showy, but it’s everywhere. Quiet affection humming underneath everything.

And the worst part? No one’s doing anything wrong. They're just happy. Which, somehow, makes it worse.

Namjoon scrolls through something on his phone nearby, then looks up just in time to catch Seokjin trying to drag three bags at once.

“You good?” he calls.

“I’m thriving,” Seokjin says, winded. “But I won’t be carrying anything else for the rest of the trip.”

A few laughs ripple through the group. The sun’s dropped just low enough to cast long, soft shadows across the lot, golden waves illuminating against everyone's skin.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, raising his voice just enough to cut through the chatter. “Let’s grab our stuff and head in. Hyung, you've got the keys, right?”

You all look over at Seokjin, who holds the keys up briefly.

Everyone moves back to their own cars, reaching for bags, slinging backpacks over shoulders, tugging at zippers and slapping closed trunks.

You slip your hand from Jungkook’s and head to Kiara’s trunk, digging out your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. When you walk back, he subtly extends his hand toward you — a quiet invitation.

You don’t take it. You just keep walking.

You told yourself you'd only do what was necessary — the bare minimum to make it believable. Holding hands in front of others? Sure. Smiling for the occasional photo? Fine.

But extras, like this — when no one’s watching — felt like the kind of thing that could make you slip up without meaning to.

Ari falls in beside you, and without thinking, you hook your arm through hers, quickly falling into an easy conversation.

Behind you, you faintly hear him sigh.

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[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 1: The Change

“Happy birthday, to you,” your teacher, Mrs. Palmer, and classmates finish singing to you.

“Thank you, everyone,” you giggle, happy that everyone did something special for your birthday in the middle of class.

You’re now six-years-old and your Momma’s promised to take you to Little Luigi’s Pizza Place after school, where you’ll get to open your presents from her, as well as eat all the pizza you want and have a cookie pizza for free! You begged her to let you stay home, but she laughed and said that she had to meet her publisher for her upcoming book, but she promised that after she was done, she’d come check you out and the two of you would go celebrate your birthday.

You look up at the clock (good thing it’s digital, because you haven’t learned to read the old clocks yet!) and see that it’s almost time for lunch.

“Come on, Momma,” you mutter to yourself. “Get here, already.”

Seriously, you didn’t plan to eat lunch, so you didn’t bother packing lunch today!

Just then, the intercom above the door chimes.

“Mrs. Palmer,” the school secretary asks.

“Yes?”

“Can you please send Y/N Gould to the office, please? There’s someone here to see him.”

“Yes,” you cheer, making a few in the class laugh.

“Of course,” she responds before the device clicks off.

You grab your backpack and toss it over your back before rushing towards the door.

“Bye, Y/N,” one classmate says as you pass her.

“Happy birthday,” another says as you near the door.

“Enjoy your birthday, Y/N,” Mrs. Palmer says, her usual bright smile on her face. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Remember to have your worksheet done.”

And with that, you leave the room and skip down the hall to the main office, happy that your school is small so you don’t have to walk far. As you do, all you can think about is all the pizza you’re about to eat! And the chocolate chip cookie pizza that you get after that! And don’t forget about the presents! Maybe you’ll get the new Pokémon Platinum game for your DS, or a new stuffed animal, or maybe a new movie!

The suspense is practically tearing you apart and you enter the office, ready to greet your Momma when you see… Sheriff Foley. And he looks… sad. You look to the secretary, who’s standing behind him, and she has the same sad look.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Sheriff Foley,” you say, looking around to find Momma, but not finding her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Momma?”

“Son,” he says as the secretary begins to cry a bit. “I have some bad news.”

You feel a weird feeling in your stomach, like when you eat a bunch of ice cream and get sick, but this feeling is worse than that.

“What?”

“It’s about your momma. I got a call from the police in Vegas and they said there had been a car accident. Some drunk fool leaving a casino hit your mother’s car.”

You feel your heart stop at the words “hit” and “mother.”

“Is she ok,” you manage to say. “She’s at the hospital, right?”

The secretary’s crying becomes louder.

“I’m sorry, son,” he says, a tear falling from his eye. “He was going too fast when he hit her. She’s gone.”

“Gone? Like missing?” Now, you’re crying. “Why can’t they find her?”

“No, gone as in she’s no longer with us.”

“Like… she’s gone to heaven,” you whisper.

