#getting my braces off was the best feeling ever

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII

Chapters: 8 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: I finally managed to make it through! *wipes sweat off my forehead* Whew.

ACT VIII.

I could feel my blood boiling as Jungkook’s sharp voice filled the room. Again.

“Do you even try to meet deadlines, or is this just a joke to you?” he sneered, tossing my portfolio onto his desk like it was garbage. I was working for so long with him that I had gotten used to his outbursts, but today was definitely not the day where he could talk to me like that. I was frustrated and heated enough to keep silent.

The knot of frustration in my chest tightened, and I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the sting of tears. I’d worked so hard on that design, but nothing was ever good enough for him. The perfectionist. The control freak. The world’s most insufferable boss.

“You know what, Boss?” I spat, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’m done. I’ve had it with your insults, your impossible standards, and your complete lack of basic human decency.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into that infuriating smirk. He leaned back against his chair, head tilted to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” I snapped, grabbing my bag off the chair. “Find yourself another designer, because I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

I stormed out of his office, my heels clicking angrily against the polished floor. My heart pounded as I pressed the elevator button, praying it would arrive quickly. I couldn’t stay in this building a second longer.

“Y/N.” His voice echoed behind me.

I refused to turn around.

The elevator doors slid open, but before I could step inside, a strong hand caught my arm, spinning me around. My breath hitched as I came face-to-face with him, his dark eyes burning with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

I yanked my arm free. “What do you care? You’ve made it perfectly clear I’m useless to you.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he’d explode. Instead, he stepped closer, forcing me back until I felt the cold metal wall of the elevator behind me.

“You think you can just quit?” he said, his voice a low rasp. “You think I’ll fucking let you?”

My breath came in shallow gasps as the tension crackled between us. “You don’t get to control me, Jungkook. Not anymore.”

For a second, neither of us moved. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between us, his hands bracing against the wall on either side of me.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, his voice raw, his eyes locked on mine.

Before I could process his words, his lips crashed onto mine, fierce and demanding. It was a collision of frustration and something deeper, something I didn’t dare name. My mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body betrayed me, my hands curling into the fabric of his blazer as I kissed him back. His tongue swirled in my mouth and I felt my knees go weak. I heard the faint "ping" sound of the elevator and soon the doors closed. But I was too focused on this, it was as if my body was burning. His hands grasped my hips and for a moment I felt insecure, but soon as I was pressed against him and his kiss became more heated, all insecurities were forgotten.

The kiss was overwhelming, igniting something wild and untamed between us. His touch was possessive, sending shivers down my spine. My head tilted instinctively, giving him better access as his lips moved down to my jawline, then my neck. My breath hitched at the sensation, my fingers curling into his soft hair.

The faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and sharp—mixed with the heat of the moment, intoxicating me further. I whimpered softly, and he growled in response, his lips pressing harder against my skin, marking me.

Then, the elevator dinged.

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Jungkook’s lips stilled against my neck as the doors slid open.

And there stood Yoongi.

My supervisor, Jungkook’s best friend, and quite possibly the last person I wanted to see right now. His dark eyes scanned the scene, eyebrows raising slightly as he took in Jungkook’s disheveled blazer, my flushed face, and the undeniable tension crackling in the air.

“Well, this is… interesting,” Yoongi said, his tone unreadable as he stepped into the elevator.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, though his body remained close to mine, as if shielding me from Yoongi’s gaze. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Yoongi replied, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. “But I think the answer’s pretty obvious.” The elevator doors closed and I saw Yoongi reach over and press the red button at the top of all buttons.  It was a STOP button. 

I tried to straighten up, smoothing my blouse and attempting to catch my breath. “This isn’t—”

He held up a hand, cutting me off. “Spare me the explanations. I didn’t ask for a play-by-play.” His gaze flicked between us, his expression neutral but his eyes glinting with mischief. “Though, I have to say, this isn’t exactly HR-friendly behavior.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, his hand still resting on my hip as if staking his claim. “Is there a point to this, or are you just here to annoy me?”

Yoongi smirked. “Both, probably.” He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “But mostly, I’m curious. How did our dear Y/N go from hating your guts to… this?”

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I opened my mouth to protest, but Jungkook beat me to it.

“She didn’t,” he said firmly, his gaze cutting to Yoongi. “This isn’t your business.”

Yoongi’s smirk widened, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Jungkook. I’m just here to push some buttons.” He glanced at me, his tone softening slightly. “You okay?”

I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak.

“Good,” Yoongi said, his playful demeanor returning. “Because I’d hate to see you caught in the crossfire of his temper.”

“Yoongi,” Jungkook warned, his tone sharp.

Yoongi’s smirk didn’t waver as he stepped closer, his dark gaze unwavering and filled with something I couldn’t quite read. The air in the elevator grew even heavier, the tension palpable. My breath quickened as I felt Jungkook’s grip on my hip tighten, his body still close to mine.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook repeated a breathless warning.

But Yoongi only chuckled softly, his voice a low hum that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Relax, Jungkook. I’m not here to steal her. Just curious if our fiery little designer can handle the pressure.”

Before I could respond—or fully understand what he meant—Yoongi moved behind me. My breath hitched as his hands found my waist, his touch firm yet somehow reassuring. Now two sets of hands were all over my body, making me melt completely.

“See?” Yoongi said, his tone teasing as his lips hovered close to my ear. “I’m just helping out. Nothing personal.”

“Yoongi,” I stammered, my voice shaky as my heart raced. “What are you—”

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “Just… trust me.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened as they met mine, his gaze flickering between my face and Yoongi’s presence behind me. There was a challenge there, unspoken but undeniable.

In an instant, Jungkook’s lips were on mine again, the kiss searing and consuming. My back pressed against Yoongi’s chest as Jungkook’s hands framed my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with surprising gentleness. My senses were overwhelmed, caught between the two of them, their touches both grounding and electric.

Yoongi’s lips ghosted along my neck, his touch feather-light but enough to send sparks down my spine. His fingers rested on my hips, steadying me as Jungkook deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing mine in a way that made my knees weak.

I was caught between them, my body pinned in place by their presence. The weight of it, the intensity of their focus, left me breathless. Jungkook pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his voice low and rough as he muttered, “You drive me crazy.”

Yoongi chuckled softly behind me, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “You’ve got both of us wrapped around your finger, you know that?”

My heart pounded wildly as I tried to find words, to make sense of what was happening.

 The pressure was overwhelming, as though the walls of the elevator were closing in. My knees buckled, and just as Jungkook’s lips found mine again, the world shifted—distorted—and everything began to fade.

“Y/N...”

The whisper came again, softer this time. Fainter.

“Y/N!”

The voice echoed, a ripple in the growing void, pulling me out of the suffocating haze. The once overwhelming heat was replaced by a sterile coldness. My limbs felt weighted, disconnected from me, and my chest rose and fell in shallow, measured breaths.

“Y/N, please wake up!”

The urgency in the voice grew louder, breaking through the fog. My lashes fluttered open, and harsh fluorescent light greeted me. Blinking against the glare, I struggled to take in my surroundings. The steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the room, and the faint scent of antiseptic stung my nose.

Hospital?

“Y/N!” Rya’s voice came next, a panicked yet relieved sound. Her face swam into focus, her usually composed demeanor replaced by an expression of raw emotion. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she leaned closer, gripping my hand tightly.

“Rya?” My voice was a cracked whisper, my throat dry as sandpaper. It was after I heard her voice that I started feeling my body. It was aching all over and I felt paralyzed.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, wiping her cheeks quickly as if embarrassed by her tears. “You scared the hell out of us. Do you have any idea—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.

A shadow moved behind her, and Hoseok stepped forward, his arms crossed but his expression soft with concern. “You had us really worried about you, Y/N.” His voice was steady, but I caught the slight quiver underneath.

“What… happened?” I managed to ask, my gaze darting between them.

“You collapsed,” Rya said, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. “They said it was exhaustion and shock. But—” Her voice cracked. “But the accident—”

“Accident?” The fragmented memories returned in jagged flashes—headlights, screeching tires, a sharp jolt of pain before darkness swallowed me whole. “The car…”

“You were hit,” Hoseok said gently. “They brought you here immediately. You’re lucky to be alive. Doctor said you have bruises and your shoulder was dislocated when they brought you in. Thankfully, they managed to help you with it and no other physical traumas were discovered.”

I swallowed hard, trying to process his words. My hands instinctively moved toward my side, feeling for the small bag I’d had with me. My stomach twisted when I found nothing.

“The bag,” I croaked, panic rising in my chest. “Where’s my bag?”

Rya exchanged a worried look with Hoseok. “We… didn’t see one,” she admitted softly.

“No,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. “It was important. The journal—”

“Journal, Tina's journal?” Hoseok asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Before I could answer, the memories from the elevator came crashing back with startling clarity—Jungkook’s intensity, Yoongi’s whispered words, the heat and chaos that had consumed me just before the world went dark and I woke up here. I was confused as of to why did I have this . . . was it even a dream? Or a hallucination? I was growing delusional. 

“Y/N, you’re safe now,” Rya reassured, squeezing my hand. “Focus on getting better. We’ll figure everything else out later.”

But even as her words tried to anchor me, a chill ran down my spine. Someone wanted that journal badly enough to ensure I wouldn’t stop them. And they wouldn’t stop, not until they had it. "How long..." I whispered weakly, Rya scooted closer.  "How long what?" "How long was I. . . out?" "It has been a week, Y/N."

I blinked, trying to make sense of what Rya had just said. A week? I’d been unconscious for an entire week? The realization sent a wave of dizziness through me, and I gripped the edge of the hospital blanket tightly.

“A week,” I murmured, my voice shaky. “I’ve been out for a whole week?”

Rya nodded, her expression softening. “The doctors said it was a combination of stress, exhaustion, and the trauma from the accident. You really pushed yourself too hard, Y/N.”

“You had us worried sick,” Hoseok added, his voice firm but kind. He stepped closer, his arms crossed but his eyes betraying a deep concern. “Do you have any idea how many times Rya and I begged the doctors for updates? We practically camped out here.”

“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, guilt threading through my voice.

“Don’t apologize,” Rya interjected quickly, shaking her head. “We’re just relieved you’re okay. But there’s something you need to know.”

Her tone shifted, and I could sense the tension in the room thickening. My heart picked up speed, the steady beep of the monitor echoing my unease.

“What happened while I was out?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rya hesitated, glancing at Hoseok as if seeking confirmation. He nodded subtly, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s about Jungkook.”

My stomach tightened. “What about him?”

“They’ve cleared him,” Hoseok said, his voice steady. “He’s no longer a suspect in the case.”

“What?” My mind reeled. “How? I thought the evidence—”

“Someone gave the police new evidence,” Rya explained. “A photograph, specifically. It proved Jungkook wasn’t the man who murdered Tina. It took them a few days to actually verify the originality and it’s real. Unfortunately, that’s all we know…"

My blood ran cold as the puzzle pieces began to fit together. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The photograph they’d mentioned… was it the same one I was about to ask Taehyung about before everything spiraled out of control? Who even took my bag in the first place? Who was the person who gave the picture to the police too? So many questions. I was awake for a few minutes already and I already had an headache.

My throat tightened, and I struggled to keep my voice calm. “Did they say what the photograph was of?”

Rya shook her head. “No, just that it was enough to clear him completely. The police didn’t share many details, but it’s all over the news now. Jungkook’s free. He went back to the office last week.”

“Of course, he’s still Jungkook,” Hoseok muttered, his tone laced with irony. “He walked back in like nothing happened.”

But I wasn’t focused on Jungkook’s return to work. My mind was spinning, replaying the moment I’d almost shown Taehyung the photograph, the way it had burned a hole in my thoughts since then.

“What about Taehyung?” I asked suddenly, my voice sharper than I intended. “Did he… did he come by?”

Rya and Hoseok exchanged another glance, their expressions softening.

“He did,” Hoseok said after a moment. “A lot, actually. He sat by your side for hours, especially in the first few days. The nurses said he barely left.”

Rya nodded. “He was here when we weren’t. Every time we came by, he was either reading something to you or just… sitting there, holding your hand.”

My chest tightened, a confusing mixture of relief and guilt washing over me. I’d left Taehyung in the middle of all this chaos without any explanation, and yet, he’d been here. He hadn’t abandoned me.

“He’s been busy the past couple of days, though,” Rya added. “Something about work. But he made us promise to call him the second you woke up.”

“I need to talk to him,” I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else.

“We’ll let him know you’re awake,” Rya said, squeezing my hand. “But for now, you need to rest. You’ve been through enough.”

Rest. It sounded impossible when my thoughts were a storm of suspicions and half-formed connections. But I forced myself to nod, closing my eyes briefly as the weight of everything began to settle.

Somehow, I knew that when I saw Taehyung again, I’d find answers. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready for them.

-

The silence between us stretched, heavy and charged. Taehyung sat by my bedside, his posture relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that made my skin prickle. It was as if he were studying me, waiting for me to say something—anything.

“I was worried about you, Y/N,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low and steady, soothing in a way that felt too careful, too deliberate.

I nodded weakly, trying to muster the gratitude I knew I should feel. “Thanks for being here, Tae. Rya and Hoseok told me you stayed… a lot.”

He offered a small smile. “Of course I did. You’d do the same for me.”

Would I?

The thought barely had time to take root before my eyes drifted to his hands resting on his lap. My pulse quickened, a memory flashing vividly in my mind—the scar.

The man I’d seen before the accident, the one who had loomed in the shadows and made my stomach twist with unease, had a distinct scar on his wrist. It was jagged and angry, a mark impossible to miss.

Taehyung’s wrist was bare.

I couldn’t stop myself from staring, my breath catching in my throat. His skin was smooth and unblemished, completely devoid of the scar I was so certain I’d seen.

The realization hit me like a jolt of electricity, sharp and disorienting. I’d been so sure…

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s voice pulled me back, his brows furrowing as he followed my gaze to his wrist. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head quickly. “Nothing,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched. “I just… zoned out for a second.”

His eyes lingered on me, sharp and calculating, before he relaxed again. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s normal to feel a little out of it.”

I forced a tight smile, my mind racing. If Taehyung wasn’t the man with the scar, then who was? And why had I been so convinced it was him?

“Did you… hear anything about the guy who hit me?” I asked cautiously, watching his reaction.

Taehyung shook his head. “No. The police didn’t tell me much, just that it seemed deliberate. They’re still looking for leads.”