He nods and it’s then you feel your entire world collapse. You remember what Momma said about going to heaven when you saw a squirrel asleep on the side of the road. She’d said that he had gone to heaven after falling asleep and that he wouldn’t be waking up again. That he’d always be there.

“No,” you cry, tears and snot falling from your face. “No, she can’t be in heaven! She said she’d be here!”

Sheriff Foley takes you into his arms as you cry.

The next few days go by in a blur. You stay with Sheriff Foley and his wife until the funeral. Unfortunately, the accident was so bad that the casket had to stay closed, so you weren’t able to see her one last time before she’s put in her grave. The whole town of Goodsprings is there; she was an author writing best-selling romance novels set during the Age of Sail and a pillar of the community, so everyone wanted to be there to say their final goodbyes to her and their condolences to you.

You said nothing during the whole thing. You hadn’t said anything since Sheriff Foley told you that Momma had gone to heaven and that she wouldn’t be back. The only noise to leave you is the sound of crying.

“Y/N,” he says as you watch the grave be filled with dirt. “When we leave, we’ll have to go by your house. You need to pack anything you need.”

“Why,” you ask, your voice sore from crying for days.

“Because a man is waiting there for you and when you have everything you need, he’ll take you to McCarran Airport. From there, you’ll go to Gotham City in New Jersey.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, first you lose Momma and now you’re losing your home?

“Why do I have to leave,” you say, tears streaming down your face.

“Because the county did some checking and found your father through a DNA test.”

You freeze at that. Your Daddy?

“Momma, do I have a Daddy,” you asked her once.

“You do, baby, but he doesn’t know about you,” she answered. “We met years ago, back when Momma was young and dumb. When I found out I was having you, I couldn’t find him. That’s when I realized I had to act right.” She rubbed her hand through your hair. “It’s thanks to you that I’m not like that anymore.”

That conversation goes through your head as you ride back to your house. You’re actually going to meet your Daddy? When you pull up to your house you see a fancy car sitting in the driveway and an elderly man in a suit standing next to it, watching you as you get out.

“I’m sorry, who’re you,” Sheriff Foley asks.

“Alfred Pennyworth,” the man says, bowing a little. “Butler to the Wayne Family. I apologize, Sheriff, but I’m afraid Master Bruce was unable to get away. Urgent business at Wayne Enterprises demanded his attention.”

“More urgent than his son?”

You can see the butler slightly flinch at that, despite how good he tries to hide it.

“I understand your frustration. I expressed the same sentiments, but Master Bruce couldn’t be persuaded to leave the matter to Mr. Fox.” He looks down at you. “I trust this is young Master Y/N?”

You can’t help but duck behind the sheriff’s legs to hide from him.

“Yeah, this is him.”

“I’m glad to meet you, though I wish it was under more joyous circumstances. You have my most sincere condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the ground.

“Come on, son, let’s get all your stuff packed.”

The three of you spend the next hour packing all your toys and clothes into cardboard boxes. When asked about your bed, dresser, and other larger things, Alfred said a room had already been prepared for you with a king sized bed and a dresser with room for all your clothes and more.

“Should you require anything else, I will ensure Master Bruce provides it.”

“What will happen to the house,” you finally ask Sheriff Foley, afraid for what he would say.

“Your momma already paid off her house and her will said that everything that’s hers goes to you. For now, the county will care for it until you turn eighteen, which is when you can inherit it.”

Hearing that should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t because you’d have to wait so long to come back and even then, Momma still wouldn’t be here. As the two adults packed up the last of the boxes in the fancy rental car, you slipped away into your Momma’s office at the back of the first story. You slide open the doors, expecting to see her at her desk, working on her latest story like you’d done so many times before, but this time, an empty room and silence greets you.

You enter her office and hop into the big revolving chair, her favorite perfume still lingering from the morning of your birthday. You look at the desk and find something that takes your breath away: her favorite gold ink pen. One day, you’d asked her why your last name was Gould and she’d told you that your family came from a long line of goldsmiths who once made jewelry and other small things for rich people. Momma’s Daddy still worked with metal, even after the family practice was shut down, and when she said she was going to become a writer, he made her a gold ink pen to bring her good luck. You pick it up, looking at the beautiful design, and begin to tear up.

She carried it everywhere she went, so seeing it here cements the fact that she’s not coming back. Maybe if she wasn’t in a big hurry that morning, she would’ve remembered to take it with her and the accident never would’ve happened. And she’d still be here with you.