Deliberate. The word sent a shiver down my spine. My gaze flickered back to his wrist again, my thoughts spiraling.

If Taehyung wasn’t the man with the scar, then I’d accused him in my mind without reason. But the questions surrounding him still lingered. Why had he been so involved? Why had he seemed so calm, even now, when everything felt like it was falling apart?

“You’re staring again,” he said, his tone lighter but edged with curiosity.

I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I guess I’m still processing everything.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Take your time. I’m here.” 

But his reassurance didn’t settle me. If anything, it only deepened the unease clawing at my chest. "Fuck, where is my phone, " I croaked out weakly. I tried to sit up properly and Taehyung was by my side immediately, his puppy like eyes were staring at me and I felt a deep pang of guilt in my chest. How could I suspect him at all? I've known him since childhood, he was so caring and always there for people. "If it's about your parents, I already spoke to them. I told them you broke your phone and you will be able to contact them as soon as it gets fixed." I frowned, "And they believed that?" soft snort escaped my lips. I was grateful that he lied, I didn't want to have them worry and fly here. "I mean, they trust me, they think I am a good match for you..." I glanced at him, giving him a weak smile. "Yeah...they do. They like you a lot. And thank you...for doing that, it means a lot." "Don't mention it, next time, treat me a good Subway sandwich and we clear." his comment brightened the mood and made me giggle weakly.

As the night stretched on and Taehyung stayed by my side, I couldn’t shake the thought circling in my mind: If he wasn’t the man with the scar, then who was?

The hospital room was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the television screen. Taehyung had found the remote, flipping through channels until he stumbled upon Fast and Furious.

“Classic,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he settled into the chair beside my bed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “Of course, you’d pick this.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s cinema gold,” he defended, tossing a piece of the wrapped candy he’d snuck in onto the tray table.

As the opening scene blazed across the screen, we both fell into an easy rhythm of watching and cracking jokes.

“Do you think anyone actually needs this much nitrous?” I asked, arching a brow as one of the cars practically launched itself down a street.

“Absolutely,” Taehyung deadpanned. “How else are they supposed to dramatically explode at the finish line?”

We burst into laughter, the sound light and freeing. It felt good to let go, even if just for a moment.

A particularly over-the-top scene of Dom driving through a collapsing building made me shake my head. “Okay, there’s no way that car is still running after that. It’s basically a glorified tin can at this point.”

“Blasphemy,” Taehyung said, feigning offense. “These cars are indestructible. Haven’t you learned anything?”

I laughed again, the tension I’d felt earlier slowly easing. Taehyung’s easy humor was infectious, and for a while, the world outside the hospital room seemed to fade away.

But then, the door creaked open.

The air shifted immediately, a charged tension filling the room as I turned to see who it was. Jungkook and Yoongi stood in the doorway, their expressions unreadable. Jungkook’s dark eyes flicked between Taehyung and me, lingering just a moment too long on the smile that hadn’t yet faded from my face.

Yoongi, as usual, looked amused, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” he drawled, his tone light but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

Taehyung sat up straighter, his easy demeanor shifting subtly. “We were watching cinematic history.” He gestured toward the screen, where another improbable car stunt was unfolding.

Yoongi quirked a brow. “Fast and Furious? Classy.”

Jungkook, however, didn’t seem interested in the television. His gaze locked onto mine, his jaw tightening slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I replied, my voice quieter now. The warmth I’d felt earlier was quickly replaced by a nervous energy.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “She’s doing fine. You didn’t have to come all this way to check up on her.”

“We wanted to see for ourselves,” Jungkook said, his tone clipped.

Yoongi stepped further into the room, his sharp eyes darting between us. “Relax, Taehyung. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Friends?” Taehyung echoed, his tone just as sharp. “I don’t recall you visiting much while she was unconscious.”

Yoongi’s smirk deepened, but there was something dangerous in it. “You wouldn’t know because you weren’t here the last few days.”

The tension in the room was palpable now, the playful atmosphere from moments ago completely gone. I shifted uncomfortably, my gaze darting between the three men.

“Guys,” I said, my voice breaking the standoff. “This isn’t a competition.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened slightly as it landed back on me. “You should be resting,” he said, ignoring Taehyung completely.

“I was resting,” I said, gesturing to the TV. “And then Taehyung decided to educate me on the importance of nitrous oxide in car stunts.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Sounds about right.”

Jungkook didn’t smile. His jaw tightened again, and he took a step closer to the bed. “If you need anything—”

“She has me,” Taehyung interrupted, his tone firm.

“Funny,” Jungkook replied, his gaze never leaving mine. “Because last I checked, she wasn’t just your concern.”

The room felt like it was on the verge of imploding, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on all of us. Even the TV, still blaring action sequences, felt muted against the charged silence.

“Maybe we should all take a breather,” I suggested weakly, my heart pounding in my chest. “This doesn’t have to turn into… whatever this is.”

Yoongi finally moved, breaking the tension as he grabbed a candy from the tray table and unwrapped it leisurely. “She’s right,” he said, popping it into his mouth. “No need to fight over her. Yet.”

The word hung in the air, laced with something unspoken.

Jungkook’s glare shifted to Yoongi, but he didn’t say anything. Taehyung, however, didn’t back down, his shoulders squaring as he leaned slightly forward.

I sank deeper into the bed, my pulse thrumming in my ears. What had started as a lighthearted evening had turned into something far more complicated—and I wasn’t sure how to untangle it.

The tension in the room was unbearable, a pressure cooker of barely restrained tempers. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he took another step toward the bed, his posture rigid. Yoongi, meanwhile, lounged against the wall, but his smirk betrayed an underlying sharpness that felt just as dangerous.

Taehyung, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed. In fact, he looked downright smug as he leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed casually over the other.

“Relax, guys,” Taehyung said, his voice dripping with cocky amusement. “Y/N and I were just having a little fun. No need to get all territorial.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes flashing. “This isn’t about territory.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Taehyung shot back, a grin tugging at his lips.

Yoongi chuckled, though the sound was anything but friendly. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s just playing nursemaid.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, and he tilted his head, his gaze flickering toward me. “I don’t mind taking care of her. Someone has to, right?”

“Guys,” I said sharply, my patience wearing thin. “stop it.”

They all glanced at me,their expressions softening slightly, but the defiance in their eyes remained.

“I’m tired,” I said, louder this time, my voice firm as I sat up straighter in bed. “I don’t have the energy for your childish behavior. If you can’t all be civil, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to mine, his expression softening. “Y/N—”

“Let her rest,” Yoongi cut in, though his tone held an uncharacteristic seriousness. He turned to me, his smirk fading slightly. “We won’t take much of your time, before we go we have to talk. Privately.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, his cocky demeanor slipping. “Anything you have to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

Yoongi raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “This isn’t up for debate, little lawyer.”

“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, raising a hand to stop the brewing argument. “Tae, I’ll be okay. We’ll talk later.”

Taehyung hesitated, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked between Yoongi and Jungkook. “You sure?”

I nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Thank you for being here, really.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his expression remained tense. Standing, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step toward the door.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, his voice quieter now. His eyes lingered on mine for a moment, and there was something unspoken in his gaze—a mixture of worry and frustration.

“Goodnight, Tae,” I said softly.

“Goodnight.” With a final glance toward Jungkook and Yoongi he left the room as the door slammed shut. I reached to rub my forehead, clearly tired and exhausted by this entire behavior of theirs. I didn’t get neither of them, it was they were on a damn competition and it was getting on my nerves.

I let out a slow breath, turning my attention back to the two men still in the room. Jungkook stood near the bed, his posture tense, while Yoongi leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed. Both of them wore black suits, they were probably visiting after work. If I didn’t knew them, I’d simply think how attractive they were and pass them on the street without even thinking of talking to them, or them talking to me. I was /that/ insecure in my looks. But now? I had both of these men’s attention on me. And I felt exposed and awkward as hell.

“Okay,” I said, my voice weary. “You have me alone. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

Yoongi pushed off the wall, his expression serious now. “We need to talk about what’s really going on.”

Jungkook nodded, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The accident. The photograph. Everything.”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “What about it?”

Yoongi exchanged a glance with Jungkook before stepping closer, his voice low. “We think whoever’s behind this isn’t done. And you’re still in danger.”

My stomach dropped. “Danger? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook’s voice was firm, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone wanted to hurt you, Y/N. And we’re going to figure out who. But you have to cooperate with us..”

The weight of their words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I’d spent so much time trying to piece everything together on my own, but now, with them standing here, it was clear this wasn’t something I could face alone.

I took a shaky breath, meeting their gazes. “I will hear what you have to say first, if I think it’s worthy enough of me to cooperate, then I shall.”

Jungkook let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head as he ran fingers through his black locks of hair. “You’re so damn stubborn.”

I crossed my arms. “Flattery isn’t going to make me any more agreeable. What exactly do you want from me?”

Jungkook stepped closer, and I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on me. “We already moved your stuff.”

My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Yoongi looked entirely too pleased with himself. “To a small apartment near the company, it’s security covered so…” he added, voice calm but teasing.

I stared between the two of them, incredulous. “You—what? You can’t just—”

Jungkook shrugged. “We can. And we did.”

I clenched my fists. “That is an invasion of my privacy! What the hell makes you think you can just decide where I live?”

Yoongi sighed dramatically. “Maybe the fact that someone is trying to kill you? Call us crazy.”

I shot him a glare, but my mind was already reeling with a million other thoughts. My things—Hades. Oh god. “Where’s Hades?”

Yoongi hummed, grasping the edge of my bed and leaned closer, “Your little spawn of death and barks is also there in the apartment.”

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh, but I was too busy staring at them, seething. “And what about Rya? You think she’s just going to be okay with this?”

Jungkook’s gaze softened slightly. “She was worried about you. After what happened, she agreed that you should be somewhere safer. For her own safety, too.”

My stomach twisted. Rya agreed? That meant she really thought it was bad. “Yoongi and I will occassionally come and check up on you, as well as you will have bodyguards escort you to work.” “You are both insane.” “I mean, we are, but you have no choice, really.” Yoongi added, wiggling his eyebrows.

I swallowed, shifting uncomfortably under their watchful eyes. The heat in the room felt suffocating, and I realized too late that we were standing far too close. The memory of my dream hit me like a truck—the way Jungkook and Yoongi had been pressed against me in that tiny elevator, their warmth surrounding me, their breaths teasing my skin—

I felt the heat rise to my face instantly.

Jungkook’s sharp gaze flickered to my expression, as if he could read my thoughts. His lips curled into the slightest smirk, and Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Yoongi asked, his voice slow, knowing.

I quickly shook my head, stepping back. “Nope. Nothing. Just… furious. Absolutely livid.”

Jungkook leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost dangerous. “You can be as mad as you want. But you’re staying in that apartment.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. Their presence was suffocating in the worst and best way, and god help me, part of me wanted to keep pushing just to see how far I could take it. Other part of me just wanted to say “Yes”, roll over and cover myself as if to hide away. -

The past week had been… eventful, to say the least. Between physical therapy, endless check-ins from Jungkook and Yoongi, and the suffocating presence of security, I hadn’t had a single moment of true solitude. But I was feeling better now—stronger. The lingering pain was manageable, and more importantly, I could walk on my own again.

Which led me here.

Two bodyguards flanked me as I stepped into the apartment Jungkook and Yoongi had forced me into, their presence a constant reminder that I wasn’t exactly free.

The moment I stepped inside, I was met with the excited barks of my little monster. “Hades!” I grinned, crouching just as my dog launched himself at me, his little tail wagging so hard I thought he might levitate. “Did you miss me, you little terror?”

Hades whined and licked my face, and I buried my hands in his fur, grateful for at least one familiar presence in all this insanity.

Only after I’d gotten my fill of Hades’ affection did I take in my surroundings. And wow.

This place was insane.

It was all sleek black and white, modern and sharp, like something out of a high-end magazine. The floors gleamed under the dim lighting, the glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the city. A massive, plush-looking black sofa sat in the center of the living space, and I already knew I’d be spending my nights there—it looked way more inviting than the small bedroom tucked into the corner. The kitchenette was minimal but polished, the kind of thing that suggested whoever owned this place either rarely cooked or had an expensive personal chef.

I frowned. This was definitely a bachelor’s pad.

Yoongi’s bachelor pad?

The thought made me pause. It had to be his, right? Jungkook had plenty of money, but this felt too… refined for him. No offense.

I looked around again, taking in the details. Close to the office. Expensive but understated. Perfectly located for convenience. It screamed Min Yoongi.

I glanced at one of the bodyguards. “Who owns this place?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Mr. Jeon.”

I blinked. Jungkook?

My lips parted in surprise. I’d expected this to be Yoongi’s, but now that I thought about it… the place was sleek, but not entirely cold. There was warmth in the details—things I’d overlooked at first. The slight messiness near the entertainment system, the faint scent of something clean yet musky. Jungkook’s cologne.

My stomach did a weird little flip.

Jungkook owned this place.

I knew he was rich—his suits alone could probably pay my rent for months—but this apartment was stupidly luxurious. And the fact that it was just minutes from our office? That meant he stayed here often.

So why the hell was he giving it to me?

I plopped down onto the massive couch, Hades jumping up beside me. “So, this is my life now, huh?” I muttered, scratching behind his ears.

The bodyguards didn’t answer. They just stationed themselves near the door, watching me like hawks.

I sighed. “Great.”

I was safe. Comfortable. But I wasn’t free.

And something about sleeping in Jungkook’s space—surrounded by his presence, his scent—felt more dangerous than anything else.

As I sank deeper into Jungkook’s ridiculously comfortable couch, Hades curled up beside me, I let my mind wander back over the past week. So much had happened, and yet it felt like time had moved in slow motion.

Rya had visited almost every day, her face twisted with worry no matter how many times I reassured her that I was fine. She had been surprisingly okay with me moving here—though I suspected it was more out of fear for my safety than anything else. Hoseok had also stopped by whenever he could, bringing his usual warmth and easy humor, trying to keep things light even when everything around us felt unbearably heavy.

But Taehyung?

Taehyung had not been happy.

The first time he visited me after finding out I was moving into Jungkook’s apartment, he had been fuming. I could still hear his sharp words from that day.

"Are you serious? Out of all the places you could stay, you’re staying at their apartment?”

I had tried to calm him down, explaining that I didn’t really have a choice, but Taehyung was stubborn—almost as stubborn as me. He hated the idea, hated that Jungkook and Yoongi were the ones “playing hero,” as he so bitterly put it. Eventually, though, he’d had no choice but to accept it.

Even so, I knew him well enough to recognize that he was still uneasy about the whole situation.

And honestly? So was I.

Because ever since that night—the accident, the photograph—I couldn’t shake this awful feeling.

Like I was being watched.

It didn’t make sense. Jungkook and Yoongi had doubled security. I was constantly surrounded by bodyguards, and I never went anywhere alone. There was no way someone could be keeping tabs on me.

And yet, I felt it.

The sensation of eyes on me, lingering just out of sight. The subtle shift in the air that made my skin crawl. I’d glance over my shoulder, expecting to see someone, but there was never anyone there.

At first, I’d brushed it off as paranoia. After everything that had happened, it wasn’t exactly surprising that my nerves were shot. But the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it had gotten worse.

I pulled my knees to my chest, pressing my lips together. Maybe I was losing it. Maybe I was letting fear get the best of me.

Or maybe… someone really was watching.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my thoughts away from the unsettling idea. Instead, I focused on something more manageable—like the fact that Yoongi had given me a new phone.

My old one had been destroyed beyond repair, and I hadn’t even realized how disconnected I felt without it until Jungkook placed a brand-new one in my hand, his voice nonchalant as ever.

"You need a way to contact us. Don’t lose this one.”

It had taken me a moment to adjust to the new device, but once I did, the first thing I did was call Rya. She had sounded relieved to hear from me, even if our conversations had been short.

I had also called my parents, keeping up the lie Taehyung had fed them.

"Sorry, my phone broke. I just got a new one, but everything’s fine now."

They had believed me without question, which was both a relief and a small pang of guilt. Lying to them had never been easy, but it was necessary. The last thing I needed was my parents panicking over something they couldn’t fix.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Everything was so… unreal. My life had been turned upside down in a matter of days, and now I was here, in Jungkook’s apartment, trying to pretend like things were normal when they were anything but.

Hades nudged my hand, as if sensing my unease, and I let out a small, tired laugh.

"At least I have you," I murmured, scratching behind his ear.

But as I stared out of the massive glass windows, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the horizon, that feeling returned.

That prickling sensation at the back of my neck.

Like someone was watching me.

-

The next morning, I was up earlier than I wanted to be. Hades had decided that I needed to be awake at the crack of dawn, his tiny paws pressing against my stomach as he barked insistently.

"Alright, alright," I groaned, rubbing my face as I sat up. "I’m up, you little gremlin."

Hades wagged his tail, completely unbothered by my suffering.

Dragging myself toward the kitchenette, I squinted at the sleek, ultra-modern touchscreen coffee machine that had been mocking me since I moved in.

"Alright," I muttered to myself. "You and me, we’re gonna get along today."

Attempt #1: Pressed the wrong button. Machine beeped angrily. No coffee.

Attempt #2: Accidentally selected espresso shot instead of a full cup.

Attempt #3: Pressed too many buttons at once. Machine froze like it needed a damn reboot.

Hades barked at me, his tiny tail flicking with judgment.

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled, resetting the machine.

Attempt #4: No water in the tank. Had to refill it.

Attempt #5: Finally got a full cup of coffee.

I let out a triumphant sigh, holding my mug like it was a trophy. "I am the master of technology."

Hades sneezed.

I took a long sip, letting the caffeine work its magic before heading to the bedroom to get ready.

By the time I arrived at the company, escorted by two bodyguards like some sort of celebrity, I was fully awake and determined to have a normal workday.

The moment I stepped inside, the whispers started. My colleagues turned to look at me, some with wide eyes, others with relief.

Then, chaos.

"Y/N! Oh my god, you’re back!"

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"We were so worried!"

"I heard you were in an accident—was it really an accident?"

I barely had time to process the flood of voices before my desk was surrounded. People bombarded me with questions, their faces filled with concern and curiosity.

I forced a smile, trying to keep up with their energy, but before I could even begin to answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Alright, that’s enough," Rya’s firm tone rang out.

Hoseok appeared beside her, his usual bright smile present, but his eyes held a warning. "Give her some space, guys. Let the woman breathe before you interrogate her."

The crowd dispersed, grumbling but ultimately listening.

I shot Rya and Hoseok a grateful look. "Thanks. I think I forgot how loud this place could be."

Rya rolled her eyes. "Please. You should’ve seen them before you even got here. They’ve been talking about you all morning."

"Do you need anything?" Hoseok asked, his voice softer now.

I shook my head, smiling. "No, I’m fine. Really."

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push it further.

And just as I settled into my chair, ready to start the day, a familiar presence loomed nearby.

Jungkook stood near my desk, arms crossed, an unimpressed expression on his ridiculously perfect face.

I blinked up at him. "Uh… good morning?"

"You’re not supposed to be here," he said flatly.

I tilted my head. "Last time I checked, this was my job."

Jungkook exhaled sharply. "You were supposed to take two more days off."

"I’m fine," I repeated. "I’d rather be here than sitting in that apartment doing nothing."

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he sighed. "Fine. Since you’re already here, come to my office."

A few of our colleagues exchanged looks.

I ignored them and followed Jungkook to his office.

Once inside, he immediately launched into the latest project details, his voice professional and controlled. But every now and then, he’d slip in something else.

"So, the marketing team needs a revised pitch deck," he said, tapping on his desk. "Also, you look great today, but that’s nothing new."

I blinked at him.

He didn’t even acknowledge what he just said, continuing on. "I need you to go over the latest client proposals—"

"Wait." I cut him off. "Did you just—"

"What?" He looked so innocent.

I narrowed my eyes. "Never mind. Continue."

"Right. As I was saying, the finance team needs our projections by Friday…”

I deadpanned. "Jungkook."

"What?"

I stared at him for a solid three seconds before laughing in his face.

I couldn’t help it.

He was flirting with me. Horribly.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you’re terrible at this," I grinned, shaking my head.

"I—" He paused, offended. "Excuse me?"

"You’re not serious," I said, still giggling. "Are you?"

Jungkook opened his mouth, then closed it.

His ears turned pink.

I smirked. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Before he could respond, I turned on my heel and walked out of his office, still grinning.

And as I sat back down at my desk, I swore I could feel his flustered stare from across the room.

The meeting room was filled with quiet murmurs as everyone settled into their seats. The air buzzed with anticipation as Jungkook stood at the front, his presence commanding the room effortlessly. His dark eyes swept over the team, his usual sharp focus in place as he began the presentation.

Behind him, the large screen displayed the details of their latest client—a high-profile luxury brand looking for a full-scale identity revamp. Jungkook spoke with his usual confidence, outlining their expectations, the marketing direction, and the design elements they needed to refine.

I tried to focus. Really, I did.

But across the room, I could feel Yoongi’s eyes on me.

Every time I dared to glance in his direction, his gaze was already there, heavy and unreadable. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this—watching me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. But today, it felt more intense. Like he was waiting for something.

I straightened in my chair, pretending not to notice.

Jungkook continued, his voice smooth and authoritative. "With the expansion of our design team and the increased workload, I realized we needed an extra set of hands. So, I’ve gone ahead and hired someone new."

A few people exchanged glances, curiosity sparking around the room.

Jungkook gestured toward the door. "He should be arriving right about—"

As if on cue, the doors swung open.

A tall figure stepped inside, his presence instantly drawing attention. He moved with quiet confidence, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling—

On me.

My breath hitched. My heart stopped, then started again in an erratic rhythm.

No.

It couldn’t be.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Jason."

Silence stretched across the room as the man’s lips curled into a familiar smirk.

But before I could even begin to process it—before the weight of his presence could fully sink in—Jungkook’s voice cut through the air with a shocking revelation.

"Everyone, meet our newest hire."

My brother.

[leonorandsofia]

8 April 2023 | Infanta Sofía seen for the first time since getting her braces removed (and in 2023)!

[calamitys-child]

I'm being so serious rn if I ever talk about doing another fringe festival run in the next like 3 years at least send me to fucking therapy. It is a cry for help. This is bad for me.

[cyberneticnightmares]

managed to get my HRT prescription changed from a subscription service i had to pay out of pocket for to my actual primary care doc so now it's covered by my insurance like holy shit that is h u g e. like shout-out to folx health for coming in clutch but i really should have listened to my therapist about actually using the resources provided to me by my state. orz

[sanguineterrain]

(AFAB reader, more subby, comes fast, eager Jason at the people's request 🤲)

IF you praise Jason while he's inside of you, he will come first.

Jason thinks that this is a design flaw. You... disagree.

You discover it by accident the second time you have sex. The first time is negligible—Jason was nervous about being intimate with you and doing a good job, and he was a big ol' virgin, so obviously when you stroked his face and told him what a good, sweet boy he is, he blew his load. Obviously.

The next time has him seeking you out after patrol. He's freshly showered and maybe a little worn out, but he misses you. Moreover, Jason is prepared to fuck you. Show you that he can take charge and not rut on you like a dog. Jason's one of the most disciplined people ever. Certainly the most disciplined that you've known. You're telling him that you sink onto his cock and all of a sudden, that control swandives out the window? Impossible.

No, Jason knows better this time. He's going to be gentle, obviously, but he's focused on your pleasure. He finds you in bed already but not asleep because you can't sleep until he's home, not completely.

He prowls the bed, trying to hone his instincts. Having sex with you is just like any task he has assigned. Everything narrows to this moment. All of Jason's attention is on making you come first.

You greet him softly. This is where Jason is tricked. Jason forgets what a soft voice belies. You don't even realize you're doing it. You tell him you missed him and kiss him hotly, kiss down his neck, rake your hands through his hair. You tell him what a good man he is, keeping Gotham safe, protecting you and everyone in it, and Jason is hard.

Damn. Jason had meant to keep this on his terms. Get hard from your pleasure. But you catch him off guard like this, warm and soft and free with your praise. All you have to do is spread your arms and welcome Jason in and his fat cock is pushing against the waistband of his boxers.

He shudders as you scratch the nape of his neck, nip his ear. But then Jason clears his head, fights through the thick honey of your presence. No, he has a mission. He intends to complete it.

Jason throws himself into your body instead. He knows his size is all-encompassing. You're swallowed up in his arms, caged in between his shoulders. Yes, good. Jason wants you to feel overwhelmed in the best way, the way he feels when he's with you.

You say faster, so Jason goes faster. You say slow down, so Jason slows down. You say rub my clit, so Jason rubs your clit. You pull him closer with your ankles digging into his back, so Jason steadies himself and fucks you deeper.

And then Jason forgets the lesson. Forgets what makes you so persuasive.

And when you gasp in his ear, "you're fucking me so good, angel," Jason feels his gut tighten dangerously.

"Wh-what?" he asks, hips stuttering.

You grin, eyebrows contorting in pleasure. You grab his face with both hands. Jason's brain is sending him warning signals.

"Ease up," you tell him gently, so Jason eases up. Your grin grows.

"You're such a good listener," you say. "That's why you fuck me so good, Jason."

Gut tightening. Jason wrangles his urge to empty his balls in your pussy. No, he's being good! He's a good boy, not a good dog. Good dogs can't do anything but whimper and come and come.

You scoot closer, forcing him deeper into you. Jason shudders. You wrap your arms around his neck, bring his face close to yours. Jason braces himself with his hands on either side of you.

"Yeah, you're so good." You pet his hair. "You were made to be inside of me, honey bunches."

Briefly, Jason thinks about if the roles were reversed, if it was you inside of him. He thinks you'd probably be able to hold off better than he can. This is actually fucking impossible. You're so wet, pussy a hundred fucking degrees. And when you make him slow down, Jason feels the drag of his dick against your walls, and everything in his brain turns to static.

"If you wanna come, you can come," you say sweetly. Danger, danger! You look up at him, having the gall to look innocent. There's no way you don't know what the hell you're doing.

"Wanna make you come first," Jason says, voice stronger than he feels.

You hum sympathetically. "But you're so sensitive, baby. Can feel you shaking."

Jason shakes his head, locks in. No, he's going to make you come first. He starts to fuck you in earnest, his thrusts hard enough to make you squelch against his cock.

And then you go in for the kill.

"You're so pretty," you say. Jason's eyes flutter. Your gaze turns predatory.

"Yeah, pretty and good and strong. You're my big, strong guy, aren't you? You thought about this all day, I bet. Thought about how you'd make me feel good. You don't have to think about it anymore, sweetpea. All you need to do is get hard and come inside of me."

Jason shakes his head again. No, no, he's not going to give in. He can hold it. He can be good.

"Good boy," comes your sweet voice. "Good Jason. You fuck me the best. No other guy could do it for me like you can. You'd tear open anybody who tried, wouldn't you?"

Jason nods eagerly even though his balls feel tight. Yes! Yes, he would! If you told Jason to bite, he'd only ask how hard. He'll drown his muzzle in blood for you.

"Uh-huh," you say knowingly. "I love you, Jason. I love you so much. I'm yours. And you're mine."

That does it. The last of Jason's control shoots into your cunt in hot spurts. Jason tears up out of frustration and pleasure. His mouth is open in a silent shout.

You grin and keep to yourself how easy it'll be to get knocked up off of your boyfriend's fat cock. A few sweet words and he's coming. That's when you start to believe that this is a habit, not an outlier, for your virginal boyfriend.

"Fuck," Jason says, lashes thick with tears. "Fuck, fuck. I was s'posed ta hold it."

You coo, wipe his tears with your thumbs. "It's okay, baby. I don't mind. We can practice."

Yes, you'll practice, alright. Practice how many times you can make Jason come inside of you. And if Jason's truly bent out of shape about not making you come, well, you have no issue with training him how to eat you out.

(The first time Jason makes you orgasm before himself, he gets so excited he comes.)

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[goldsainz]

# CS55 — WELCOME HOME !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ the f1 season has ended, which means carlos can finally relax with his family.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ none!

003. NOTE !

✯ dad fics are my comfort zone (and angst too) they’re so cute and fun to write, which means if you want to request them i’m gonna write them sooner rather than later 🙌

word count : 618

Carlos let out a heavy sigh as he stepped through the front door of your home in Monaco, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders.

The F1 season had finally ended. Another year of relentless travel, intense competition, and grueling races. He loved it, but right now, all he wanted was to be home. To be with you and your little boy.

Before he could even call out, the sound of tiny, fast-moving footsteps echoed through the house.

“¡Papá!” A little voice squealed.