“Y/N,” the Sheriff says as he enters the office. “We finished packing everything. Are you ready to go?”

You want to say no and refuse to leave, but you know that you can’t stay here. You quietly pocket the pen and follow him to the car, where Alfred waits for you.

“Alright, son, be good for Mr. Pennyworth here. Do what he says and be a good boy like your momma taught you.” He gives you a hug and you wish it would never end, because then you’d never have to leave your home. “You’ll be back before you know it, and your home will be here waiting for you.”

A with that, you get into the car with Mr. Pennyworth and begin the drive to the airport. You use the mirror to see your house one last time, seeing it get smaller and smaller until it’s out of sight.

“I know this is sudden after the loss of your mother, but I promise Master Bruce and I will do everything we can to make Wayne Manor a home for you.”

“What’s it like?”

“The manor? It’s a large estate with a long and storied history that dates back to the early days of Gotham. There’s plenty of rooms for you to explore.”

“And what about my Daddy? What’s he like?”

“Master Bruce is a skilled businessman and one of Gotham’s biggest socialites. He’s also the adoptive father of Masters Dick and Jason.”

“He already has kids? Would they be my brothers?”

You’d heard of several of your classmates having older and younger siblings and had thought about having a brother or a sister. What would it be like to carry around someone younger than you or be care for by someone older than you.

“Master Dick would be your older brother, but he’s now living at the manor right now. He’s off finding himself right now, but I have no doubt that he’ll be back one day.”

“What about Jason?”

Mr. Pennyworth frowns at your words and you feel afraid that you’ve said something wrong.

“Master Jason would be your older brother, as well, but he was taken from us. With any luck, he and your mother have met one another.”

Oh…

“When did he go to heaven?”

“He left us a few months ago, but it feels just like yesterday.”

And with that, the talk is over. You two arrive at the airport and after the butler returns the rental car, he guides you to the gate where a private jet awaits the two of you. You can’t help but be amazed that you’re riding in a private jet that looks so much better than the ones you’ve seen on tv. You sit in one of the seats and it’s way softer than your bed.

“Master Y/N, we’re getting ready for takeoff,” the butler says as he puts his seatbelt on. “Put your seatbelt on.”

You do as you’re told and before you know it, you feel the jet begin to move. You hurry to look out the window to see everything moving past before the jet begins to fly. You stare out the window, watching Nevada, the state you’ve called home, get smaller and smaller until you’re above the clouds, unable to see anything, even the massive buildings of the Strip, which could be seen for miles.

It’s then you realize that this is real, that you’re leaving everything you’ve ever known and won’t be back for years and tears begin to fall from your face. You’ve spent the last few days crying so much that you’d think that you’d think that you would run out of tears, but apparently not. Not wanting to disturb Mr. Pennyworth, you face the window and bite your lower lip to stop making noises.

Somehow the flight seemed to be both long lasting and not long enough, because eventually, you saw a city show up below you. You squint your eyes to get a better look through the smog and see many tall buildings, all of the having those scary stone creatures you saw on a movie once.

“Welcome to Gotham City, Master Y/N.”

A/N: I’m hoping to make this a series that sees somewhat regular updates, but don’t quote me on that. I’ve been getting back into Resident Evil and I look up Yandere Batfamily stuff on this site so much it’s not even funny. Sorry if the first chapter was so long, but I thought if the first chapter was long enough, people would forgive me if future chapters are a bit lacking. Also, this series is heavily influenced by several of my favorite users, like @acid-ixx , @gotham-daydreams , @luludeluluramblings , and @darkstaria . You should totally check them all out.

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → embarrassing situation

Summary → Peter and you get caught by May.

Peter’s sixteenth birthday had been awkward, to say the least.

May had tried her best to make it memorable—she’d baked his favorite cake, gifted him a new Lego set, and even made sure his friends came over earlier to celebrate with him. Everything seemed to be going fine, that is until the last gift came, when everyone left and it's just May and Peter.

“Happy birthday, Peter!” May beamed as she handed him a small, neatly wrapped box. Peter furrowed his brow, curious, looking up at her suspiciously.

“Uh, thanks, May,” he said slowly, already a little concerned. He tore open the wrapping paper and lifted the lid, only for his face to instantly turn beet red.

“Oh my God, May!” He groaned, his eyes wide as he stared down at the contents of the box—condoms. His whole body felt like it was on fire from embarrassment.