He barely had time to brace himself before a blur of curly brown hair and chubby little arms crashed into his legs. He laughed, dropping his bags and scooping up his three-year-old son, Santiago—his Santi.

“Mi niño,” Carlos murmured, hugging him tightly. “You got even bigger while I was away, huh?”

Santi pulled back slightly, his face lit up with pure excitement. “Mamá said we have surprise for you!” he announced proudly.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, amused. “A surprise?”

That’s when you appeared in the doorway, arms crossed with a playful smile on your lips. “Welcome home, baby,” you said softly.

Carlos’ eyes softened instantly. “Cariño,”

You walked over, placing a hand on his cheek before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “Come on,” you whispered against them. “Your welcome home treatment is waiting.”

Carlos let Santi down, who immediately grabbed his hand and started tugging him toward the living room. The first thing he noticed was the fort—pillows, blankets, and fairy lights all set up in a cozy little corner. Next to it was a tray with his favorite snacks, a bottle of wine, and a tiny juice box for Santi.

“Fort night!” Santi announced proudly, clapping his hands.

Carlos turned to you, grinning. “You built a fort?”

“Santi insisted,” you said with a shrug. “And I figured it was the best way to get you to actually rest.”

Carlos chuckled as he let himself be dragged to the couch. He sat down, pulling Santi onto his lap while you settled beside them, leaning against his side. It was warm, soft, and peaceful—the complete opposite to the chaos of an F1 season.

As Santi curled up against his chest, Carlos ran a gentle hand through his son’s hair, glancing down at him. “Did you take good care of Mamá while I was gone?”

Santi nodded seriously. “I helped cook! And I washed my hands a lot. And I gave Mamá hugs.”

Carlos shot you an amused look. “All very important responsibilities.”

“Very,” you agreed, laughing softly.

Santi suddenly sat up, his eyes wide. “Oh! Almost forgot!” He scrambled out of Carlos’s lap and waddled over to the little side table, grabbing a piece of paper before running back. “Me and Mamá made this.”

Carlos took the drawing from his tiny hands, his heart swelling as he looked at it. It was a messy but adorable crayon drawing of the three of you; Carlos in his red racing suit, you holding Santi’s hand, and a big yellow sun smiling in the sky.

“For you,” Santi said shyly.

Carlos felt a lump in his throat as he hugged Santi close, pressing a kiss to his curly hair. “This is the best gift ever, Santi. Thank you.”

Your son beamed, snuggling deeper into his arms.

You reached for Carlos’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I know how much you give all year long, amor,” you murmured. “So this weekend? No stress. No alarms. Just us taking care of you.”

Carlos exhaled deeply, feeling every last bit of exhaustion finally fade. He kissed your forehead before leaning back, Santi nestled against his chest, the soft glow of the fairy lights around you.

“Best off-season ever,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

[fanaticsnail]

I Don't Want To Hurt You

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist Here

Word count: 3,900+

Synopsis: You have been married to Charlotte Katakuri for five years, and not once has he engaged with you intimately. You had not even seen his face without the shroud of fur atop it. In desperation for grandchildren from the minister of flour, his mother drugs him with a powerful aphrodesiac. The only cure is to give in to his desires and finally claim you as his spouse.

Warnings: Katakuri x f!reader, husband x wife, some gendered terms used, dub con, pollen trope, forced to engage in intimacy, mutual pining, interfering mother in law, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, Katakuri loves you, he doesn't want to hurt you, size difference, swearing, mentions of pregnancy.

Notes: Getting this out of my head and added him to the pollen list. He needed it, I think.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sunnyferr

The desperation and neediness in his rough huffs and pants of breath were too much for him to bear. His body gave in, finally feeling the incessant need to release his steely cock from the confines of his leather pants the moment he stepped into the safety of his private room. Unbuckling his belt, his pants pooled at his ankles and his right hand immediately flew to his cock. 

He pulled his furred covering further up his face to muffle the wanton moans and feral growls from escaping his lips and painting the atmosphere with his desires. Gripping his cock in a vice-like fist, he began to piston his hand and brace his back against the wall behind him. The need for relief in release overcame him, and he chased his high harder and faster in his palm. 

Charlotte Katakuri knew his mother wanted grandchildren from him. She married him off to the first willing bride the moment they came of age. He had been with you for almost five years now, and he found you to be the most beautiful creature he had ever set his eyes on. A perfect match for him, and truly the best partner he could ever find in another. 

Although he was attracted to you physically, he never once allowed his body to enter yours due to the incredibly large size difference between you. As he thought of you romantically and dotingly, he never once in all that time thought you ever felt the same way for him. 

The union between the two of you remained unconsummated, much to the chagrin of his interfering mother. She consistently ordered him to get you pregnant, to make her more hulking crewmembers and swell her family to a larger number. But he never did. He outright refused. 

He couldn’t do that to you.

You were intelligent, charismatic, kind, and innocent compared to him. He had to claw tooth and nail for the respect he now had, his bestial face was the cause of fear for so many. He was yet to display his lips and teeth to you in the assumption you may feel similar to the others he had allowed to view him prior. He was a beast, and he refused to permit you to see him as such.

Katakuri clapped his hand over the shroud and jammed the material into his lips as a makeshift gag to prevent the muffled moans from expelling themselves further. His hips began to rut into his palm as he stood with his back against the locked door. He clamped his eyes tightly shut, feeling his approach towards ecstasy slowly slipping from his sight the moment he tasted it on the tip of his tongue. 

He whined, desperately chasing it harder and faster in bucking his hips into his fist. “No, no, no, no,” his muffled whisper desperately panted. His breathing hitched, his brows furrowing as his pearlescent precum was the only spill he felt in a twitch against his fingers. 

“Why-...?” He stuttered, his eyes reopening and searching for a rhyme or reason he couldn't spill his seed into his hand like the other times he felt these urges come over him. “Why can't I-...?” Eyes trailing down to his fur scarf and noticing a soft sheen of the finest dust he had ever seen coating the strands of hair. 

He roared in rage, immediately thrusting the material away from his lips across the room with a great force. He gnashed his teeth, drool beginning to coat his lips with the fury he felt at this cruel invasion of his privacy. 

Charlotte Linlin had finally done it. She had crossed that boundary to force him to disrespect and ravage his spouse. This was the only cure for this disgusting invasion of his senses, now encumbered by dust from the pollen aphrodisiac. His need to respect you, and ensure you had no reason to fear him, was far greater than these urges he felt now, and he was certain he could be rid of it without aid. 

His mother had done something similar to her lovers in the past, drugging them so they would be desperate to perform the task of making Katakuri an army of full blooded and half siblings. He never thought she would turn this on her own son, an oversight he was making up for now.

He needed to be rid of it without assistance. He didn't want to hurt you, frighten you, or cause you harm with his larger body tearing apart your smaller one. His desperation came out in the form of a suppressed, needy roar as he felt his cock throb in his hand. 

“Not like this,” he whispered, bracing himself against the door by clawing the panels. He stumbled towards the ensuite bathroom, shaking hand continuing to brace himself against each surface as he continued to thrust his fist firmly down his veiny shaft and stampede his release towards finality. 

“I can't do this to you,” he whimpered, his hand finding the copper taps and turning on the liquid to fill the bath. “I won't do this to you.” He immediately stepped into the bath, his pupils remaining fully dilated and influenced by the dust within his respiratory system and bloodstream. 

Sitting beside your sister in law, you lulled your head to the side and arched your brows up at the rows of tiles spaced out in front of you. Nine by four, and face down on the doilies margining the tea table, you rolled two dice to determine who gathers the spare tile to begin your little game. 

“I got a four,” you shrug, looking at Brûlée's dice. “Oh, you win with that five!” you smile at her, offering her the single, vacant tile to begin the mahjong game. She returned your smile, selecting a random starting point and sliding down the carved tiles. 

As your game continued, you all managed to get several numbers you needed from one to nine. The sheer number of times you played this game with Brûlée made for speed in completion. She was as fast as you, both swapping numbers and tiles as you needed it to order them. 

After you managed to complete the game for the umpteenth time today, she offered you her large hand to shake in mutual celebration of winning your games. Wrapping your fingers around her index finger and giving it a soft shake, she offered you a genuine smile and a curious gaze. 

“What's that look for, my favorite sister in law?” you asked her, your own curiosity marking your features. She sucked her lips in, darting her eyes between yours and silently assessing you before speaking. 

“I have a confession to make, my beautiful sister in law,” she muttered in her cackling cadence. You sat back in your seat and silently examined her posture in response with a curious glance. 

“I'm not a priest,” you shrug with a soft smile, “There's no need to confess anything to me.” She laughs in response, shaking her head and beginning to pack up your joint games into a hessian bag. 

She gulped back a sheepish mouthful of saliva before turning her attention back to you. Her temples were beading with soft droplets of nervous sweat, her lips chapped and injured from how hard she was biting on them, and her eyes darting between yours as she asked her question. 

“Are you in love with my brother?” she asked you with a subtle underlying question masked beneath her words. You sighed, closing your eyes as you focussed on finding the right words to respond. 

“I have been married to your brother for over five years,” you nodded with your eyes reopening, looking at the table ahead and sighing out further, “I want-...” you look up into her eyes and hold nothing but truth and honesty in your expression, “...I want nothing more than to love him. I want him to love me.” You shake your head, looking back to the floor and kicking your toes.

“Your mother has been pestering me, insistent that we make her grandchildren immediately, but,” you suck in a lengthy, shaken breath and look up at Brûlée, “We have yet to share a single touch, let alone a night together in unity. He thinks he’ll break me, I’m sure.” Brûlée offers you a soft smile, reaching forward one of her larger hands and grimacing immediately thereafter.

“Ah, that’s where my confession comes in,” she cringes, looking at where her hand descended upon your shoulder, “My mother has taken matters into her own hands to give him another push. She, uh…” Brûlée gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze before admitting to you the seriousness of the situation, “...She drugged him.”

“She what?” you ask, flinching away from your sister in law and stare at her with eyes wide in shock.

“She laced his shroud with an aphrodisiac, and a potent one at that,” she confessed with a soft nod, “As you are my favorite sister in law, I thought it was only fair to warn you of the severity of what’s waiting for you when you return to your marriage suite.” 

Your blood ran cold, mind racing with the remainder of the severity in circumstances awaiting you beyond the door. Still hearing the echo in Brûlée’s voice, you reached for the doorknob with a shaky hand and quivering lip.

“He’s going to be unhinged, consumed with lust,” her voice rang in your mind, “He will likely attempt to ravish you as soon as he sees you, lacking any semblance of restraint or self-control.” You made a mental note to thank Brûlée later for her honesty, but your mind remained swirling with the knowledge that your husband is likely going to hurt you. 

“When you see his face,” your hand turned the doorknob, slowly creaking the door open inwards to your joint suite, “Try not to scream. He-... He’s self-conscious about his mouth.” You slowly stepped into the room, preparing yourself to be immediately met with your husband’s sizable hands and gripped tightly. 

Yet nothing happened.

Nothing but a soft hummed whimper from beyond the bathroom door was met with you as you slowly made your way in. Water splashing in rhythmic bursts and a rumble of a frantic, stifled roar was muffled between the clamped jaw of the man you had come to love. 

The bathroom door was left slightly ajar, the steam from the bath was exiting the space in a soft puff. Your curiosity was tingling at the corners of your mind and shooting down your spine. 

“The only way he can be cured is by-...” you heard Brûlée’s choked confession in your mind, your body urging you to witness what was behind the door. Offering a simple knock, a barked growl came in the form of a rumbled exhale in response. 

“Leave,” he spat, the splashing never ceasing and his pants growing more desperate, “Leave me. I-I can-... ngghmm-... I can handle it.” You refused to heed his command, pushing past the door and witnessing the majesty of your seventeen foot husband sitting in the golden spa in the bathroom.

His brow was creased, his eyes scrunched shut in concentration, his lips parted and huffing out pants of pleasure, and his fist thrusting beneath the murky water and shaking the suds from his forearm with each crude motion. A blush immediately rose to your cheeks as you continued watching him from your position in the doorway. 

As you began to move closer, his eyes opened and his feral stare snapped over to you. Jaw opening and closing, his pupils dilating to eclipse that chocolate-brown hue you adored so much, and his hips rocking to meet his arm beneath the water. 

“Please leave,” he begged, imploring you to leave the room for your own safety with wide eyes, “I can’t do this to you. I won’t.” He whimpered, his jaw protruding as he bit back his wanton desire to fill you with his girthy cock. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His jaw began to shake and quiver, pointed teeth chattering as he desperately bit at his lips to stifle his desperation. You hesitated slightly, rocking on your feet before hardening your resolve.

“...Giving in,” Brûlée’s voice echoed in your mind. Looking down at your husband in the soapy bathtub, you were overcome with admiration and love. There was nothing to fear in his lips, reflecting on Brûlée’s earlier sentiment of warning. He was perfect to you, and five years of longing finally began to catch up with you. 

Stepping closer still, he flinched away with eyes wide and somberly pleading for you to not tempt him further. He was large, and you were of average standing and stature for a person of your size. In fear of harming you, he reached his hand down onto his thigh and dug his nails into the flesh while pumping his cock. 

“You need to give in,” you offer him with a calmness to satiate the beastly form of your husband, “Give in to me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled at you, scrunching his eyes shut in a bid to ignore what his body was so desperately screaming at him to enact. Shaking your head, you pressed on in your journey over to him.

“I want you to,” You drew yourself closer still, rolling the straps of your dress over your shoulders and flinging it to the side. Your lingerie was the next to pool at your feet, leaving you bare as you began to step into the water. 

Without further warning, Charlotte Katakuri thrust himself forward and caged his head between your thighs. You shrieked in shock as he held your lower back firmly within a single, hot hand while his other busied itself against his steely shaft. He leaned back against the wall of the spa and took your body with him on his descent. 

Parting his lips and releasing his tongue from his mouth, he began lapping at your glistening core with gentle moans and whimpers escaping from his chest in a desperate pant. His tongue shot tingles up your spine with each crude lap.

The length and width of his tongue was far greater than your slit, his organ reaching all of the places that had your toes curling at once. He rocked your hips against his lengthy tongue, groaning as your pussy began to drip onto his salivating organ with your unbridled lust depicted in your slick arousal.

Your hands shot down to his plum-colored hair and gripped him as you felt the call of ecstasy approaching almost immediately from his skilled ministrations. Mewls and whimpers flinging into the air, your shock never ceases and only grows as the sparks of release fizz within your core.

“Oh-... f-fuck-... I’m gonna-...” you began, failing to find the words as Katakuri growled against your contracting pussy. The vibrations fog your mind as your body ignites in tingling ecstasy. White flashes behind your eyes as your jaw falls slack in reaction to the bliss. 

Katakuri never ceases grinding you down against his open mouth, his tongue greedily lapping at you and prolonging your orgasm to shaky overstimulation. You desperately attempt to pull his face away, but he shakes his head with a barking growl and continues on bullying you with his mouth. 

Your toes tingle, legs shaking as you use all your strength to attempt to draw his head away from your pussy to no avail. You whimper and whine, beginning to sob as he greedily laps at your pussy: gyrating your hips in a harsh rock and thighs grinding against his cheeks. He never tore his eyes away from you, the feral beast lurking beneath his skin preventing him from being the chivalrous and doting partner you once knew.

He had you in his clutches, and there was no way he was going to give up this opportunity to bring you pleasure. His carnal desires had his eyes rolling in his head as he continued to feel the rapid flutter of your walls and twitch of your overstimulated clit warning him of your secondary wave of bliss. 

“Ka-... Katakuri, s-stop,” you whined, your knees squeezed his larger head between your thighs and you attempted to wriggle away from his greedy tongue, “Katakuri, I-I’m gonna c-cum again!” The intensity of the waves you were being ushered through heightened as a gush of your arousal flooded Katakuri’s tongue and mouth. 

Another explosion of ecstasy was paved by the skilled lulling and lapping of Katakuri’s lips and tongue. The ribbed indents of his teeth rolling against your fluttering walls as you rode his face felt unlike anything you had experienced with another. He took your fluttering walls contracting around nothing as consent to enter you with it, your heat coaxing and beckoning him to finally give in to his urges.

Finally lifting you from his head, he breathily panted as he opened and closed his tingling jaw. Rolling his tongue over his teeth, he sampled the arousal of your pussy on his palate and hummed in response. Lowering you into the water, you felt the blunt tip of his larger cock brush with your slit. The slickened release of two orgasms was still not enough to ease his cock inside your smaller body. 

“Are you cer-... f-fuck-... Certain you want to do this?” he gritted his teeth in a steely clamp and hissed at you, lining his cock up with you by circling it with his fist beneath the water. “I don’t want to do this to you. Not like this.” He slowly inched you further onto his cock, your body stretching to accommodate his width. The sting around your walls prompted you to wince, but you refused to deny him. 

“I want you to,” you softened your face, attempting to relax your body, “I want you.” Your confession had Katakuri’s eyes hanging half-lidded and his teeth chattering. 

“I’ve-...” he groaned, hissing out your name as he felt the first twitch of your body finally widen enough for his broad tip to enter you, “...I've wanted you the moment I first saw you. The moment you agreed to this union.” He whimpered, bringing his other hand up to cradle your shoulders and thumb soft, soothing circles into your skin. 

A soft sniffle fell from your nose in reaction to his confession, both of you silently cursing your mother in law for dousing him like this with the aphrodisiac. Katakuri finally felt your body stretch enough to completely take his aching knob within you, your body claiming the ribbed edge within your walls. He huffed out his gratitude, almost immediately spilling over his release the moment he felt the warmth of your heat take him in. 

“It will all be over soon,” Katakuri confessed to you with a somber expression on his face, “Em-... fuck-... Embarrassingly soon.” You gently reached up and caressed his cheeks in your hands. Darting your eyes between his, your eyes swelled with emotion as he sunk more of himself into you. 

“There is-... ah-... nothing to be embarrassed about, my love,” you whimpered, your brows furrowing as you took more of him into you. Only managing to sink a third of his cock within you, he slowly raised you up with one hand before sinking you back down. You had never felt more full in your life, your body stuffed beyond your maximum capacity by his quivering shaft. 

“I-I’m g-gonna cum,” he confessed in a husky growl, sleeving as much of himself within you as you could take. “I-I’m cumming. I’m-...hhah-... I’m cumming.” His motions became more feral, more beastly as he chased his high in your body. You winced while mewling a few cries, feeling his blunt tip almost break past the barrier of your cervix and breach your womb. 

To stifle your cry, you lunged forward and claimed his lips in a desperate and searing kiss. His eyes grow wide in shock, immediately exploding his sticky release deep within your body beneath the bathwater. Ribbons of his pearlescent release spurted from his small slit and hit you with such force internally it left you breathless. 

He removed his hand from your shoulder, joining the other on your hips and bucked up into you. Focussing on your lips, he closed his eyes and groaned his relief into your lips. Coasting through the waves of ecstasy, he continued a staggered staccato of rhythmic bucks in shallow thrusts. 

The slosh of water spilled over the sides of the bath and splashed onto the floor around you. You rotated your chin, mouthing at his lips and attempting to relay onto him the emotions you had suppressed for so long. With his cock still sheathed within you, he focussed entirely on your lips with his own. 

His kiss was soft and gentle, his teeth unintentionally grazing your skin with each soft turn and tip of his lips. As you attempted to withdraw from his lips, he chased you and groaned at the absence. 

“One more,” he mumbled, his chest rising from the water and lips falling against yours, “Just one more.” You giggled against his lips, granting him a lengthier and more desperate kiss. The force of your faces colliding had your nose scrunch affectionately against his own. His lips smiled against you, humming dopily and breathily against your lips. 

Twin smiles reflected in each other’s lips, finally feeling the unity between you both as spouses. He slowly retracted his cock from your walls, continuing to move his lips dotingly against your own in an apologetic oscillation. You whined into his lips, your heart jumping to your chest with how much you truly loved him.

You attempted to pull away from his lips to gaze into your lover’s face, only for him to purr a soft growl of disapproval from the partition once more. He pecked your lips with a soft kiss to stamp you with his affection before allowing you to finally part from him.

He stroked your hair, his eyelids dancing with a soft flutter of his eyelashes. His expression was a combination of true sorrow and repentance. Feeling the remnants of the pollen finally flee from his system and have his true nature return to him had his regrets showcased on his features.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered carefully, “Not like that. I could’ve broken you, or something more sinister.” He tilted his chin away and broke his eye contact from your face.

“But you didn’t,” you whisper, collecting his cheek in your palm and gently coaxing his face back to meet yours. He turns his head and gazes apologetically into your eyes and pressed his lips to your palm.

“Forgive me,” he asked in a voice just above a whisper, closing his eyes and leaning forward to brush his forehead with yours. You meet his head and close your own eyes shut in response. 

“There is nothing to forgive, my love,” you whisper in a similar cadence before quirking up your eyebrow at him, “Unless what you’re apologizing for is not claiming me sooner,” you pull away and smirk at him with a mischievous grin, “In which case, I don’t think I can forgive you for that.” Katakuri froze, his body tingling at your confession.

“Then please tell me what I can do to make up for my maltreatment of your needs,” he smiled with half-lidded lashes and leaned up in your embrace, “I am desperate to know,” You leaned down, your chest now lining up with his chin from your position on his lap, while your eyes held more sultry mischief within.

“I can think of a few things,” you whisper affectionately down at him, “But I think I might need a little time to recover before we begin your apology from being properly received.” A soft rumble reverberated in Katakuri’s chest, swelling into a growl in his smile. 

“I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you,” he whispered in response before collecting your lips beneath his in another soft kiss.

[pshbites]

FOOLS ━ pjs

pairing : bsf!jay x fem!reader genre : friends to lovers, pure FLUFF!! warnings : none but erm not proofread! synopsis : 2 fools in love, who have no idea the other wants them wc : 1k a/n : yes this is inspo off of fool by nct 127, i love naming things after songs #sorry

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!!

“would you just shut up” jake groaned out, glancing over at jay once more. ever since jay admitted he had a crush on you, his best friend, he’s been insufferable according to his friends. jay furrowed his brows, “what! i’m not even talking about her” he groaned out, making sunghoon scoff in amusement. “you mentioned that place that you want to take her to, like five times.” he sighed out, picking at his lunch in front of him. 

the history between you and jay wasn’t exactly.. ideal. the two of you had been friends since you were 12 years old and encountered many things together such as the time your braces got caught on a loose thread in jays shirt, or the time jay fell off his bike because he wanted to prove to you he could do a wheelie. all in all you two had stuck with each other through everything, including your relationships. 

jay never admitted it but he had developed a crush on you towards the beginning of college, that stupid saying that people really change in college or something was deemed to be true. he started getting annoyed by the encounters you would tell him about, wondering why you let stupid boys treat you like that when he was right in front of you. he thought he wasn’t obvious about it but when he finally told jake and sunghoon about having a crush on you, the two of them acted like it was a normal tuesday. 

“okay i did not say it five times” jay rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and jake and sunghoon gave each other a look, both of them sighing. “yeah man whatever” jake mumbled, making jay roll his eyes once more. he looked around the dining hall and his eyes landed on you, sitting with your two friends telling them something dramatically. you were talking with your hands again, which made jay smile. he loved when you did that it was so cute. if only he knew what you were talking about so passionately.. 

“honestly my theory is that he’s as equally obsessed with you as you are him” karina shrugged, popping one of winters fries in her mouth, making her slap her hand away. “that’s not possible” you sighed out, leaning back in your chair now. “yeah well..” as karina spoke, you looked in his direction, thoughts clouding your mind. you always had a small thing for jay ever since you were little but it was embarrassing to admit. those feelings halted when jay started getting in relationships which made you get into relationships to get his attention, but it never worked. 

now here you were, in your second year of college still pining for the boy you wanted when you were 13. “yn? are you paying attention.” karina waved her hand in front of your face, snapping you out of it. winter looked towards jay then you and laughed slightly. “she was too busy making oogly eyes at him” she said, making you slap her hand. karina groaned out. “it was not oogly eyes!” you retorted, rolling your eyes at winter. 

“there’s actually no hope for the two of you” winter sighed out as you three got up, going to put your plates away. “he doesn’t like me back, i’ll get over it” you sighed out, placing your place in the box and following karina and winter. “you’ve been saying that for years but okay yn” karina shook her head, laughing softly. as the three of you walked out of the dining hall you saw jake, jay, and sunghoon standing there. 

of course jake started up a conversation, now the six of you were walking as a group with you and jay lagging behind. it was quiet between you and jay, only the crunching of the leaves could be heard. jay glanced at you, smiling softly at the way you stepped over the leaves so you could hear the crunch of them. you had always loved doing that even when you were younger.

it hits jay now that he knows you, more than you may know yourself. because of him knowing you so well, that's why he fell for you in the first place. you were like a breath of fresh air to him, you always knew how to talk to him and make him smile, you also knew him inside and out and jay knew this.

but you were almost too good for him, after all you were a goddess in jays eyes and he was just a fool. what could he do? he knew confessing to you was a gamble because it could change the entire trajectory of your relationship, for the better or the worse. jay snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat.

“so.. what were you guys talking about? you kept moving your hands around dramatically” jay laughed a little as he finished the sentence, you rolled your eyes and elbowed him playfully. “none of your business” you mumbled back, making jay smile. 

he looked to you and smiled at your softly flushed cheeks, the way your nose was pink because of the fall breeze. “you wanna go to the diner tonight?” you looked to him, smile clear on your face. “i thought you were busy tonight?” he thought about it for a second then shook his head. “not anymore” he smiled softly. “okay, i’ll ask winter and rina.” you said and jay furrowed his brows. he hesitated before speaking. “no like, just us” he said, sounding a little uncertain. 

now was the moment, jay thought. the moment he had been waiting for, for ten years now. he knew you wouldn't want a really fancy date, so instead he opted for something a bit more you, something you were comfortable with. after all, everything he did was for you, and only you. so here it goes.

“no like, just us” he said, sounding a little uncertain.

you fully stopped walking causing jay to stop walking as well, forgetting about the group in front of you. “are you asking me out on a date park jongseong?” you furrowed your brows, looking in his eyes for an answer. there was no way he felt the same. “i.. uh you know if you want it to be?” he stuttered out, shoving his hands in his pockets. you smiled at his nervousness, the way he tried to act all cool about. “okay, are you paying? because you know a real gentleman pays.” you said playfully, the two of you resuming walking again. 

“is that even a question? of course yn” he sighed out, a little less nervous now. “well then yes, i’d love to go out with you jay” you smiled, looking at him. he smiled as well, the blush on his cheeks evident. “c'mon lovebirds! let’s go!” jake called out, his voice a little far in the distance. you giggled softly, making jay softly elbow you. karina’s theory was more than right.

taglist : @cupidhoons @wensurr @ja4hyvn @kozumesphone @17ericas @suneng @hyunnies-world @kiss4noo @jellyluv4eva @heelariously @laylasbunbunny @silquids @squiishymeow @heeambi @yourmomssneakylink @rriribelle @srehyaps @bubblytaetae @t1iqaa @en-heedeungie @wintertxt @sweettaitea @beatrizmel-472 @i03jae @jakef3ver @mamuljji @coqhee @luvyou2ooo @thedemonriot @justalittle-hee @jjongsaengzz @beigerin @mariahxrrera @cherrybeomm @vveebee @mitmit01 @blockbusterhee @yeehawnana @mochamvgz @livelaughluvryanreynolds @ami-soph @sunghoonsperfume @tzyunaes @cripplinghooman @sunooblitz @kolawnk @ningningiloveumarryme @m1kkso @ronniee-26 @wavetokgv @baerinaa @laylasbunbunny (bold cannot be tagged)

enha taglist

© all rights to pshbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

baby, ride me to the darkness of the night

“F-Fuck—Ughh—can you feel it, baby? Can you feel my big cock pounding into your pussy to the rhythm of the music?”

Of course you could feel it. Oh, you felt it all too well.

Falling for Gojo Satoru’s charm wasn’t exactly a challenge. One glance from him was enough to have you slipping your panties down, wet and ready, waiting for him. And once he was inside you? The sensations he’d bring were like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You hadn’t even wanted to go to the club tonight, but your best friend had insisted you needed to celebrate finishing your midterms with something fun. Begrudgingly, you’d let yourself be dragged along, realizing that the night’s control was no longer yours.

At first, you’d rolled your eyes and sighed. But after a few shots, you felt bold enough to dance. On the dance floor, grinding against your best friend, collecting every wandering gaze, you had no idea the most dangerous one of all had already undressed you with his eyes and was fucking you senseless in his mind. Not until your friend leaned in, whispering about the blue-eyed devil watching you from upstairs.