May, leaning casually against Peter's study table, had the audacity to smirk. “What? I just want you to be prepared, Peter,” she said, entirely too calm for his liking. “You’re sixteen now, you’re growing up, and I’m not dumb. Boys your age—”

“May!” Peter flailed, waving his hands as if he could physically stop the words from coming out of her mouth. “Please! I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

May tilted her head and gave him a look, one of those all-knowing, teasing looks that made Peter feel like she could read his mind. “Really? You don’t? So, what about Y/n? Weren't you crushing on her? I literally saw you stutter in front of her when she came over at the party.” Her eyebrows wiggled, and Peter wanted to sink into the floor.

Peter’s face turned an even brighter shade of red—if that was possible. “That’s different! I mean… I haven’t even asked her out yet!” He stammered, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he tried not to make eye contact with May. He glanced at the box in his hands and quickly shoved it behind his back, as if doing that would make it all disappear. “This is... so weird.”

May chuckled, walking over to him, and affectionately ruffling his curly hair. “It’s not weird, Peter. It’s called being responsible.” She softened her tone, looking at him with sincere eyes now. “I just want you to be smart about these things when you’re ready. You’ll thank me later.”

Peter groaned, turning away from her as he tossed the box into the drawer of his nightstand like it was a hot potato. “Yeah, yeah. But for the record, I’m not using them anytime soon. Seriously.”

Exactly one week later, Peter found himself standing beside your locker, nervously shifting from one foot to the other as he finally worked up the nerve to ask you out.

---

Now, five months had passed since that nerve-wracking moment when Peter had stammered his way through asking you to be his girlfriend. His hands had been clammy, he couldn’t stop fidgeting, and the carefully rehearsed speech he’d prepared had completely fallen apart when he saw your smile. Somehow, though, despite his stumbling words and flushed cheeks, you’d said yes.

He was convinced his heart had exploded when he heard your response. But there was just one problem.

He still hadn’t told May.

Peter wasn’t actively trying to hide it from her—well, not exactly. He just hadn’t found the right time to bring up the fact that he has a girlfriend. May was great, but he could already imagine the look of teasing glee on her face once she found out, and that thought alone made his stomach twist into knots. So, for now, sneaking around felt… easier. Plus, it wasn’t like he was lying. Well, not much. May thought he was out on patrol today, but instead, he was spending the afternoon with you.

Meanwhile, May was blissfully unaware of Peter’s real plans for the day. She was lounging at home, sipping coffee, when she decided she might as well tidy up his room. After all, Peter was always too busy with school, work, and Spider-Man duties to keep up with it himself. Humming to herself, she stepped into his messy room.

“That boy never cleans,” May muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she picked up discarded clothes from the floor and tossed them into a laundry basket.

As she straightened his bed, something caught her eye—something dark and out of place, sticking out of his closet. Frowning, she walked over to investigate, pulling the item free from the shelf.

A black lacy bra.

May blinked. “What the…?” She stared at it in confusion, her mind racing. When did Peter start collecting bras? No, that can’t be it. Does Peter have a girlfriend? She squinted at the bra, trying to piece things together.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but as she processed it further, her eyes darted toward Peter’s nightstand. A sudden memory surfaced—the box of condoms she’d given Peter on his sixteenth birthday. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she pulled the drawer open, her stomach in knots.

There it was.

The box, which had once been full, now contained only two condoms. May stood there, staring down at it in disbelief.

“Oh boy…” she muttered to herself, exhaling sharply. She didn’t know whether to be angry that Peter hadn’t told her or relieved that at least he was being safe. Either way, her emotions swirled between concern and amusement. He’s really growing up, she thought, but her protective instincts kicking in.

May sat down on the edge of Peter’s bed, running a hand through her hair. “We’re going to need to have a talk,” she whispered to herself, trying to think of how to approach the conversation. She didn’t want to embarrass him more than necessary, but she also couldn’t ignore this.

Just as she was about to step out of the room, she heard the front door creak open. Voices, low and hushed, floated through the hallway.

Peter and you stumbled inside, locked in a heated kiss. Peter’s hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you giggled into his lips. You barely broke away long enough to whisper, “You sure May isn’t home?”

“She’s at FEAST, don’t worry,” Peter reassured you, his voice rough and breathless as his lips moved down to your neck.