People had given him many names: “The Strongest,” “Blue-Eyed King,” “Perfect Face.” But to you, the only one that truly fit was “Devil.”

Devil always got what he wanted. Sometimes, he lured people into his games with wicked tricks. Other times, he simply waited, his prey crawling to him willingly.

When you glanced in the direction your friend indicated, it became clear the Devil had already chosen you for his game. And without a word of protest, you chose to be his willing sacrifice.

You had no idea when exactly his hand gripped your waist and pulled you away while you were dancing with your friend. You could feel the hardness pressing against your ass. In fact, it was impossible not to feel it. And you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering just how much harder he could get.

Well, testing it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Turns out, the results were conclusive. So much so that the Devil himself—Gojo Satoru—couldn’t hold back anymore. He’d dragged you into the women’s restroom, pinning you to the wall, his lips devouring yours the moment you were alone.

And now? Now your legs were wrapped around his waist, your already too-short dress pushed up to your hips, while his thick cock plunged in and out of you.

Each thrust hit that perfect spot, leaving you delirious as the beat of “São Paulo” synced with the rhythm of his hips. Your back slammed against the wall with every stroke, driving you closer and closer to madness.

You were letting the club owner fuck you senseless in the women’s restroom—something you never would’ve imagined yourself doing.

“S-Satoru—sl-slow-slow down, it’s too much,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the pounding music outside.

“Fuck no, baby. Haaah—I know you don’t want me to slow down. You just want more, you filthy little slut. F-Fuck, yeah—” he growled, his masculine rumble sending a shiver down your spine as he thrust into you harder and faster.

The sound of your bodies colliding echoed through the bathroom, but not a single soul dared to interrupt. It was as if, even through the blaring music, your shared moans were enough to warn everyone off. Nobody wanted to interfere with the Devil’s play.

And they had no right to.

“Mmmfp—I’m—I’m gonna—OH GOD, Satoru, I’m coming! Keep going!” you cried out, your voice trembling with the orgasm building inside you.

With one hand braced against the wall and the other gripping your hip, Satoru quickly moved his hand from the wall to your hip, using both to bounce you harder on his cock. It felt so good that you weren’t sure anyone else could ever fuck you this perfectly again.

“Shit—I’m coming too… You’re going to take all my cum like a good girl. Like *smack* a *smack* good *smack* fucking *smack* girl,” he hissed, accentuating each word with a deliberate thrust.

With a guttural groan, he spilled inside you, his head dropping to rest against the curve of your neck as his hot breath fanned across your skin. You could feel his semen dripping down your thighs as your legs trembled around him.

You closed your eyes, trying to process what had just happened.

You’d let the Devil ride you to the darkness. And it turned out, people were right—devil wasn’t a little red man with horns and a tail.

Sometimes, he had striking blue eyes and a massive cock.

a little note: i was listening to "são paulo" on the metro, and this idea came to my mind. this song definitely gives off Gojo vibes.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[elllisaaa]

crazy question but i need to know… when is the sex better - when sunghoon is being jealous or when you are the one being jealous?

i’m always here yapping about him, but you only fuel my love and affection for him and i love it, i can never get enough <3

not a crazy question at all honestly, it's pretty sane coming from you AND considering you're talking about sunghoon sweetie.

SUNGHOON + JEALOUS SEX feels good anyway.

when he's the one being jealous, it's undoubtedly rough and incredibly mean. he's calling you a slut, holding your hands or hips, edging you until you're crying and your makeup is all ruined, fucking your mouth until your jaw is stiff as hell, pounding into your cunt until your legs go numb and the only thing you're able to do is to beg him to let you cum and have mercy on you. the whole time, sunghoon has a smug smirk on his face, his fangs peeking out when he coos at you when you're screaming out his name, and everything is doing is so attractive, and he's so composed when you're a mess it's maddening in the best way possible. when sunghoon is jealous, he's ruining you and fucking you into next week but it all feels so good you won't ask him to stop.

"fucking slut, couldn't even wait an hour you had to touch me some other men in public right ? acting like a bitch in heat just because you need someone to fill your tight little cunt all the damn time. brace yourself doll, i'm not letting you cum until you remember who you belong to."

but in my opinion, it's even better when you're the one getting jealous. first of all, sunghoon loves it when you stand up for yourself or get mad because you look especially hot when you're in this state. in these moments, he's proud that you're his girlfriend, but he's even more proud of the fact that he's yours. so when this energy is directed to the waitress who has been checking him out and blatantly flirting with him the whole time you've been here, even if you had made it clear he was taken, sunghoon loves it even more. the way your hand is sitting on his thigh when she comes back to bring your desserts is your way to claim him and he loves it, but what turns him on even more is the way you're telling her to back off because she could never satisfy him like you could. and that's true, but the fact that you know it makes his smile widen as he listens to your rambling while you're eating.

whenever you're feeling like this, you cannot wait to be home to remind your boyfriend that you own him too. you just have to sit on sunghoon's lap in the car, kissing him hungrily and taking over his tongue, devouring his mouth. and sunghoon lets you take the reins gladly, his hands resting on your hips but not forcing you to move because you're the one in control this time. "she can't take a fucking hint, gotta have to remind everyone that you're mine baby." - "go on doll, do whatever you want with me."

and that was all you needed to mark down his whole neck with hickeys and bite marks, grinding down on his boner and making him moan. your possessiveness excites him even more, and by the time you're done covering him with purple marks, he was already leaking in his boxer. the way you ride him as if you wanted to milk him dry has sunghoon throwing his head back, eyes closed and mouth opened, letting out all sorts of noises. he's letting you do all the talking, getting more desperate to cum every time another string of dirty words escape your lips.

"i'm the only one who can make you feel like this baby, right ? i'm the only one who can take your cock like that." "louder, hoon. i want everyone to hear how good i'm making you feel." "you're gonna cum ? do it inside, this way no one is going to ever doubt that you belong to me again."

sunghoon cums the hardest when you whisper all these things to him with a smirk on your face, and he's almost on the verge of tears from the way your pussy is clenching around him, from the way you're so confident about the effect you have on him. and you're right, because he's down bad for you and that won't ever change

[dontbesoweirdkira]

A/N: Thinking about Yan! Platonic Tim Drake with a medic! batsis. I don't know, Tim just gives me the vibes where he'd go to the extent of faking and sustaining injuries just for his sis's attention. Like that one comic inspired this low-key...ya'll hear me out.

Warnings: symptoms of factitious disorder/munchausen syndrome, self-injury, brief mentions of vomiting, obsession, unhealthy family dynamics..

Masterlist

Requests: always open

You're not actually certified or anything but just someone who often finds herself patching up the family after their patrols thus is claimed as the family's medic. Despite your lack of formal training, your skills are actually fairly good to the point they'll often come to you for a quick stitch so they don't bleed out on the way to the hospital or while waiting for Alfred.

We all know that Tim often gets himself hurt the most when he goes out. While he's arguably the smartest robin, he definitely not the strongest. And small dogs can't help but throw themselves into the line of fire....

So more often then not when someone was coming to you for stitches or to be patched up, it was your brother Tim.

You didn't mind too much, actually you enjoyed taking care of him the most. Tim was always a trooper, even while pouring alcohol on his open gashes. He stayed still, polite and was rather good company. A nice contrast to your brother Jason who'd often spew curses and was rather brash while you helped him.

Tim found himself really enjoying being taken care of by you too. He didn't often have the time or energy to spend with his siblings because between solving cases, school and being robin...all his time was gone. It was always late at night, before bed when everything was finished when he'd quietly chat with you while he patched up. The best thirty minutes he could ever spare. You were just so gentle and attentive with him, something he hadn't had since moving away from him bio family. He missed this domestic feeling, it was nice having someone care so much about him. His chest felt warm as you send a million apologies his way anytime he'd wince...He could almost die when you gave him a head pat for getting through all of it.

Tim feels so important when you're caring for him, it's so nice to be remembered...it's an addicting drug that he needed to keep getting high off of

Tim knew it was wrong to be reckless out in the city but...he couldn't help getting excited about the thought of you patching him up again..Just a few cuts was enough to spend a few valuable minutes with you again.

It's kind of crazy because he lives in the same house with you and could just spend time whenever but it wasn't the same in his mind. There wasn't any reason to be gentle with him when he wasn't hurt. You didn't pay extra attention or give him the same affection...he only mattered to you when he was hurt. That wasn't true but in his twisted his it was.

So Tim started being really reckless...not just on patrol but like..all of the time. If he decided to skateboard home, he's purposefully do some crazy trick on the top of the stairs...if he was on patrol he'd practically run to get hit by someone three times his size..

The more hurt he'd be, the happier because the worse the injury, the more attention he'd receive. Which would set off so many alarm bells because why are you so happy to be in pain. Like you are so weirded out as he's smiling up as you as you are fixing a stab wound.

Do you think he's made himself physically sick too? He'd chug down these horrible concoctions just to make himself vomit or manufacture fevers just so he can rest in your arms.

Maybe even sometimes he'd fake injuries just like he did with the whole knee brace situation..Such an attention whore gosh.

Like this man comes to you and is like "Hey! I think I am bleeding internally and my ribs are broken, please fix it sis." No, Timothy. You have to explain to him that you don't have the knowledge, skills or equipment to fix that. That he needs to go to the hospital right away and you're just freaking out. He's begging you to please help him and refusing medical attention for literally everyone else but you...

Did Bruce have to pull some strings to let the doctors let you assist in his medical treatment? Yes. He's so insane.

He also starts becoming jealous of the other siblings when you're patching them up. They don't deserve your attention. Alfred can take care of them, why do they all need you?? You're his sister, not theirs. UGHH He'd be on the verge of a freak out as you patch up Cass and Dick. Can you imagine how upset he'd be???

..and don't ever try to ban Tim from being taken care of by you. It doesn't matter that you put two and two together and realized he was doing this all for you,,,,just do your job! He needs you to take care of him.

Yan! Tim is far more unhinged than Dick so I can just imagine him getting himself severely hurt in front of you and you'd have no choice but to quickly do something about it....He's so fucked, I love him. Hopefully you've given him some stickers and a lollipop for all his troubles.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Gale x Tav Kissing Headcanons

A/N: The patch 6 announcement has me back on my bullshit. I know I write a lot for Astarion, but this stupid wizard has my heart too. Here’s to hoping we get to make out with him soon.

Gale’s kisses come in stages

Obviously for a long time he’s very concerned about the orb and getting too excited, as it were

Even after the orb is stabilized and you have your first night together, some part of him thinks he’s getting away with something

The kisses shared between you are fleeting, but tender

While he adores your lips, he’ll just as happily kiss your hand or the top of your head, really any place he can reach

He wants to stay, even if it’s just the barest kiss you can sense it pains him to pull away, but you have other things to do

If he pushes his luck, maybe you’ll be the one to pull away first; he knows he can be a bit…much

The longer your together, the less hesitant he is

All he really needs is for you to pull him back into a deeper kiss a few times in a row for him to get the message

Once he has your permission, it’s nearly impossible for him to keep his hands off you

He still feels like he’s getting away with something, that at any second you’re going to realize he’s not enough or maybe the orb comes back or honestly just the daily dangers you have on your journey are going to tear you away, but instead of bracing for rejection, it just makes him hungry

He starts kissing you like it’s the end of the fucking world, but, in his defense, it kind of is

Even soft kisses come with hands cupping your face as he sharply inhaled your scent

He also can’t help but steal a few more, as if making up for lost time

Kisses after a fight are positively indecent

We already know he gets horny, but knowing he can touch you after makes him practically vibrate

He has enough self control to wait until your properly healed and back at camp, but not enough to wait until after you bath before he’s pulling your some place private and kissing the air right out of your lungs

That’s not to say every kiss leads to something more, only that he’s less reserved in putting all his love and adoration into every touch

He worships you, let him worship you

The feeling can be addicting, but it’s also something you might need to work on with him

Everybody wants to be loved, but being truly in love you need to be a partner, not a goddess on a pedestal

Your mortal and so is he, you don’t need worship, you just need him

And when he finally gets that into his thick skull you find him kissing you in all new ways

Without the threat of the Elder Brain or the crown, Gale finally feels like he has time

He still can’t keep his hands off you, but there is a warm security in it

He’s not afraid your going to pull away

He can kiss you slowly, savor the taste as he smiles against your lips

He can tease you and know you’ll just laugh and pull him back again

His finds he loves kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck as he simply holds you from behind for no other reason than because he can

Even when he finds himself distracted by grading papers or some new discovery, he’ll reach out for your hand, bringing it to his lips to make sure you know he knows your there

He starts to plan his mornings allowing for at least an extra fifteen minutes to get out of bed because how can he be expected to get anything done before he’s properly kissed you awake

Maybe things will teeter off later down the line, his colleagues have teased him more than once about the honeymoon phase

But even years down the line, he can’t see himself slowing down

Honestly the fact that it’s expected for people to be less in love with their spouse after their married is something he can’t find himself ever understanding (skill issue)

He doesn’t kiss you like it’s the end of the world, he kisses you like the world is going to keep on spinning, that time is going to keep moving forward and the best way he knows how to spend it is with you

[wolvietxt]

𝓯orever and 𝓪lways.

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : light angst, crying, fluff, overall chaos, insecurities, hurt / comfort summary : it was finally you and logan’s wedding day, with the pressure mounting and wade’s constant input, you were finding it hard to not let your insecurities get the better of you. wc : 1.3k

it started chaotic, of course. you’d expected nothing less with wade as logan’s best man. he’d been milling around the bridal suite for the past half hour, offering unsolicited advice and increasingly absurd ideas for how to make your grand entrance memorable. currently, he was debating the merits of pyrotechnics versus smoke bombs.

logan must’ve been losing his mind in the groom’s suite, but you hadn’t seen him since the morning. something about tradition, he’d said with a lopsided grin, his hand brushing your cheek. you hadn’t even responded, just kissed him back with the kind of desperation that left your chest aching after he left.

now, though, the reality of what you were about to do started to sink in. a low, rolling wave of panic settled in your stomach, twisting and tightening with every passing second. the dress suddenly felt too tight, the room too warm, and your pulse too fast. you were getting married. to logan. it wasn’t that you didn’t love him - you did, fiercely, wholly - but the weight of forever pressed against your ribs.

“i think i’m gonna be sick,” you muttered, bracing yourself against the vanity. your reflection stared back at you, wide-eyed and pale.

wade, for once, didn’t crack a joke. his brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “oh, no. cold feet? or, like, bad shrimp in the hors d'oeuvres kind of sick? because i warned logan about those caterers - ”

“wade, please not now,” you whined, more harshly than you intended. you took a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. “i just… what if i’m not enough for him? what if i ruin this?”

he blinked at you, then broke into a wide grin. “not enough? are you kidding me? have you met logan? that guy would crawl through broken glass for you. wait, no, bad example - he’d heal - but you get my point. he’s crazy about you.”

you looked down at your hands, the diamond on your finger catching the light. wade’s words rang true, but your anxiety wasn’t so easily quelled. “what if i can’t live up to everything he deserves?”

“listen,” wade said, surprisingly gentle, “logan’s no saint. he’s rough around the edges, grumpy as hell, and has a tendency to scare small children with his ‘resting murder face.’ but he loves you, and he’s lucky to have you. trust me.”

you swallowed hard, your heart thudding unevenly. “i just… i don’t want to let him down. i’m really scared, wade.”

before wade could respond, there was a sharp knock on the door. it creaked open slightly, and a familiar voice rumbled, “everything okay in there?”

logan.

your heart jumped, but you didn’t answer immediately. wade, ever the opportunist, took the chance to dart to the door, opening it just wide enough to slip through. “hey, bud. she’s fine. just a little pre-wedding jitters. totally normal. nothing to worry about.”

“wade, move.” logan’s voice was firm, and a second later, he pushed past the mercenary. his eyes landed on you instantly, dark with concern. “you alright, darlin’?”

you wanted to lie, to brush it off and plaster on a smile, but the worry etched into his face undid you. “i don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “i just… i feel like i’m going to mess this up.”

logan stepped closer, his hands finding yours. his touch was warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “mess what up?”

“everything,” you whispered. “us. you deserve someone who’s… i don’t know. better.”

he frowned, his grip tightening. “don’t say that. you think i’d be standin’ here, about to marry you, if i didn’t know exactly what i was gettin’? i don’t need perfect, sweetheart. i just need you.”

his words hit you like a freight train, and tears pricked at your eyes. “but what if - ”

“no what-ifs,” he interrupted gently. “you’re it for me. always have been, always will be.”

your chest ached with the weight of his sincerity. you reached up, cupping his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his stubble rough against your palm. “are you sure about this?”

logan huffed a soft laugh, his lips curving into a small, crooked smile. “damn right i am.”

behind him, wade cleared his throat obnoxiously. “as touching as this is, we’re on a schedule, lovebirds. chop-chop.”

logan shot him a glare but didn’t let go of your hands. “you ready?” he asked, his voice low, meant just for you.

you nodded, the last of your nerves dissolving under the warmth of his gaze. “yeah. i’m ready.”

the ceremony went off without a hitch - mostly. wade’s toast was predictably chaotic, filled with inappropriate jokes and just enough genuine sentiment to make you and logan laugh. the vows, though, were what stayed with you. logan’s voice had been steady but rough with emotion, his words simple yet profound. he’d promised to be by your side, to fight for you, to love you with everything he had. you’d barely managed to get through your own vows without crying, your voice trembling as you told him he was your home, your heart, your everything.

later, as the night wound down and the guests filtered out, you found yourselves alone under the soft glow of the string lights. the reception had been beautiful, but this moment - just the two of you - felt perfect.

logan pulled you close, his hands resting on your hips as you swayed together. “you know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple, “i was nervous too.”

you looked up at him, surprised. “you were?”

“yeah.” his lips twitched into a faint smile. “not about marryin’ you, though. that was the easy part. just wanted to make sure it was everything you wanted.”

your heart squeezed at his words. “it was perfect, logan. you were perfect.”

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. it was slow and sweet, filled with all the love he couldn’t quite put into words. when he pulled back, his eyes were soft, a rare vulnerability shining through.

“i love you,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “more than anything.”

tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of happiness. “i love you too.”

logan smirked, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. “good. ‘cause you know you’re stuck with me now.”

you laughed, resting your head against his chest as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen, @tezooks

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[flametrashiraarchive]

Reader teaching Haganezuka how to eat that kittykat and fuck it properly because we all know he's a virgin still uwu

(bonus points for size kink, implied age gap [reader 20s])

(bonus points and cookies for Haganezuka being so focused, listening very intently to the puss eating lesson but gets super into it and tunes out reader as he begins to figure what to do and he can't stop himself from overstimmulating reader, which has reader smacking his head so he finally lets go)

Argh yes okay here we go! I love this beautiful nutjob and I got carried away. (I left the age of the reader ambiguous because personally I am old as shit, but I think I get cookies still for the overstimmulating?)

Also... I really want to write a part 2. I want us to take care of him after the events of season 3 because I just know that once the adrenaline wore off this poor man was hurting so bad.

Anyway, enjoy!

UNBREAKABLE, UNQUENCHABLE.

F!Reader x Hotaru Haganezuka

Content Guidance: cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, overstimulation, not stopping when reader tells him to (reader is still into it though)

Minors DNI.

"I don't make swords for civilians," the swordsmith said, his voice deep and his tone final. He turned away from you, continuing his journey down the mountain path, the soft thud of his footsteps accompanied by the gentle tinkling of the windchimes hanging from his hat.

Your heart sank for a moment before you steeled your resolve and renewed your determination. It was never going to be easy and you'd mentally prepared for rejection. This swordsmith was infamous for his unbending resolve and temper. 

Running a step ahead of him, you turned to stare into the wide bug-eyes of his hyottoko mask. "Please, Haganezuka... I need a nichirin blade."

He continued walking as if he expected to simply pass through you. "No."

"But it's the only thing I can use to kill demons."

He paused. "Demon slayers kill demons. Not civilians. No sword for you."

"I am a demon slayer, just not an official one." You brace yourself for a telling off. Usually whenever you admitted to going rogue you were met with lectures about the proper way to do things and told to leave things to the demon slayer corps— but their numbers were dwindling and you'd never quite figured out breathing styles well enough for your sensei to agree to send you to final selection. Still, hacking and slashing got the job done with the right blade. "Please, Haganezuka. I had a sword with your stamp on it before. It was the best blade I've ever had and—"

"Where did you get it?" His voice was strained as if forced between gritted teeth.

"I found it..."

"SOMEONE LOST MY SWORD?"

"Yes... maybe, but I found it. It served me well and I really want another."

He turned his face away from you slightly, making the windchimes ring. "What happened to it? Did you lose the sword too?"

"No, it broke."

You could've sworn he was vibrating. "m-m-m-m-m-m-my SWORD???"

The elongated lips of the mask poked your cheek as he stepped right up against you. His haori concealed the true size and density of his body, but with him standing so close, you could tell he was muscular and incredibly strong. He was also apparently unhinged, but then again, you reasoned, what was life without a little zest?

“YOU BROKE MY SWORD??”

You'd been pre-warned that his swords were the key to winning him over, so you kept your voice level as you emptied your arsenal. "Your sword was the finest sword I have ever seen. It was an honor to wield it, Mr. Haganezuka. Not even the blade of a hashira could compare to the sublime craftsmanship of that sword. I dream about that sword." You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his body pulse against your palm as you added in a lower, more sultry tone. "And I've dreamed about meeting the artist who forged such a perfect sword for a very long time."

His chest rose sharply as he pushed out the only response he could manage; a strained, breathless grunt.

Taking his broad, calloused hand in yours, you gazed into the eyes of his mask. "Mr. Haganezuka... please make me a sword?"

The trees swayed overhead, the sigh of the leaves the only break in the utter silence between you and the swordsmith.

"Mister Haganezuka?"

The windchimes tinkled. "Tell me your name."

You told him, and he repeated it back, slowly and carefully as if trying it out.

The mask's mouth moved to your nose as he stared you in the eyes. "Mine is Hotaru. Do you need a husband?"

"I... uhh..." you stammered, suddenly feeling very warm as the heat of his burly frame pulsed against you. "Do I need a..."

He carefully removed the hyottoko mask and with it, removed every particle of air from your lungs. Ravenette hair threaded with silver, amber eyes which glowed like the forge, dark, severe eyebrows which slanted downward as he awaited your answer. He was... beautiful, treading the fine line between painfully pretty and achingly rugged.

"Yes." You said firmly. "Yes I do need a husband."

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

Two days later you were married to Hotaru and about to spend your first night at the Swordsmith Village. Ordinarily, outsiders had to undergo a lengthy initiation process to ensure the village remained a secret, but the village chief fast-tracked your application and damn near pulled you through the gates himself.

It seemed he was just as keen as you were to get your marriage to Hotaru underway. In fact, the whole village pitched in to ensure your wedding went ahead quickly and without a snag.

“Thank you for marrying Hotaru,” the village chief whispered while you were in the middle of your vows. “You have no idea the relief you have brought to the village. We were beginning to lose hope. He has never shown any interest in anything besides swords. Once Hotaru finds something to focus his attention on it's nigh impossible to tear him away from it.”

Before you knew it, you were a wife, married to a man so introverted he spent the majority of your wedding day hiding behind a tree, peering out at you as you chatted to the villagers. In fact, he only came out from behind the tree when someone walked over to congratulate him on the marriage, and even then it was only to find a different tree to hide behind.

"Hotaru..." you sighed adoringly as you slipped away from the crowd to stand beside your husband in his hiding spot. "Are you unhappy?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm happy."

"Ah... You just prefer to be alone?"

"Yes. With you. I want to be alone with you."

He was a strange man, but he melted your heart with every other word. And Gods, he was beautiful. You yearned for him like no other. You craved him.

"Husband, for my wedding gift, will you—"

"No sword for you," he said firmly. "No fighting demons. No risking your life. You are my wife now and it's my job to protect you, even if that means protecting you from yourself. So no sword."

You couldn't help but smile. It seemed Hotaru's dedication to being a husband was as intense as his dedication to smithing.

"I promise, no more demon slaying, but I wasn't going to ask about the sword."

"Oh?"

You leaned in and whispered against his ear. "I was going to ask you to take me to bed."

His orange eyes snapped to your lips as though he couldn't quite believe what you had said. He cleared his throat and tried to speak but only managed a choked grunt.

Silence descended between you until he finally found his voice. "I don't know how to do… those things."

"I can teach you."

He didn't speak. He simply took your hand in his and led you away from the wedding party and deep into the woods. After a minute he looked back at you and picked you up, carrying you against his burly chest.

"Where are we going?" you asked.

"A place where we can be alone. They won't find us."

He carried you a little further, to a small, seemingly abandoned work shed. Inside there was a small forge and smithing tools, and a small living area with a bed and basic amenities. The air was thick with the lingering tang of smoke and molten steel.

"Is... this our home?"

Hotaru shook his head. "This is where I come to work in peace when I really need to concentrate.''

He set you down carefully beside the bed and waited. Except, he wasn't simply "waiting." Hotaru's eyes drank you in, gazing at you with soft reverence. He was so big, so intimidating and by all accounts completely lacking any kind of social skills, but you had won his heart entirely. He was softer than molten steel for you, and more than willing for you to hone and hammer him into the shape you desired him to be.

"Teach me," he said. "I'm ready."

You nodded, your heart thrumming with the anticipation of what was to come. "Okay. Would you like to use your fingers? Your tongue? Or your cock?"

"Yes. All. Teach me how to use them."

Marrying this strange man had definitely been one of your better decisions.

Closing the space between you, you wrapped your arms around your husband's neck and gazed into those fiery eyes. "Well, we should start with a kiss. Do you know how to do that?"

His brow knitted. "Yes of course I know how to kiss."

"Good. Then kiss me, Hotaru."

He leaned down and pecked your cheek.

"Was that good?" An expectant look lingered on his face, faltering by the second. "I... that's what you want, isn't it? Do you want more? I can give you more."

Gods, the man was completely uninitiated.

Still, you couldn't help but smile as he eagerly peppered your cheek with little kisses; dozens of them, soft and dry and so sweet. His brow remained furrowed in concentration throughout, and you remained patient as he expressed his devotion. But when they inched closer to the corner of your mouth you turned your face to press your lips to his. 

The moment your lips touched, he froze, eyes wide as you gently and slowly pulled him into your kiss.

His lips were still and stiff beneath yours as he adjusted to the new sensation. And then they softened. Gradually, tentatively, he followed your lead. His lips crept across yours, careful and slow like he was learning the steps to a new dance and didn't want to tread on you.

You licked the seam between his lips, easing your tongue through the gap as he inhaled sharply and he brought his hands to your waist.

And then something inside him snapped. A restraint cut loose.

He wound his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. The strength in his arms was breathtaking; forged by decades of tireless labor, and now wholly dedicated to you as he pushed you down onto the bed and slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring this newfound pleasure.

Your kisses awakened a voracious appetite in him and before long he was devouring you with heated passion, barely giving you time to breathe. It was as if he had gone his entire life without intimacy, but once the dam had cracked it was impossible to stop the flood.

His tongue stroked yours again and again as his tough hands skated up the length of your legs. When he reached your knees he granted your tingling lips a reprieve, kissing your throat as he pushed up the skirt of your wedding dress and squeezed the tender flesh of your thighs with a wanton groan. 

"My pretty wife," he growled as you shifted beneath him, craving his touch. "Tell me how to make you feel good."

You parted your legs, pulling your skirt up all the way to reveal yourself to him. A sharp intake of breath expanded Hotaru's chest as he looked down at your pussy. A muscle in his cheek danced and his grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes filled with a look of pure hunger.

"Do you want to touch me?" you asked, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as anticipation coiled in your belly.

His answer was barely a whisper. "Very much." He swallowed hard. "May I?"

"Please... please do," you whispered, your need for him drowning out the rest of the world. It was just you and Hotaru, and nothing else mattered. 

The sound of his shaking breaths was the only break in the silence. His hand left your thigh and he gently brushed his fingertips along the edge of your folds. 

“Soft,” Was the only word which emerged from his lips as he stared and explored the shape of you. His orange eyes were focused, his perpetually furrowed brow somehow even more severe. Hotaru was lost in concentration, entirely focused on mapping the curves and ridges of your cunt.

You lay there on the bed, letting him find his bearings. His gentle exploratory touches sent shivers through your body. Those rough, calloused fingers touched you with such care and attentiveness. His eyes snapped back to yours every time you made a sound or breathed a little harder.

Hotaru was a devoted craftsman– his hands finely tuned tools– and they were dedicated entirely to your pleasure. He found your entrance and pushed a finger into you, watching intently as your pussy clenched around it.