You chuckled, running your fingers through his curls. “Good, because I’ve been waiting all day for this…”

Suddenly, a voice boomed through the house, cutting through the heat of the moment like a knife. “PETER BENJAMIN PARKER!”

Both of you froze in place, your lips barely an inch apart. Peter’s eyes widened in horror as he recognized the voice.

“May,” he whispered, his blood running cold. You quickly pulled away, your face flushed with embarrassment.

May stood at the doorway to Peter’s room, her hands on her hips, her expression a mix of fury and disbelief. The bra dangled from her hand like a smoking gun.

Peter gulped. “I-I can explain.”

May raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “But first, care to explain this?” She held up the bra, her gaze shifting between you and Peter.

You winced, your cheeks turning bright red as you avoided eye contact. Peter, however, was already spiraling into full-blown panic mode.

“Okay, okay, listen, May! It’s not—it’s not what you think!” Peter stammered, holding his hands up defensively. “We didn’t… I mean, it’s not like… we just…”

May crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. “Oh really? So you’re telling me this bra just magically appeared in your closet? Why didn't you tell me?”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make things awkward. Y/n and I have been dating for five months, but—”

“Five months?” May interrupted, her eyes widening. “Five months, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

You finally found the courage to speak up. “It’s not Peter’s fault, May. We just… wanted to keep things low-key.”

May’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Low-key doesn’t mean sneaking around behind my back.” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “And don’t think I didn’t notice this either.” She motioned to the condom box.

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh God, this is the worst day of my life.”

May shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her frustration. “It’s not the worst, Peter. Trust me, I’ve seen worse. But we’re going to have a conversation about this.”

Peter’s head shot up, his face paling. “Oh no, not the talk. May, I’m almost seventeen, please—”

“Exactly, you’re almost seventeen, and that’s why you need this talk.” May’s tone was firm but caring. She turned to you with a sigh.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, glancing toward the door, clearly wanting to flee. But before you could make your escape, May held up a hand, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/n, stay,” May said firmly, though her voice softened a little. “You’re a part of this too, and I need to make sure you’re okay as well.” She glanced between you and Peter, concern etched on her face.

Peter shot you a helpless look, his eyes wide and pleading. You swallowed nervously and nodded, stepping back to Peter’s side, feeling the heat rush to your face.

May took a deep breath, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down. “Alright. First of all, Peter, you should’ve told me about you two. I’m not mad you’re dating Y/n. What I’m mad about is the sneaking around.”

Peter winced. “I know, I should’ve… I just didn’t know how to bring it up, and I thought… I thought it might make things weird.”

May shook her head. “Peter, I’m your aunt, not your enemy. I’m not here to make things difficult for you. But sneaking around, lying about where you’re going… I’m not okay with that.”

Peter hung his head. “I’m sorry, May. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m not done,” May interrupted, raising a hand. She then turned to you, her expression softening. “And Y/n, I hope you understand that you’re important to Peter—and that means you’re important to me, too. I’m not mad at you either, but I do need to talk to both of you about… boundaries.”

You felt your face go hot again, but you nodded. “I understand. I just didn’t want to make things awkward with you.”

May gave you a small, understanding smile. “I appreciate that, but what I really care about is that both of you are being responsible. I see you found a way to use those condoms I gave Peter.”

Peter made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, covering his face with both hands. “May, please, no,” he muttered, absolutely mortified.

May ignored his protest and pressed on. “Look, I get it—you’re teenagers, you’re curious, and you have feelings for each other. But I need to know that you’re both being careful and not rushing into anything you’re not ready for.”

Peter peeked through his fingers, his face still flushed. “We’re being careful. I swear.” He shot a glance at you, making sure you were okay with what he was saying.

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we are. We didn’t… it’s not like we’re rushing into anything. We’ve just been… taking our time.”

May looked between the two of you, nodding slowly. “Okay. That’s good to hear. But just so we’re clear, I’m always here if you have questions or concerns. I’d rather you talk to me about things than hide them.”

Peter dropped his hands to his sides, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Okay. We get it, May. No more secrets.”

May’s expression softened further as she stood and approached the two of you. “Good. I trust you, Peter. And you, Y/n.” She gave you a gentle pat on the arm before turning to Peter, raising an eyebrow. “But if I ever find something like this again without knowing what’s going on…” She held up the bra, waving it slightly. “…we’re having another talk. And it won’t be as nice.”

Peter winced, his face burning with embarrassment. “Got it. Loud and clear.”

May sighed and placed the bra back into your hands. “Here, you should take this with you, Y/n. I don’t think Peter needs to be holding onto it any longer.”

You let out a nervous laugh, grabbing it and stuffing it into your bag as fast as you could. “Thanks, May. I’ll… uh, make sure it doesn’t end up here again.”

Peter groaned, rubbing his face. “Please, can we stop talking about the bra now?”

May chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop torturing you.”

Just then, the sound of May’s phone buzzing broke the tension. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Looks like I’ve got to head back to FEAST. They need me for something.” She looked back at the two of you, her tone softening. “Just… think about what I said, okay? Be smart. Be responsible.”

Peter nodded quickly, clearly eager for this conversation to be over. “We will, May. Thanks.”

With one last look at you both, May gave a nod and headed toward the door. “I’ll be back later tonight. Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m gone.”

As the door closed behind her, Peter let out a long breath, slumping down on his bed in defeat. “Oh my God,” he groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “That was the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You giggled softly, sitting down beside him and nudging his shoulder. “Well… at least she wasn’t that mad.”

Peter looked at you, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah, I guess. But seriously, how am I ever going to look her in the eye again?”

You laughed and leaned over, kissing him gently on the cheek. “You’ll survive. Besides, now that she knows, we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at the thought, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “That’s true. We could… take advantage of that.”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully nudging him again. “Oh really? After that talk we just had?”

Peter chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. “Well, maybe not right after,” he teased, pressing his forehead against yours.

You laughed, resting your head against his chest as you both lay back on the bed. For a moment, everything was peaceful, the tension from earlier melting away. Peter stroked your hair gently, his breath steady and calm.

“Thanks for staying,” he murmured, his voice soft.

You smiled, your hand resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “Of course. We’re in this together.”

Peter pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Yeah. Together.”

“Oh no,” Peter muttered, his face paling.

You blinked, sitting up beside him. “What? What’s wrong?”

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Did she take the condoms?”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “Why?”

Peter bit his lip nervously and looked at you, cheeks flushing. “She’s out… so, maybe we could c-continue what we planned.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “Peter…”

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[lulunothulu]

“Picture Proof”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: when you see there’s been an accident on one of Jake’s missions, you beg him to send you proof he’s alive.

Contents: talks of death, but mainly just worry/anxiety and fluff

‘Reports have said that there has been significant damage to the pilot and their jet. No names have been given but we will keep this situation updated. This has been…’ ‘Multiple sources have told us that the pilot is at the hospital in critical conditions—’

You stare at the TV screen, eyes going foggy with tears.

There was an accident. A pilot got caught in a bird strike, their jet went down. Jake was supposed to be flying this morning. What if it was him?

Jake is fine. He has to be.

You couldn’t stop the tears from coming. Everything in your heart told you Jake was fine but until you heard from him, you wouldn’t know for sure.

Pulling your phone out, you text: Jake, please text or call me when and if you see this.

Two hours pass and still no word from Jake. You’re shaking at this point, trying to keep yourself from driving to base and walking to his normal hangar. Worry fills the pit of your stomach when you haven’t heard from him another two hours later.

You started praying by the end of those four hours. You weren’t one to pray, but you were now.

“God,” you cry. “Please don’t let it be him. Let him come back to me. Please.”

———

You were pacing now, Jake hadn’t texted or called you back in six hours and your mind was already trying to accept the fact that he might’ve been the pilot that went down.

Heart pounding, hands sweating, and mind racing, you text him again.

Jake, please PLEASE text or call me back when and if you see this. I love you.

Your vision blurs when you see the iPhone blue bubble turn green. Nononono. Please don’t have taken him.

A son chokes through your clenched jaw as you drop to the floor, hands on your temples to hold in some of the sobs. You feel a guttural scream erupting from your chest but you stay silent.

“The navy would’ve sent someone to the house if it was Jake,” you tried to reason. “Jake is fine.”

You smile to yourself, begging yourself to believe it.

“Jake is fine, he’s just busy doing pilot shit.”

You take a deep breath before squeezing your eyes but and nodding softly.

“Jake is—”

The text chime scares you out of finishing that sentence and on your phone screen you see a text from Jake.

Without skipping a beat, you unlock your phone and read his text.

Hi baby, I’m just now seeing this. We were in the air longer because of a flight gone wrong. I love you too.

Relief washes over you and you’re sobbing again. You clutch your phone close to your chest, sobbing even harder when you reread his text to you.