You sighed in pleasure. "Gods, Hotaru, you're making me so wet…"

"Is that good? Am I making you happy?"

"Yes. That's good."

"Hm," he muttered, as if filing the information away. "A wet wife is a happy wife."

A sharp gasp escaped you as he nudged the hood of your clit with his thumb and his lips curved into a smile. 

"You like this, don't you?" He hummed pensively and circled your clit, spreading your wetness.

Squirming beneath him, you nodded as the heat on your cheeks blossomed. "Yes, Hotaru. Keep doing that."

Gods, those rough hands. They sent jolts of pleasure surging through your body as he lavished attention on your clit, fascinated by the way it swelled as he worked with dogged determination. He added another thick finger to your cunt, stretching you deliciously.

A quiet groan emerged from him as you began to fuck yourself on his fingers, hard and fast as he rubbed your clit. He watched you intently, his lips parting in sync with your cry as your first orgasm of the night rocked through your body.

"Oh look at you, my pretty wife with your sensitive little bead." He moved down your body, lowered his head and nuzzled your clit with his nose. 

"Ho-taru…"

The wet heat of his mouth closed over your tender bud, pulling another cry from your lips. 

"Ah! You like that too," he murmured as he knelt between your knees, his long, dark hair spread like strands of seaweed across your thighs. 

"Yes. D-do it again… please… use your tongue."

“My tongue?”

You sucked in a breath as he licked your clit with the tip of his tongue, tasting your essence. 

He groaned. "Mm~ fuck, this is good." 

"More… please…" 

In response to your demand, he raised his hand to press his thumb against your lower lip. "Show me how to lick you well."

Gods, this man. You took his thumb into your mouth, showing him exactly what to do, licking the tip of it as if it was your clit. He groaned as you lapped his thumb, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw clenched. 

"That feels… huh…" He bit back a groan before burying his face in your pussy and replicating the motion on your clit.

Thank the Gods he has the foresight to take you away from the village, because the sounds he pulled from you were unholy. He was eager and so receptive to your lessons.

Hotaru put everything he had into eating your pussy; the slick, sucking sound of his mouth and his hot, wet tongue accompanied by your desperate cries. With every passing moment his confidence grew, pumping those thick fingers into you and curling them against your walls, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to give you more pleasure than you ever expected. 

As he pleasured you, he ground his hips against the mattress, groaning as he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth. It was too good, too intense. Your senses were flooded with him; the sight of that beautiful man devouring you, the acrid scent of the forge, the lewd wet sound of his mouth on your cunt. And Gods, nothing had ever felt so good before. 

Hotaru was born to forge swords and eat pussy, and he did both with unbreakable focus. 

You sucked his fingers and he sucked your clit, groaning as he voraciously lapped the sensitive nub, driving you higher… higher…

An immense wave of pleasure crashed through you as you reached your peak, the force of your orgasm making your legs tremble. His name tore through you like a cry to the heavens, his answer a soft moan which vibrated through your core as he kept on licking. On and on, lapping at your pulsing clit as you gasped and bucked your hips against his insatiable mouth.

"Ho-taru… you did it… you made me–"

Taking his fingers from your mouth, he slung a heavy arm across your belly and continued eating you out, unrelenting, pulling another choked cry from you. Hotaru was drunk on you, on the taste and the knowledge that he was pleasing you; groaning, grinding his hips against the mattress, breathing in the intoxicating scent of you as he fluttered his tongue over your overstimulated clit.

The village chief had told you his focus was unbreakable, and now that attention was dedicated to your pussy. He was lost in you, wholly devoted to pleasuring you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, torn between needing respite and craving more. 

He propelled you from your second orgasm right into your third. Intense pleasure drove your head back against the pillow as you screamed in ecstasy and torment, your pussy throbbing beneath his lips as your nectar ran down his chin. And still, he licked you with an unquenchable thirst.

"Hotaru! Ho- oh it's too much.” 

He hit a spot inside your cunt which made the world shatter around the pair of you, sending you careening into another climax which turned your blood to liquid steel. “Too much! I can't!" You swatted at his forehead, smacking him with your fingertips as you wriggled out from beneath him. 

Your husband stared at you, dazed and breathless, his lips glistening with your slick juices. "Did… did I do it right?"

You gasped for air, trembling down to your bones. “You did it perfectly, Hotaru.” 

He pulled you into him and kissed you. You licked the taste of your desire from his lips, swallowing the low groan which rolled from his chest. His lips caressed yours with deep, undying passion, his hand dropping to the bulge tenting his hakama trousers.

“Let me take care of you now,” you whispered into his ear as your hand joined his, cupping his cock and making him moan. “Lie back for me, my love.”

He did as you asked without protest. It was true that you wanted to take care of him and give him as much pleasure as he had given you, but in a more practical sense, being on top of him allowed you to have control. You were already so fucked out, and from the feel of things–from the girth and weight of it through his trousers– control was definitely going to be necessary.

You stood from the bed and undressed as he gazed up at you, languidly palming his cock in his broad hand and drinking in the sight of you.

“Such a lovely wife,” he whispered, his orange eyes heavy with desire.

“And I have such a handsome husband…” you replied as you undressed him, revealing his big, muscular body inch by firmly hewn inch. He was a mountain of a man, and Gods, there wasn’t a thing you would change about him. “A handsome husband who pleases me well…” You kissed him, gently pushing him back and straddling his hips. “And who makes the very best swords in all the world–”

“Ohh…” He groaned, gripping your hips as you brushed the fat tip of his cock against your pussy. “Say that again.”

“Hm? That you’re the best swordsmith in the world?” You eased the top inch of him in, letting your body adjust to the sensation. “That your swords are works of art?”

“Gods, I want you,” he hissed, baring his teeth and gazing up at you from the pillow. A deep, longing groan emerged from him as you inched your way down his length. “You… you are…so warm… so wet… beautiful.”

You skated your hands over the plain of his abdomen, taking him deeper, your back arching as he stretched you even at that slow pace. When you finally reached the bottom of his shaft, you were breathless, tingling at your core. Hotaru was even less composed than you. 

The swordsmith growled, bending his knees to slide his legs up and down the mattress, fighting the urge to fuck up into you. His cock twitched inside you as you rocked forward to kiss him, your breasts pressed against his burly chest, his rough hands skating up your back. 

“I love you, Hotaru,” you whispered before rocking back to start riding his cock. 

“I–ngggh ohh… ohhh!” he groaned, eyes widening, fingers digging into your hips with bruising ferocity as you bounced on top of him. His control slipped almost immediately. 

He fell apart, groaning and thrusting up into you with a loud moan. His eyes screwed shut, his face flushed scarlet, and he trembled beneath you as his cum flooded into you, spilling out onto the base of his cock.

Pulling you down into an embrace, Hotaru held you in his arms, his heart thrumming beneath your ear. His big, broad hand stroked your back as he kissed the top of your head and his cock softened inside you.

After his breathing returned to normal, he gathered his senses long enough to ask, “Do you need more, my love?”

“I’m more than satisfied,” you said with a smile. 

He was asleep a second later. 

You lay there, pinned by his arms, crushed up against this strange, wonderful man you called your husband, and there was nowhere else you would rather be. 

[lightseoul]

so i finally did it, y'all—i commissioned the wonderful @zestivivi to draw my first-ever °˖✧ self-ship art °˖✧

and i couldn't help it upon seeing the draft; i had to write a drabble to give it a bit of a backstory and to really just treat myself, so here it is!

(the pic is under the cut, if you're not in the mood to read and just wanna take a peek at it!)

CALL ME YOUR FAVORITE, CALL ME THE WORST (k. bakugou x reader)

“—and so i told eijirou he could go to hell if he asked me to cover for him tonight,” bakugou finishes, just as you twist your key one last time, effectively unlocking the door.

you toss him a chastising look as you push it open, trying to ignore the hammering in your chest as you do so. “don’t talk to your best friend like that, katsuki.”

at that, he scoffs, trailing behind you and entering through the doorway. “correction, you’re my best friend. and he’s used to it.”

despite yourself, a smile manages to creep into your face, which bakugou unfortunately catches sight of. the man only smirks to himself before gesturing to his trainers, “where do i put these?”

“beside my birks, please,” you sing-song, although your voice comes out a bit wobbly.

fucking nerves.

dropping your bag on the counter, you quickly shuffle through your kitchen and toward your dining area slash living room slash bedroom, scanning the space for any spot you’ve missed before bakugou could see them.

you’re just about to conclude that this place is as tidy as it can get when you sense the pro-hero walk up beside you, and you look at him to see his eyes darting across the area in inspection, a pensive expression on his face.

“what’re you thinking?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. you immediately regret it, though, bracing yourself for constructive feedback that you know will sting nonetheless.

it’s not every day you get to show your new place that’s your very own to anybody, let alone to your famously (notoriously) pedantic boyfriend.

“it's really clean,” he starts, pausing to think for a moment. he eventually turns to face you, that smirk from before now back on his face, “it’s very you. i like it.”

you feel a warmth wash over you, and you don’t fight the grin that’s invading your features. “aww, thanks, babe!”

he waves you off with a hand, resuming his thorough survey of your unit. “‘s nice how you displayed your books here, and that your guitar is easy to reach for. and your decorations are just abo—”

you glance back at the man from where you were hurriedly pouring him a cold glass of water, “just about what, kats?”

to that, bakugou doesn’t say anything. he seems frozen, eyes fixed on what you think is your entertainment area.

you pad toward the spot beside him, and you follow his line of vision.

directly right to your dynamight figurines.

almost instantly, your stomach drops as if you just got hit by a metaphorical tsunami of scalding humiliation. your feet move before your brain can catch up, and in a matter of seconds, you find yourself planted right in front of bakugou, obscuring his view of his mini-me’s.

at least, you tried to. the tall man only continues to effortlessly stare at them through the space above your head.

“so what do you want for dinner?” you manage to croak out, desperate to change the subject and bones threatening to give out in embarrassment.

“…is that a funko pop of all might and… me?”

the ground can swallow you up just about now, thanks.

for a beat, you debate as to whether or not to joke or lie your way out of this one, but one look at the inexplicable expression on your boyfriend’s face has you ultimately decided against it.

“…yes?”

now, in the split second of choosing to tell the truth, you came up with the expectations of him snorting in response, or maybe shooting you a confused look that reads ‘what the fuck’ or something similar, but you certainly didn’t predict him to laugh.

as in, drop his head back and howl laugh.

immediately, you feel yourself flame in shame as you watch the pro-hero bend slightly over and clutch his stomach in mirth, what you think are tears now pooling in the corners of his clenched eyes.

you can’t help but frown, “quit laughing at me, you jerk!”

that only makes him bark out another loud one, and just when you think he’s about to finish, he wheezes: “and you’ve got a nendoroid of me, too!”

that’s it.

you spin on your heel, turning your back on your jackass of a boyfriend, and you’re about to scoop the figurines into your arms and throw them into the abyss at the back of your closet when you feel something tug at your wrist, pulling you and your entire body back.

and before you can even comprehend what’s happening, bakugou’s invading your space and leaning toward you, planting his forehead right at the crook of your neck.

“wha—”

you’re cut off by bakugou snuggling into you, and you can feel him shake in laughter before the chuckles finally escape him and you’re both left in comfortable silence.

you hope he’s not hearing the thunderous ruckus your heart is making right now despite yourself.

a few moments pass with neither of you moving or saying anything before you finally decide to speak up.

“if you think this’ll make up for you laughing so blatantly at me, you’ve got another thing coming for you, mister.”

at that, bakugou snorts, retorting without missing a beat. “i wasn’t laughing at you, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, although you don’t make any move to push him away. “sure, you weren’t.”

“i’m serious. it just caught me off guard.”

“and then you started laughing at me.”

from where he’s slotted right by your neck, bakugou huffs, and you stop yourself from shivering at the feeling of his breath against your skin.

“i was just laughing at how everything’s turned out, alright?”

instinctively, your eyebrows furrow in question, “what do you mean?”

he sighs, the puff of air he lets out tickling your flesh again, “i just think it’s fucking funny how i grew up with a shit ton of all might merch, and now i have my own merch displayed right beside him, in my girlfriend’s new home, no less.”

and, before you can even feign offense at his comment, he beats you to it.

“i’m just fucking happy, okay? just let me have this.”

you don’t know what else to say at his sudden confession, and so you only manage a nod, moving your head just enough for him to feel the gesture. slowly, you allow yourself to relax your shoulders and lean toward bakugou, who snuggles even closer to you in return.

“they’re quite expensive, you know,” you offer after a few seconds of silence. “and yours are especially hard to come by.”

you can practically hear the grin on his face when he quips, “what, am i your favorite hero, or something?”

“no,” you immediately retort, deadpan. “all might is. explains why i only have one figurine of him and a gazillion of you in here.”

at that, bakugou lets out a genuine laugh, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s sporting that boyish grin and disarming eye smile that really nobody else has the honor of witnessing.

nobody except you.

you hesitantly bring your right hand up, unable to resist the urge to gently cradle the back of his head. upon the split second of contact, however, bakugou stiffens, and you’ve half a mind to withdraw and pull away when he does so.

but all the apprehension evaporates from your system when almost immediately after, he nestles closer into you.

you feel yourself flush at the motion, failing to stop the smile that takes over your lips.

and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d bet your expensive ass dynamight figurines he’s blushing, too.

bonus:

you’re in the middle of feeding yourself a spoonful of chicken curry when you decide you finally have enough. placing the serving firmly on your platter, you shift to face bakugou, who’s at your right and eating beside you.

more of side-eyeing you than eating in the past thirty minutes since dinner arrived, really.

you pull your lips in a tight line, “spit it out, kats.”

at that, he tosses you a disgusted look, before quickly swallowing the mouthful of cabbage he was just munching on. “why the fuck should i do that?”

you roll your eyes, “not the food, dummy. you’ve got something you want to say.”

“i do not.”

you only give him a knowing stare.

bakugou huffs, putting down his own spoon after a pregnant pause, “fine.”

it takes him a moment to finally do so, and when he does you almost choke.

“…so who the fuck is akaashi and why do you also have one of him?”

for context, here's my entertainment area LMAO i really took self-indulgence to another level, huh (sorry not sorry) title is from the song call me by shinedown (credits to @creativepromptsforwriting for the idea)

anyway, thank you so much again to @/zestivivi for turning my vision into reality and then some <3 thank you for being so easy to work with and receptive to my requests, particularly to make the character look just like me! 'til the next one, for sure :,)