You: Send me proof you’re okay.

It takes a second, but Jake sends you a selfie. He’s in his flight suit and gear, hair unruly and eyes relaxed, mouth slightly apart. Behind him, the huge American flag inside the hangar.

You smile down at his picture and half sob and laugh when he adds:

Still looking hot as ever, aren’t I? ;)

When you don’t respond right away, his caller ID fills your screen. You answer and hiccup, “Hello?”

“Darlin’,” he drawls. “I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

“You’re glad?” You laugh, wiping your tears away. “I was terrified it was you that got caught in that bird strike. When you didn’t call or text me…”

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I couldn’t text you right away because Mav wanted everyone accounted for and then Cyclone wanted to have an emergency formation…it was a mess. I only now just got released.”

“Okay,” you say, choking back a sob.

“Darlin’?” Jake says in the other side of the phone. “Y/N, talk to me.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” you croak. “I’m so fucking glad you’re alright.”

“I am too,” he tells you. “I’ll be home in a few minutes, okay? We can cuddle and watch some of your girly movies tonight.”

You sniffle and nod. “Okay baby.”

“Okay,” he says, you can practically hear him smile. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Now, as a man who may have gotten hurt today, you better take that back.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Never.”

Short and sweet but still effective 🥹

[theliving-radio]

I know I haven’t posted in a while, still working on some things and trying to get life sorted out. I work a full time job in retail, which isn’t where I wanted to be in life so I’m trying to work things out.

Either way- I’ve been coming up with some things with Big brother Malleus, most of it just goofy shit.

So I hope you enjoy this small prompt:

Malleus didn’t know what to do with himself at this very moment. He came to pick you up after class so he can walk you to your next one, but unfortunately you weren’t here. So instead he was standing right in front of your desk…

Where a white envelope and a red heart sticker was placed carefully upon it.

The fae stood there in the empty classroom as he glared down at the paper, as if it insulted him.

Was this… a love letter?!

Was someone trying to court his baby sibling?!

Which heathen was trying to take away his baby sibling’s innocence?!

Without thinking, Malleus snatched the letter from your desk and ripped it open. He was hoping that maybe whoever left this horrendous piece of display wrote their name down.

So he would be able to hunt them like the animal they are.

Dear (Y/n),

I do apologize for leaving this letter for you to find, it must be quite a shock. But I can’t contain my feelings for you any longer. When I first saw met you, I didn’t think much about you. But as time progressed, you turned my world upside down and I know for a fact that I wouldn’t be able to turn it back around. You changed my views on certain things, and for that I am grateful. At first I believed this was just a small crush that will pass over time, but now I realized, I am in love with you. I love you, (Y/n). You don’t have to feel the same, but I felt like I needed to say it. For you to acknowledge it. I thank you for taking the time to read this letter, and I will see you around.

Love,-

“Horton?”

Without warning, or a second thought, Malleus shoved the letter into his mouth and quickly turns to face you.

Both of you just stand and stare at each other; all that was heard to fill the silence is the ticking sound from the classroom clock, and then the sound of Malleus gulping down the paper.

“… I’m going to ignore that.”

“Please do.”

Both of you went silent once again, and again, you broke it.

“Anyway… we took our class outside today. I came here because I figured you wanted to walk me to my next one.”

“Yes, I wanted to make sure you arrived to your next class safely...” Malleus moved his hand to cover his mouth, already feeling a small burp coming up but was lucky to cover it.

This was so unlike him, but he doesn’t know what to do in this situation!

Malleus, ever the kind big brother he was, took some of your school books and held them for you. “Shall we go then?” You nod and both of you make your way out of the classroom.

You weren’t going to bring up on why Malleus decided to eat paper, so you avoided that topic and began talking about the lessons you did on your field day. Though, the whole time you talked, Malleus was only partially paying attention…

He never got to read who the sender was… and that fact irked him.

So as he walked along side you, Malleus was planning to investigate on the matter. He needed to know which Gibface Bachelor is trying to swoon his sweet, innocent, darling Baby Sibling! He will not rest until he able to find them!

With a head filled of ideas of torture, and a belly filled with paper-

Malleus was ready to hunt.

————————

I’m hoping to maybe continue this idea later on in the future if you guys want more! At the moment I’m working on a Big Brother Malleus comic, along with finishing up an Ask that I got.

But I wanted to share this with everyone!